Run: 2026-10-07-01M4ATC4PPWYPVW3T9VMZB20WJ

Molly adjusted her Santa hat, the jingle bells sewn into the brim clinking softly. The party was in full swing inside the McAllister mansion, laughter and the clatter of tiny feet echoing through the open windows. She turned to Bill, who was currently stuffing his cheeks with cotton balls to plump out his face. "You look like a hamster who just raided a bakery," Molly said, poking his cheek. Bill spat out a mouthful of cotton. "I’m going for the ‘jolly old elf’ look. Kids trust a chubby guy in a red suit." "Kids trust a guy who doesn’t look like he’s smuggling a squirrel in each cheek." Molly tugged at her own fake beard, which was already itching. "We’ve got, what, ten minutes before the cake comes out? That’s our window." Bill nodded, then winced as a cotton ball dislodged and stuck to his tongue. "Right. You distract the parents with your ‘accidental’ spiked punch bowl, and I’ll sweep in, grab the presents, and—" "And what? Stroll out the front door with a sack full of LEGO sets and dollhouses?" Molly crossed her arms. "Last time you tried that, you tripped over a tricycle and face-planted into a bouncy castle." "In my defense, that tricycle was *camouflaged*." Bill adjusted his belt, which was holding up a burlap sack labeled *Toys for Tots*—stolen from an actual charity drive. "This time, I’ve got a plan. We go in through the back, hit the gift table, and exit via the chimney." Molly blinked. "The *chimney*?" "Yeah. I watched a documentary. Santa’s been doing it for centuries." "Bill, you’re not Santa. You’re a grown man with a restraining order from three different daycares." Bill waved a hand. "Details. The point is, chimneys are underrated. No one guards the chimney." Molly sighed. "Fine. But if we get caught, I’m telling the cops you were the one who ate all the goldfish crackers." Bill gasped. "You wouldn’t." "I would. And I’d throw in that you cried when the piñata didn’t break." "That was *one time*! And it was a *very* sturdy piñata!" A child’s shriek cut through the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of a cake being wheeled out. Molly’s eyes narrowed. "That’s our cue. Move." Bill hoisted the sack over his shoulder. "Remember, if anyone asks, we’re *volunteer* gift inspectors." Molly grabbed his arm. "No one’s buying that." "Then we’re the *very* lost parents of… uh… Timmy." "Timmy’s not here." Bill grinned. "Exactly."