Don't Feed Them After Midnight

Give him to us. We'll take him to the kennel, they'll put him to sleep. It will be quick and painless compared to what we would do to him. We'll catch the beast ourselves. He'll get what he deserves, a slow painful death. Maybe we'll put him in our spin-drier on high heat.

The worst thing that ever happened to us was on Christmas. Oh, God. It was so horrible. It was Christmas Eve. We were nine years old. We and Mom were decorating the tree, waiting for Dad to come home from work. A couple hours went by. Dad wasn't home. So Mom called the office. No answer. Christmas Day came and went, and still nothing. So the police began a search. Four or five days went by. Neither one of us could eat or sleep. Everything was falling apart. It was snowing outside. The house was freezing, so we went to try to light up the fire. That's when we noticed the smell. The firemen came and broke through the chimney top. And we and Mom were expecting them to pull out a dead cat or a bird. And instead they pulled out my father. He was dressed in a Santa Claus suit. He'd been climbing down the chimney... his arms loaded with presents. He was gonna surprise us. He slipped and broke his neck. He died instantly. And that's how we found out there was no Santa Claus.

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