The Christmas MEGAPACK ®. Nina Kiriki Hoffman

when they opened up the day after Subtraction, the biggest shopping day of the year because people had to go buy replacements for stuff Santa had stolen, the stores would have just what people needed.

      She had better put Brewster down. If she carried him much longer maybe Santa would sniff out the stink of her concern on him.

      She put him on the mantel, right near the spot where they always left milk and cookies She tried to make it seem as if she wanted Santa to take Brewster. That was part of her reverse psychology too, but it fueled her worry to leave Brewster there in plain sight.

      She had better go play with the toys she liked least.

      Mike looked at his Tonka truck and let out a howl. “I’m sick of this!” he yelled. “I don’t want Santa taking one more thing from me!”

      “Shhh!” said Janie. “He knows if you’ve been naughty.”

      “I don’t care!” Mike said. “He always takes everything anyway, even when I’ve been good! I’d like to catch him and take away everything he likes, see how he feels about it!”

      “Oh, Mike!” Janie breathed, awed by the idea.

      * * * *

      Everyone left their front door unlocked on Subtraction Eve. It was a rule. If Santa tried your front door and found it locked, he reported your family to the IRS. Santa might drive a hyper-toad-drawn sleigh, and steal all your favorite things, but nobody wanted to be reported to the IRS: unlike Santa, the auditors took away things you couldn’t live without.

      One year there had been a rash of burglaries on Subtraction Eve. All those unlocked doors! All the burglars had been caught. Janie heard they had been fed to Santa’s hyper-toads. This gave her pause.

      “We wouldn’t be burglars,” Mike said. “Catching Santa isn’t like stealing from other people. Or maybe it’s just stealing from other people after they’ve been robbed.”

      “Fed to toads,” Janie said meditatively.

      “We’ll wear masks,” Mike said. “He’ll never know who did it.”

      “He knows whose house it is, persimmon-brain.”

      They looked at each other. Is this worth it? Janie wondered. She stared at the presents on her desk, all the really cool stuff she had gotten for her birthday. A big sketch pad—her mom had told her if she drew on all the pages before Subtraction she would be able to keep it, and she had doodled on each page with her new markers, the box of thirty-six with colors like aquamarine and celestial blue and crimson and scarlet and chartreuse. She liked the paper and pens so much she was sure she couldn’t keep them. Mike had given her a stuffed alligator, and she loved that too, though she had tried not to. She’d named it Wally, even though naming things was a bad idea. Daddy had given her a doll this year, a really neat one she’d seen advertised on TV and had asked for specifically: Talk Back Jack. He came with three outfits: mountain climber, dirt bike rider, and cowboy. If you talked to him, he cussed you. All right, they were wimpy cusses, but still.

      Usually she didn’t get such neat stuff.

      Mike sat on her bed and hugged his Tonka truck.

      “Do you think he turns on the lights when he comes in?” Janie said.

      * * * *

      They put the trip wire about three feet from the front door so the door wouldn’t hit the wire when it opened. Janie held the big pillow case, and Mike held the electric cord. They sat across from each other, Mike just inside the living room entrance, Janie behind the coat rack in the front hall, and they waited.

      Mom and Daddy had gone to bed an hour earlier, after putting Mike and Janie to bed. “Sleep well, sleep deep, sleep late, children,” Mom had said as she tucked them in. “Tomorrow afternoon we’ll go to a movie, how about that?”

      Janie grabbed Mom and gave her a big kiss. Toad food couldn’t go to the movies.

      Splat-splat-splat-splat, splat-splat. Janie straightened, gripping the pillow case with both hands. Had to be toads in the driveway.

      The front door opened slowly inward. Santa was muttering as he came in. “Blasted bug-grubbing flim-flamming distelfinks,” he growled, stumbling over the threshold as he grabbed for the front hall lightswitch and turned on the light. “Yowtch!” He tripped quite nicely over the wire. Janie was on him in an instant, pulling the pillow case down over his head, while Mike wrapped the cord around his wrists, binding his arms behind him. “Burning brands!” cried the muffled Santa. His snatcher-sack had fallen as he fell. “Blistering boards!”

      Janie was panting. Fortunately this was a very small, skinny Santa, though all dressed in traditional red.

      “Frag mag zigzag,” muttered Santa as Janie and Mike rolled him over. “Third time tonight! What do you bleeping want?”

      “We want you not to take anything this year, Santa.” Janie said.

      “Is that all you want?” he said. He had a nice voice, Janie thought, confused.

      “I want to see what’s in your bag,” Mike said. “I want to find something you really like and take it away from you.”

      “I don’t,” said Janie.

      “There’s nothing I like,” Santa said.

      “That’s not fair,” said Mike.

      “Oh well,” said Santa.

      “What do we have to do to get you to go away without stealing our stuff this year?” Janie asked.

      “There’s nothing you can do about it.”

      “What if we just don’t let you go?”

      “You’re going to let me go, aren’t you?”

      Well, this plan wasn’t working at all, Janie thought. “Are you going to feed us to your toads?”

      “No. Of course not.”

      “You’re not going to tell the IRS on us, are you?”

      “How much taxes do you pay?”

      “None,” said Janie.

      “There you go.”

      “What about our parents?”

      “Did they help you plan this?”

      “No.”

      “There you go,” said Santa, and sighed.

      “Untie the cord, Mike,” Janie said, pulling the pillow slip off Santa’s head. He blinked at her. He was awfully skinny, and had a lot of dark curls, all messy with being tripped and tied up, and he had very dark eyes. His eyes looked nice. How could Santa look nice?

      “I will not,” said Mike. He grabbed Santa’s snatcher-sack and reached into it.

      “Don’t do that,” Santa said. He sounded depressed.

      “Ouch!” yelled Mike. He jerked his hand out of the sack.

      “There you go,” said Santa tonelessly. “Got a future now, young man.”

      The back of Mike’s hand was smoking. Mike began to cry: no sound, but tears rolled down his cheeks.

      “What happened?” asked Janie.

      “He got the brand. He’s going to be a Santa when he grows up. What do you least want me to take this year?” Santa said.

      Janie stared at him. Was he going to be nice, just this once, and let her keep what she most loved? After she had tied him up? Not likely. “My new doll,” she said, “Talk Back Jack.”

      Santa sighed. He tensed his muscles. The cord broke and his hands were free. “I hate this job,” he said. He stood up, grabbed his snatcher-sack, and headed upstairs.

      Janie went into the kitchen and got some ice for Mike’s