Break in Stories

667 Roosevelt Drive. The door was ajar when Michaela got home, and she felt her heart stop. Slowly putting her keys into her fist as a kind of makeshift weapon, she slowly made her way into the house, where she heard the sounds of slurping and moaning. It was coming from the kitchen. Once she got inside she was not prepared for what she saw on the floor, eating raw meat there on the tile so messily that her chin was stain...

Not guilty, your honor. It was not I who broke into the Martins houshold. I was not the one who stole the flatscreen in the living area. It was not me who broke down their seven foot tree. I did not steal the presents from underneath. My name is Santa Claus. I delivered those presents at midnight on the twenty-fifth of December. I polished the ornaments and placed a bow on their Tv. I fed the dog and gave him a bone. And...