The atmosphere next week is dragged to a chilling low: Celia isn’t just threatening verbally anymore, but delivering a blow that makes everyone understand she’s willing to do anything to maintain control.

The scariest part is the confirmed tragedy, meaning there will be a real fall, leaving clear consequences that can’t be “fixed” with a few apologies or a scene of people hugging and crying.

Celia is terrifying because she’s literally emotionless.

For her, how much pain others suffer doesn’t matter; what matters is whether they still obey. When the control system is shaken, Celia chooses to extinguish it with a blow that leaves everyone afraid to breathe. In these kinds of stories, tragedy doesn’t usually befall the “bad guy” first. It often falls on the most vulnerable, or those trying to do the right thing at the wrong time. Just one slow reaction, one misplaced trust, or one reckless decision without a plan, and Celia will turn that person into a lesson for the rest.

What infuriates viewers, yet keeps them watching, is the feeling that Celia not only commits a crime, but forces the entire village to live with it, by making good people compromise. From here, the film’s pace accelerates, leaving no time for recovery: suffering the consequences, concealing the truth, and figuring out how to survive, all while the risk of exposure constantly hangs over their heads. And if the tragedy occurs at a time when Emmerdale is outwardly promoting a festive atmosphere, the “pain” intensifies, because it clarifies one thing: not everyone gets Christmas; some only experience hell.