It was not easy. Santa Claus had reindeer and a sleigh. Witches had magic flying broomsticks. But the Sandman had no options but walking. There was a long, slow slog to each house that needed his attention and a longer return trip.
And now this. Always this.
The Sandman ignored them for the time being and pushed inside his little bungalow. He dropped his empty sack on the pile and went to fetch the wheelbarrow.
"Beachfront property," he mumbled, trundling out to the comatose sunbathers, "is more trouble than it's worth." Gentle snores emanated from the rolling dunes of sand.
Diabolical Plots Fiction Lineup (Year Two)
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