Secret Santa
Milton was the kind of man who took his Christmas spirit seriously. A lover of holiday traditions, he lived for the festive rituals—decking out his garden with lights bright enough to be seen from space, baking way too many gingerbread cookies, and throwing himself into holiday cheer with the fervor of a true believer. Christmas Eve was sacred: he gathered with family around a table brimming with food, carols playing softly on TV, waiting eagerly for midnight to exchange presents.
This year, Milton had agreed to go all out for his friend’s toy shop by donning the Santa suit himself. It seemed simple enough—a bit of costume fun to bring some joy to the kids. But as he squeezed into the oversized red suit, bellowed his best “Ho Ho Ho,” and sat down in the toy shop’s armchair among twinkling lights and shelves piled with toys, he felt a strange kind of thrill.
One by one, the children took turns sitting on his lap, babbling their gift requests and tugging on his fake beard, and Milton was surprised by how much he enjoyed it. The parents snapped photos for the family albums, capturing moments they’d chuckle over for years. “Look at Timmy, so excited he could barely sit still!”
As the kids lined up, Milton couldn’t shake the feeling that his day as Santa had unlocked something unsettling. The joy, the intensity of it all—he’d always been fond of kids, but in that red suit, he felt the weight of expectation like never before. His mind, usually anchored in holiday cheer, began to wander to strange places. There was something thrilling, almost sinister, about sitting on that "Santa throne" as the kids poured out their wishes, hoping for holiday magic. He felt like a mythical king, adored and idealized.
He felt... powerful.
Sitting there among the piles of wrapped toys and tiny, eager faces, he let the moment sink in. "Who knew," he thought with a smirk, "being Santa could be this... intense?"
The evening ended as expected, with Milton slipping out of the suit and hanging it neatly on a hook in the stockroom. But he couldn’t shake the odd energy from the experience. It was funny, unsettling, and somehow, it made him question what exactly he got from all these traditions. Maybe Christmas cheer wasn’t about decorations, cookies, or even family dinners, but something else—a kind of power trip disguised as goodwill.
By the time he stepped out into the cold night air, he wasn’t sure what his holiday spirit had become, but he was certain of one thing: next year’s Christmas would be even better, and perhaps... a little darker.
