The Higbee’s Santa lives alone, and keeps his red suit on a hat tree by the door. He’s eating dinner under a bare bulb when Ralphie’s face appears outside his window.
“Jesus!” says the Higbee’s Santa, jerking back from the table. “All right, real funny, kid. You some kind of peeping–”
He hesitates. Ralphie isn’t peeping. His eyes are ruined, pierced by the shards of his shattered glasses.
“What the fuck happened to you?” he whispers.
“He shot his eyes out,” says Flick, opening his tongueless mouth to disgorge a torrent of blood. The Higbee’s Santa screams and screams.