Creepy Santa's gone!

MIKE APORIUS / WINNIPEG FREE PRESS ARCHIVES Enlarge Image

Doug with his Creepy Santa in happier times. Inset: A photo of the doll obviously forced to wear a Jets T-shirt is sent to the Speirs family in a plain brown envelope.

It's the kind of horrific crime you (and when I say "you," I am referring to "me") never think will happen to you.

It is hard, using mere words, to express the range of emotions one (and when I say "one," I again mean "me") experiences when a beloved family member is kidnapped.

Enlarge Image

The sad truth is, it was several days before my wife, She Who Must Not Be Named, and I even realized he was gone.

I will explain. It began last weekend when I was researching a column via the technique of lying in the bathtub and trying not to drop Stephen King's new opus (849 pages, or roughly the weight of a medium-sized Yorkshire terrier) into the water. Suddenly and without warning, my wife burst in, clutching a large brown envelope she'd found in our mailbox. "HE'S BEEN KIDNAPPED!" she shrieked, waggling the envelope at me.

As a highly trained newspaper columnist, I knew what to do -- I dropped my book on the toilet seat and frowned at my wife to convey the concept I didn't have a clue what she was talking about.

"He's been kidnapped," she repeated, then, to prove her heartbreaking point, handed me the envelope.

Inside, I discovered a four-by-six photograph of the least popular member of our family. And by "least popular member," I am referring to "Creepy Santa."

In the photo, Creepy Santa has been forced to wear a little Winnipeg Jets T-shirt and is propped up uncomfortably against a nondescript door.

Other than the photograph, the only other thing in the envelope was a slip of paper on which had been printed, in big block letters, this grisly message: "GO JETS GO!"

Regular readers, assuming they are still taking their prescription medication, will know Creepy Santa is a three-foot-tall stuffed Santa doll I have immortalized in several groundbreaking holiday columns in recent years.

He was nicknamed Creepy Santa by my daughter because he has a malevolent, open-mouthed glare that makes him look like one of those icky inflatable dolls you (and by "you," I mean "you") can find on the Internet. I personally think he looks a lot like Republican presidential contender Newt Gingrich, only more lifelike.

Ever since we inherited him when my parents moved to the West Coast, Creepy Santa has brought great joy to my family. Our only real Christmas tradition involves my wife and kids hiding this scowling plush gnome in random locations, then waiting, gleefully, for their victim to stumble on him and scream in holiday horror.

For instance, I believe penguins in the Antarctic can still hear the sound of absolute terror that came from my son a few years back when he staggered out of bed, climbed into the basement shower, turned on the water... and found Creepy Santa staring back at him from the corner.

A dutiful son, he retaliated by dressing Creepy Santa up in some of my wife's clothes, then stuck him in her closet so that, when she slid open the door to get dressed for work, out popped a plastic-faced nightmare in drag.

But the legal point is, Creepy Santa is gone. Normally at this time of year he's parked on our front porch to scare away neighbourhood kids who want to shovel our driveway, but now, apparently, he is in the clutches of hockey-loving evil-doers.

There was no ransom note in the envelope, so my wife and I don't have a clue who has taken the creepy little guy or why.

This means I have been forced to play detective. For the last week, my investigation has consisted of walking up to everyone I know, including our own children, and shrieking hysterically "DID YOU KIDNAP CREEPY SANTA???" and then watching their faces for telltale signs of guilt, such as an uncontrollable eyebrow twitch.

Foolishly, I even did this to my buddy, Bob, who happens to be the publisher of this newspaper. I sensed Bob knew more than he was willing to say, but I am reluctant to outright accuse him at this moment due to the fact I don't think I'd enjoy being fired.

This means the next move is up to the kidnappers, who are clearly big Jets fans and did not want Creepy Santa forced to live in a home where at least one unnamed member (by which I mean "me") roots for the Vancouver Canucks.

So we are waiting anxiously to receive their ransom demands, but already I'm starting to fear the worst.

They might try to return him!

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca

Republished from the Winnipeg Free Press print edition January 20, 2012 A2