You would never believe the horrors The Elf On The Shelf® saw; not that you could ever tell from that incredible manufactured poker face- that permanent winsome smile, those large painted eyes always looking away, the stupid lashes, and that damn eternal impish grin. He went by the name, Twenty Nine.
He was pissed off, as well as terrified. In this day and age, you would think there would be a more immediate and convenient way to report the misdeeds of a child (in this case, Billy Grubb) to Santa Claus headquarters, something blue toothed or wi-fi™. As he hobbled his way through the doggy entrance, he exhaled relief. This intense warmth and moisture must be perspiration he thought as he crawled across the patio towards the bushes.
It was imperative that he got his message to Claus. Billy was an outright danger to society. He was one Salinger novel away from being a certified serial killer. Twenty Nine had a mental list of all of Billy’s sins, this is just the tip of the iceberg: Billy shaving a dog with a dull razor before spraying it with lemon juice, Billy pouring sugar into his uncle’s brand new car, Billy dissecting various insects, mixing and matching them, creating the anthopper and a crickant. Santa needed to know all of this so Billy’s Christmas would be revoked proper.
Twenty Nine made it to the bushes. He took a deep breath before proceeding, and snip, his head fell off. It was Billy with a menacing grin and a pair of garden shears. Billy picked up the severed head with a pair of tweezers and nonchalantly tossed it on a pile of 28 mangled elves.