Excerpt of Ginger Snapped to Death by Catherine Bruns

We'd had snow earlier today. It was only a couple of inches, but enough to turn the area into a winter postcard scene. I turned on the radio and smiled when I heard my favorite Christmas song playing, "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree." Although my singing voice was horrible, I sang at the top of my lungs as I drove down a side street with Peacock's Dry Cleaners to my right. Life couldn't be any more perfect right now.

The traffic light changed to yellow as I approached. I probably could have made it but decided not to tempt fate. The dry cleaners closed at four, and the building was dark except for one dim light inside. There were no Christmas lights or decorations of any kind, and I shook my head in disgust. The entire building appeared forlorn and lonely. Lawrence Peacock was about my grandmother's age, and everyone knew that he would never retire. He'd owned the business for as long as I could remember and grumbled every year that Christmas did nothing but make the electric company richer.

The inside of the car was stuffy, so I rolled my window down partway for some air. As I waited for the light to change, the baby kicked. I smiled and sighed, reaching a hand down to my belly. I would never get tired of feeling that little person move inside me.

"Hey there. You are going to come out before Christmas, right? Your daddy and I can't wait to meet you."

"Get out of the car!"

Puzzled, I looked up to see a man standing next to my car door. A gun was pointed at my head, and the man at the other end of it was none other than Santa Claus. My entire body froze with shock as I stared into a pair of listless dark eyes that eerily resembled the night. I tried to speak, but words stuck in my throat.

"Are you freaking deaf, lady? I said to get out of the car!"

Okay, he didn't actually say freaking—it was a word ten times worse. But that was the least of my worries. My hands, stuck to the steering wheel at the ten and two o'clock positions, had started to shake. A shot rang out, and I screamed. The bullet had gone through my front passenger window, which shattered on impact. Another Santa was standing directly in front of my vehicle. Holy Christmas. I was being carjacked by the big red man himself.