So, in the morning as the sun began rising, he crept toward the bathroom, making sure to stay outside as he shut the door. His heart pounded with excitement.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He waited, barely breathing.

Nothing.

Frowning, he sighed, shoulders slumping. Maybe his parents were just messing with him. But as his hand reached for the doorknob—

The bathroom was no longer the pristine space his parents kept spotless. 

Mud smeared the floor, crickets and earthworms, as if someone had walked in from a rainstorm. Bugs crawled along the tiles, frogs croaked from the corners, and the once-perfect shower curtain hung in shreds. 

His breath hitched. Then, like any child with more curiosity than fear, he sprinted down the stairs, practically tripping over himself but he could care less. 

"Mom! Dad! The Púca is real!"

His parents were less than thrilled by his "discovery," but he could hardly care.

At least he knew the Púca was real… unlike Santa Claus.