Cookies for Santa Claws by Chanelle Loftness

"You better not cry," the creature croons.

I lie on the kitchen table. The Christmas lights that bind me dig into my skin. They send colours dancing across the kitchen’s walls and illuminate the creviced face of the sharp-toothed and horned creature standing over me.

"You better not pout." Its sharp talons cut another piece of my flesh.

Wide-eyed, I scream around the Christmas stocking in my mouth.

It places the flesh on the cookie sheet by the others, dusting them with cinnamon and sugar, before sliding the sheet into the oven.

It continues singing as it grabs another cookie sheet.