It happened when I was five or six. My dad was drunk after a late shift and was shouting about some asshole at work who couldn't hold his weight. It was cold outside. The kind of cold that clings to your skin and never lets go even when you're inside. It was Christmas eve and we were watching "It's a Wonderful Life," like every over American in the world. My dad was angry about the Bears losing yet again and the fact that he didn't get a Christmas bonus. I was wide-awake listening to his wailing and watching the black and white movie diligently. My younger brother was slumbering quietly beneath my mother's feet like a cat while she stroked his head and nodded. I was getting tired watching them, my eyes dowsing off, half listening to the movie, half listening to my father's rants. Beneath all that I heard bells ringing, coming from the roof. That was accompanied by a heavy scratching and the sound of twenty tiny feet stomping on the wooden tiles above us. For some reason my mother nor my father seemed to be bothered by the sound. I tried to ask them what it was but that tiredness encompassed me, arresting me into a prone position I couldn't unravel. Dense steps scampered along the ceiling and stopped at the window. That's when Santa emerged, seemingly out of thin air, but that was impossible so I assumed he hopped in through the window. He had the familiar huge sack slung over his shoulder and a jocular fat grin. My dad's eyes were as red as an angry bull and lifted himself out of the chair looking to charge. They exchanged words but I couldn't make out what was being said. It looked like my dad was saying get out, yet Santa held his ground pointing to my brother and I. That's when my dad pulled out a gun that was tucked in the back of his jeans and unloaded a clip into Santa's fat carcass. Green blood busted out of Santa as he landed flat on the floor, still grinning like a lunatic. My dad stood over him like a prized boxer, gun dangling between his fingers, and breathed out steam from his nostrils. Eventually his anger subsided and he floated back to his comforter and finished the movie in silence. I woke up in my bed that following morning and rushed downstairs to see Santa's corpse, but found nothing under the tree, not even gifts.
