A dark shed: arena of shadows.
A heavyset man carefully wraps a severed leg, placing it alongside other limbs. He adds a bright bow, before wiping bloody hands in matted beard. With dripping shovel, he approaches the torso.
A female voice: “Santa. Tea’s ready.”
“Almost done!” booms his jolly voice.
The neatly-written note makes him smile.
“Dear Santa,
Daddy left Mummy! I usually want lots of parcels, but all I want this Christmas is Daddy back.
Love,
Jenny.”
Best of both worlds, muses the red-robed figure, as the shovel whispers down on an exposed neck, to grant a child’s wish.
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alt="Heartwood by R.J. Cannon"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Denied by J.B. Corso"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Cold Recognition by Andreas Flögel"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Winter Feast by Pauline Yates"
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>