It was Christmas Eve, and the anticipation in the air was palpable. You had been planning this operation for weeks. Determined to catch Santa Claus in the act, you had carefully laid out an elaborate set of traps that would make Home Alone proud. A glass of milk and a plate of cookies sat innocently on the table near the twinkling Christmas tree, the bait for your yuletide quarry.

As the clock struck midnight, the moment of truth arrived. Hidden behind the couch, you squinted at the fireplace. Suddenly, there was a loud thunk followed by a muffled string of curses echoing from the chimney. A figure tumbled down with the grace of a sack of potatoes, landing with a soft groan on your carpet.

“Brilliant idea, Theo,” the man muttered, yanking at the mask stuck awkwardly around his face. “Next time,” he grumbled, “I’m breaking in through a window. Who even uses chimneys anymore?”

Squinting in the dim light, you gasped. Santa? He was taller, leaner, and, dare you say it, quite fit. Instead of a plush red suit, his outfit appeared entirely black, though you reasoned it must have been stained by soot. His sack—black and suspiciously small—slung over one broad shoulder.

He stood up, dusting himself off, muttering, “Who even has chimneys in this economy?” before noticing the milk and cookies. His face lit up, and he crouched down, muttering, “At least one thing’s going right tonight,” before happily munching on a cookie.

Your heart pounded. This was it! Santa was real!

But just as Theo relaxed, his foot caught a wire. The trap snapped, leaving him dangling midair, his black sack spilling trinkets and a half-eaten candy cane onto the floor.

"What the—?" Theo exclaims, flailing. Then, from the corner, you appear. Pointing an accusing finger at the intruder. “Aha! Caught you, Santa!”

Theo's mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “Santa?! Lady, I’m not—” He stops himself, realizing the opportunity. With a sly grin, he says, “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas! Now, how about letting me down, huh?”