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iv.
By Thanksgiving, their machinations no longer discreet,
Voices from the walls and vents, betrayed their deceit.
My family revealed as demons in flesh-and-blood guise,
Christmas Day was the day they had plotted my demise.
My nightmares more horrific, as that curséd day drew near,
Every morning, drenched in sweat, consumed by my fears.
So, I wore the mask of loving dad, right up till the Eve,
One last dream of the woman offering my reprieve.
"Your family is wicked. They'll kill you while you sleep.
Take the axe from the shed—when you swing, bury it deep."

v.
Christmas Eve, bright and early, I quietly left the room,
My family still sound asleep, silent as a tomb.
They awoke to hot cocoa, crackling fire, freshly fallen snow,
The smell of gingerbread, apple cider, their faces all aglow.
We spent the day playing games, told 'em how much I loved them,
Then kissed my wife off to bed, grabbed my son and hugged him.
"I care for you and your mom and would only do what's best.
I'll come wake you when Santa's gone," his head against my chest.
"I can’t wait! Goodnight, dad!" He bounded off to bed.
As soon as his door had closed, I headed to the shed.
With gas can and axe in hand, I moved with hurried stride,
And kicked open wide the door, where the first demon I spied.
With the axe, forty whacks, when I saw what I'd done,
I kicked down the other door, then swung forty-one.
I moved from room to room, possessed with righteous purpose,
Made the sign of the cross as I doused every surface.
The last drop, the living room, tossed aside the can,
Where among the gifts, an envelope, signed with child’s hand.
I removed a card and read—To The World's Greatest Dad!
With a photo of our family and the happy life we had.
I slumped beside the Christmas Tree with lit match and tearful gaze,
Then screamed as it and my wretched soul went up in hellish blaze.
As the flames consumed the heavens, a woman cackled with delight,
Disembodied laughter, that faded with the night.
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