‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
The living were restless. Yes, even the mouse;
The tension was rising, much higher it’d flare;
The murderous plot to become a nightmare;
The family lay helpless all snug in their beds;
While wickedness schemed of taking some heads;
Poor mamma grew nervous, and I sensed a trap,
I tried to ignore it and take a short nap,
Yet unaware, an approaching bad monster,
I embarked on a dream of life as a mobster.
‘Fore midnight we woke at the sound of a crash,
I rolled over and grunted and declined to dash.
Mama scowled yet arose as she called me an ass,
I snatched covers to swaddle, then passed a loud gas.
Yet what to my reluctant ears did I hear,
But a high-pitched scream, no doubt from my dear.
With a sigh and a smirk, I rose none too quick,
Not knowing her fright was a red dressed St. Nick.
I found her spread out and sliced up in pieces.
My love was attacked by a man who ate Reese’s.
“For, Dasher! and, Dancer! and Prancer and Vixen!
For, Comet! for, Cupid! for, Donner and Blitzen!
I seek vengeance my pets! Your plight is my call.
Now slash away! Slash away! Slash away all!”
He stopped and looked up where I stood on the stairs,
His smile a vile sneer brought me fear for my heirs.
“She ran over my reindeer, stole all the toys too.
She ruined Christmas for many, I ask if you knew.”
More candy he munched, awaiting my answer,
While twirling his hatchet, he swayed like a dancer.
Then I drew a breath and searched for some wordage,
Not sure what to say, I hunted for courage.
“I knew nothing dear Santa, if I had, my Claus,
Would have slaughtered already, without a pause,
She put the kibosh on Christmas, so I concur,
No forgiveness, nor pardon did she dare deserve.”
He stared at her carcass, stuck a toe in the gore,
Then shouldered his hatchet and strode to the door.
A wink of his eye and a nod of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He threw open the door and stepped out to go,
The wind howled sharply and blew in some snow.
On the lawn was his sleigh pulled by a strange team.
Six white huskies with wings. It must be a dream.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
Off my yard they all flew like the down of a thistle.
I stepped over the carnage to close the door.
Then went for a mop to clean up the floor.
Soon heard him exclaim, as I recovered from fright—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”



re of it in our society, and in turn, ourselves. Lippman’s skill at pulling multiple tentacles of a story together thrives in this tale, but she eloquently succeeds at something unique even for her. The story is told from the perspective of one character, but some of it comes to us in the first-person account of a remembered childhood, while the rest is told in third-person present tense as all those story tentacles come together for Lu Brant, a newly elected state’s attorney. The combination of first and third person from the same protagonist is so competently handled that I didn’t catch it until well into the book. It seems to bring a more intimate view into the life unfolding in Wilde Lake. The unique characterization provides a deeper grasp of what is happening in Lu Brant’s life as she digs into her own family history while sorting out the facts of her first capital murder case in her new position. The layers of revelations and connections to Brant’s past keep the pages turning. From the book jacket: “If there is such a thing as the whole truth, Lu realizes—possibly too late—that she would be better off not knowing what it is.”




Deep Waters words: