A dead mouse sat in sister's stocking, a toy car on the stairs for mother, and Jamie nestled with visions of destruction rather than sugar plums.
He sees you when you're sleeping…
Faint music made Jamie prickle with goosebumps.
Be good for goodness sake…
There was a creak at the door, and a hulking silhouette appeared.
"You're on my list," A not-so-jolly voice beckoned. “Time to go.”
“N-no coal?” Jamie squeaked.
"No, when you've been really naughty—downright mean—you go to the workshop."
"Why?"
"Ho, ho, ho," The laugh was mirthless, merciless. "Who do you think makes the toys?”
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