‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds;

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

But something was wrong, something was amiss... the stench of something foul filled my nostrils. And as I walked towards the stairs, I stepped on something wet. I looked down, and... is that blood?

I had a feeling... Saint Nick, wasn’t Saint Nick.