Twas the morning of Christmas and sirens rang out, I ran to the window and looked all about, A clamor was rising within the town square, I pulled on some shoes for my feet were still bare, Under the glittering, fresh fallen snow, There appeared to be a red tinted glow. I followed the trail, leading here, leading there, Zigzagging house to house, to the town square. What could this mean, what happened last night, That has given us all such a Christmas day fright. At the heart of the square, the Christmas tree blazed, Green and red smoke creating quite a haze. As the smoke began to clear, More and more people gathered near. It was then that all could see, The lump lying beneath the tree. The suit was blackened, charred, and crisp, The beard was singed to just a wisp, Once rosy cheeks, a mangled mess, No twinkling eyes, just emptiness, His jiggling belly, his jolly laugh, Now nothing more than an epitaph. No more hiding gifts we’ll find On Christmas morn to ease our minds, It can’t be true, it can’t be him, The outlook’s seeming pretty grim. It was then beneath the crackling, We began to hear the cackling. Looking around we spied the elf, The one who sat upon the shelf, “Next year Christmas will be mine! Watch out folks, it’s Jingle Bell time!” This is my second round submission for the 250-word NYC Midnight Microfiction Challenge 2021. My assigned genre was Horror, action was hiding a gift and the word was bare.
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