December 24th, 1960

"Be quiet, Stanley!" Henry hissed. He was six years old, it was the middle of the night and he knew he'd heard noises in the living room. Stanley was just newly five years old and couldn't move quietly if his life depended on it, always tripping or slipping because he didn't know the meaning of slow down.

"You sure it's him, Henry? Really?" He also didn't know how to whisper too well and his voice carried. A lot. "You really think Santa's here?"

"It's gotta be him. Mom and Pop are asleep and the other kids are too little to go downstairs alone at night," Henry whispered. "Now come on, and don't trip on anything! If we get caught he might leave coal in our stockings."

"Sorry," Stanley said as quietly as he could. Sure enough, there was a broad figure standing by the tree with a sack over his shoulder. "Hey, you were right, it's-"

"Shh!" Henry covered his brother's mouth. "Dummy, you're being too loud again!" Stanley squeaked an apology before the two boys went silent, watching the figure closely. It was too dark and they were too far away to be sure if it was him, but the only other person who would be down there right now was a robber, and if it was a robber the alarm would've gone off and the person would be taking things, not leaving them. Unless...no, it couldn't be. Pop had taught them from day one what crooks sounded like, and they sure didn't hum cheery songs under their breath as they were working.

Finally, the man turned around, bag empty, headed towards...the front door? No, he was supposed to come down and up the chimney! Stanley looked at his older brother, confused, and Henry shook his head.

"Then it's not him," he said. Suddenly he heard another set of footsteps and froze. "Ulp!"

"Oh no! We got caught," Stanley moaned.

"Yes, and you've been caught way past your bedtime." Mom stood behind them in her robe and slippers, hair tied back in a messy bun. "Come on, boys, you know better than to sneak out of bed so late. You don't want Santa leaving you a lump of coal, do you?"

"Oh, so he didn't come yet? But then who was leaving stuff under the tree?" Henry asked.

"Probably your father, trying to add a few things he wrapped at the last moment," their mother said, laughing softly. "Now come up, up to bed."

"It was just Pop," Stanley whispered. "So much for finally seeing Santa in person."

The next morning, though, there were far more gifts under the tree than they'd seen last night. All of them in shiny red paper, where Mom and Pop had used green.

And the cookies they'd left were all gone. Banana chocolate chip with peanut butter, and Pop's favorite were shortbread.

Henry and Stanley exchanged a glance, then a grin.

It was him. Santa was real!