I hired the same Santa actor to come to our house for three years straight. But it was only last Christmas Eve that I stumbled upon him in the bathroom and discovered why he was so dedicated to us… actually, to my son.
Real life is often stranger than fiction. Hello there! My name is Elara, and I was 34 when this happened last year. First, some quick background: I adopted my son, Dylan, when he was six months old. That was already eight years ago.
A baby | Source: Pexels
The adoption agency found him on their doorstep (yeah, like a movie, I know) with just a note saying his name was Martin.
He was still a baby, so I decided to rename him Dylan, and it’s been just us against the world ever since. It’s hard raising a child on my own, but it’s been the most rewarding time in my life.
Every holiday became more special since I adopted him, and my favorite was Christmas. Dylan was a fuzzy baby, and I hate crowds, so instead of going to the mall, I started searching for a Santa I could hire for a photo.
A woman using a laptop | Source: Pexels
I discovered a photography studio that had its own actor, and I took my son there. However, as Dylan grew up, I thought about mixing things up.
Over three years ago, as I was still trying to come up with ideas for better Christmas traditions, I found a flyer stuck on my doorstep. It said: “Professional actor available to visit your home dressed as Santa Claus to surprise your child.”
There was a name and a phone number, and honestly? It felt heaven-sent. So, I called, and soon, Harold entered our lives.
A flyer | Source: Midjourney
He showed up that first Christmas in a Santa suit that was a little too big for him. But it was exactly what I had in mind. Dylan was five, and he totally thought it was the real Santa.
He dragged Santa around our tiny living room and showed him every single ornament on our small, weirdly decorated tree. Meanwhile, I watched from the old, thrifted couch.
But looking back, I should’ve noticed the red flags. That day, Harold stayed for THREE HOURS. He built block towers with Dylan, read stories, and even helped bake cookies.
Christmas cookies | Source: Pexels
I tried to pay him extra (which I honestly couldn’t really afford), but he straight up refused and asked me to please call him next Christmas.
A year later, I did just that, and Harold was surprisingly still in business. Most kids get a rushed mall Santa photo, right? Not Dylan.
He got personal playtime with Santa in our living room. But, I kept thinking, “Doesn’t this guy have other houses to visit?”
Santa sitting in a living room, playing with a boy | Source: Midjourney
One time I asked him about it. “You really don’t have to stay this long. Other families must be waiting,” I hinted, trying to be subtle about it.
He just smiled and said, “Oh no, Christmas Eve is reserved just for special boys like Dylan.” Again, looking back now… yeah. Something was up.
Dylan also became used to his Santa privilege and went ALL IN on these visits. He would deep clean his room (I mean, as best as a kid could) and do extra chores. As he told me, “Santa would want to see I’m being good.”
A boy helping with laundry | Source: Pexels
Fast-forward to this past Christmas. Dylan was eight and still believed in Santa, but he was slowly getting to that age where kids started asking questions.
As always, our living room was in full Christmas mode with lights everywhere, dollar store stockings by our fake fireplace (hey, we work with what we got), and our trusty artificial tree covered in eight years of random ornaments.
Dylan was excitedly talking about his science project to Harold when he made a wrong move, and suddenly, hot cocoa was covering Santa’s whole suit.
Hot chocolate in a cup | Source: Pexels
“Oh NO!” my kid bellowed like his world was ending, but Harold played it cool.
“Don’t worry, my friend. Even Santa has accidents sometimes,” he laughed, then looked at me. “Mind if I use your bathroom to clean up?”
I nodded and rushed to grab him a towel from the closet, and when I went to hand it to him… oh, boy. He had taken off the top of his costume and…no! This is not one of those stories.
Towel closet | Source: Pexels
What struck me speechless was a weird crescent-shaped birthmark on Harold’s back. It was identical to Dylan’s. What were the odds?
But wait, it gets stranger. On the bathroom counter, I saw keys to a Mercedes. Since when does a part-time Santa actor (who works for a less-than-averaged income family) drive a car like that? Also, it wasn’t outside. Did he park it far away?
Anyway, I tried to play it cool and handed over the towel without looking. But my mind was RACING.
Handing over a towel | Source: Pexels
Back in the living room, Dylan was setting up some board game Santa had said he could open early. I sat there trying to make everything make sense. The birthmark, the car, the way he always spent so much time with us…
But what happened next was the real kicker.
Harold came out of the bathroom and said, “So, Martin, ready to play again?”
A man dressed as Santa coming out of the bathroom | Source: Midjourney
MARTIN! That was the name written on the note left with Dylan when he was found on the doorstep of an orphanage eight years ago!
I lost it. Jumped up and yelled, “WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!”
Poor Dylan froze, and Harold’s mouth dropped wide.
“Mommy?” Dylan’s voice was tiny. “Why are you yelling at Santa?”
A boy looking confused with a Christmas present | Source: Pexels
I had to take a step back and inhale deeply. Also, I sent Dylan upstairs for a second. Then, I turned my eyes to “Santa.”
“The birthmark. Those keys. And you called him Martin. Start talking. Now,” I demanded, running my hands through my hair.
To my shock, Harold laughed. But it wasn’t humorously. It was like releasing a huge worry. He took off his fake beard and I saw his square jaw for the first time.
A handsome man | Source: Pexels
He looked handsome. Young. Around 40 years old, I’d say. Somehow, he also looked…rich. But most of all, he looked like my son.
Harold saw my face, and he nodded. “That’s correct. I’m his father,” he said breathlessly, and his shoulders slumped.
The background: Years ago, he was young and broke when Dylan was born. His mother left them, and Harold had no way to support his kid or any family to help out.
A man with a baby | Source: Pexels
The only solution was to give his child (the one he had named Martin) up for adoption and hope someone else could give him a good life. But he kept tabs on him… on me.
And years ago, he made up the whole Santa thing just to spend time with Dylan once a year.
He’d gotten his life together by then after starting some successful business but didn’t want to mess up Dylan’s happy life with me.
A hansome man in a suit | Source: Pexels
I won’t lie, I was mad. But also… I got it? Like, he found this weird way to be there for his son without taking him from me.
After that conversation, I asked him for some time. Harold nodded, went back to being Santa, said goodbye to Dylan, and left. But I had his contact information, and we talked regularly.
A few days later, I decided my son needed to know. I sat him down. He knew he was adopted, but this was different. At first, he was skeptical. “Mom, Santa can’t be my dad,” he rolled his eyes at me.
A boy | Source: Pexels
“No, silly,” I said and sighed. “You should know by now that Santa is a real man under that suit. The one who visits us every year is called Harold.”
And then, I went into detail with all I knew. Dylan took a while to digest the information, and a day later, he told me he wanted to talk to Harold. I knew that would be his response because my kid loved him already, even if at first he thought he was Santa.
The next weekend, I invited Harold to our house for dinner, and he came over without his costume for the first time. It was still a little strange, but we got used to it.
People having dinner | Source: Pexels
After a few hours, Dylan was his usual self, chatty and excited. He wanted to show off to his biological father. By the end of the night, we agreed to set up visits every weekend.
Every weekend turned into every other night… And every other night turned into every day. To my even bigger surprise, Harold took an interest in me too.
As Santa, he had asked about me, but I always thought that was just out of politeness. Not anymore, though. It took us three months after the big revelation to confess our feelings for each other.
A man kissing a woman’s hand | Source: Pexels
A few more months later (just last week, I mean!) he proposed to me. In his Santa suit. It was more romantic than it sounds, and I just needed to share this story.
Life is weird sometimes. My kid got the dad he never thought he’d get, I found love, and it all started because I hired a Santa!
Our family of two was doing fine, even if money was never plentiful. But along with love, Harold gave us the world with the success he built after struggling for years. It was my dream come true.
Also, we’re getting married this Christmas!!
A boy lookihng up at a groom and bride | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Neighbors Installed a Camera Aimed at My Garden – I Taught Them a Savage Lesson Without Going to Court
When my new neighbors installed a camera aimed at my backyard, I knew I had to take action. What started as a simple plan to teach them a lesson about privacy spiraled into a wild performance that caught the attention of the local police — with consequences I never could have predicted.
I never thought I’d become an amateur actor just to teach my nosy neighbors a lesson, but life has a way of surprising you.
A woman looks thoughtfully out of a window | Source: Pexels
It all started when Carla and Frank moved in next door. They seemed nice enough at first, if a bit… off.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” I said, offering them a basket of tomatoes from my garden. “I’m Zoe.”
Carla’s eyes darted around nervously. “Thank you. We’re very… security-conscious. You understand, right?”
I didn’t, but I nodded anyway. Little did I know what that would mean for me.
A woman in gardening get-up posing on the front porch of a home | Source: Pexels
***
A week later, I returned from visiting my mom to find something shocking in my backyard. As I lounged in my swimsuit, tending to my beloved tomatoes, I noticed a small black object under the eaves of their house.
“Is that a camera?” I muttered, squinting at it. My blood ran cold as I realized it was pointed directly at my yard.
I marched over to their house, still in my swimsuit, and pounded on the door. Frank answered, looking annoyed.
“Why is there a camera pointed at my yard?” I demanded.
A woman in swimsuit walking through a suburban garden | Source: Pexels
“That’s ridiculous,” I sputtered. “You’re invading my privacy!”
Carla appeared behind him. “We have a right to protect our property,” she said coldly.
I left, fuming. I could have taken them to court, but who has the time or money for that? No, I needed a different approach.
That’s when I called my friends.
“Samantha, I need your help,” I said. “How do you feel about a little… performance art?”
A woman making a phone call | Source: Midjourney
She laughed. “I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”
I outlined my plan, and soon we had a whole crew on board. Miguel, our resident special effects guru, and Harriet, who never met a costume she didn’t like.
As we planned, I wondered if I was going too far. “Guys, are we sure about this?” I asked during our final meeting.
Samantha put her hand on my shoulder. “Zoe, they’ve been spying on you for weeks. They need to learn a lesson.”
A woman placing her hand on the shoulder of another in support | Source: Midjourney
Miguel nodded. “Plus, it’ll be fun! When was the last time we did something this crazy?”
Harriet grinned. “I’ve already started on the costumes. You can’t back out now!”
Their enthusiasm was contagious, and I felt my doubts melting away. “Alright, let’s do this.”
The next Saturday, we gathered in my backyard, decked out in the most ridiculous outfits imaginable. I wore a neon green wig and a tutu over a scuba suit.
“Ready for the garden party of the century?” I grinned.
Samantha adjusted her alien mask. “Let’s give those creeps a show they’ll never forget.”
Outrageously-dressed people posing outside a house | Source: Pexels
We started with normal party activities — if you can call anything normal when you’re dressed like escapees from a circus. We danced, played games, and made sure to stay in view of the camera.
“Hey, Zoe!” Miguel called out, his pirate hat askew. “How’s your mom doing?”
I smiled, remembering my recent visit. “She’s good. Still trying to set me up with her friend’s son.”
Harriet laughed, her Red Riding Hood cape swishing. “Classic mom move. Did you tell her about the camera situation?”
A close-up of a woman with a red hood and a bloody wound on her face | Source: Pexels
I shook my head. “Nah, didn’t want to worry her. She’d probably march over here herself and give them a piece of her mind.”
“Honestly,” Samantha chimed in, “that might have been entertaining to watch.”
We all laughed, imagining my feisty mom confronting Carla and Frank. But then it was time for the main event.
“Oh no!” I shrieked, pointing at Samantha. “She’s been stabbed!”
Miguel swiftly brandished a rubber knife covered in ketchup. “Arrr, she had it coming!”
A man in fancy-dress, holding a fake knife | Source: Midjourney
Samantha collapsed dramatically, ketchup “blood” pooling around her. We all started arguing and running around in panic.
“Should we call the police?” Harriet yelled, cape flapping as she hopped around.
“No, we have to hide the body!” I shouted back.
Suddenly, a chill ran down my spine. The neighbor’s curtain twitched. Had someone seen us? The eerie silence that followed was broken only by our ragged breathing.
A view of a house window from a distance | Source: Pexels
We froze, eyes darting from one to another. The weight of our imaginary crime felt all too real in that moment. A dog barked in the distance, making us all jump.
Time seemed to stretch, each second an eternity as we waited, unsure of what would happen next.
Miguel’s hand trembled as he lowered the ketchup-stained knife. Samantha, still sprawled on the ground, barely dared to breathe. The air grew thick with tension, pressing down on us like a physical force.
A hand holding a “bloody” knife | Source: Midjourney
I tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone dry. My mind raced, conjuring up ridiculous scenarios of how we’d explain this scene to anyone who might have witnessed it. Would they believe it was just a game? Or would our silly prank spiral into something far more serious?
A car door slammed somewhere down the street. We all flinched in unison, our nerves stretched to the breaking point. The sound of footsteps seemed to echo in the stillness, growing louder with each passing moment. Had someone called the authorities?
People dressed in scary costumes performing in a backyard | Source: Midjourney
Just then, we heard sirens in the distance. “Showtime,” I whispered. “Everyone inside, quick!”
We dragged Samantha in, cleaned up the ketchup, and changed into normal clothes in record time. By the time the police knocked on my door, we were sitting around the dining table, looking perfectly innocent.
A group of friends gathering for a meal | Source: Pexels
“Is everything alright here?” the officer asked, looking confused.
I put on my best concerned-citizen face. “Of course, officer. Is something wrong?”
She explained that they received a report of a violent crime at this address. I feigned shock, then allowed “realization” to dawn on my face.
“Oh! We were just doing some improv acting in the backyard,” I said. “It must have looked pretty realistic, huh?”
The officer frowned. “How did anyone see into your backyard? Those fences are pretty high.”
A police officer in front of a home | Source: Pexels
I sighed dramatically. “Well, officer, that’s the real problem here. My neighbors have a camera pointed at my yard. They’ve been recording me without my consent.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Is that so? I think we need to have a chat with your neighbors.”
We watched from my window as the police went next door. Carla and Frank looked panicked as they were questioned.
An hour later, the officer returned. “Ma’am, I’m afraid your neighbors have been engaging in some illegal surveillance. We’ve confiscated their equipment and they’ll be facing charges. Would you be willing to make a statement?”
A policewoman standing outside a home’s front door | Source: Midjourney
I tried to look surprised. “That’s terrible! I had no idea it was so extensive. But, of course, I’ll make a statement, and testify in court if it comes to that.”
After the police left, my friends and I celebrated our victory.
“I can’t believe it worked!” Samantha laughed.
Miguel raised his glass. “To Zoe, master of revenge!”
I grinned, but something was nagging at me. “Do you think we went too far?”
Harriet shook her head. “They invaded your privacy. They got what they deserved.”
A woman in a Halloween-like make-up in a living room | Source: Midjourney
***
The next day, I was back in my garden, enjoying the sunshine without worrying about prying eyes. As I tended to my tomatoes, I saw Carla and Frank leaving their house, suitcases in hand.
Part of me felt guilty, but then I remembered all those recordings they had of me. No, they’d made their choice. I just helped them face the consequences.
As I picked a ripe tomato, I smiled to myself. Sometimes, the best way to deal with nosy neighbors isn’t through the courts — it’s through a little creative problem-solving.
A batch of washed garden tomatoes | Source: Pexels
And hey, if nothing else, at least I now know I have a future in community theater if gardening doesn’t work out.
A week later, I was having coffee with Samantha when she asked, “So, any news about Carla and Frank?”
I shook my head. “Not really. I saw them leave, and I haven’t heard from the cops yet. Maybe they decided not to press charges after all. Can’t say I miss them, though.”
Samantha smirked. “I bet they’d think twice before setting up cameras now.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, then paused. “You know, part of me wonders if we should feel bad. We did kinda turn their lives upside down.”
A woman sitting outdoors and looking way | Source: Midjourney
Samantha raised an eyebrow. “Zoe, they were the ones breaking the law. All we did was expose them.”
I nodded, but the guilt lingered. “I know, I know. It’s just… I keep thinking about how scared they looked when the police showed up.”
“Hey,” Samantha said, leaning forward, “remember how violated you felt when you saw that camera? How angry you were? They did that to you for weeks.”
A blonde woman seated outdoors smiling | Source: Midjourney
I sighed. “You’re right. I guess I’m just not used to being the ‘bad guy’.”
She laughed. “Trust me, you’re not the bad guy here. You’re the hero who stood up for herself.”
Later that day, as I watered my tomatoes, I saw a moving truck pull up to Carla and Frank’s house. A young couple got out, looking excited.
I watched as they unloaded boxes, chatting and laughing. Part of me wanted to go over and introduce myself, maybe warn them about the previous owners. But another part of me just wanted to move on.
A couple unloaded boxes from a car | Source: Pexels
As I turned back to my garden, I made a decision. I’d give these new neighbors a chance — no preconceptions, no suspicions. But I’d also keep my eyes open. After all, you never know when you might need to throw another garden party.
What would you have done? If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you about a woman whose new neighbor was secretly monitoring her until she faced him one day on a lonely road.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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