by Thomas Kleaton
“Ah yes, and now for the naughty list,” said Santa. His eyes twinkled behind his petite spectacles. “The parents who smirk and say I am a lie.”
“You always bring two of them back with you,” said Faelchon. “To show them Santa is, indeed, real.”
“Ummm…fresh-baked cookies! And boy, am I hungry,” Santa took one from the elf.
He admired the shriveled texture of the skinned face baked into the crumbly dough. A few teeth protruded like half-submerged M&Ms.
“I’m sure they believe in you now,” said Faelchon, snickering.
Santa bit down into the cookie, severing one crispy ear.
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