Ok so, context, right?
I'm a single father, 35, and going strong. Ex-Military deployed to Iraq, did a tour, and returned home after a nasty shrapnel bomb hit me. Doctors didn't expect me to walk ever again, but that's beside the point. After a year of being home, my baby boy was born, and a year after my wife left. She just wasn't ready to be a mother, she said. So, I took full custody. Now, my son had a problem with being very selfish and greedy. I've gotten multiple calls from his school about him getting into fights over things as simple as sharing toys. So, when Christmas came around, I just figured I would place some coal and hide his gifts in my room. The plan was to make him feel sad, explain what he did wrong, and have him write a letter to Saint Nick that he'll, "Never be selfish again, honest!". Now, with that out of the way, I can tell you what happened.

So, I woke up at around 2 AM after a nap. I bought a bag of coal earlier and hid it in my closet, along with his gifts, and tossed them around the tree. I placed down a note that read along the line of, "You were being naughty, do better", and went back to my room. I then heard something on the roof. It was a heavy rhythm, like footsteps. My heart dropped. I quickly opened up my bedside stand and loaded a Glock I had recently bought. I slowly exited the room and surveyed the house. I entered the living room, where the rustling moved to. Listening closer, it came from the chimney. At this point, I don't know what I was expecting. I was split between it being some random raccoon who thought they were smart, or Santa was truly real. Or, some guy in a Santa suit, anyway. The rustling got closer and closer. Then a pale, almost blue hand with long nasty nails gripped the top part of the chimney. A hoof dropped down, landing heavily on the burnt wood, and crushing it. Then he showed his face. He looked me dead in the eyes. His head was that of a goat, horns and all. Without a moment of hesitation after seeing his eyes, I fired. Shot off 3 rounds, and the scream he howled out was maddening. He squirmed from the pain, screaming more and more, it got more intense with each second. I fired, again and again, eventually emptying the entire magazine. At that point, it was as stiff as a board. Quiet as a mouse. My floor was covered in deep, dark black. Staring at my own reflection in the blood, my mind raced. Finally, it clicked who this was and why he was here. It was Krampus, and it was after my boy.

After staring at the body for a while, I came to the conclusion that no one should know about this. I thought I had done something against nature, in a sense. It was no better than killing Santa. His body was heavy, but I managed to drag it upstairs and into the attic of my home. It was empty, only with some trinkets and my gun safe. I set it down and locked it up, keeping the key with my gun. After the first week, the body's smell was starting to spread. It stunk like a pit of shit and rotting meat in a swamp. I made it a weekly routine to go up there and spray everything down with disinfectant and Febreeze. It doesn't fully get rid of the smell, but it's way less suspicious. I check on the body before I go to bed every day, and it's rotting. It's been almost a year now, and the body has rotten rapidly.

Now, here's the thing, I don't know what to do with it. I could bury it, but I don't wanna get caught. And there's a lot I don't know about this. What if Santa notices he's gone and tries to kill me or something? I don't know what to do. I just need to find a way to get rid of it. If you have anything to help me here, please tell me, and soon. Christmas is almost here.