“Robberies are becoming rather frequent in the neighborhood this December Break, with an estimated 22 houses robbed in the last two weeks alone.”

Christmas was boring this year. All I knew was that it was because of the annoying newscast about “robberies.” Dad was keeping the whole family inside. To install a security alarm…or something. And we couldn’t go outside either, because my dad thought it would be “unsafe.” I would’ve listened to him if our home was any safer. And it wasn’t, considering I had an older brother.

“Timmy,” he yelled, “it’s Mom and Dad who put our presents under the tree.”

“You’re just saying Santa isn’t real because you’re jealous of him.”

“What?”

“You got on the naughty list because you did a handstand on the coffee table,” I explained, pointing to the broken glass in the living room.

His friends laughed. He didn’t. I was probably chased around the house fifty times before I begged Mom to get me away from him.

I couldn’t say I didn’t expect him to get angry. I’d been waiting for Santa the whole year, just to prove him wrong. I talked about it all the time around other people too, which was why I had no friends. Even my parents found me somewhat “awkward.” Only because I never talked to them.

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Specifically, I stopped loving them when my brother brought me downstairs a few years ago and showed me that they really were putting our presents under the tree. It became so clear. They hated Santa because he changed my personality. They told him to stay at the North Pole, so instead of getting his gifts, I ended up with those cheesy beach toys my parents bought me.

I was prepared this year, though. I told my parents to let Santa bring me his presents, monitoring them the whole day to make sure it was a kept promise.

So it wasn’t probably a surprise that I couldn’t sleep that night. I just ended up sitting on the stairs and eating ice cream to drown my sorrows. I now knew Christmas was no miracle. Until I heard footsteps inside the house. The footsteps of someone who looked like they rode on a sleigh.

“Santa!”

“WH– uh, what?”

“I knew you were real this whole time! I’M RIGHT!”

And his face changed from shock to relief. He told me to “keep it a secret” and not tell my parents. He asked me where their wallets were, saying it was a new system of gift-giving. And once he got them, he fled.

Out to the road, where a police car, for some reason, began to chase him.