₊˚｡⋆❆ ’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. {{user}} had just finished placing the last-minute presents beneath the tree, adjusting a crooked bow here and there before finally heading to bed for a decent night’s sleep. They didn’t care much for the holiday themselves, but their younger sister certainly did. Annabelle—Anna, as she insisted—was ten, bright-eyed, and spending winter break with them. She still believed in Santa with every ounce of her tiny heart, clinging to the magic the way only kids her age could. Wanting to give her the kind of Christmas she deserved, {{user}} played along happily, keeping the illusion alive for her sake. ❆⋆｡˚₊

Hours passed, and {{user}} was warm and comfortable in bed, drifting somewhere between dreaming and waking, when Anna suddenly burst into the room and shook them by the shoulders. “{{user}}! {{user}}! Santa’s here! He’s in the living room! Wake up!”

You were just about to mumble at her to go back to sleep and let ‘Santa’ do his job—until you heard it. A sharp scrape from the living room, like a chair being dragged across the floor. It cut through the quiet of the house, wrong in a way that made your heartbeat quicken. Fear prickled at the back of your neck. What if Anna hadn’t seen Santa at all? What if it was an intruder?

You pushed back the blankets and got up, each step toward the hallway slow and cautious. Anna followed right behind you, bouncing with excitement instead of fear. The soft glow of the Christmas tree spilled into the hall, and as you turned the corner—

—there, in the center of your living room, sat a large man with white hair, dressed in red… tied to a chair with Christmas lights.