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[poem]

Five golden rings, five less married men.

A partridge alights upon a pear tree, next to the orchard owner hanging there.

The man dressed in red brings no presents but horror, only burning coal

As I see the letters on my desk I am prepared for the normal weird Christmas problems that come every year. Flying reindeer sightings and that is obviously the real Santa. That is until I see the familiar vellum envelope addressed directly to me. Hand delivered as always by a random person, always different people. I turn it over to see the dread filled wax seal with the same imprint, a c that's in flames. I call over my superior as I always needed a witness last time so better start on the right foot with this one. I open the letter written on thick ancient paper and read aloud. 

"To my friend," they always started this way.

"On the first day of Christmas my friend couldn't stop me, from destroying an enemy." 

My heart sinks as I read these words. I thought i had put this case to bed 5 years ago. But no of course not. Something always felt wrong about the arrest that was made but no one would listen to me and now they are back and have probably already done it again. The Christmas killer is back, and I won't make the same mistake again.

"La Puta Madre," I thought to myself. "Well, I need to ring the news stations and warn the masses of a serial killer on the loose." I got up from my desk, the mustard stain from the hotdog still on my brown blazer. I walked over to the chief's desk, opened the door, and peeked through. Chief Holt yelped and quickly closed a tab on his computer.

"Err... Sorry for not knocking," I said.

"What do you need?" He said, flustered.

"The Christmas Killer is back. I am going to call the stations and let them know."

"That's fine," he responded. I closed the door.

I was sitting back at my desk now thinking, "Jesus, Christmas Killer and walking in the boss in one day? I am one unlucky dude."

“On the first day of Christmas I bring to thee. A gift made of Santas heart. Sown so carefully by chained up little elves who soon will be dog meat. Been a long year without many gifts,so the next twenty four days be on your toes. Cause you might just be the next perfect thing” I read allowed to myself. The Christmas killer has returned. Every year on Christmas for the past twelve years he did this. Twenty four deaths,each day a body part would be sent to the police station as a taunt. Or it’d be sent to random houses. Nasty shit. I got my phone out and took a picture of the letter before putting on some gloves and putting it in a cardboard box. I proceed to type up the usual email to Davis and get him to tell the stations the Christmas killer is back. I then call up Harriet and get her to put a notice out for the other neighbouring counties,even though they need not worry about them as they only bother us. I then must do the bore of ringing up Larry,get him to put out the civilian warning about the Christmas killer. A knock on the door wakes me from my alerting trance. “Sir! Parcel for you!” Squeaks Lilly as she walks in and places it on my desk. “Thanks” I say calmly. She scuttles off quickly after I said that. I put on my gloves again and open the package. In it was a bloodied,fleshy heart pillow made out of flesh of a heart and skin. Pinned on to it was a note. “Mall Santa,Erris Dands,was naughty and beat up a old man on July 8th 2005 at 11pm. Now karma has struck him-from Christmas killer”

It had been a particularly boring day thus far I had to say. I was sipping coffee and eating the stereotypical donut from a local shop as a letter slipped across my desk. It was a beautiful vibrant red and just merry. It was quite a jolly envelope to say the least. Wonder filled my mind as to who on the force actually had bothered to give everyone Christmas Cards. Money said it was Gilson. After all the man had just had a baby a few short months ago.

Taking a letter opener from the 'World's Best Dad' coffee cup on the corner of my desk I set about the task of seeing what this most likely ugly baby looked like. Imagine my confusion and surprise when I did not see a photo of some baby on fluffy white stuff with it's butt to be seen. No it was a generic Christmas card with a fat Santa on the cover. I pulled it from the cheerful envelope and opened the card to see who had thought of me.

"On the first day of Christmas~"

I slammed the letter down in a mixture of shock and rage. It was supposed to be over and done with. The countless holiday nights spent in rooms decorated with tinsel and intestine. Holiday Greetings written on walls in the blood of victims. These things were supposed to be over and gone. The Christmas Killer was supposed to be no more.

So just who the hell had grown the nerve of copying me?