christmas

"Where'd the cookies go? They were here a minute ago!" my sister Sylvia shouted from the living room. It was Christmas Eve and she was crouched under the artificial tree, staring at an empty dish resting on the tree skirt. A few crumbs were visible, but otherwise, there was little trace of what had been there. Only a short while earlier, our mother had set a dish of crunchy oatmeal raisin cookies under the tree. She had made them for Santa Claus. But someone had gotten to the treats before Ol' Saint Nick had a chance to shimmy down the chimney.