Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09MN9E6JC3ZXB3TF0BBEQX

Night pooled in the driveway as Molly and Bill hunched under the streetlamp’s weak halo. Across the lawn, a children’s party roared with taped-on laughter, flashing lights, and the smell of frosting hiding under rain-soaked air. Gift bags formed a towering city near the tree, each one promising paper cuts and tiny grudges. Molly held up a roll of masking tape like it was holy scripture. Bill adjusted a borrowed “Clown Helper” name tag that kept peeling off his sweat. “Ready?” Molly asked. “As ready as a criminal can be when the target is… candy,” Bill said. Molly nodded toward the doorway. “We don’t fight. We charm. I’ll do the volunteer check-in.” Bill sighed. “You mean the part where you pretend to ‘verify allergies’?” “Exactly,” Molly said. “Kids love paperwork. Adults hate it. We steal while they’re busy.” Bill leaned closer. “And my job?” Molly’s eyes twinkled. “You carry the ‘gift return cart.’ It sounds official, therefore it’s unstoppable.” Bill frowned at the hand truck. “It’s called a hand truck.” “It’s a cart,” Molly corrected. “People will assume wheels equal responsibility.” From inside, a birthday host shouted for everyone to wash up. Chairs squeaked. Bill whispered, “What if they ask for our names?” “They’ll get names,” Molly said. “Yours is Uncle Bill. Mine is Aunt Molly. We’re very trustworthy relatives who ‘just happened’ to bring supplies.” Bill pocketed the badge; Molly smoothed her grin. They crept to the porch steps. Molly rang the bell with the solemn patience of a tax collector. A moment later, the door flew open, revealing a smiling parent in a dinosaur hoodie. “Hi! We’re here to help,” Molly announced brightly. Bill stepped forward. “We’re with the gift return program.” The parent beamed. “Oh! We didn’t order anything.” Molly laughed. “That’s because it’s a surprise donation. For safety, we need the presents staged before opening.” Bill’s hand truck rattled as he rolled it toward the tree, “Just for a quick repositioning,” he added. The parent blinked once, then nodded. “Okay, wow, you two are efficient.” Molly reached behind a candy-striped bag and unhooked it from a ribbon like a surgeon. Bill swallowed. “Do we take all of them?” “We take the ones that look expensive,” Molly said, tossing the bag into the duffel labeled PARTY SUPPLIES. “The rest go back. Raccoon charity.” Bill pointed at a small box. “What if there’s a bike in there?” Molly paused. “Then we steal it carefully.” Bill said, “No opening, right?” Molly replied, “Only relocating. Paper stays sacred.” Molly winked. “We do it slow enough to seem normal.” Behind them, music swelled and a child shrieked, “Is this the magic part?” The parent waved, distracted. Molly grabbed three more presents in quick succession. “Go, go, go.” Bill’s Santa hat slid sideways. “If I’m Uncle Bill, why do I keep getting de-shaped?” Molly didn’t look up. “Because family doesn’t fit. Now move.” By the time the parent returned to the party, the tree looked bare, like it was relocated. For now.