Naughty List

Silence your screams—they'll only draw him closer. Your name burns on the naughty list, and Saint Nicholas doesn't just hunt tonight—he hungers. His gaze bores through walls, piercing your skull, cataloging every sin you thought hidden. You chose darkness? Now darkness CHOSE YOU. When jingle bells become death knells, go ahead and run—nothing whets his appetite like fear-sweat before he unwraps you like a gift nobody wanted. He'll drain your holiday spirit drop by crimson drop, humming "Santa's Coming to Town" while your steam rises like Christmas morning cocoa.