As he rotted away, cheeks sallow, smile bloody, dreams of sugarplums died. Even magic couldn’t fix him.
“Good morning!” piped a sing-song voice from the speakers in the padded room. Santa shot to his feet, camera’s following his every move.
“Please!” he screamed. “I can’t take this anymore. Let me go!”
“Tsk, tsk,” came the voice. “Don’t like being constantly watched? How’s it make you feel?
“I want to die!” Santa shrieked.
“That’s not very jolly...” the voice said. “Let's try again tomorrow.” With that, he turned off the lights and left Santa in the dark, the cameras always watching.
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alt="Stone Jaws by Evan Baughfman"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Mannequin People by Michael J. Stiehl"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Gator by Randall Andrews"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Rude Awakening by Richard Lau"
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>