A muzzle flash ripped through the darkness. A bullet pierced the brow of a demon carrying the purloined presents. As the rest of its comrades began to panic, Lavinia readjusted her aim and muttered, "You're all dead." She intended to make an example of them to ensure no one would mess with Santa again. Each gunshot engraved fear into their souls. By the time the gunsmoke had been carried off on the north wind, the demons had drowned in pools of their own blood.