Mission Kris Kringle Part 1

I knelt behind the couch on the night before Christmas. My parents had gone to bed, leaving the one person wide-awake in the house: me. Keeping a yawn at bay, my eyes fell to my bulging cargo pant pockets. This year I wouldn't be caught asleep. Of course...I wouldn't be caught awake either. Smirking like a cat on the hunt, I knew only one person would be caught doing anything this Christmas Eve: Santa Clause.

It's amazing how special nights like this one can teach a kid about what he wants to do with his life. I knew that night I had found my calling: espionage. Well, either espionage or bounty hunting, but espionage sounded cooler when I could say it right. That night I came equipped with the flash light that came in my kids meal, the decoder ring that I dug out of a snack box, and the only weapon I could get my hands on at the age of nine: marbles.

I carefully selected clear marbles and marbles that would blend in with the hard wood floor. Santa would not get past me this year. You see, I had my suspicions about this guy who supposedly went around every Christmas Eve and trespassed into childrens' homes and left suspiciously wrapped boxes with toys inside. At the least, each "present" arrived at the bottom of the tree carefully labeled with each kid's name, an invasion of privacy as far as I knew. Not to mention this guy somehow managed to remember the items on every kid's wish list, and I logically concluded that Mr. Claus had a database with information on every kid he delivered to. How else would he know who had been naughty and who had been nice?

Every ten minutes I checked the milk to make sure it would be warm enough to make Santa fall asleep as he drank it. I figured if I could knock him out long enough, I could tie him up and give him a proper interrogation. How long would it take him to get here, I wondered. Obviously, with all the homes on the planet Earth, and all the distance he had to cover, Santa must've acquired (illegally of course) a time altering device from the military. After All, how could St. Nick afford such equipment when he spent his entire year making toys and then giving them away?

Finally, I heard the thump on the roof, followed by more thumping. I crawled farther into position, in wait. I aimed my camera at the fire place, ready for any forced entry by the fat man. Creeeeeeeeeeeeak.