The cranky bed springs sighed their relief as young Max takes his leave;

The most delicate of tonight’s mission nearly complete,

For not a soul is to wake on this late Christmas Eve.

Halfway down the stairs, Max spots the crockery still full of Santa’s favorite goodies;

However, the slurping and burping were still of Santa’s doing.

One more step and Max takes his first glimpse of the red-coated man,

But what the boy saw cost him his ability to stand.

Both parent’s lifeless heads tied firmly to his black leather belt,

Chunks of flesh and chips of bone clung to the beard and the suit made of felt.

Eyes black as coal, hands full of a half-eaten kidney,

He sticks a bloody finger at the ghostly boy and grumbles, “Nice,”

Before crawling back up the chimney.