As the creature’s jaw begins to unhinge, stretching impossibly wide, your fingers fumble with the bullet you found. With trembling hands, you load it into the gun and shove the barrel into the creature’s empty eye socket.

"Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal," you snarl, pulling the trigger.

The gun roars, and the back of the creature’s head explodes in a gruesome spray, raining fragments like grotesque New Year’s confetti. The creature collapses with a heavy thump, its lifeless form crumpling to the floor.

Without wasting a moment, you rush to Spudley’s bedside, sweeping him into your arms. "Let’s go home," you whisper, cradling him close.

You step past the carnage, leaving the nightmare behind. You saved Spudley and yourself.

Sorry, Santa—but it’s not Christmas without my Spudley.

Bump