Hello everyone, I hope that you're all doing well. Christmas is right around the corner, so

why don't you cozy up by the fireplace and listen to a few scary stories? Let's get into it

as we drift further into Mr. Creep's mind.

Every Christmas the kids in my town must fight to save us from Santa, written by Trash Tia.

The crate of Coke, just sitting there in a patch of grass, was definitely a trap.

But there was no way I was ignoring it.

Sitting cross-legged in dirt, my classmates' blood running down my face.

I gulped down Diet soda until it was frothing in the back of my nose,

and I was gleefully choking on it,

burping and giggling, reveling in the ice-cold flush of relief, drowning my sandpaper throat. I didn't expect soda. Townspeople

were allowed to send pretty much anything to contestants, whether that was food or stuffed

toys to keep up morale. I had a plastic duck in my backpack from an anonymous donor who was definitely my neighbor.

I wasn't sure why she stayed anonymous.

I guess if she gave her name she would be actively participating in watching me kill to survive.

My neighbor always said that she was against the event,

refusing to look me in the eye when I was dragged into an awaiting van,

my hands tied behind my back.

Still though, it was nice of her to send me a rubber duck.

I had had a lot of gifts over the last three days,

but soda was a new one. B bottled water was a given, of course. I had seen a guy perched in a tree, happily sipping a white claw before getting his brains blown out by Alyssa Riley, who was

surprisingly and scarily good with a sniper.

I could ask questions until I was blue in the face. The who, what, why, and how a

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