On Christmas Eve, seven-year-old Aurora was far from asleep. Clutching her detective notebook and armed with a flashlight, her fuzzy socks making her feel stealthy, she had a clear mission: to catch Santa Claus in the act. Her five-year-old brother Bryce was also awake, though his goal was much simpler. “I want to see him eat the cookies we helped make,” he whispered softly, peeking out from his blanket. “We made Santa the best ones. They have sprinkles.”
Aurora gave her brother a knowing smile. “We’ll watch the fireplace. I think that’s how he’ll get in.”
“But how will he do that? We don’t have a chimney,” Bryce wondered.
Aurora paused, then replied, “Exactly. That’s the real mystery. How does Santa get inside every house?”
The two children crept downstairs as quietly as they could, careful not to wake their parents. In the living room, the Christmas tree glowed beautifully, and on the coffee table sat a plate of cookies next to a tall glass of milk.
Aurora and Bryce settled onto the couch, their eyes wide and hearts pounding with anticipation.
The minutes slipped by.
Then an hour passed.
Then—Whoosh!
A whirlwind of glitter and snowflakes filled the air, and suddenly, there stood a man in red with a snowy beard and twinkling eyes, right in front of the tree.
“Santa!” Bryce gasped.
Aurora was so surprised she dropped her notebook.
Santa chuckled warmly. “Well, well. Look who’s still up.”
“We wanted to see how you get inside,” Aurora explained.
“And I wanted to know if you liked our cookies,” Bryce added.
Santa smiled and settled into an armchair. “I love cookies. The ones with sprinkles are my very favorite. But you see, I can’t deliver any presents while children are still awake.”
Aurora’s face fell. “Why not?”
“That’s just how the magic works,” Santa said. “Presents only appear when boys and girls are lost in sweet dreams.”
Bryce let out a little yawn. “But I’m not sleepy.”
Santa reached into his sack and pulled out a book. “Then a story might do the trick. This one has a special way of making eyelids heavy and hearts feel warm and cozy.”
In his soft, deep voice—like a lullaby wrapped in peppermint—Santa read to them about snow bears and candy cane forests, a reindeer in pajamas, and elves who built magnificent bedtime forts.
Aurora fought to stay awake, but her eyes grew heavier and heavier.
Bryce snuggled close to her, his favorite stuffed rabbit tucked under his arm.
Santa gently closed the book. “Sleep well, little detectives.” He touched each child’s head softly, gave a quick wink, and then vanished into a shimmering swirl of snow.
The next morning, Aurora and Bryce woke up in their own beds. The cookies were gone and the milk glass was empty, while a small pile of gifts waited under the tree.
Aurora found her notebook lying on her pillow. Inside was a note:
“Dear Aurora, You are a very clever detective, but even the best ones need their rest. Merry Christmas to you and Bryce. With love, Santa.”
Bryce discovered a single sprinkle cookie tucked inside his stocking.
He beamed. “Santa liked them.”
Aurora smiled, content. “He really came.”
And from that Christmas forward, the brother and sister always left a book next to the cookies for Santa, just in case he felt like reading to them again.
