Estimated reading time — 19 minutes

The day began like any other as Carrie Sumter made breakfast for her husband and son. Part way through the crackling sizzle of eggs, the husband made his way into the living room and collapsed on to the couch. Carrie smiled at him, as she always tried to, but he was already engrossed with their box television.

“Ralph, honey?” Carrie called from the stove. “Do you think you could help with breakfast this morning?”

“Coffee.” Was the only response he gave, paired with a gruff cough. Carrie sighed as she looked back to the eggs, watching one pop unceremoniously and ooze yolk across the pan, then looked down the hall to her son’s room. She anxiously waited for his door to open, but it didn’t. He was still sleeping. Her eyes went back to Ralph, feet up on the coffee table and eyes glazed while he watched the newswoman prattle on about whatever’s happening in the world. Carrie felt that pang of resentment that has been rearing its head more and more.

She left the bacon to burn while pouring her husband’s fresh cup of coffee then brought it to him. “Here you go honey.” Another gruff cough was her only thanks as she returned to the food. Ralph downed the coffee, wordlessly ate a plate of bacon, then left for work all before their son finally awoke.

The door was pushed open before the six year old walked to the kitchen and greeted his mother, who sat alone at the table. “Morning mama!”

Carrie looked up with a blossoming smile. “Good morning Samson! Your plate of eggs has been waiting for you.”

Samson pulled open the pantry. “I want cereal!” the boy said with an excited defiance. Carrie took her son’s hand away just before he could grab the box.

“If you wanted to pick, you should have woken up sooner.” She led the whining child back to the table where he begrudgingly ate the scrambled eggs. She was about to finally dig in herself when the chime of their doorbell caught her ear. “Good Lord, at this hour?” She grumbled as she got up to answer.

Alone on the porch sat a simply cardboard box, much to Carrie’s confusion. She crouched down to read the greeting card taped to the top of the box. It read: “Happy belated Birthday! From your very own Uncle Carter!” Aside from the note there were no other identifiers of where this had come from.

“Uncle Carter?” Carrie carefully picked up the package and examined it. “Maybe someone from Ralph’s family,” she pondered aloud before carrying it inside and placing it on the kitchen counter. “Belated birthday,” she scoffed before tossing aside the note and grabbing a butter knife, “it’s closer to Samson’s next birthday than his last.” That was something Ralph would do, maybe his family was the same way.

Samson’s laughter broke her attention away from the cardboard mystery and she looked up towards the source at first with a smile, that quickly changed into an expression of annoyance at the sight of her son sat less than a foot away from the glowing screen. She was behind him in an instant and hid her exasperated concern under a thin veil of play. She dragged the boy to the couch and, carefully, dropped him on to the cushions.

“Don’t sit so close to the screen, Samson,” she lightly reprimanded while his attentions was already returning to the cartoons, “it’ll melt your eyes!” She added with a spooky voice of warning and a sudden onslaught of tickling to redirect his attention. That got the boy laughing again.

With a sense of triumph in her successful parenting, she returned to the box and got to cutting through the tape. The cardboard flaps were slowly pushed aside with the tip of the butterknife to reveal a baby blue envelope laid neatly atop a slate of styrofoam. Still using the knife, she lifted the envelope to flip it over and examine the calligraphy waiting for her: “For Mom!” She used the knife as a letter opener before pulling out the message from within.

“Hello! We are elated to be in your home! Welcome the Uncle Carter Entertainment System. The latest in at-home entertainment perfections! Congratulations on winning the Birthday Boy Bash Giveaway! We hope the young Slugger enjoys his 25 new games, with gaming attachments! And you, Mom, get to sit back and relax while we watch your child for you!”

Carrie slowly refolded the declaration and placed it to the side as she stared down at the awaiting styrofoam, now with an unease of what exactly she would find beneath it. Deciding at worst it was a bad scam she removed the the squeaky material, cringing as it dragged against the cardboard in ways that made her ears ring with static. Underneath, seeming rather haphazardly tossed together, laid a gray box with a simplistic “U.C.” logo printed in bright neon blue below the main cartridge slot. Placed around the supposed main attraction were several of the mentioned games.

Plucking the games one by one she was genuinely surprised there were 25 different titles, even if some appeared to be bootlegs of more popular variants. Beneath those were the mentioned attachments. Along with the pair of controllers Carrie found a small keyboard that could be plugged into the console and an electric-blue plastic gun with the same kind of cord. Finally she removed the console from its polystyrene prison. It felt cheap. Light like there wasn’t even wiring inside it. Definitely a bad drop away from shattering.

“What’s that?” Samson’s sudden question and appearance right beside her caused Carrie’s grip to loosen, but she quickly placed the console down before it could be dropped.

“Samson, sweetie, I’ve asked before not to sneak up on me.” Carrie pat his head and he bat her hand away before pointing at the box.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a surprise,” she said with an exaggerated enthusiasm, “and I don’t want to spoil it so go back to watching TV, okay?”

“It is a toy? Can I play with it?”

Carrie sighed. “I’ll have to set it up first, okay? Go play outside for a bit then you can play with this.”

“Okay!” Samson darted off to collect some toys then went out to the backyard.

It took nearly an hour, with some short breaks to check on Samson, because she could barely make out what the instructions were attempting to explain. But it does get set up, and at the end of the day that was all that mattered. As long as the games actually worked, of course. After pressing the power button, the console whirred to life and changed the dull hum of the static to a low rumbling screen of white. Preemptively Carrie turned down the volume. The letters U and C flew across the screen before landing at the center where the rest of the words formed. A bright orange Uncle Carter title screen blinked at her.

“Alright, let’s make sure this works.” Carrie pressed the ‘start’ button on one of the controllers and the screen pixelated to black for a few minutes. She began to wonder if it was already busted just as a little 8-bit character popped up center screen. A text box appeared beneath it.

“Hey there Mom! Let’s get the Slugger on in here so we can finish setting up!”

Strange, Carrie thought to herself, how would the game know it was just her? She immediately rationalized to herself, whoever scripted or programmed or whatever-ed this most likely assumed the parents would be the ones to set it up. No need to give credence to anxious what-ifs. She called Samson back inside so he could participate, seeing no possible harm in allowing him to watch the set up process.

“Can I play now?” He ran over with a childish excitement and sat on the floor next to his mother.

“Almost. I need you help to finish, okay?” He eagerly bobbed his head in agreement and fixed his eyes to the screen where the little character was doing an idle wave animation.

Carrie pressed the button to continue and new words filled up the textbox: “Hey there Slugger! I’m Uncle Carter, what’s your name? Use the keyboard to spell it out!”

She placed the connected keyboard on to Samson’s lap and let him slowly type in his name. Soon his name was looking back at them from the screen. Carrie pressed ‘Enter’ when he had finished and the screen was filled with multi-colored confetti. She heard a soft buzzing coming from somewhere but it ceased as more text appeared.

“Hey there, SAMSON,” his name in that neon orange color, “I can’t wait to play with you! Are you excited to play with me?” Options for YES and NO appeared on screen. Samson immediately selected YES. “Fantastic! Now just a few more questions so I can figure out with game you will love the best!”

The rest of the questions were all rather mundane. The little character asked Samson his age, if he was a boy or girl, and some yes/no questions that were used to gauge his personality, as the character put it. When every question was answered the character flickered off the screen to be replaced by a very pixelated picture of what looked like a rabbit hiding under a tree.

The text below read: “Based on our fundamental personality quiz, we recommend you try RABBIT RUN as your first game! Pleasure ensure cartridge is clear before insertion.”

Carrie was already walking towards the cardboard box before Samson could begin begging to play the recommended game. Fishing it out from the others she found the cartridge had the same pixelated photo. She blew out any dust before clicking it into the console. The screen flashed while the game loaded. The title screen beamed bright green and blue lights across the observers. Rabbit Run was plastered at the top in blocky letters while different colored rabbits darted between bushes under the words. Samson pressed start.

The screen dimmed before instructions for the game faded on. “Rule One: Keep an ear out for hunters and run when they get near. Make sure volume is turned up!” The volume, Carrie had forgotten. Jovial flute music grew louder as she adjusted the settings. “Rule Two: Bushes make lots of noise but keep hidden, use them only when necessary!” Carrie ruffled Samson’s hair before she left him to play, planning to get some chores done.

Hours pass while Carrie busied herself with laundry catch-up and some cleaning. She returned to the kitchen to begin a late lunch and grab a snack for herself, fully expecting her son to be napping. But no. He was still playing that game. The same game. His attention span had never lasted this long before. She brought over a snack for him too, smiling to herself at this new dedication he has developed.

“Working on a highscore or something?” When he didn’t answer she crouched beside him then gasped. “Samson your eyes!” His sclera had gone red, his pupils as small as could be. “Oh my God, have you blinked? Samson!” She called again as worry overwhelmed her but he failed to show any indication he had heard her. Carrie powered off the television. “Samson!” She repeated once more with a sharper parental tone.

Finally he turned his head. It was slow, he seemed pained by the movement, his eyelids quivered from their locked positions. “Mama?” His voice was hoarse like he had been screaming, but she could see the dried drool trailing down his chin. Had his mouth been open this whole time too? “Can I keep playing?” He looked back to the television box and blinked at his reflection in the vacant screen.

“No, no honey. Come on.” Carrie lifted her son to his feet and walked him to the kitchen. “You should eat, what do you want?”

Samson rubbed his eyes, digging his small fists into the dry corneas. “Cereal,” he mumbled, looking ready to pass out right on the table.

“You got it,” Carrie responded with an attempt to maintain a positive tone. “Afterwards you can take a nap, okay?”

“Okay.” Samson laid his head on the table. Carrie quickly fixed up a bowl for him and placed it beside his head. He began to slowly eat and she turned to start her lunch along with dinner prep. He got halfway through the bowl before the exhaustion was too much for him. Carrie let him sleep while she cooked and when everything was more or less done she took him to his bedroom. She tucked him in, giving a kiss to his forehead, then went to disconnect the console. By the time Ralph returned home the task was complete and the console sat carelessly in its box.

“What’s all this?” He asked while going to examine the finished food.

“Some prize or scam or something.” Carrie was sat at the table, massaging her temples. He picked up the accompanying note.

“Weird. Does it work?”

“Samson played with it earlier, but I don’t want him getting addicted to it. He already spends so much time with the cartoons.”

Ralph picked up the console and looked it over, then checked out the accessories before picking up the plastic gun. “It’s some knockoff that’s for sure. I could sell this maybe. Some shmuck would pay real money for this.”

“Do whatever you want with it, Samson will find something else to obsess over within the week I’m sure.”

He nodded along to her words and set everything aside before filling up a plate with dinner. Carrie thought he muttered a thanks but if he did she couldn’t hear it through his stuffed face. She waited for him to sit before getting her own plate and they separately ate while watching Ralph’s sport channel. Samson remains sleeping soundly long after they have also gone to bed.

But Carrie didn’t have much of a restful sleep that night. No, that night Carrie’s sweet slumber was interrupted by the strangest dream. Pixelation dominated her vision, everything shifted with large colored squares which made it very hard to make out anything specific. Even looking down to her own hands brought forth some optical illusions. They melted then reformed semi-cohesively each time she moved a finger. Everything felt itchy or electrified, her skin was stiff with something just under the surface buzzing. Her morbid wonderment was cut short by an odd whispering or whistling. She walked, or more accurately glided, towards the noise as it steadily grew louder.

“Make…” the droning buzzes took the form of electrical interference. “Make…” a man’s voice, more or less, became more coherent through the static fog. “Make…sure volume is turned up. Up, UP.” The buzz immediately became an intense ringing in her ears while the words drilled into her skull. Carrie frantically looked around for the source, but the pixels and the ringing made it increasingly harder to focus. Finally something stood out, floating directly above her. The image made her screech, of which left her mouth like discordant microphone feedback. “We’ll watch your kid, for you!” It spoke in a cheery voice, garbled like it was being played through a damaged cassette.

Carrie awoke with a start, her skin still felt the residual itchiness from her nighttime visions. Ralph still slept beside her, snoring into his pillow. She left the bed and walked by Samson’s room, taking a quick but worried look inside to find him also sound asleep, then she made her way to the kitchen to get some water. That Uncle Carter whatever box was still sitting on the counter when she filled her cup. A frustration built up within her as she stared at it. Why had she even brought it inside, Samson didn’t need things like that at his age. She thought about his terrible bloodshot eyes and gripped her glass harder. She shouldn’t have left him alone, what kind of a mother was she?

The water left her cup before she could finish her irritation fueled thought, and it splashed all over the box. Oh no, she thought, Ralph wanted to sell that. The paper towels are in her hand instantly as she went to clean up, but she froze as a realization came into view. The box was empty. Where was the console? Somehow she knew the answer but she felt far too anxious to confirm. Slowly she turned her head until the television came into view within those dark shadows of the early morning outside, and sat beside it was that damn gray box. Several, logical possibilities flashed through her mind. But it was the illogical, the impossible idea that stuck.

Not wanting to humor her nightmare-rattled brain, she calmly but swiftly went to unplug the thing once again. Her fingers barely grazed the wire before it sent a shock up her arm. Electricity struck up her nervous system and forced her to take her hand away. The console sizzled, almost seeming to snicker at her, and made several electrical pops that sent sparks into the air. Carrie quickly scuttled away, worried over the threat of a fire starting, but the popping died down and she was left in a wake of silence that left her feeling absolutely isolated. Pushing herself up off the ground, she decided only one thing could help her.

The coffee machine sputtered to life while Carrie leaned over the counter and rubbed her head. She would just have Ralph take a look at it when he woke up, which would be hours from then. When her cup was full she got started on breakfast, taking small sips to slowly energize herself while the scrambled eggs and sausage sizzled on the stove.

“Morning Mama.” Samson’s voice made Carrie jump. He was up far earlier than usual. Of course though, he had checked out rather early last night.

She mustered a sleepy smile to push down her built up stress. “Good morning honey, hungry?” She laid a plate in front of him and started to pour some milk. Samson poked at his food, taking small bites of the egg. Despite his long sleep he still looked exhausted. Bags under his eyes that appeared grafted to his skin, sluggish movements, and slow but heavy breaths.

“Can I play my game while I eat?” He was already picking up his plate and sliding from his chair before Carrie could answer.

“Sorry honey, something’s wrong with the game.” that wasn’t a complete lie, she thought, “Dad will take a look at it this morning, then we will decided if it’s safe to play again, okay?”

Samson slowly blinked at her. “But, I want to play it?” His head twisted to look over his shoulder at the television.

“You can’t honey, okay?” She reiterated with a bit more force in her voice. Samson looked back to her with anger in his eyes. She has never seen his eyes hold real hatred before. This wasn’t about-to-throw-a-tantrum anger, this was a silent rage she hadn’t thought possible from a young boy. She was taken aback by this, to say the least. “Sammy, just wait for Dad to wake up and take a look, it’s not working right now.”

The young boy shifted his glare towards his food before he shoved the plate away and left the table. Carrie watched with a continued shock while Samson stalked to the main bedroom and opened the door. By the time she realized what he was wanting to do, and was moving to the hallway in order to stop him, Ralph was yelling and stumbling out of the bedroom. His head snapped up to look at Carrie.

“What is wrong with your son? He just scared the hell out of me!” He looked behind him. “What do you want?” His eyes followed Samson as he walked out cheerily from behind his father and began to pull him down to the living room by his pajama pants.

“I wanna play my game, Papa, will you look at it so I can?”

“this is over that stupid console? Well no, you can’t play with it. I’m gonna sell-” he paused when he saw that it was plugged back in, then he looked to Carrie. “Why did you plug it back in?”

“I didn’t,” she defended, “it was plugged in when I woke up.”

“Well then, who plugged it in?”

The television buzzed to life after Samson powered it on, and the main menu popped into view. With the volume turned up this time, Carrie could hear the electronic voice sizzle from the speakers. A full body shiver overtook her when she recognized it.

“W-w-welcome back Slugger! Are you ready to play?” The voice was jittery, stuttering with some kind of delay. Samson gave a child squeal of excitement and picked up the controller to begin. Carrie watched on in a dread silence while Ralph just sighed with exasperation and grabbed some food to eat on the couch. The game selection menu appears with something already selected. The voice returned with an accompanying text box. “You loved RABBIT RUN, so let’s try HIDE AND SEEK. Find the cartridge that matches this picture and put it in the gaming slot, Slugger!”

Samson immediately went about doing as the voice instructed and snatched the cartridge up from the box. Carrie remained in her silent trance while a growing terror gnawed at her nerves. Ralph seemed to have zoned out reading a sports magazine while he mindlessly chewed. The click of the cartridge sent a shockwave up Carrie’s spine. Similar to Rabbit Run the screen flashed before the title card was shoved in their faces. “Hide and Seek” filled up most of the screen as the same multi-colored rabbits hopped around the letters. Samson pressed start. The screen went black as five littler words appeared in the center.

“Please plug in shooter extension.”

Carrie didn’t catch the rules of the game, suddenly aware she had left the stone on and the eggs were now burnt crisps. She turned the stove off and threw away the eggs before looking back as jovial music had started. Samson was aiming the plastic gun at the screen with an intense focus. Pixelated rabbits hopped up from the bushes lining the bottom of the screen. Samson pulled the trigger as one hopped up high. The rabbit burst into a shower of red confetti while a crunchy firework sound bite echoed from the speakers.

“That’s a little gruesome for you Samson, why don’t you play a different game, okay?” Carrie approached her son but he only responded by shooting two more rabbits. The words ‘Double Kill’ flashed at the top of the screen. “Okay that’s enough for now.”

She moved towards the television when Samson abruptly turned to his father with excitement. “Papa! Look!” He pointed to the score in the upper corner of the screen. Ralph glanced up from the magazine for a second before returning to his reading. Samson pouted. “Papa!” The boy cried again as he raised the electric-blue gun towards his father. “Look.” Carrie began to reprimand him for making such a violent gesture just before he pulled the trigger.

There was no sound from the toy itself, only the squelch of Ralph’s flesh as his face was reduced to a dripping mess of viscera and the wall was coated with the gore of his brains. His body slumped back, what was left of his jaw swung from strips of skin and fragmented bone. The magazine slipped to the floor as his arms went limp. The cheer of congratulations from the game was drowned out by Carrie’s shrieking unbelief. Her body stumbled to support itself against the counter, her legs quickly lost their ability to keep her steady. Her eyes were unable to turn from the ghastly sight of that caved-in skull looking ready to collapse fully in on itself. Finally she managed to screw her quivering eyes shut and blocked out the cadaverous visage. But the refusal of acceptance brought them open once more, just to find the same scene again and again with the cerebral slime sliding down the wall.

She ripped her eyes away entirely to focus on Samson instead, who had returned to playing his game. Rabbits were shot down one by one, each time blood exploded from the eviscerated digital creature it added to the bloody coverage gradually obscuring the screen. Viscera, similar to Ralph’s fate, rolled down the television in pixelation but still acting far too much like real blood. Carrie cautiously approached her son, his handling of the wretched controller getting more erratic as the view became blocked by the spreading guts.

“Samson? It’s time to stop now, okay?” She carefully reached for his shoulder, ready to wrench that awful toy away from his hands. He turned to look up at her and the speakers began to screech with static. Carrie fell to her knees, covering her ears from the persistent torture. Samson seemed unaffected as he turned back to the television now completely drenched red from the game. It looked brighter, fresher, almost realistic. She didn’t want to humor that idea until her eyes focused on the bottom of the screen. The blood was spilling out of the television, pooling into a growing shadow which crept towards Samson’s stationary body.

The static eventually died down enough for Carrie to uncover her ears and reach for her son again. Then she saw it. The image from her dream, slowly emerging from the curtain of blood. A pair of eyes became clearer and clearer. They stared out at her, growing larger as they bored holes into her mind. At first pixelated like everything else, then they began to morph. Sharpening into a pair of hyper-realistic eyes. She could make out the twitch of one of the pupils by the time they had grown three times the size of normal eyes. The reality of this impossibility soon became undeniable. Those eyes were pushing through the screen.

And a face was soon following as she watched on paralyzed by the sight of the eyes poking through the screen to look around. The long eyes protruded out by several inches. They twisted around until they found Samson then proceeded to stay suspended mid-air while a face began to push through. Gray tinged skin stretched out to meet the eyes and pulled them back into the dark sockets that soon enveloped them with transparent eyelids. A pointed nose also extended past the screen before, at last, a smile which sat curled back to the ears framed a spiraling of layered teeth. Each tooth perfectly square and flickering with static.

“H-h-h-hey Slugger!” The face vocalized with barely a twitch from its pale lips. “Ready t-t-to play?” Samson, locked in a trance, slowly nodded as a smile grew on his face to match the smile of the intruder. The boy reached out to the screen at the same time as two greyscale hands pressed against the screen. Instead of passing through fully like the stretching face, only the fingers managed to wriggle past the barrier and stretch towards the child.

Carrie, finally freed from her stupor, lurched forwards to wrap her arms around Samson’s waist. “No! No, you won’t do anything with him! You won’t take him from me!” She tried to scramble back, attempted to drag the doll-like Samson with her, but the elongated fingers were faster than she anticipated and were already wrapped around his ankles trying to pull him back towards the television. Carrie screamed louder, frantically kicking at the fingers while Samson’s body was pulled taut between the opposing forces. “You can’t have him!”

Her foot kept slamming against the fingers snaking up his legs; they only pulled harder. She looked up from her son and wanted to scream once more but her voice had become far too hoarse to produce another sound. The bulbous grey face had snapped from the screen to form into this thing’s full head. Hair made of wires were combed back so his huge eyes could stare at her without obstruction. A long grey neck, smooth like plastic, connected the tumorous head back to the screen. As the head snaked towards her, the neck remained ever lengthening. It towered over the struggling mother and emitted a broken, hiccupping chortle.

“Samson is g-g-gonna play with us n-n-now, Okay?” The electric sizzles and pops clawed at her ears as she fought the instinct to cover them, her arms instead tightening around her son. “Th-th-thanks for playing!” The imposing smile grew wider and wider as the jaw began to unhinge. Carrie closed her eyes. She would rather die knowing she tried to keep her son safe than let fear tear him away from her. But death did not engulf her. Instead her strength became outmatched and Samson was no longer in her vice embrace. Her eyes snapped open and she reached for him, no seeing what had torn him away. What was pulling him head first into the television screen. A tongue. A silver, segmented tongue had wrapped itself around Samson’s neck.

The screen flared with bloody static as the tongue and fingers began their retreat back within. The harsh pull on his neck had snapped Samson from his daze. Immediately his head began to twist as best as it could against the restraint with the hope of finding his mother. His feet kicked against the glass as the giant head vanished past the wall of television fuzz, and he began to scream as his young mind came to understand the reality of his surreal situation. Carried jumped back into action, she wrapped her arms around his stomach and used every ounce of desperation she had to keep him there. Samson kicked more at the screen, but the fingers didn’t allow enough room for his kicks to be damaging. Carrie braced her feet against the legs of the television, trying to break the screen with him but each stomp threatened the safety of her anchoring.

He just kept screaming, crying out for his mother and for his father, hiccupping in his pleas for help all the while his face was pulled closer and closer to the screen. Against all the fighting, the kicking at the damn box, trying to pull her son from the monster’s grasp, Samson’s head connected with the screen. And he wasn’t passing through. His screams grew louder, they tore at his vocal chords, and his struggling became more erratic all while Carrie continued to just keep pulling. There was nothing else she could do. Then there was a sharp tug and Carrie briefly thought, she hoped, the screen would crack under the pressure of her son’s head. The sound of Samson’s head cracking against the television echoed in Carrie’s ears. The screaming stopped instantly. The only sound left was the static. The fingers continued to pull but Carrie refused still to let go.

“Please,” she sobbed, “please I just want my son, please.”

Soon there was not enough space between Samson’s body and the screen for her weakened arms. The sensation of her boy’s limp body frayed her resolve. Her arms finally slipped and she fell back, but she didn’t look away. She was far too exhausted to do anything but watch now. Watch her son get grounded into a meaty pulp against the television, the skull inevitably caving in while bones popped and eyes leaked into the blood. The gray fingers grasped at everything, they ripped and tore through each extremity until the only solid pieces left were his clothes. The fingers sank back through the screen and the static shut off. Shadows sank over the television, the carpet, and Carrie all covered in her son’s grounded up remains.

Time slipped by as she stared at the gore left behind. Only when sirens stopped outside her house did she feel the soreness of hours hunched over. Officers found their way in to her blurred vision, they gurgled words down at her that only piled up against her eardrums. Cold steel embraced her wrists and she was picked up to be graciously pulled away from not only the remnants of her family, but from that wretched machine as well. The police tried to ask her questions but Carrie knew she wasn’t making much sense. It all went by so fast: insanity charges, mental wards, psychiatrist after psychiatrist who all tried to convince her what she saw simply wasn’t the truth. But she knew what happened, she knew what killed her husband and her son. She knew it to be true because she had overheard some orderlies chatting about the approaching Christmas season. They chatted about how their kids were asking for the same thing. “Uncle Carter’s Amazing Entertainment System.”

Credit: Null Amor

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