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Black Christmas

She heard voices in the hall. What were they up to? It was 11pm on Christmas Eve. Aged 4 and 6, they were understandably excited.

“Come on you two. Time for bed.”

“Mum, we can hear him downstairs. Listen.”

All she heard was the familiar clink of the brandy decanter being opened clumsily.

He was home.


“He’s busy. Come on. Back to bed”

She lied. Santa, aka Dad, was drunk. Again.

She crept downstairs later and found him passed out surrounded by a fallen tree and their smashed treasured baubles.

Christmas ruined again.

By New Year’s Eve, Santa was evicted.

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