I thought about it all day. And I knew that I had a year in which to convince her that Santa Claus was not real, that first her parents and now I filled her stockings with presents. I had a year in which to shatter her faith. I had a year in which to transform her into a normal, well-adjusted unbelieving adult.
It seemed like plenty of time.
BUT NOW IT IS March. And after three solid months of attempted brainwashing, her faith in Santa is still unshakable as ever.
And lately, she’s been talking about the Easter Bunny.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.
HUNG WITH CARE
by Ty Schwamberger
The newly fallen snow crunched under his black boots as he walked towards the next house. This one wasn’t quite as nice looking as the previous residence he had visited, but he was sure there would still be some nice little boys, or maybe even girls, that had been good enough all year to deserve a bountiful helping of Christmas presents. He disappeared for a moment behind a large pine tree nestled beside the house and paused. He looked through the pointy, green needles of the tree and out into the street.
Not a creature is stirring… He smiled and then continued on his way.
Ducking into a deep shadow by the side of the house, he rose up on his tiptoes and looked through the snow covered window. No, it wasn’t real snow. He could tell that easily enough. It had come from one of those aerosol spray cans that contained that fake, white sticky stuff that clung to windows during the season of ever-lasting joy. At first it was hard for him to see in, so he took one mitted-hand off the big, red sack he was carrying on his back and gently placed it upon the window. He slid his hand back and forth a few times until the condensation on the outside of the window disappeared and he was able to gaze inside.
The stockings are hung by the chimney with care… He then repeated the next line, silently this time, deep inside his soul, then smiled. God, did he love this time of year.
As he pushed the window up into its frame, smiled, and wondered if it was a Christmas miracle that this particular house’s window hadn’t been secured as all the others. Not that it really mattered; by chimney, by magic key through the front door, or climbing through an unlocked window he had never been denied getting into a house on the Eve of the most wondrous day of the year.
He flung the heavy sack off his back and tossed it through the open window.
He then pushed himself up and onto the window sill, then followed the sack full of goodies into the nice, warm house.
AFTER STRUGGLING TO PICK his rotund self up off the floor, he huffed a few times, and went to the open window and dropped it back into place. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but then reached up and slid the lock into place. He then turned around and took a nice, long look around the cozy living room.
The first thing he noticed was that the fireplace still had some glowing embers. He slowly walked over, bent down, and stuck his still-mitted hands under the hearth. Even though the fire wasn’t roaring anymore with hot delight, it still provided enough warmth to seep through the heavy, black gloves and reach his almost-frostbit hands.
After all, it had been a hell of a long night already and just the thought that he was really just getting started made him feel exhausted. But, this was his chosen profession, one he had made many, many years ago, so he felt like cold or no cold, it was his duty to carry out what he promised himself oh so long ago.
After crouching by the almost-dead fire for a few minutes, he slowly stood up and stretched his red, fur covered arms over his stocking-covered head. He then turned around and took a long look at the rest of the room. The decorations included: snowmen, igloos, polar bears, angels, and even a figurine of himself. Santa. His belly shook like a bowl full of jelly, but he didn’t make a sound. He couldn’t. Oh, no.
Not with the children nestled all snug in their beds…
He smiled, again. Then hoped against hope his hunch was right.
Leaving his already full sack on the floor, he proceeded out of the living room, towards the staircase leading upstairs to the family’s bedrooms, but not before picking up a gingerbread cookie from a Christmas tree plate, and biting the little man’s head off.
He wanted to laugh through his cookie filled teeth, but knew he couldn’t.
He didn’t want to wake anyone, especially the parents…
Who had just settled their brains for a long winter’s nap.
The word ‘nap’ made him laugh, again, but this time he couldn’t keep it in.
As pieces of cookie flew out of his snapping jaws and hit his boots, he started up the stairs.
He paused for a moment at the top, pulling out a long, curved knife from the sheath buckled to his wide, black belt and then started down the dark hallway.
His first stop was the parent’s room.
Then, no matter if they had been good or bad, it was off to the kid’s room to slice and dice them and make himself all glad.
“JERRY…JERRY. WAKE UP. I think I heard something.”
The balding father rolled over onto his back, stifled a last snore and mumbled, “Huh. What. What did you say, dear?”
“I said, I think I heard something, or someone, downstairs.”
“Ah geez, Helen. It’s probably just the long limbs of the pine hitting the side of the house. I promise, first thing tomorrow morning after the kids have opened their presents that I’ll bundle up and finally go out there and cut a few limbs back, okay? Now, please, let me get some more sleep. You know as well as I do that the kids will be up at the ass-crack of dawn and running in here to jump on the bed to wake us up.” Then, still half asleep, the husband and father rolled back onto his side and started snoring again.
The wife and mother mumbled, “But…” then stopped from saying anything else. Sure, her husband was a kind and loving man but even he had his limits. Especially if she woke him in the middle of the night, like she often did, for a noise that she ‘heard’ downstairs or outside the house. Each and every time in the past that she had nagged until he had gotten out of bed and went downstairs or out into the cold to investigate—it turned up nothing. So, this time, since it was Christmas Eve and all, she decided to keep her mouth shut.
After deciding not to bother her husband any longer, she lay back down onto her pillow and closed her eyes. She was about to drift off when she heard something, again, closer this time than before. For the life of her it had sounded like it was coming from the hallway outside their bedroom door. Helen knew she if she didn’t have her husband take a look, pissed as he might get, she would never be able to fall back asleep and it would ruin her chances of being rested enough for a day full of opening presents, the kids running this way and that around the house while playing with their multitude of new toys, or cooking their annual Christmas Day feast. Finally, after thinking about it for another minute or two, and ‘hearing’ another sound out in the hallway, she rolled onto her left side, placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder and gave it a soft shake.
He rustled in his sleep but didn’t wake.
She leaned over, knowing one sure fire way to stir him whether he was sleeping or just acting dead, and started to nibble on his ear. Just as she expected, he let out a soft, low moan.
“Hummm… Well, now. I think I can be persuaded to get up for something like this, dear.” He then rolled onto his back again and reached for Helen’s…