Dragging footsteps: ”shuffle, shuffle”, getting near.
Snuffling, wheezing, a rasping voice:
”I know you’re there.”
So much dust, I must have air.
I breathe, I sneeze. The noise. The fear.
Lying still ― a fly ensnared.
At first the tattered glittered hair,
then the ruptured baubled stare,
and last the triumphant hunter’s cheer.
Let it be known to all:
The Spirit of Christmas is here!