On Christmas day we all rushed downstairs, our excitement glowing on our faces, squeals of delight leaping from our lips. Our moods hit a wall of ice as we approached the tree. Nothing was there. It was as if the Grinch had come in and taken it all. No tinsel, no pop corn garland, no lovingly painted plaster of paris decorations. Just a bare tree with droopy needles and the Santa Cam sitting below it. It’s red eye kept blinking, like Rudolf keeping time with an invisible beat.
Suzy started to cry. Jimmy became angry, cursing, flailing his fists, wondering out loud if this was some sort of sick joke.
“Four long weeks! Four long weeks of my best behavior! For what!? For what!??”
I approached the Santa Cam and kneeled down. I could see my reflection in the doomed plastic. I saw a tear running down my face. I wondered if he was watching now. Watching our sadness. Was he getting some sort of sick pleasure out of this?
Standing up I saw behind the tree was something wrapped in ribbon. It was an old baseball bat with a tag on it. I read the tag with a glimmer of hope that one of us were at least worthy of this token gift, but only found the words, “Too late” written on it.
It was at that time I realized the meaning. The purpose of the Santa Cam. We weren’t supposed to appease it. We weren’t supposed to worship it. We were supposed to destroy it. We were being tested and we failed.
