What would happen if presents were alive?

Imaginatively and intricately
Gently and quietly
Boisterous and Unanimous
Thoughts flow through my brain.
You give me a question,
I give you an answer
Topic after topic
Never gonna stop this crazy
Madness.  

  Hello everyone!  It's been a few weeks since I've posted in my blog and so, I've decided that I might as well put together another concoction of words for my reader's eyes to soak  in.  Recently I've decided that I will take any question (that I see fit and likewise appropriate) to write about in my bog, to compensate for my lack of ideas.  Weather it be random or serious, I will do my best to speak of what all of you find interesting.
 
This week; and, more accurately, tonight while talking on the phone with a friend I was asked, "What would happen if presents were alive?" and so, because of sheer boredom and longing for another great "adventure of my mind", I decided to answer this ridiculous, yet ingenious question.  So, without further adieu, I present :) to you... my answer.

The night was a dark one, and the houses were silent, awaiting the coming of good old St. Nick.  Every child was asleep and every parent lay awake, dreading the early hours of the morning, knowing very well that they will awake to the shrill happy screams of their little children.  One house in particular was more rambunctious than the others.  It's lights still seeped into the snowy darkness late into the night, and sounds of music and laughter emitted from any place it could manage to squeeze out of.  This, was the Manchester home.   Now, the Manchester kids themselves, were the worst.  Where the parents politely mingled among their guests, the kids of the estate, where everywhere.  Always breaking expensive goblets, sliding down stair railings, and tormenting the poor dearest basset hound, Octavian.     But this year, St. Nick saw what went on, and decided it was the last year the Manchester kids would have, to pull off their devious stunts, and so he devised a plan.

That night, he slipped down the chimney, ate the plate of cookies, and drank the glass of milk, and went to work.  He stuffed every stocking over the fire place and set all the presents underneath the tree, all the while knowing exactly what would become of these carefully packaged gifts.  Santa then carefully slipped up the chimney and was on his way back to his freezing north pole home.

That morning, the Manchester kids burst out of their rooms, and bolt down the stairs to claim their bountiful prizes.  But what they had in store was something that turned the world upside down.  Peter, the oldest and the most impertinent of them all, pushed and shoved through all the others so he could make it first to the tree.  He sprinted and snatched up the first present he saw, but put it down as he caught a glorious large present, wrapped in gold paper and tied with a bow.   All the other children saw this too, but as soon as Peter advanced towards it, they all froze, for everyone knew not to mess with Peter.  He took the silk bow in his hands and tugged.  It fell loose.  Then what happened with that present no one know's or cares to know, but anyone who has experienced it freezes up and falls down unconscious, shaking for 3 hours due to the sheer terror of that moment.

It's said that the present began to shift and mold, the gold bubbling like hot lava.  It grew long golden arms, golden legs, and a golden face.  It came to life in the very eye's of the one who removed the bow, the very one who had detonated it.  What was said to happen after that fateful night will make anyone cry from fright, but if you were to go into the Manchester's house,  there that gold present sits, underneath the plastic pine, right where it was said to have been before.  Yet underneath,  sitting right beside this present, are 12 very intricately wrapped packages, of ugly brown paper.  No one know's what happened to the 12 Manchester's either.  Some say they moved suddenly, without the sense of saying goodbye,  some of the crazier people say that they just simply disappeared.  Either way what would explain the 12 untouched packages?  What exactly, would explain the untouched christmas tree still standing in that silent house?   And what would cause them to leave in such a way that they would forget the poor dearest Octavian, who was found dead, lying at the 12 presents feet, yesterday morning?

No, they didn't disappear,  nor did they simply just, move away.  The Manchester's souls were packaged themselves.  And set there for eternity.  And it's said, or so I say, if you were to walk into the house (which non even dare)  you will hear 12 faint voices crying for help.  I should know...
I heard them myself.  

(extra note: shout outs to anyone that read this blog!! I love you all!  Thank you,
and goodnight.)