You're riding alone on a moonlit but starless night.

You just missed your exit.

Now there's only one way back home.

So sit back, open your ears, and hold on tight

because you're about to take a quick detour through Uncanny County.

On a dark moonlit night on a Christmas uncanny, Sheriff Roland was snug in a well-discised shanty.

A scanning the decoys she'd set out in hope that this year she'd catch him.

That dang jackaloupe.

See, on Christmas's pass since our Jane was a tot, though she'd been a good girl, it would

all be for not. That critter would sneak past her folks and her grande, break all the best toys,

and eat all the good candy. Jane, what's got into you? Papa would ask her, and Jane would just

wish she was in Madagascar.

She'd tell them the truth, with her best eloquence. But her pop was a cop, so she'd need evidence.

One day I'll show him. She swore to herself, but the beast just appeared on the day of the elf.

Her folks grew to call it her jackalope fever.

He'd appear every year, and they'd never believe her.

This year I'll get them, and that'll be something.

She said to herself, then she heard a great thumping. She scanned the horizon to spot the strange

grazer, squinted her eyes and whipped out her good taser.

She glanced at her homestead and there in the glare, a huge set of antlers on an oversized hair.

And then Sheriff Rowland, voiced small as a mouse, whispered,

St. Nick and a nightie, he's inside the house.

...