You 've just killed Santa in your living room mistaking him for a burglar . Any moment your wife and three kids are going to wake up and come down stairs for Christmas [ WP ]

`` Oh... my....'' 
 
 I wanted to finish with `` fuck,'' but could n't muster the strength to utter the last of my inaudible whispers of anguish. My thoughts reeled back to my childhood, no longer was I here with the bloodied and battered Santa Claus, right eye popping out of his bashed in skull where the axe remain imbedded. I was behind the couch as a child, watching Santa Claus place presents under the tree for my family and I. 
 
 He was my idol, and seeing him for the first time strengthened the loving admiration I already felt for him. 
 
 Now as I stand here, my heart a dam cracking at the force of an ocean of emotional turmoil that would surely drown me should the dam fully break. 
 
 I began to think, `` The kids are going to be up soon... my wife... how... what do I do?'' 
 
 What I always do in these situations, of course. 
 
 I grabbed Santa from under the armpits and slowly dragged him across the floor, trying my hardest not to make a sound. I opened the door to the basement, ever so slowly so as to not cause any creaking. Sure enough, the hinge whined as though I had woken it from some sort of slumber. 
 
 I paused, listening for the pitter-patter of small feet in excitement for the joys of Christmas morning. Silence. 
 
 I began my descent to the basement, walking backwards slowly as Santa's boots clunked on each step, followed by a muted `` fuck!'' Or `` shit-fuck!'' from me. 
 
 I made it to the bottom, somehow managing not to wake the family. I released his body in front of the coal stove and his head thunked on the cement. I grabbed the handle of the axe lodged in his forehead and pulled. No give. I pulled harder this time, with the kind of force you'd exert on an old and rusted lever in an abandoned factory to have all of the machinery light up and begin chugging again, in some happy fantasy movie, of course. The axe slowly slid from his head, flying out behind my back, creating a parabolic spray of blood as his skull released its grip on the stainless steel blade. I'd have to clean that up later... I removed each article of clothing, the white fur stained red, and placed each article in the stove. It would burn black but no one was gon na go outside to see the smoke from the chimney, not in today's storm. 
 
 With Santa completely naked, I lifted him by his hairy armpits. It felt like a fucking forest down there, tickling my wrists as I pull him out the basement door and into the storm. I realized that in my panic I forgot to even put a jacket on, I was still wearing my pajamas and a shitty pair of white New Balance's, now covered in blood. I dragged him halfway through the yard when I noticed a light turn on upstairs. 
 
 I froze, staring at the window as panicked thoughts raced through my mind. `` God please do n't fucking go in the basement! Please do n't fucking look outside!'' I resumed my dragging, faster now towards the shed at the tree line in the back yard. I hoisted him up the little step into the shed and dropped him against the wall. I stared one more time at the grossly fat man sagging to his side in front of me in the darkness, eye now dangling completely out of his head on a cord. I'd have to come back later and finish the deed of destroying all evidence of Santa Claus, but for now I had to go back in where my family would expect me. 
 
 I ran through the snow, into the basement and tip toed my way upstairs as fast as I could, back into the living room. 
 
 `` SANTA CAME!!!!'' my kids yelled as their drowsy mother followed behind them. Merriment ensued as the kids ran for their presents. My wife, still drowsy looked out the front window and noticed a present on the ground. 
 
 `` What's this?'' she said as she put on boots to quickly run and grab the present Santa must have dropped outside on his way in. I watched as she picked it up, turned to run inside, looked up, and froze. My kids and I, perplexed, slid our boots on ( the kids anyway, I was still wearing my shoes ) and ran to see what she was staring at. 
 
 Reindeer, parked on the roof of the house, patiently awaiting the return of their master. 
 
 Confused, my wife walked back inside, unable to make sense of what she just saw, the kids remained outside, staring in awe. They ran back in in excitement to yell at their mom how reindeer were on the roof. She did not respond, she simply stared at the floor, and then at me, a look a pure horror and shock on her face, mouth gaping. 
 
 As I walked back inside, I saw the source of her shock. A trail of blood smeared across the dining room and into the basement. No one had noticed the dark red against the dark brown in their drowsiness and the blackness of the early morning. The kids saw too, and stared up at me in pure confusion. I looked down at myself as I noticed the blood spattered across my shirt. I looked back up at my wife, tears in her eyes as they began to fill mine and overflow. 
 
 She ran for the phone as I ran for my axe.
