“Tis the season to be jolly,” Nick sang as he leaned over to retrieve has whiskey sour from the table, his fingers brushing across the Smith and Wesson revolver lying beside the tumbler.

“Not this year, fat boy,” he said toasting the fireplace before downing the liquid fire in one mouthful.

Nick squinted at the clock. It took a moment for everything to come into focus but eventually he made out the hands and numbers: 3:30. Where the fuck are they?

Slamming doors brought him back to reality and lifted his chin from his chest. A line of drool made its way from his mouth into his beard. Probably shouldn’t have downed so much whiskey but it was too late to worry about that now.

A woman giggled; someone near the window passed wind – loudly, which brought on more giggles. Nick stood, grabbed the gun, and wobbled his way over to the fireplace, adjusting his hat in the reflection of a large silver bauble as it dangled from the tree.

Mary came through the door first, closely followed by Jack who was grabbing at her green satin-covered arse, leaving little finger marks of frost across the tightly stretched material.

Nick pulled back the hammer as he lifted the pistol. Mary stopped, fear and surprise fighting for dominance on her rosy cheeked face. Fear won. She lifted her hands in supplication, but quickly lowered them again when the tinsel binding them together pulled taught.

Jack finally stopped poking her butt and looked up to see why she’d gone no further into the room. His sparkling blue skin turned white as he stared down the barrel of Santa’s gun.

Nick spat into the fire, coating the chestnuts there with his phlegm. “I figured you were cheating on me Mary, but I never guessed it would be with this little prick? And now you’re into bondage? You never allowed me to tie you up.”

“Nick, please…”

“No , Mary. You and Jack Frost have been very naughty this year…”