I saw mommy kissing Santa. It’s not just a clever song lyric, it’s my life. I was nine years old the first time I saw the big man in red grasp the back of my mother’s beehive hair-do and plant his lips on hers. She and my father were still legally married at that point. I didn’t know but they were legally separated, who knows how long things had been going south. We keep things from our children to try and save them from the pain of the adult world, but where there’s damage to be done damage will be done.

Their embrace was sensual, more than the fleeting touch of one night stand after too much milk and cookies. It was something like romance. I’m still embarrassed that I didn’t act at that moment. I must have seen Home Alone and Home Alone 2: Lost In New York a dozen times a piece by then, but I froze. I was unable to even trigger one row of paint cans hanging from the ceiling. I forgot to unleash the bag of rat traps that I kept hanging from the ceiling. My inaction has haunted me for years. This year will be different. This year I will kill Santa Claus.

My mother never explained her midnight kiss beneath the mistletoe. She didn’t try to justify it or pretend that she was smooching my dad in costume. She just pretended that it never happened. But it did, right? It definitely did, I think. It must have. If it didn’t happen I’m just carrying out a premeditated homicide on the most jolly man in the world. If I’m overreacting then I’m making a huge mistake, but I’m not overreacting. This is a perfectly balanced reaction.

Exsanguination would be my preferred method of disposal for the Father Christmas. If money were no option I’d shove him in an antique iron maiden and see if he bleeds out peppermint. Unfortunately, money is an option so instead I’ll be going the DIY route and using a series of homemade traps each more deadly than the last. Not to give up the ghost or anything but I’m feeling pretty good about my arsenal, which includes:

Raccoons with swords in the fireplace
Plastique explosive cookies with arsenic laced milk
Christmas tree made of bullets
Spring loaded machetes in the stockings
Nativity scene made up of mini-snipers

And those are just the methods that I’m telling you about! Imagine the look on ol’ Saint Nick’s face when he slides down the chimney and has to fend off a couple of pissed off trash pandas wielding samurai swords, he’s not going to be having a silent night, that I can tell you. Once I have my revenge there will finally be peace on Earth, and good will towards men.

You can follow Jacob Shelton on Twitter and Instagram or read more of his work in Mindfuck or in like every issue of Kill Pretty.