The Undead That Saved Christmas

Praise for
The Undead That Saved Christmas
“I never knew how awesome Christmas could be! You’ll never see Christmas in the
same way again – nor will you want to.”
- Bill Nelson (WeZombie.com)
“Perez-Tinics has amassed a thick volume of quirky, fun and undeniably different
Christmas tales full of elves, gingerbread and the hungering undead. A must for
zombie fans and a great way to help some forgotten kids this holiday season."
- Eric R. Lowther, author, "Area 187; Almost Hell" and "Area 187; Almost Home"
coming soon from Library of the Living Dead Press
"The Undead That Saved Christmas has gone beyond most of the zombie
anthologies that have come out in recent years. Not only is this for a
great cause, but it is filled with amazing stories, poems and comics
by highly talented writers and creators, many of whom are up and
comers in the genre. Also, it has the added bonus of being a Christmas
themed anthology which means you can pull it off the bookshelf and sit
around the fireplace with your very own little zombies for many years
to come!So grab some 'nog, roast some chestnuts and make sure the fruit cake
has extra brains in it, for this is an anthology you won't want to
miss!”
-Jake Bible, Author of DEAD MECH: The World's First Drabble Novel,
available at www.jakebible.com
“It's not your usual zombie anthology. Aside from having the overall feel
of being a Christmas anthology you also have the bonus of the inclusion of poems,
songs, and comics as well. you are going to have PLENTY of reading to enjoy through
this one with both published authors, bloggers, and a few new names on that list I
guarantee this is a title you are going to enjoy.”
- Stuart Conover (BuyZombie.com)
Edited and compiled by
Lyle Perez-Tinics
www.UndeadintheHead.com
Merry Christmas!
The stories depicted in this anthology are fictitious and any similarities to
actual events, locations or people, living or dead or worse, UNDEAD, are entirely
coincidental.
Copyright © by Lyle Perez-Tinics
All rights reserved.
This work may not be reproduced in any way without written permission from the
editor, except for brief quotations in reviews.
Cover art by David Naughton-Shires

www.TheImageDesigns.com
ISBN 10: 1-453832-66-1
ISBN 13: 978-1-453832-66-0
This book is dedicated to all the foster kids at
Hugs Foster Family Agency
www.HugsFFA.org
Acknowledgments
Net proceeds from this book will be donated to Hugs Foster Family Agency. No author
or illustrator has been compensated for their time and efforts. Our payment is to
help provide their foster children with a wonderful Christmas.
Table of Contents
How the Undead Saved Christmas
By Lyle Perez-Tinics
Introduction
By S.G. Browne
Short Stories
Night of the Frozen Elf
By Richard S. Crawford
Merry Christmas, Sarah!
By Rhonda E. Kachur
The Gingerbreads
The Magic of Christmas
By Rebecca Besser
Yes, Rindy, There is a Santa Claus
By TW Brown
Living Dead Babes in Toyland
By Robert Freese
A Christmas Wish
By Tony and Heather Faville

Rudolph the Undead Reindeer
By Jason Tudor
Santa’s Helpers
By Scott Morris
Santa Claws is Coming to Town
By Calvin A. L. Miller II
Brains Like Figgy Pudding
By Sean Hoade
The Santa Epidemic
By Mandy Tinics
The Legend of Zombie Claus
By Joe Filippone
And to All a Good Fright
By Stacey Graham
Refuse to Donate
By Angelica Raene
GingerBrains
By Edward J. Russell
Poems and Carols
Undead to the World
By Angie Mansfield
Oh Tanenbrain, Oh Tanenbrain
By Rusty Fischer
The Worst Noel
By J Gilliam Martin
The Night of the Living Dead…Before Christmas
By Kevin Preece ‘The Zombieking’
We Wish you Reanimation & O Rotting Corpse
By Stacey Graham
Jingle Bells, Something Smells
By Beth Bartlett
Zombies Having a Wonderful Christmas Time
Comics
Ted Dead, Just Your Everyday Zombie…
Illustrated by Calvin A. L. Miller II
Christmas For Creeps
By Lyndal Ferguson
Illustrated by Lyndal Ferguson
A Puppy For Christmas
By Mike Schneider
Illustrated by Brian Germain
Snow Day of the Dead
By Mike Schneider
Illustrated by Anders Skoglund
A Very Undead Christmas

By Nate Call
Illustrated by Nate Call
How the Undead Saved Christmas
When I first thought about doing this anthology I had no idea what I was getting
myself into. I knew that I wanted my first book to mean something, but at the time
I didn’t know what. I remember I was sitting at my work desk when it hit me; I
wanted to put together a charity anthology. I have been a part of other charity
anthologies such as The Undead Nation anthology which is raising money for breast
cancer. But now I was faced with the problem of choosing the right charity.
Have you ever asked someone the question, what would you do if you won the lottery?
Well, my wife, Mandy, and I asked each other that one day. The first thing that
came out of our mouths was to start a foundation to help children in need. There
are many children in the United States who need love, care and attention. If we had
millions of dollars that would be the first thing we’d do with the money.
For some reason, when I thought about compiling an anthology, our little lottery
conservation flew into my head. Then the charity came to me, I wanted to help
foster children. I’ve never been a foster child myself; but in school a lot of my
friends lived in foster homes. Now the next dilemma came up, what foster agency
will I help?
In December of 2009 I was, again, at my desk at work when an e-mail caught my

attention. The letter was asking for toy donations for foster kids at Hugs Foster
Family Agency. The e-mail came with an attachment that was a Christmas wish list. I
looked over the document and there were over one-hundred children on that wish
list. I knew I wanted to help those children that year. So I did, I donated.
I was already familiar with Hugs and happy to know that my donation made a child
very happy, so it was only fitting that I choose them as the charity. Now I needed
a theme, this was easy. Everyone who is familiar with my writing will know that I
love zombies. I run a website that is dedicated to zombie books and the authors. So
a zombie-themed anthology was right up my alley.
Everything else seemed to fall into place. I was thinking about the anthology and
realized I’ve always wanted to do something that involved Christmas. Since I
donated to Hugs at Christmas time and I was compiling an anthology to help the
foster kids, I decided to put them together. The next step was to come up with a
title. I knew the proceeds from the book were going toward purchasing Christmas
presents for the foster children. Then it hit me, The Undead That Saved Christmas.
After I got a title and knew the theme it was time to start spreading the word
about my anthology. I used the connections I have made from my website and started
spreading the word. Within a week I had many people asking me how they could help.
One of these wonderful people was David Naughton-Shires, he is the artist who did
the book’s art cover. He came up with the art idea and basically had it done within
a few days. He has been a really, really big help.
So, now I had a cover to show around. I created a Facebook fan page and very
quickly word started spreading about my charity zombie Christmas-themed anthology.
The number of fans quickly grew and as of right now there are 907 fans. It truly
warms my heart that so many people support the anthology and most importantly
support the cause.
Since this is the first book that will have my name on the cover I wanted it to be
one of a kind. After David finished the cover I was bombarded by e-mails from
artists who wanted to do the book cover. I turned them away because I only needed
one book cover. Then I thought about it, something that has not been done in any
other anthology that I’ve seen. An art cover for each individual short story. Once
the idea was stuck in my head, I emailed the artists and ran the idea past them.
Soon after Christmas art was flying everywhere. All of the art did find its way
into the anthology.
With the deadline passing and the submissions stopping, the fun began. I had to
make decisions. The stories, poems & carols and comics you find in this book are
the result of my decisions. I read all of the submissions and these 16 stories were
selected by me. They were the best of the best. You will also find 7 poems and 5
comics. Big thanks to Mike Schneider for suggesting I take in comics as well.
Before I start putting together the stories and formatting this anthology I want to
thank everyone who has made it possible. I want to thank all of the artists who
contributed art cover and the random clip art which will be splattered across the
book. I want to thank all of the authors who contributed a story. Mark Polarek, the
representative from Hugs who I have been in contact with has been extremely
supportive. I want to thank my wife (Mandy) and my little daughter (Kallalaya).
Both of them keep my spirits up. Most importantly I want to thank the readers for
picking up a copy of this book to help support the Hugs Foster Family Agency.
Together we can give these kids a very Merry Undead Christmas.
Your anthologist
Lyle Perez-Tinics
8/25/2010
Introduction
By S.G. Browne, author of Breathers: A Zombie’s Lament

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the mall,
All the zombies were munching on some guy named Paul…
When I think about zombies, the first thing that comes to mind isn’t St. Nicholas
with a bundle of toys or stockings hung by the chimney with care. And I don’t
equate reanimated corpses with chestnuts roasting on an open fire or Jack Frost
nipping at your nose. If Jack Frost were a zombie, my guess is he’d be taking more
than just a nip. And chances are he wouldn’t stop at your nose.
Zombies and Christmas.
I never really thought about combining the two before. They’re not exactly
complementary. Like rice and beans. Or peanut butter and jelly. Or two angles that
add up to ninety degrees.
Salt and pepper. Peas and carrots. Mulder and Scully.
Some things are just meant to go together. There are even colors that are
complementary.
Purple and yellow. Orange and blue. Red and green.
Which brings us back to Christmas.
You could make the argument that zombies and the holidays go together like, well,
like red and green. You’ve got red symbolizing the copious amounts of blood running
down the various appendages and green representing the decomposing flesh falling
off the bones. Not exactly the Christmas I remember, but sometimes you just have to
let go of those childhood memories and make room for new traditions.
Growing up, I was like any American kid who couldn’t wait for Christmas to come.
Making out my list for Santa, leaving him milk and cookies, meeting the Big Guy at
the mall and freezing up and asking for a football instead of a Red Ryder carbine-
action two-hundred-shot range model air rifle.
I watch a lot of Christmas movies.
Which makes me wonder what A Christmas Story would have been like had Scut Farkus
and Grover Dill been zombies that Ralphie had to kill with his Red Ryder air rifle
in order to reach his dénouement. Or if Tiny Tim was actually infected with the
zombie virus and ended up eating Ebenezer Scrooge for his Christmas dinner. Or if
George Bailey had to contend with his nemesis, Mr. Potter – who was not only a
warped, frustrated old man but a reanimated corpse, as well.
It’s a Wonderful Life…with Zombies.
And I’ve lost my train of thought. Where were we? Right, childhood wonderment.
So there I would be, all amped up with sugar and anticipation on Christmas Eve,
trying to fall asleep while wondering if reindeer really knew how to fly, then
waking up on Christmas morning and trying to figure out how Santa managed to get so
much accomplished in one night when I could barely finish my homework.
Fast forward to now, when Christmas seems less about the magic of my youth and more
about the culture of shopping malls, which fits in nicely with our holiday mash-up
theme, since zombies are drawn to malls like children to ice cream trucks.
When I started this introduction off with a zombie version of the opening lines to
Clement C. Moore’s The Night Before Christmas, I just figured, what would be a
better setting than a shopping mall? It was also a bit of a nod to both Dawn of the
Dead films. But when you think about it, zombies are the perfect fit for the
ravenous consumer frenzy that has become Christmas, at least in the United States.
Hordes of single-minded shoppers descending upon the malls, relentless in their
obsessive pursuit, consuming everything in their path.
As for the anonymous Paul mentioned in the opening, maybe the zombies aren’t
munching on some random victim whose name happens to rhyme with mall, but instead
they’re chowing down on Saint Paul, the mouthpiece for Christianity and arguably
the most successful PR guy of all time. That would make for some nice religious
symbolism:
Zombies as the consumer culture devouring the spiritual message of Christmas.
There are even those who believe that Jesus returned to the Earth not as the savior
of mankind but as a flesh eating zombie. I think that’s pushing it a little bit,
though there is the whole resurrection angle that plays right into those beliefs.
But that’s really more Easter than Christmas.
So whether it’s Jack Frost biting off your face or a shuffling corpse decking the
halls or Jesus returning from the dead to eat your flesh for a change, what really
matters is the spirit of the season. What the message of Christmas means and how to
include zombies in the holiday cheer.
After all, the saying is Peace on Earth, good will toward men. It doesn’t
differentiate between living men and reanimated corpses. Sure, you could make the
case that a zombie isn’t really a human, but then you’re getting into a whole bunch
of civil rights issues and haven’t we been there before? I mean really, it’s all
just semantics.
Breathing. Moaning.
Cellular growth. Decomposition.
Carnivore. Cannibal.
You say potato…
In the end, the Christmas spirit shouldn’t be reserved for just the living. It
should encompass all mankind, even those who are no longer technically among the
living.
With apologies to Clement C. Moore:
And I heard him exclaim, as he flew away on his sled,
“Happy Christmas to all, be you alive or undead.”

S.G. Browne
San Francisco, CA
August 4, 2010
Story Art Cover
By Jess Smart Smiley
http://www.Jess-Smiley.com
Dedication
To my wife, Jennifer
Author Bio
Richard S. Crawford lives in an appropriately ancient and draft house in

Sacramento, California, with his wife and six nearly normal cats. His fiction has
appeared in Shimmer, Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine, and several online
venues. He invites readers to visit his website at http://www.underpope.com.
Night of the Frozen Elf
By Richard S. Crawford
It was Jenny Cupcake who found the body. An avalanche had exposed a transparent
wall of ice; and behind the ice, an elf hung, suspended, arms akimbo and skin blue.
His eyes stared forward blankly, and his mouth had dropped open. He looked flash
frozen.
Jenny Cupcake tapped the ice with the butt of her Uzi. "You okay in there?"
The elf made no reply; didn't blink, didn't move, made no sign that he had even
registered Jenny's presence.
She peered at him. His uniform was outdated, but identified the elf as a worker
from Sector 7-G. A ragged stump marked the spot where his left thumb had been
savagely removed from his hand, and angry looking red gashes criss-crossed his
palm. He had probably been a wood worker.
She shouldered her weapon and tapped the ice in front of the elf's face. "Hey," she
said again, softer than before. Her voice was higher pitched than anyone else's in
Perimeter Patrol, and she always worried she might cause an avalanche and bury the
entire workshop with a careless word or shout.
The elf's left eyelid twitched.
Jenny jumped back, and cried out. Her heart pounded in her throat. Goodness
gracious, she thought. He's still alive! She smiled, and then started to giggle.
She always did when she was nervous.
A hideous squawk erupted from beside her, and she jumped once more, looking around
wildly. When it sounded again, she chided herself. It was just her walkie-talkie.
Trying to bring her giggling under control, she flipped it open. "Prancer Five
here."
A deep voice boomed out of the speaker. It was the Big Guy himself. "Report!"
Jenny cleared her throat. "I think we've got a situation here Santa."
"What kind of situation?" The Big Guy's voice was terse. He was in a bad mood. It
was just a week before Christmas, and production was backlogged, particularly in
the Electronics division. The programmers were having a hard time integrating USB
expansion ports into the new robot dolls and making them compatible with the newest
circuits from YoYoDyne. They kept protesting that it was a hardware issue, not a
software issue, but Santa was unsympathetic. Quotas had to be met.
"I think you should come out here and take a look," Jenny said.
The walkie-talkie vibrated in her hand even though she couldn't hear anything.
Santa was grumbling. "Where are you?"
"Quadrant 2L. South side of Peppermint Mountain." She relayed her exact
coordinates.
"I'll be there in a few minutes. Santa out."
Jenny Cupcake released the "talk" button and reattached the walkie talkie to her
belt clip. "Well, old buddy," she told the elf, "we're going to get you out of
there and back to work." She started to giggle again, completely unaware that
within just a few hours she would be giggling even more wildly, and for the very
last time in her life.
* * *
Doctor Evergreen stared at the frozen elf. It did indeed wear an outdated Sector 7G
uniform. Seriously outdated. Like, by two hundred years. Doctor Evergreen hadn't
seen that particular pattern and fabric in Santa's workshop since the 1700's. "You
found him buried on Peppermint Mountain?"
Jenny Cupcake nodded, the bell on her cap jingling merrily. "I found him in
Quadrant 2L. I think an avalanche uncovered him."
"Hm." Doctor Evergreen peered at the body.
"The point is," Santa thundered from behind him, "is this elf still alive? Can we
put him back to work?"
Doctor Evergreen sighed. It was always work for the Big Guy. "He could be. If he is
I'll have to be very careful in reviving him."
"Oh, he's alive!" Jenny blurted out. "I saw his eye move!"
Santa laughed, a cheery "HO! HO! HO!" that reverberated throughout Sick Bay.
Doctor Evergreen made his way over to his instruments. "Then I can definitely
revive him. He should be back online in just a few hours."
"He'll need re-education," Santa said. "We phased out Sector 7-G in 1947. Nobody
wants wooden toys anymore." He yawned and stretched. "Give me a holler when you're
done, will you? I'm gonna take a nap." He lumbered out of the room, muttering to
himself.
"Can I stay and watch?" Jenny Cupcake asked. "I've never seen one of your
experiments."
Doctor Evergreen looked at the young elf, and decided she was probably harmless. He
shrugged. "Sure. But don't touch anything."
"Oh, I won't!" Jenny bounced to a workbench and jumped up, laying her Uzi down next
to her. "I'll be perfectly good!"
Doctor Evergreen grunted. As long as Jenny stayed out of his way, she would be
fine. Of course, the whole thing couldn't have come at a worse time. He was pretty
sure he was on the verge of a major breakthrough in advanced toymaking. If this
newest project worked out, then the elves would be able to control toy assembly
nanomachines through a special neuro-computer interface. It was exciting research,
but none of his test subjects had survived for long after he had put the implants
in their brains.
The frozen elf gave no hint that he was alive. Doctor Evergreen wondered how to
proceed. He hadn't been in this lab for long, only eighty-three years. His
predecessor, who had vanished under very strange circumstances, had been a sloppy
note taker and an even worse housekeeper. Doctor Evergreen was still trying to work
out the man's organization system, and it seemed he was always losing tools. He
kept stumbling over items labeled "Project Epiphany", but there was no hint as to
what that might have been.
At last he decided the simplest route was the best, and he picked up an ice pick
from his medical bag. He wiped the tip clean of his last test subject's brains, and
began picking at the ice.
After he had been at it for an hour, he heard snoring behind him. He turned. Jenny
Cupcake was fast asleep on the workbench, cuddled up with her submachine gun the
way children worldwide cuddled with their teddy bears. The sight was adorable, and
Doctor Evergreen smiled. Someday she'd make someone an excellent specimen.
A sharp crack from the block of ice drew Doctor Evergreen's attention back to the
frozen elf. He blinked, then rubbed his eyes, not sure he was really seeing what he
thought he saw. Just a moment before the elf had been lifeless and still; now its
eyes rolled wildly in its head and the muscles in its jaws worked. Its mouth was
still blocked by ice, so it couldn't talk. It looked like it was suffocating.
"Oh my goodness!" Doctor Evergreen exclaimed. He had expected that hours of

resuscitation efforts lay before him. "Keep calm," he told the elf. "I'll have you
out of there in a jiffy!"
He took up his ice pick again and tapped away at the ice that trapped the elf,
working first on its face so that it could talk and breathe.
Finally a chunk of ice fell away from the lower half of the elf's face. Working
carefully with a pair of tongs, Doctor Evergreen removed a chunk of ice from its
mouth.
"There you go," he said. "What do you say to that?"
The elf said nothing coherent, but its mouth dropped open and air rushed out.
Doctor Evergreen staggered and nearly fell over when the stench of its exhalation
assaulted his nose. Then the elf let out a low, drawn-out groan.
"Huh," Doctor Evergreen said. He leaned closer to the elf, and its jaws snapped
shut with a loud clack. Doctor Evergreen jumped back. The poor thing was
disoriented. A couple of centuries trapped in ice would do that to anyone, even one
of Santa's elves, who were bred to handle extreme conditions.
Doctor Evergreen chipped away more ice. It came off in big chunks now. When it was
all gone and the elf was completely free, Doctor Evergreen took a step back and
looked over his handiwork with pride. Sure, the elf was confused and probably
terrified, but it would get better with time; and then it would be re-educated, and
back online in no time, probably in a sector that needed less specialized skills.
Then the elf's mouth dropped open again, and this time a single sound came out. He
said a single long, drawn out word as he lifted his left hand and reached out
toward Doctor Evergreen. "Braaaaaaaaiinnsss!"
"Holy crumbcakes!" It was the foulest curse Doctor Evergreen knew, and he stepped
back as he said it. The elf reached for him.
"Calm down!" Doctor Evergreen shouted. "You'll be all better soon!"
"Braaaaaaaaaiiinnnsssss!" the elf repeated. It took a shaky step forward.
Doctor Evergreen stumbled backwards and reached out blindly behind him, hoping to
grab something to use as a weapon. He bumped into a chair, nearly knocking himself
over. He grabbed it and sent it hurtling on its casters toward the elf.
The chair bumped into the elf and it fell over on its back. Doctor Evergreen let
himself relax for just a moment. How was he going to treat this? This was going to
take more than a couple of days in a re-education camp.
"Hey!" a new voice squeaked. Doctor Evergreen turned. Jenny Cupcake had woken up;
she sat on the workbench, looking confused.
"Jenny, get out of here," Doctor Evergreen shouted at her.
The shambling elf thing on the floor raised its eyes to Jenny. "Giiiiiirrrrrrllllll
braiiiiiinnnsss!" he hissed. And with a speed that Doctor Evergreen would not have
thought possible, the elf was up on its feet and shambling toward Jenny.
"Goodness gracious!" Jenny cried. She reached down, grabbed her Uzi and disengaged
the safety.
"Don't shoot!" Doctor Evergreen yelled. Jenny was good with her guns, he knew, but
even a carefully applied spray of bullets would destroy his sensitive equipment and
he still didn't know what half of it did.
"Eat hot lead, you motherfucking zombie!" Jenny shouted. She squeezed the trigger,
and her submachine gun spat out bullets and smoke. Shells flew everywhere. Doctor
Evergreen was well out of Jenny's line of fire, but he dropped to the ground
anyway, despairing as he watched glassware shatter and computers explode.
Several bullets hit the shambling elf. The elf staggered backwards, but did not
fall over.
"Holy crumbcakes," Doctor Evergreen cursed again.
Jenny's gun suddenly ceased firing. Doctor Evergreen risked a look up and saw her
fussing with the weapon and cursing. And, strangely, she was giggling, a high
pitched little laugh that was somehow even more disturbing than the zombie elf's
moans.
"Jenny, look out!" he shouted at her.
Jenny looked up just in time to see the elf -- bullet ridden, slimy and still wet
from the ice that had so recently entombed it -- stumbling toward her. She screamed
as it grabbed her and spun her around so that she faced away from him. It bit into
the back of her skull and then pulled its mouth, flesh and hair dripping from its
mouth. It spat out fragments of her skull, then took another bite.
Doctor Evergreen watched for a moment, then clambered to his feet. It was too late
for Jenny. The elf -- no, the creature -- chewed, and Jenny screamed that she was
blind. Well, no wonder, Doctor Evergreen thought wildly. The thing had eaten her
occipital lobe.
But there was no time for analysis. Doctor Evergreen had to take advantage of the
creature's distraction. He ran out of Sick Bay and slammed the door behind him.
This, he thought, was not going to end well. Not end well at all.
He took a moment to catch his breath, then reached down for his cell phone. Damn.
He'd left it in the lab.
"Code red!" he shouted. He began to run toward the Big Guy's office. "Code red!
Santa! Help!"
* * *
Five minutes later, Doctor Evergreen stood in front of Santa's big desk, wringing
his hands as the Big Guy watched the tape of the events in the lab. Santa was a big
man, and getting bigger. There was no denying that. Even the huge easy chair that
Mrs. Claus had given him last year was too small for him now.
On the screen, in grainy black and white, the elf bit through the back of Jenny
Cupcake's skull and started eating her brain. The tiny speakers conveyed Jenny's
screams -- and her odd giggles -- in a voice as tinny and small as the electronic
chip in a musical Christmas card.
When the tape was done, Santa punched the power button on the monitor. "Huh. Didn't
see that coming."
"This is horrible." Doctor Evergreen rubbed his hands as he moaned. "All my

equipment smashed, all my research gone. Even my predecessor's research. What am I
going to do?"
"Doctor Evergreen, there's a brain-eating monster in there, and all you can worry
about is your research notes?"
Doctor Evergreen looked up at Santa, who looked genuinely annoyed. "Sorry, sir," he
said.
Santa huffed and then looked back at the monitor, though he left it switched off.
He leaned back in his chair and templed his fingers before him. "We have to figure
out how to kill these things."
"There's just the one."
Santa looked surprised, but recovered his composure quickly. "Of course. Just one.
I meant, let's hope there aren't any more of those things out there. So we need to
figure out how to kill this thing. In case any more show up."
Doctor Evergreen sat down in the chair and thought hard. None of his research had
prepared him for this. But he remembered some scary movies he had watched late one
night back in the 60's; he'd been so stoned that night it was amazing he remembered
anything about it at all, but one piece of information floated up. "I think," he
said slowly, "that if we cut off its head or destroy its brain or something, that
might kill it."
"You think so?" Santa asked.
"Yes. Definitely."
"Excellent." He leaned forward and pressed the TALK button on his intercom. "Miss
Gingerbread, would you contact Mr. Peartree and have him report to me immediately?"
A tiny voice squeaked through the intercom. "Yes, Mr. Claus."
Santa turned to Doctor Evergreen. "Peartree's my finest sniper. He should be able

to shoot the thing right in the head."
The door opened just a minute later, and an elf stepped through. At just under
three feet tall, he was taller than most elves. The clothes he wore were so black
they seemed to eat the light. His black curly-toed shoes looked like puddles of
oil. The bells on his toes and his cap were muffled, and barely jingled at all when
he walked. Large mirror-lensed sunglasses hid his eyes, and a deadly looking rifle
hung from a strap over his shoulder. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his
mouth, and the smoke encircled his head like a wreath.
Santa stood up slowly from his seat. "Mr. Peartree. Thank you for coming."
"Yeah." The deadly-looking elf's speech was as terse as his outfit was dark. He
dropped his cigarette to the floor and crushed it out under his heel. "What's the
job?"
Santa swung his monitor around to face Mr. Peartree, and typed a few keystrokes on
his computer. The scene of the elf eating Jenny's brain replayed itself. "We need a
good clean shot to the head. Just one should do it. Do you know that room?"
Mr. Peartree lit another cigarette and took a long drag. "Sick Bay. No problem. I
know all three entrances to that room."
"There are only two!" Doctor Evergreen said.
Mr. Peartree smirked. "That you know of."
"That's enough," Santa said. "Mr. Peartree, this needs to be done as soon as
possible. You'll be paid the standard rate. Just be careful. That thing is deadly."
"No problem." Mr. Peartree spun on his heel and left the room as liquidly as he had
arrived. The door closed behind him.
Santa sat back down on his chair; it creaked ominously. "Let's watch," he said. He
twisted a dial on the side of the monitor and a new picture appeared: a live
streaming image of the medical lab.
The elf's face, still dripping red and gray, dominated the screen. Its mouth opened
and closed, opened and closed, as it looked back and forth.
Doctor Evergreen had been staring at the elf so intensely that when a black shadow
passed before it, momentarily blocking the view, he jumped. "What was that?"
"I don't know." Santa fiddled with the controls, and the view pulled back, showing
the elf's entire body, and the now-empty workbench that it stood before.
"Doctor Evergreen?"
"Yes, Santa?"
"Where's Jenny?"
Doctor Evergreen shuddered. Jenny's body should have still been on the workbench
where the elf had dropped her. But it wasn't. "I don't --"
Then the shape passed before the camera again. This time, Doctor Evergreen saw it
for what it was. "It can't be," he breathed.
Santa leaned forward, squinting. Then he reached into his breast pocket and removed
a pair of reading glasses and slipped them on to his face. "Son of a bitch," he
muttered.
"It's Jenny!" Doctor Evergreen exclaimed. "But that's impossible! I watched the
thing eat her brain!" He swallowed past a huge lump that had suddenly appeared in
his throat.
"Do you know what this means?"
Santa sighed. "Taking out their brain's not gonna kill them."
Doctor Evergreen's stomach lurched as he watched Jenny's reanimated corpse shamble

around in the lab, moaning for brains and giggling. "Holy crumbcakes. We've got to
stop Mr. Peartree!"
Santa picked up his walkie-talkie and adjusted the frequency. "Mr. Peartree, come
in! Mr. Peartree, do you read me?"
The walkie-talkie clicked and then fell silent. Santa cursed, then punched the
"talk" button on the intercom. "Miss Gingerbread, assemble an armed response team
at the medical lab on the double!"
"But Santa, I can't."
"What? Why not?"
"Because last week you reassigned all security personnel to Toy Production. Don't
you remember?"
Santa swore again, then picked up his walkie-talkie once more. "Mr. Peartree, if
you can hear me, I want you to abort the mission immediately. Do you read me?
Abort!"
He put the walkie-talkie down, then stood up again, pulled open one of the drawers
of his desk and pulled out a pistol that Doctor Evergreen thought looked as big as
he was.
Santa flipped open the chamber and spun it, checking the cartridges. Then he shot
Doctor Evergreen an urgent look. "Let's roll."
* * *
Mr. Peartree slid through the corridors of Santa's complex, unnoticed by the other
elves that toiled there. Half of that was stealth; the other half was the
overworked and burned out state that every elf went through this time of year. His
walkie-talkie squawked at him once, and he stabbed the "Off" button reflexively. He
had a job to do.
The door to the medical lab was closed but unlocked. He chuckled. The creature,
whatever it was, obviously hadn't worked out the basic principle of the doorknob.
He raised his gun, keeping it up with his left hand, and placed his right hand on
the knob, flattening himself against the door itself. He counted to three, slowly,
under his breath, then twisted the knob and thrust the door open. He took a step
inside and brought the gun's sights level with his eye.
He had been expecting the monster to be standing right in the middle of the room,
but it wasn't there. He grinned. "The chase is on," he muttered. It was the most
dangerous game. Elf.
He scanned the room slowly, then he heard a low moan to his left, like someone
trying to talk through mud. "Brrraaaaaaaiiiinnnnssss!"
Mr. Peartree spun and fired his rifle. It was a perfect shot; a tiny black hole
appeared in the elf's forehead. But instead of falling over and dying, it simply
kept shambling forward.
"Oh, so you're gonna play tough, huh?" Mr. Peartree grinned; he liked a challenge.
He took aim again, this time right at the undead elf's eye.
But before he could fire, another voice welled up behind him, a high pitched
squeaky voice.
"Brrraaaaaaiiiinnnssss!"
Mr. Peartree turned. Jenny Cupcake stood right before him. He recognized her;
they'd actually been married for some time, but she'd walked out on him, claiming
that she could no longer handle what he did for a living. Now, it appeared, she was
an undead brain-eating monster from hell.
Some people, it seemed, never change.
Mr. Peartree aimed his rifle again, and a thrill went through him. "See you in
hell, bitch!" he cried at her.
He never fired. The back of his head exploded into a raging storm of sharp pain.
Everything went red, then black. His head felt oddly cool, like there was a draft
in the room.
"Ah, shit," he muttered. And that was it for Mr. Peartree.
* * *
"What do we do? What do we do? What do we do?" Doctor Evergreen was panicking. He
and Santa had not made it to the lab in time; in fact, Jenny and the first elf had
just finished eating Mr. Peartree's brains when they'd shown up. If Santa hadn't
thought quickly and pulled the lab door shut with a slam, they would have been
eaten for sure.
"Where are the other doors?" Santa demanded, interrupting Doctor Evergreen's
frantic mantra.
"There's only one other door," Doctor Evergreen replied. "It's in the back. It's
locked and there are dozens of heavy crates in front of it."
"What about the third door?"
"There is no third door. Mr. Peartree was just messing with me, I'm sure of it."
"Are you sure about that?"
Doctor Evergreen nodded. "Of course I'm sure." He realized he was shouting, and
made a deliberate effort to lower his voice. "If there was a third door, I'd know
about it by now. I've been all over that lab."
Santa regarded Doctor Evergreen for a long moment. Then he said, "All right. Let's
get back to my office. I can coordinate crisis response better from there. You!" He
pointed at one of the harried-looking elves who was scuttling by with a large
bundle under her arm.
"Yes, Santa?"
"Stay here and guard this door. As of this moment you are officially relieved from
toy making duties until further notice. If anything happens, you let me know
immediately. Do you understand?"
The elf saluted sharply and stood at attention, her bells jingling authoritatively.
"Yes, Mr. Claus!"
Santa didn't even acknowledge her. He simply grabbed Dr. Evergreen's arm and began
to run.
"I was afraid this would happen," he panted.
Doctor Evergreen pulled himself to a stop, forcing Santa to turn around. They were
at the intersection of two corridors. "You knew about this, didn't you! You knew
something like this was going to happen!"
"Not now, Doctor Evergreen. Come on!"
But Doctor Evergreen was adamant. "No, Santa. Tell me what's happening."
Santa sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I guess I did know that something was
going to happen."
"So tell me!"
Santa took a deep breath. "Project Epiphany. It was your predecessor's idea. We
thought we could reanimate dead elves by injecting them with a special formula I
created, and make productivity skyrocket."
Doctor Evergreen blinked in shock. "What! And you didn't tell me!"
"It was a failure. The things were unstoppable. We couldn't kill them. We finally
just drove them out into the Arctic waste and hoped that nature would take its
course."
"The Arctic Circle," Doctor Evergreen muttered. "It's just like a deep freeze out
there. You should have known when you saw that elf encased in the ice!"
Santa shook his head sadly. "I just assumed all the zombies were dead. I had no
idea what Jenny had found."
"You just forgot, didn't you?" Doctor Evergreen was flabbergasted. "I can't believe
it! You just forgot!"
"Okay, so I'm a bad Santa. Let's just get back to my office."
There was a loud scream from the right. It was followed by another scream, and then
the familiar moans: "Brrrrraaaaaaaiiiiiinnnnnssss!" This was followed by a ghastly
high pitched giggle.
Doctor Evergreen looked back to the lab. The door was still shut. What on earth was
happening?
"The third door," Santa said.
Doctor Evergreen's heart sank. "I swear I didn't know!"
"I ought to just leave you here," Santa snarled. But then he grabbed Doctor
Evergreen's arm and began to run again.
* * *
Doctor Evergreen stood silently watching the carnage on one of the closed circuit
TV screens in the Big Guy's office. The number of zombies shambling through the
corridors of the workshop had already tripled. Even now he could see Jenny and
another elf fighting each other for the brains of a young elf in a Programmers'
Union uniform. His stomach turned at the sight. "What are we going to do, Santa?"
Santa said nothing for a long moment. Then he sighed. "We're going to have to go
with emergency plan Omega Z."
"Omega Z? Nuke the facility from orbit? But you can't! It's a week ‘til Christmas!
The toys!"
"We've got no choice. Get into the escape hatch, and I'll initiate the detonation
sequence from here." He punched the intercom button again. "Miss Gingerbread, I
want you to make an evacuation announcement. Anyone still able to leave the
workshop must do so within ten minutes. We're going Omega Z."
"Goodness gracious!" Miss Gingerbread squeaked. "For real?"
"Yes, for real. Now do it! Then get out of the building as quickly as you can." He
turned to Doctor Evergreen. "Move it!" He typed a series of commands into his
computer, and a panel on the south wall of his office slid aside, revealing a black
tunnel.
Doctor Evergreen ran for the tunnel and ducked inside. He heard Miss Gingerbread's
voice start to blast over the PA system: "Ladies and gentlemen, this is an
evacuation alert. All elves who are still alive must evacuate the facility within
ten minutes. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill."
Doctor Evergreen paused to listen to the voice. This was the worst thing he could
imagine. Santa's workshop invaded by zombies. The entire facility being nuked, and
only a week before Christmas! How could this be happening?
"Move it!" Santa's voice was loud and commanding. Doctor Evergreen looked behind
him to see Santa barreling on him like a giant boulder. Doctor Evergreen didn't
have a chance to turn around completely before Santa was on him, shoving him
backwards down the tunnel. He scrambled to get himself turned around, but he
couldn't get a grip on the floor or walls. Then high pitched voices screamed out,
"Santa braiiinnnssss!!!", and then Santa screamed.
Heart pounding, Doctor Evergreen ran.
* * *
When he opened his eyes again, Doctor Evergreen found himself out in the snow.
Before him, flames leaped skyward from the ruins of the workshop. Smoke billowed
upwards, colored orange and red by the flames. Elves milled about them, looking
lost and confused. Doctor Evergreen counted less than two dozen of them; Santa had
employed close to five thousand.
"Holy crumbcakes," he said. Grief welled up in Doctor Evergreen's chest, and he

fell to his knees. "This is all my fault!" he wailed, pounding the sides of his
head. "Everyone's dead! I should never have released that elf from the ice! I
should have known where that third door was!"
One of the other elves patted Doctor Evergreen on the shoulder. "There, there," she
said. "You couldn't have known what would happen." She paused. "Could you?"
Doctor Evergreen shook his head. "I suppose not. Well, there's nothing for us to
rebuild at this point. We'll have to find a new Santa and issue some press
releases. I think..."
He was interrupted by a sound overhead, something like a jet engine, something like
hoofbeats. He looked up, saw a miniature sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer.
Santa.
Doctor Evergreen felt his heart sink. Santa had a list, and he would be checking it
twice.
And Doctor Evergreen heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

"BRAAAAAAAAIIINNNNSSSS!!"
Story Art Cover
By Jason Tudor
http://www.JasonTudor.com
Dedication
To my Mom
Author Bio
Rhonda Kachur AKA Rhonny Reaper is a 20 year old horror fan from Cleveland Ohio
who's been watching horror films since the age of 4. Her favorite film is "The
Bride of Frankenstein", but she has a soft spot for killer doll films. She is the
creator of the horror review blog Dollar Bin Horror (dollarbinhorror.blogspot.com)
and the horror picto-blog Monster Beauty (monster-beauty.blogspot.com). She is
currently working on a journalistic style zombie book for the Dead On Earth series
and short horror stories for various horror anthologies and magazines. You can
check out her personal blog at RhonnyReaper.blogspot.com
Merry Christmas, Sarah!
By Rhonda E. Kachur
Rick Anderson felt like the luckiest guy in the world. He was in wonderful health,
had a great paying job, a lovely wife, and two beautiful daughters. The family had
just moved to Pennsylvania from Hawaii and was excited for their first white
Christmas. Rick’s wife, Mary, and his daughters, Stacy and Sarah, played for hours
in the snow yesterday and were filled with the Christmas Spirit. The girls were
only eight and six with Sarah being the youngest. Rick marveled at the way
everything around them seemed magical and beautiful. Rick was the kind of guy who
genuinely loved being a husband, a father, and an all around family man.
Tracey Leimen was the nicest boss Rick has ever had. She always stopped to chat
with the employees and gave very generous Christmas bonuses to everyone. She was a
tall, skinny woman with fiery red hair. Throughout the month of December, her
pantsuits were green and red, today being the exception of all red. She wasn’t a
loud speaker, but her voice had a quality to it that seemed to invite conversation.
“So what’s with the big red sack, Ricky?” she asked with a smile on her face as she
looked at the large bag beside Rick’s desk.
“Oh this?” Rick replied as he motioned to the bag beside him, “Well I thought I’d
surprise my girls for Christmas and come home tonight dressed up like ole Saint
Nick himself. Put them in the Christmas spirit, y’know?”
“That sounds charming!” Tracy replied with a big smile on her face. “How are the
girls by the way?”
“They’re doing good. Stacy’s full of energy and excited about opening presents
tomorrow. Sarah’s a bit under the weather though. I think she caught a cold playing
in the snow over the weekend. She had a fever this morning but I’m hoping my Santa
routine will cheer her up a bit. Mary’s supposed to watch The Grinch with them ‘til
I get there.”
“Well, I got them each a little something.” She nods toward her office and
continues, “You can pick up the gifts on your way out they’re sitting on my desk.
Tell Sarah I said get well soon, okay?”
“Sure thing,” Rick replied. He really felt the concerned feeling coming out of
Tracy. He was instantly reminded why he enjoyed working for her. “So what are your
plans for tomorrow?”
“Oh I’m hoping for a nice Christmas at home. My daughter is driving in from Ohio
and the snowstorm out there has me a little worried.”
“Don’t worry.” Rick said flashing Tracy with a cheerful look. “I’m sure she’ll make
it in alright. The road crews always stock up on extra salt
when they know the roads are gonna be a mess, plus I’m sure she’s a safe driver; if
she takes it slow she’ll be just fine.”
“Thanks Ricky, that makes me feel better, but a mother worries?” Tracy shrugged her
shoulders. “Just ask Mary.”
They both laughed at the thought.
“Yeah, I know.” Rick said still laughing from Tracy’s comment. “This morning when
she took Sarah’s temperature, I thought she was going to have a heart attack! It
was a hundred degrees, but Mary reacted like it was a million!”
“Oh my! I do hope she feels better, it’s no fun to be sick on Christmas.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine. It’s just a cold, maybe the flu. Sarah’s a tough cookie.”
“She is a feisty little thing. Well, I better be off. I’ve got to get the guest
room ready. Merry Christmas, Rick!”
“Same to you Tracy!”
Tracy grabbed her coat and left for the night. It was Christmas Eve and everyone
else in the office had left for his or her winter vacations. Rick turned off his
computer and headed for the restroom to change into his Santa suit. He couldn’t
wait to get home and see the look on the girls’ faces when Santa comes to hand
deliver their gifts.
The suit was a perfect fit with the pillow he brought to fill up the belly. Rick
wasn’t a skinny man, but he sure wasn’t as round and plump as Santa. He put on his
beard and red hat to cover his brown hair with hints of gray at the temples. The
suit was red with white fur trim down the middle, a black belt with a gold buckle,
and had white gloves to finish the look. It was the perfect traditional Santa Claus
outfit. He picked up his sack and headed for Tracy’s office. He grabbed the two
gift boxes and stowed them away. Rick locked the door behind him and headed for his
car.
The radio was playing all the classic holiday songs, wishing everyone Merry
Christmas and Happy Holidays. Rick was a little uncomfortable driving with a pillow
shoved under his shirt, but nothing could put him in a bad mood tonight. He was
very careful to drive slowly because the roads were pretty slick. Rick was singing
along to the radio when Jingle All The Way suddenly stopped playing for a special
news bulletin. Rick tried to turn up the radio, but his faux belly was in the way.
His car started to swerve into the next lane as he tried to turn the dial. Not
wanting to wreck with oncoming traffic, he corrected his steering and forgot about
the radio. He thought he heard something about an outbreak of some sort and
immediately thought of Sarah. She was running a fever this morning and coughing
quite a bit, but Rick was sure it was just the common cold or the flu and nothing
to get hysterical about. As soon as she saw him dressed in this ridiculous outfit,
she’d have a good laugh and forget all about being sick.
He finally pulled up into his snow-covered driveway and saw the light from the tree
glowing in the front window, the star on top shining bright. He parked the car,
grabbed the sack of presents, and headed for the front door.
“Ho, Ho, Ho!” he exclaimed as loud as he could in his best Santa Claus voice. He
expected Mary to come open the door, but no one answered.
“Is anybody home? I brought some presents for a few good girls I know,” he said
continuing in his Santa voice as he knocked on the door. Still, no one came to let
him in.
“Come on Mary, It’s me. Open up.” His Santa voice was now gone.
No one ever came to answer the door. Rick didn’t even hear footsteps walking around
the house. He thought for a moment they all had fallen asleep, but Mary assured him
she would keep the kids up ‘til he got there. And even if the kids fell asleep,
Mary should surely be awake. He set the bag of gifts down and reached into his
pocket for the house keys. He unlocked the door and walked in.
No one was visible. The lights from the tree flashed and danced with vibrant color,
the fireplace was roaring with warm, inviting flames, and the radio was on, playing
the bulletin he missed from the drive home.
“Attention all residents in the state of Pennsylvania, an epidemic of what appears

to be an advanced form of rabies has stricken the northern most counties of the
state. This form of rabies appears to be spread through direct saliva-to-blood
contact, mainly through biting. Victims who have been bitten produce symptoms
similar to that of the common cold. As the illness worsens, the pulse of the
infected weakens until they expire. Soon after, they appear to miraculously come
back to life, only to attempt to bite and, as some reports speculate, eat the flesh
of those around them not yet infected. It is advised that those who are infected be
separated from any non-infected persons and restrained until more is known about
this particular strain of rabies. If no one in your household is infected yet, it
is suggested you stay indoors and lock all entry points of your home until more
information is gathered. Stay tuned for more updates.”
Rick stood dazed and confused about what he had just heard. They couldn’t be
serious, could they? Is this some sort of sick prank? What kind of psycho would
play a prank like this on Christmas Eve? Where is my family? Oh my god! He
immediately thought of Sarah and how sick she was earlier that morning. He didn’t
remember anything biting her but, never the less, he thought of her.
Rick began to climb the stairs up to the room his two daughters shared when he
noticed he was tracking dirt through the house. He looked back and saw a large,
round patch of it in the middle of the living room floor.
“What did those girls get into?” he asked himself. Rick walked back down the stairs
and headed over to the spot. He bent over to see how bad it had gotten into the
carpet when he realized what he had stepped in wasn’t dirt at all…it was blood.
The sack he had been carrying fell to the floor with a loud clang. Rick’s eyes were
fixed in a terrified gaze at the puddle that congealed under his feet. He slowly
started to back away, then in a clumsy sprint headed up the stairs to check on his
girls, holding the banister for balance. He reached the top of the stairs and
noticed a trail of blood leaving his daughters’ room. He ran to the doorway only to
find that the room was empty and turned upside down. The beds were shredded and
askew, the lamp was knocked onto the floor, the walls were streaked in red, and her
large mirror was shattered into a million blood-laced pieces. What ever happened in
this room had been violent and terrible. Rick slowly entered and removed the
blanket from the bed, only to find no one in it. He began to weep aloud, tears
falling from his frightened eyes. He was forced back into the hallway when the
stench of decay inside the room became too much for him to bear.
Rick turned his attention to finding the rest of his family. He rushed around the
corner to his room but paused when his hand was on the doorknob. What if Mary is
dead too? What if they’re all dead? As Rick’s mind raced with the possibilities, he
began to feel sick and claustrophobic. He took off his Santa coat and the pillow
underneath and forced himself not to vomit.
“Mary? Mary sweetheart it’s me. Are you OK?” No reply was given.
Rick began to cry again as he turned the doorknob slowly. Before he could open the
door all the way, a crazed woman pounced on top of Rick. He stumbled back and they
landed together on the floor. She started clawing and biting at his face. Rick
grabbed her shoulders and held her back. He looked up into her face and realized
the crazed woman was his wife Mary, or what was left of her at least. What once had
been long, beautiful blond hair was now tangled with globs of human flesh and thick
streaks of blood. Her skin was no longer the silky white complexion Rick had fallen
in love with, but was now a sickening hue of gray with dark blue veins scattered
throughout. Her eyes no longer glistened like diamonds, but were now red,
bloodshot, and absent of all emotion. A large chuck of her right arm was missing,
yet no blood was flowing from the wound and no scab had formed. Her skin was cold
as ice and she reeked of decay and death. Mary wasn’t a rabies victim; she was
dead…undead.
“Mary! Mary what are you doing!” Rick screamed as he tried his hardest to push her
off of him. She seemed so much stronger than she had ever been when they would play
fight in the yard. He struggled to keep her chomping teeth away from his face, but
he was quickly running out of strength. With all the might he had left, he rolled
her over and was now sitting on top of her.
“Please Mary, Stop it! We need to get you to a doctor!” he pleaded, but Mary only
gave a one-word reply.
“Hungry!”
She continued to struggle and was now trying to bite at his hands. By now Rick knew
she was gone and that there was only one thing to do, put an end to her misery. He
grabbed her by the hair and began bashing her head as hard as he could into the
hardwood floor. Over and over, he kept bashing until chunks of her skull and brain
began flying around the hallway. He stopped, looking at what he had done to the
woman he loved, and began screaming.
“What have I done? Oh God what have I done?” he repeated. He began to cry
hysterically until he heard footsteps coming from behind.
Rick quickly ran into his bedroom and shut the door behind him. He looked around to
find something to protect himself with and settled on the baseball bat he kept
underneath his bed in case of an intruder. He slowly crept towards the door and
cracked it ever so slightly. What he saw made him lose control of his stomach, and
vomit flew onto his feet below.
Stacy was crouched over her mother’s body. Her skin was the same sickening gray hue
and her long, chestnut brown hair was covered in thick, red, congealed blood. The
innocence was all but gone from her eyes. She was gnawing away at her mother’s
decaying corpse, taking large bites, then holding the chunks in her tiny hands
while slowly devouring them. Rick quietly closed the door and leaned against it.
How could his once precious child be turned into such a horrid creature? How could
she eat her own mother? What would she do to him? Rick grasped his weapon firmly in
his hands and prepared himself for what he knew would be the hardest thing he ever
had to do. He stood there for a moment, gathering his nerves. He slowed his
breathing and rung his hands around the bat’s handle. He grasped the doorknob and
counted…one…two…THREE!
He swung the door open and raised the slugger high into the air…but Stacy was gone.
Rick turned around full circle, looking for any sign of where she might have gone,
but saw no sign of her. He quickly moved up against the wall and headed slowly down
the hall, cautiously stopping and peering into each doorway ready to strike. Where
could she have gone? He walked toward the staircase and gave one final look around
before he headed down the first few steps. Out of nowhere, he felt a strong push
and down he went; the garlands and decorations hung on the banister falling behind
him. Each step he hit on the way seemed to hurt more than the one before until he
reached the bottom, hitting the living room floor with a harsh thud. Rick tried to
stand, but the room wouldn’t stop spinning. His head felt as if a thousand pounds
were resting on top of it. He stayed there lying on the floor for a few moments,
trying to regain a sense of where he was. Once the room stopped spinning, he again
tried to stand.
Stacy pounced at him, trying to sink her teeth into his left arm. Rick reacted by
quickly rolling over and kicking her in the mouth. He went to swing his bat at her
only to realize it had rolled across the room and under the Christmas tree on his
way down the steps.
“Fuck!”
Stacy stood up, her jaw now hanging grotesquely from her face. Rick scrambled to
get to his weapon, but Stacy quickly grabbed him by the leg and wouldn’t let go.
How the hell is an undead eight-year-old so strong? Rick flipped over and once
again kicked her in the mouth, sending what was left of her jaw flying across the
room. He stumbled to his feet and made a mad dash for the bat lying under the tree,
almost like a gift from God. He grabbed it and swung it as hard as he could at
Stacy, almost taking her head clean off her small body. As she hit the floor, Rick
continued to strike her in a crazed frenzy. Over and over he swung his weapon of
death, leaving nothing but fragments of flesh and brain matter behind.
After what seemed like forever, Rick finally stopped beating what once was a body
and began panting like a dog in the summer heat. He dropped the bat and fell to his
knees, crying over the remaining fragments of Stacy.
“Oh God, what did I just do? What the fuck is going on? Answer me you bastard!”
Rick didn’t know what to do. He had just killed, or re-killed, his wife and
daughter. His entire world had been pulled out from under him in less than an hour,
and all he has left now is shattered remains and a cracked baseball bat.
Rick headed upstairs to his daughters’ room. He stopped at the doorway and peered
inside. The memory of how excited the girls were to finally have a big girl bed to
share flashed through his head.
“That’s right, you’re big girls now, and you deserve a big girl bed,” he said
through his stream of tears as he sat down on the bed. He picked up the blood
soaked blanket and cried into it, his tearful screams muffled.
How could his perfect Christmas turn into something so evil and deadly? How could
God just take away everything that ever meant anything to him? What had he done to
deserve this? And more importantly, what had his daughters done? As these questions
floated through his head, he heard a small, faint voice through his sobbing.
“Santa?” the voice questioned.
Richard looked up and saw the silhouette of a little girl standing in the doorway,
her face covered by the shadows.
“Sarah?” said Rick in a hopeful voice.
“Santa?” she said again.
“Oh Sarah!” Rick quickly ran out and threw his arms around her. He had never been
so happy in his life. Tears began to stream down his face again, but this time they
were full of joy and relief.
“Oh Sarah, I thought I had lost you!” he said as he kissed her cheek…her ice-cold
cheek.
“Yummy Santa!” said Sarah, as she bit into Rick’s neck.
Poor Rick. At least he succeeded in cheering little Sarah up for Christmas!
Story Art Cover
By David Naughton-Shires
http://www.TheImageDesigns.com
Dedication
To my wife for the support. To my daughter for the love. To Billy McLaughlin for
the inspiration.
Author Bio
Lyle Perez-Tinics is a zombie book reviewer turned author. He is the creator of

UndeadintheHead.com, a website dedicated to zombie books and the authors. Lyle
lives in Southern California with his wife and daughter. He truly enjoys writing
about the undead and as soon as his anthology is published, he will have a steady
flow of fresh material to follow. His goal is to one day earn enough money from his
writing to open a horror themed bookstore. Until then, he will continue bringing
his fans the best, original fiction he can think of.
Lyle’s work
The Undead Nation Anthology – Dement
Eye Witness: Zombie (anthology) – Dead of Old
Laidenn, The Dark Elf
25 Ways to Get Rid of Your Zombie (humor)
Daily Bites of Flesh (flash fiction) – Wrath of a Father
Emails of the Dead - Stay Home
www.UndeadintheHead.com
www.Twitter.com/LylePerez
The Gingerbreads
“Can you see what’s going on outside?” Fred asked his wife, Ginger, as they stared
outside through the living room window.
“Yeah it’s a bit dark, but I can see five of them. They’re standing on the sidewalk
looking toward the front door.” She replied, trying to be as quiet as possible.
“Well why can’t I see them?”
“How should I know?” She said agitated. “Come over here and look.”
Fred walked toward Ginger, carefully stepping around the fully lit Christmas tree
and jumping onto wrapped presents. He leaped off a medium size gift into a clearing
and continued to hustle toward Ginger. “Why do you have the blinds open so far?” He
asked concerned, then continued, “Close them a little or they’ll see us.”
“Oh hush Fred, I don’t think they are infected. I think they are normals.” Ginger
said still looking out the window.
“Normals!” Fred gasped frightened. “They’re even worse than the infected. Do you
think they know what we are?”
“I don’t think they do.”
“Here, let me look.” Fred jumped up to the window, then stared outside through an
opening in the blinds. “Yup, they are normals,” he said as his eyes made of
frosting blinked. “Let’s just wait and hope some infected come. Wait a second. The
normals are starting to swing back and forth.”
Ginger jumped onto the window ledge and stood next to Fred, their little hands
touched. The five normals lit candles and began to sing.
“Ohhhhhhh, weeeeeee, wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, we
wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.”
“So that’s what they’re doing.” Fred stated out loud.
“What?” Ginger asked “What are they doing?”
“They are carolers.”
“Well what do they want?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not as old as you might think. I was only baked about a week
ago. It seems to me that since it is Christmas Eve they want to come in because we
have food.”
“We do?” Ginger asked.
“Well yeah, I mean, right now I’m baking another batch of us so we can have some
Christmas company.” It finally dawned on Fred. He understood why the carolers came
to their front door. They knew that this
house had Gingerbread residents, and the normals were hungry. Fred hopped in the
air and backed away from the window. “Run, hide!”
“But why?” Ginger asked confused. “We don’t have any food.”
“Ginger my love,” Fred replied, “we are the food!”

“Oh dear!” Ginger exclaimed as she jumped off the window ledge.
Fred ran toward Ginger and grabbed hold of her hand.
“This is what we are going to do,” Fred pointed up to the Christmas tree, “we are
going to pretend we are ornaments. Just jump onto the tree and hold on!”
Fred let go of Ginger’s hand and jumped as high as he could. He grabbed on to a

branch and blended in with the rest of the tree ornaments. Ginger was close behind.
“Now stand still,” he said, “here they come.”
At that moment, the front door swung open and the five normals slowly walked
through the door. Fred felt the tree shaking; he knew Ginger was scared, but there
was no way the normals would find them on the Christmas tree.
The Gingerbreads stayed in their hiding spot while the normals ransacked the little
home. Fred and Ginger didn’t have much. It was only a one bedroom house with a
kitchen and a bathroom. The previous owners were taken away by the infected a
little after they baked a batch of cookies with the special dough. Fred was the
only cookie left in the batch before the infected stormed the little house. No one
could explain why the dough was magical, but soon after the normals were taken, the
little Gingerbread man moved. Fred was not the first Gingerbread to get up and
walk. This magical dough has been around for as long as the undead have.
After standing still for five minutes Fred smelled something foul. The oven was
still on and their Gingerbread brothers and sisters were surely roasted by now.
‘Oh, what a terrible way to go,’ Fred thought, ‘that’s even worse than being eaten
by a normal.’
A normal male quickly ran toward the kitchen. Fred couldn’t see what they were
doing, but he did hear the racket. They took the baking pan out of the oven and
slammed it on the stove.
“Dinner time!” One of the normals yelled.
Fred heard the faint cries of his Gingerbread friends as they were devoured by the
normals. The half burned Gingerbread people wailed in pain one by one.
“No please don’t”
“Please nooooooo”
“I’ve never had a chance to live.”
“I hope you burn your mouth you filthy normal!”
A tear made of vanilla frosting fell down Fred’s face.
The five normals came back into the living room. They wiped their mouths and dusted
the leftover crumbs off their clothes. One of them looked directly at the Christmas
tree, directly at Fred and Ginger. That is when they heard it, the moans of an
undead hoard.
‘Oh thank heavens,’ Fred thought as he heard dragging footsteps coming closer to
the open front door.
The normal male had forgotten all about the hiding Gingerbread cookies. The tables
have turned. The caroling normals were no longer the hunters they were now the
hunted. The undead don’t like to eat Gingerbread people, but they sure do like
themselves some normal’s flesh. Gingerbread and the undead are not friends, but
they are not enemies either.
Fred broke character so he can see the reaction of the normals that were now
frantically searching their little home for weapons.
“I can’t find anything,” one of the normals said.
“Well what do you expect? Gingerbread people live here now. The only stuff you’ll
find is baking utensils. That’s all they seem to do.”
“What? Bake?”
“Yup they love baking more cookies. Which is good for us, their cookies are always
delicious.”
“Both of you hush up.” A stern female voice said, “The undead are coming. We need
to get ready to fight them off. Whose bright idea was it to carol anyway? I’m sure
that’s what brought them.”
No one answered the voice. The moans and footsteps grew closer. Any second now the
Gingerbread will see their saviors. Fred looked toward Ginger’s hiding spot but she
was gone. He nervously searched the area and called out her name. There was no
response. He peered down and spotted Ginger already sitting on the edge of a
present waiting for the show. Fred smiled and his love for Ginger renewed, he is
very glad he made her first. Fred jumped off the tree and sat on the edge of a
present next to his cookie love. It was almost show time.
“Look there’s one!” said Ginger pointing at the first zombie that stumbled into the
door.
“One of them is inside!” A normal yelled, while another asked “Who left the door
open!?”
Ginger and Fred giggled at the unprepared normals. One of the uninfected rushed out
of the kitchen with a toaster in his hands. He raised his pathetic weapon and
brought it crashing down on the zombie’s head. It staggered back but didn’t fall.
The normal raised the toaster again, but the undead lashed out toward the man. It
grabbed hold of him and quickly bit into his neck. Blood gushed out of his neck
like a fountain, squirting the zombie’s face with blood. The toaster fell out of
his hands.
Another normal hurried out of the kitchen. She stared at the scene and yelled
“Frankie no!” She leaped onto the zombies back who was still biting into the man’s
neck. She pried the zombie away from the normal she called Frankie. A large chunk
of Frankie’s neck tore loose as the infected was pulled away. Frankie fell to the
floor holding his neck. Blood continued to gush out of his wound, which was now
seeping through the cracks of his fingers.
The normal female pushed the zombie back and took a large butcher knife out of her
makeshift holster. She waited for the zombie to lunge and when it did, she forced
the knife under its chin and through the zombies head. The blade slid easily into
the creature’s head, then stopped when the tip poked out of its scalp. She forced
the knife out again and the infected fell to the ground. She ran for the door and
closed it. Pounding erupted from outside the door.
The other three normals ran out of the kitchen. “Thanks for the help!” the woman
normal yelled, as she pressed her body against the back of the door. She looked
down toward Frankie, who was now motionless and lying in a pool of his own blood,
then continued “Frankie’s dead!”
***
“All right!” Ginger cheered, a little louder than she should have. “The infected
got the one that saw us.”
“Shhh,” Fred replied. “We’re not in the clearing yet. There are still four of
them.”
“Poor Frankie,” one of the normals said.
Two normals pressed up against the door along side the woman with the large knife.
A loud crash echoed through the house as one of the infected came stumbling through
the window next to the Christmas tree. It rolled into the house knocking over the
Christmas tree.
“Ahhhh!” the two Gingerbread yelled, as the tree came crashing down on them. Fred
managed to jump out of the way, but Ginger leaped toward the normals.
***
The infected that smashed its way through the window rose to its feet. Its eyes
began to glow red.
The normal not holding the door yelled worriedly, “Its eyes are red! I’ve never
seen any of them do that!”
“Don’t be stupid Brad, the Christmas lights are reflecting off its eyes. Go take it
out!” the woman with the sward like knife yelled.
More pounding erupted from the other side of the door. More infected were trying to
get in.
***
Fred yelled as loud as his little Gingerbread voice could go,
“Giiiiiinnnggggeeerrrrrr!” But there was no reply. He couldn’t see Ginger from
where he was, somewhere inside the tree’s branches and next to the presents. Fred
grabbed hold of a tree branch and found his way to the middle of the tree. He ran
as fast as his little legs could go to make it to the tree stump. He was in the
clearing and from his position he could see the fight continuing between the
normals and the infected.
***
The normal named Brad rushed toward the infected. He had the large baking pan that
Fred used to bake more Gingerbread cookies in his hands. He raised it up and
brought it down on the zombie’s head. A loud smack echoed in the room. He hit the
undead again and again until the infected was on the ground. Brad jumped into the
air and came crashing down onto the zombie’s head, near its mouth. The zombie’s
eyes popped out of their sockets and flew into the air. Blood, goop and other
unidentified matter explode out of the zombies head like a party popper, spraying
the normals at the door with infected juice. The two eyeballs arched in the air
like a rainbow and landed near the kitchens entrance with a smack. The eyes proceed
to roll into the kitchen and out of sight.
“Brad you idiot!” One of the normal yelled, “I’m not going to be able to take a
shower for a long time.”
Brad didn’t look down at the mess he knew the zombie was in. If he did look, then
he would surely vomit the burnt Gingerbread cookies he ate. He searched around the
room for a sheet or something to cover the body. More pounding came from the door.
The normals were not going to be able to hold the door forever.
***
“Ggggiinnnngggeeeerrrr!” Fred yelled from the tree stump. Again there was no
answer. He began to worry for his little Gingerbread wife. ‘I need to find higher
ground,’ Fred thought. He had the option of running toward the couch on the other
side of the living room. Without hesitation the little six inch tall Gingerbread
man began running in that direction.
There was no need to worry about being seen. The normals were no longer interested
in finding more Gingerbread cookies. They were more interested in survival.
Fred jumped and leaped through the overturned tree until he made it to the top. The
sofa was only a few feet away, but from the point of view of a Gingerbread man - it
looked like miles. He leaped off the tree and headed for the couch. Fred looked
toward the panicking normals then glanced at the body of Frankie whose eyes have
begun to flutter open.
***
“Stop looking around and help us hold the door closed,” the woman with the large
cook's knife yelled at Brad.
“OK, Sandra” Brad replied as he walked toward the door.
None of the non-infected noticed that Frankie’s eyes have opened, especially Brad.
He carefully stepped over Frankie’s body not wanting to look down. Frankie grabbed
a hold of Brad’s exposed leg. He gasped and looked down to see Frankie snapping his
jaw toward his calf.
“Look out!” Someone yelled, a little too late. Frankie already had his teeth around
Brad’s leg. He howled in pain then tried to shake Frankie away. His jaw locked and
sunk further into Brad’s calf. Blood dripped out of the wound and flowed into
Frankie’s mouth.
Without a second thought Sandra jumped away from the door and ran toward Brad. She
pulled the knife out of the makeshift holster and slashed across Brad’s throat.
Blood squirted out of the wound as a sorrow filled look washed over Brad’s face.
Brad tried to force the word why out but fell to the ground before he could do so.
Sandra took the knife and jammed it into the side of Frankie’s skull. She pulled
the knife out and brain matter oozed out of the hole made by the knife.
***
Fred made it to the couch and climbed up the side. The little Gingerbread man was
sweating vanilla frosting from all the running and jumping. He walked to the edge
of the cushion and sat.
“Ginger where are you?” said Fred out loud to himself.
“I’m over here,” a reply came from the other end of the couch.
“Ginger!” Fred yelled, as he stared into her cookie face. “I was so worried I had
no idea where you were.” Fred ran toward Ginger as he spoke.
“I’m fine silly,” she said, “I ran over here because the tree was blocking my view.
I wanted to see the action!”
That last comment frightened Fred, but he brushed the feeling away and gave Ginger
a nice long hug. They held hands and sat on the edge of a cushion to watch the rest
of the show.
***
“Damnit Sandra! What did you do that for?” a voice questioned.
“I had to!” She snapped back angry with herself. “It was my fault! I should have
destroyed Frankie’s brain when he was bitten.”
Sandra hurried toward Brad who was laying face down on the floor. He was motionless
and had been drained of his life essence. Sandra raised her knife in the air.
“We can’t hold the door any long-” The same voice cried as the undead broke
through.
Sandra lowered her knife and headed for the kitchen. The other two normals followed
close behind.
The zombies poured into the living room like a flood. Some walked in through the
door as others stumbled in through the broken window. The first few zombies
instantly knelt in front of Frankie and Brad’s bodies on the floor. The dead began
feasting on their flesh as the next wave of undead headed to the kitchen in search
of more prey.
***
“Aww,” Ginger sighed, “they went into the kitchen, we can’t see them anymore. Come
on let’s go after them.”
Ginger stood and leaped off the couch then ran toward the kitchen.
“Wait!” Fred pleaded, “Don’t! You’re going to get trampled by the undead!”
Ginger ran into the hoard of zombies nearly getting smashed to pieces by their
feet. Fred lost sight of her as she made her way into the kitchen. ‘Why is she
being so reckless?’ Fred thought as he leaped off the couch after her.
“Ginger!” Fred yelled. He ran straight into the hoard. There was no fear in his
eyes. He had to save the woman he loved. Fred jumped and dodged the feet of the
walking dead. Drops of blood fell from above, nearly splattering the little
Gingerbread man with tainted juice. Fred ran as fast as he could and made his way
through the kitchen entrance.
Fred put his little hands around his mouth and yelled, “Ginger!” He looked around
trying to find her, but the entire room was completely filled with the infected.
“Up here!” a familiar voice shouted.
Fred looked up toward the kitchen table and there was Ginger. She sat on the edge
of the table, staring out into the hoard of dead. She looked down at Fred and
waved.
Fred grabbed on to a table leg and began to climb up. He made it to the top and the
two Gingerbread people reunited. Fred hugged Ginger as they both stared at the
slaughter.
***
“There’s no place to go,” Sandra cried from behind their little barricade - which
consisted of a refrigerator lying on its side. “This isn’t going to hold them
forever!” She glanced to the floor and staring back at her were the zombie’s
missing eyes.
The two normal men tried to open the little window above the sink. They managed to
get it open and one of them crawled out, only to be grabbed by the undead waiting
on the other side. The man still inside the kitchen closed the window when he saw
the hideous face of a walking dead woman.
More zombies piled into the little kitchen. The normal man looked over to Sandra
for orders, but she had already taken her life. He saw the handle of her knife
lodged in the side of her head. Blood oozed out of her head as she laid still on
the floor.
The undead clawed over the barricade and grabbed hold of the man. He screamed in
pain as the first undead bit into his cheek. Undead piled on top of the man causing
him to fall back. The slaughter was over and the undead have won.
***
“Wow, what a show.” Ginger said enthusiastically, “What happens now?”

“Well,” Fred answered “they will finish eating the normals then they will scatter
out of here like roaches to find more food.”
“Cool,” Ginger added “So they don’t eat us correct?”
“No” Fred answered.
“Can they talk?”
“I don’t know to tell you the truth.” Fred responded. He turned to face Ginger only
to see her jump off the table.
“Hey zombies!” Ginger yelled, “Helllllooo? I’m talking to you.”
Fred ran to the edge and peered down toward Ginger.
“Ginger! Stop that! Get back up here and leave them alone.”
Ginger ignored Fred’s plea. A zombie peeked down at the little cookie making noise.
He knelt down to examine it. Fred watched in horror as the undead lifted Ginger off
the ground. The zombie then licked Ginger from head to toe, its saliva getting into
her mouth and any other openings.
“Ginger!” Fred yelled.
The zombie finished licking Ginger, then placed her next to Fred. It turned and
started walking out of the kitchen. All of the zombies followed. Fred suspected
that there was no more food for them.
Ginger laid motionless on the table. Fred knelt before her and began to weep. He
knew that Ginger was dead. The infection got inside of her and now she was dead.
Fred, however, didn’t know how the zombie infection would affect a Gingerbread, if
it did at all. He watched Ginger as the zombies cleared out of the house, leaving
skeletons of the normals who invaded the Gingerbread’s home. Fred heard the door
slam shut, then Gingers frosting eyes opened.
“Ginger!” Fred yelled, “Are you alright my dear?”
“Yes,” she replied, “I’m fine, but I must infect the normals.”
“Eh?” Fred questioned, “What are you talking about?”
“Something inside of me is saying that I must infect the other normals. Where are
they Fred?”
“I… I don’t know.” Fred answered frightened.
There was this new look to Ginger, something almost sinister. There was this
calmness to her voice, as if she wasn’t the same cookie she once was.
“What do you know about this Santa?” The undead Gingerbread cookie asked.
“Um… not much. I know that he comes to all the good kid’s homes to give them
presents. He loves eating cookies and drinking milk.”
“And what time does Santa come?”
“Overnight I guess.”
“Thank you, Fred.” Ginger said as she paced on the kitchen table.
Fred turned around, not wanting to look at the Gingerbread cookie who once was his
loving wife. She was now an infected cookie and he wanted nothing to do with her.
He had to slay her. He could always make himself a new companion. When the thought
crossed his mind, he heard fast approaching footsteps.
Fred spun around only to see Ginger charging toward him. She knocked the little
Gingerbread man off the table with a force Fred didn’t know she had. Fred the
Gingerbread cookie flew in the air and landed on the ground ten feet away. His neck
broke when he landed, sending his head skidding a few feet away from his body.
***
“Ho, Ho, Oh my.” A jolly old voice said. “It looks like there have been some
naughty zombies here. Oh how I hate those things.” Santa grumbled. The big man
dressed in red walked around the living room and examined the skeletons on the
floor. “Ah, Brad and Frankie, you were two good boys when you were children. I am
so sorry. No one deserves to be eaten.”
Santa noticed a pleasing aroma coming from the kitchen. He instantly forgot about
the bones on the floor and made his way into the kitchen. The smell of freshly
baked Gingerbread cookies was coming from somewhere. Saint Nick glanced toward the
table and there was a female Gingerbread cookie lying next to a note. He grabbed
the note and read it aloud.
“Santa, please enjoy this special Gingerbread cookie, then spread your holiday
cheer.” He smiled and picked up the Gingerbread cookie. He turned the cookie around
and written in frosting was the name Ginger. “Thank you Ginger,” he said, then ate
the cookie. “That was the best Gingerbread cookie I’ve ever had.”
Santa turned and headed back to the chimney. “Oh, something is making my belly
shake like a bowl full of jelly,” Santa snarled as he made his way back up the
chimney. He knew something was wrong, but didn’t know what, until he sat in his
sleigh and closed his eyes. A tiny little voice inside of him began to speak.
“Thank you for eating me Santa, I have succeeded in spreading the zombie
infection.” Santa’s eyes widened, he realized that he was now becoming a zombie
himself. The sleigh took off into the cold December night to the next house where
Santa will spread his new holiday cheer.
Story Art Cover
By Justin T. Coons
http://www.Facebook.com/horrorart
Dedication
To my little man who loves Christmas and believes anything is possible. Always
dream with the heart of a child. And also to my husband, whose support means more
to me than I could ever say.
Author Bio
Rebecca Besser lives in Ohio with her husband and little man, and enjoys the
challenge of writing for various age groups and genres. She’s a graduate of the
Institute of Children’s Literature, a member of Write-On Writers and the Ohio
Poetry Association (OPA). Her writing has appeared in the Coshocton Tribune, Irish
Story Playhouse, Spaceports & Spidersilk, joyful!, Soft Whispers, Illuminata,
Common Threads, and Golden Visions Magazine.
For current updates and to learn more about Rebecca, go to: www.rebeccabesser.com
She is currently an editor with Living Dead Press, and has been published in the
following anthologies by LDP:
Night of the Wolf: A Werewolf Anthology
End of Days 3: An Apocalyptic Anthology
End of Days 4: An Apocalyptic Anthology
Dark Dreams Tales of Terror
Twisted Fish: An Aquatic Anthology
Dead Worlds 7: A Zombie Anthology
To check out more about the anthologies, go to: www.livingdeadpress.com
The Magic of Christmas
By Rebecca Besser
“Hammond, where is everyone? Only half the elves are here today.”
“They’re sick, Santa,” Hammond said with a heavy sigh, as he too looked out over
the workshop floor. “Ever since Royce came back from cutting down Christmas trees
with a strange bite, more and more elves are getting ill.”
Santa crossed his arms and frowned. “Will we still meet our quota for toys? I can’t
have children going without presents.”
“If we work longer shifts we should be able to make it,” said Hammond looking at a
spreadsheet that was on his clipboard. “It’s going to be close. If anyone else gets
sick we might fail.”
“Failure is not an option,” Santa said sternly. “Do what needs done. After
Christmas everyone can rest.”
Hammond watched as Santa walked away. He hadn’t mentioned that the illness was the
strangest he had ever seen. Santa didn’t need the extra stress right now, as he was
still going over the Naughty & Nice List.
Turning toward the workshop, Hammond got on the intercom and announced the shifts
that would be needed to ensure Christmas came on time.
* * *
“Hold him down!” Dr. Jim screamed. “If he bites anyone, they’ll get sick, too. We
already have too many of these biters!”
“I’m trying, sir,” Milly said just before the patient broke loose and took a chunk
out of her arm with his teeth. She screamed as blood shot everywhere, her eyes huge
with pain and shock.
Dr. Jim growled and grabbed the patient’s arm, slamming it down on the table and
securing it with tinsel rope. “Milly, go get that bandaged and then admit yourself
to the Holly Wing. You’re now infected with the disease.”
Milly took a deep, shaky breath with tears in her eyes. She had seen what happened
to the infected and didn’t want it to happen to her. Her eyes pleaded with Dr. Jim,
begging him to let her stay, to say she wasn’t infected.
He took a deep breath and softened his tone. “Maybe we’ll figure something out.
Maybe we’ll be able to stop it. But you know as well as I do that you’ll try to
infect someone else once it takes hold. We have to be careful. Go and get looked
after. I’ll come check on you when I get done here.”
Milly nodded, her tears sliding down her round, cheery cheeks that were already
starting to pale. She scurried out through the brightly painted red and white
striped doors.
As they swung shut, Dr. Jim bowed his head and said a quick prayer, asking God to
save them all. He knew that this was a hopeless cause. There was no stopping the
infection. He pulled up his sleeve and looked at the pussy teeth marks that were
turning his arm purple. Soon he would be one of the flesh eaters, one of the
walking dead.
The room started to spin and Dr. Jim clung to the table that held the elf who had
already turned. The gnashing of the patient’s teeth and the incessant moans began
to fade as Dr. Jim fell to the floor.
* * *
Two days later, Santa sat in his office, staring out the window. He watched white,
fluffy snowflakes float down from the grey, overcast sky, without really seeing
them. He had finished the Naughty & Nice List yesterday. Today, he had read the
medical report from the hospital. Ninety-eight percent of the elves were sick or
dead. He feared after delivering presents tonight he would come back to nothing.
This might be the last Christmas ever, but at least there would be gifts this year.
Hammond knocked on the door before entering. “Santa, we’ll be ready on time. There
were enough of us left to load the sleigh. We’re exhausted, but there will be
Christmas for the children.”
Santa sighed. “Yes, for the children.”
Hammond caught the melancholy in Santa’s tone. “We’ll figure something out, sir.
Maybe things will be better by the time you return.”
Santa shook his head and rubbed his forehead. The pictures he had just examined
flashed through his mind. Pictures from inside the hospital, were the walls had
been drenched with blood. The red liquid had been everywhere, dripping off the
ceiling and candy cane railing, puddled on the floor. It looked like a sadistic
butcher shop. The worst thing was no one was there. Bones and severed limbs had
littered the halls and rooms, but no living or moving thing was left. Everyone was
missing. The only indication that the missing elves had been able to walk away was
the trail of bloody footprints in the snow, leading into the woods.
“The sleigh will be ready in an hour,” Hammond said and left, closing the door
behind him.
* * *
The reindeer munched contentedly on the hay that was laid out in front of them
while they waited for Santa. The sleigh sat behind them, loaded down with merrily
wrapped packages. The joyful colors of red and green added a festive and exciting
accent to the otherwise drab, brown shed.
Prancer was just bending down for another mouthful of hay when he saw a movement to
his left. He froze as he sniffed the air. It smelled like an elf, but it didn’t.
Looking at the strange creature, Prancer let out a warning bleat.
The other reindeer looked up at Prancer’s warning of danger, stepping back and
forth, they tried to break free of their harnesses’.
The creature ignored the animals and instead headed for the sleigh. The little,
pale elf sniffed at the velvet interior and must have liked the scent, because she
climbed in and burrowed underneath the packages.
Prancer snorted and looked at his teammates. He cocked his head as if to ask, ‘What
was that thing?’ The others snorted and tossed their heads.
* * *
Santa’s solemn face stared back at him as he pulled his shiny, black leather belt
tight over his paunch, securing his red velvet coat.
“This is it, old boy,” Santa said to his reflection. “Time to deliver all the
Christmas cheer.”
He was still staring at his reflection, as if he could find all the answers in his
mirrored self, when Hammond came in.
“It’s time, sir,” he reported to Santa. “The sleigh is loaded, the reindeer are
ready, and it’s time for Christmas Magic!”
Santa inwardly winced at the false cheer in Hammond’s voice.
“Christmas Magic, indeed,” Santa mumbled, turning and putting on his hat. “Let’s
get this over with.”
Hammond looked close to tears as he watched Santa walk out of the room. He may be a
three-hundred-year-old elf, and had cried maybe two times in his adult elf years,
but this was the saddest thing he had ever seen. Santa was depressed about
Christmas, and nothing could be done to pull him out of it.
Moving to the window, Hammond watched Santa board the sleigh that had been pulled
outside. The snowflakes danced, the reindeer pranced, and the thirty elves who
weren’t sick tried to cheer. They fell flat and looked dead on their feet.
Santa cracked his magic whip, the silver and gold strands glinting in the gas
street lights, and with a half-hearted, ‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’, they were off.
Hammond watched them take off. It was perfect as always. At least some things stay
the same, he thought with a sad smile, watching Santa until he couldn’t be seen any
longer. When he looked back at the village, his eyes fell on the condemned
hospital. He shuddered. Despite the new snowfall, the blood on the ground in front
of the main doors was still visible, now showing pink instead of bright red.
Turning from the window, he set about straightening the few items Santa had used
while getting dressed. He was placing the last item, a silver comb, on the dressing
table when he heard the first scream.
Rushing back to the window, he looked down on the quaint village that was nestled
in the arctic glaciers of the North Pole. What he saw made him gasp in shock as
fear gripped his heart with its icy fingers.
They had returned.
* * *
Santa went through his duties, and that’s what they felt like to him that night,
duties. Normally it was a pleasure for him to give gifts. This year he didn’t care.
He knew unless a miracle happened Christmas would cease to exist. What he couldn’t
understand was, why wasn’t Christmas Magic helping now? Why hadn’t it stopped the
outbreak? Was he failing in some way?
With a heavy heart, he left beautiful dolls for good little girls, and skateboards
for good little boys. Thinking of the delight in their eyes when they ran down the
stairs in the morning to find their special gifts, made just for them, brought a
faint smile to his lips and a rose tinge to his waxy cheeks. He decided right
there, right then, this was going to be the best, most beautiful Christmas ever,
even if it killed him.
With renewed vigor, he stood tall and marched to the chimney with determination.
Yes, Christmas was going to be wonderful, illness and death would come, but not
until after he had made sure Christmas would shine in the memory of every person,
in every house, that he touched that night!
* * *
Hammond stood frozen, not quite believing his eyes. Elf-zombie after elf-zombie
came pouring into town, moaning and waving their arms. It was like some circuit in
their festering brains remembered that they were supposed to be there for
something. In fact, they were supposed to see Santa off, but they were too late,
and it was now too late for the elves that had arrived on time.
The hungry horde fell on the tired, weak, healthy elves like they had never eaten
before and needed sustenance so badly that they couldn’t help themselves. Flesh was
bitten and torn off with cruel hands, claws, and teeth. Pale faces and foggy eyes
contrasted with bright red blood as it shot through the air, spraying everyone.
Some of the elf-zombies were cackling and catching blood drops on their tongues,
just like small children do with snowflakes.
He shuddered. The gore was unimaginable. He had never seen such violence. That was
something reserved for humans, not elves. They were supposed to be happy, peaceful
beings. This was not their way.
A gleeful moan sounded behind him. Hammond whirled around to see five of the elf-
zombies standing in the doorway with sadistic grins on their rotting faces. Blood
still speckled their cheeks from the feeding frenzy in the courtyard.
“No,” he said raising his arm to protect himself as they advanced toward him. “No!”
As his back hit the wall, his hand came in contact with a silver-reindeer-topped
cane. Lifting it high over his head, he let out a wild war cry and slammed it into
the head of the lead zombie. It whimpered and fell to the floor to bleed out.
Hammond was shocked with himself, and with the fall of the elf-zombie. Renewed hope
warmed his heart. He would go down fighting. These creatures were not taking
Christmas away that easily. They would pay with their lives.
“You can’t have Christmas,” he yelled and battled the four remaining foes.
They weren’t fast and they weren’t smart, so it didn’t take him long to dispose of
them. With a crocked grin and a cocky swagger, he left the dressing room,
dispatching every zombie that was unlucky enough to cross his path. A few other
healthy elves saw what he was doing. Taking up arms, they followed, and they
fought.
* * *
Santa was on the last leg of his journey. He had one country left to deliver toys
to. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the children would awaken and the true Magic
of Christmas, joy and love, would be spreading all over the world. That was his
gift to the masses. It was the only thing that gave him the strength to go on.
He returned to the sleigh after delivering a train set and a teddy bear, after yet
more milk and cookies, when something in the back caught his attention. A couple of
the packages shifted and he thought he saw claws. Frowning, he didn’t think there
were any puppies being given out this year, due to the outbreak they weren’t taking
any chances by delivering anything live that could possibly carry the disease.
Leaning down into the back seat of the sleigh, he moved a couple of boxes aside,
not finding anything. He was about to turn away when a female elf-zombie shot out
and grabbed hold of his arm. She hissed threateningly and climbed up onto his
shoulders in the blink of an eye.
Santa swung up at the little beast, trying to knock her off. After a full minute of
swinging and spinning, he got a handful of braid and yanked as hard as he could. He
was horrified when he looked down to see that all he held was hair and scalp. It
dripped with slimy, dark red blood and veins. Frozen for a moment in shock, he was
brought back to reality as the zombie bit into his neck.
Screaming with pain and cursing the little demon, he threw himself backwards onto
the roof of the house. He was big enough, and heavy enough, that the action
dislodged the zombie. She went rolling and tumbled off the roof, her head hit a
fence post, impaling and killing her.
For the first time, Santa noticed that the reindeer were agitated. He had been so
preoccupied with what was going on at the North Pole, and his personal hang-ups,
that he had ignored the warning signs they had been trying to give him all night.
Clutching his neck, he got up on his knees and then stood. Walking over to the
reindeer, he patted them gently to calm them down.
“It’s all right now,” he said in a soothing voice. “The little biter is all gone.
We’ll finish up and head home, everything is going to be okay.”
Despite his words, he wasn’t sure. Even now, just a few minutes after being bitten,
he was already starting to feel weak from the loss of blood, and from a fever. As
he climbed back into the sleigh, he grabbed the reins and they were off again, for
how long, he didn’t know.
* * *
Hammond and his army of three follower elves fought their way outside. They stood
in the double doorway of the workshop and surveyed the carnage in front of them.
Altogether they had killed a total of thirty-five zombies. They were tired from
working long, hard shifts and they wanted to lie down and sleep, but that wasn’t an
option. Fear and anger were fueling their bodies with overwhelming amounts of
adrenaline, which seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.
They looked at each other, smiling and grinning with a mad delight in getting
revenge on these Christmas assassins. With a whoop and a holler, they charged into
the fray, swinging their weapons in a craze of joy!
It took the feeding zombies awhile to realize what was happening. Hammond and his
band took out twenty more zombies before their presence was noticed.
The zombies gathered in a shuffling, moaning, disgusting crowd and shambled toward
their attackers, now intent on enjoying some fresh, hot meat.
“Hold rank,” Hammond barked.
The warrior elves stood in a straight line across the street, bloody weapons
dripping on the snow-covered ground. Their breaths came out in thick, puffy clouds.
Eyes blazing, stances set for the onslaught, they waited for Hammond’s signal.
“Forward,” Hammond yelled. “No mercy!”

Charging forward into the horde, Hammond and his band fought valiantly. Clubs met
heads that gave way with moist thumps. Blood sprayed and splashed on the warriors
and on their surroundings, but it didn’t slow them at all. The hungry mouths of the
zombies were everywhere, gnashing, chomping, and biting. Two of the band fell to
their foes, the others fought on.
Before long, all the zombies were down. Hammond looked around for his friends, to
no avail. He was the only survivor, or so he thought.
As he stood bent over, breathing heavily, a door to a small cottage across the
street creaked open. He spun, raising the reindeer cane high above his head, ready
to be charged by yet another enemy. When he saw that it was just a young elf and
his mother standing in the doorway, he laughed and lowered his weapon.
More and more families started pouring out of their homes, where they had been
hiding. Female elves with their children.
Hammond fell to his knees. Their race would go on, the little ones would grow, and
Christmas would continue. Laughing hysterically, letting out all of the tension and
despair that had been plaguing him, he realized that Christmas was truly magical.
* * *
Santa wasn’t feeling too good. Every time he stopped to deliver gifts, he vomited.
This didn’t worry him at first. All the milk he had drank, and a fever, would cause
vomiting, so at first he just ignored it. But as he began to get dizzier and
starting throwing up blood, he knew he was done for. He had to get home, and soon.
Weaving, he made his way back to the sleigh. There was one bag of presents left. He
tried to focus his eyes on the tag and figure out where it needed to go. His brain
wasn’t working right and he couldn’t remember.
Finally, he forced his eyes to read the tag, it said, ‘HUGSFFA’. They were the
gifts for the foster children.
He fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the cool metal railing of the
sleigh. He couldn’t skip them. These children needed the joy and love of Christmas
Magic more than anyone else. He couldn’t let them down.
He forced himself to his feet. The world spun around him and soon he was heaving
and vomiting blood again. He knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t deliver the
packages. He also knew he wouldn’t go home until he knew they were in the hands of
someone that could deliver them.
Suddenly, a single ray of light shot through his brain. He knew whom he could trust
to take the Magic of Christmas to the foster children. Dragging himself into the
sleigh, he gave orders to the reindeer and off they went.
It didn’t take them long to get to the house. In fact, it took Santa longer to
crawl out of the sleigh and drag the bag to the door of the house, than it did for
them to get there.
Weaving drunkenly, he knocked on the door and rang the door bell. As fast as he
possibly could, he made his way back to the sleigh and was just taking off for home
as Lyle Perez-Tinics opened the door.
Lyle frowned and looked down at the dark-green velvet bag that sat at his door
step. Leaning down, he read the tag. With wide eyes, he glanced up into the sky
just in time to see Santa and the reindeer’s silhouette against the backdrop of the
moon.
“What is it, honey?” Lyle’s wife said with a yawn as she wrapped her arms around
his waist from behind.
Lyle patted his wife’s hands where they were linked over his stomach. “Santa.”
He felt her jerk. “What? Are you sleep walking?”
“No,” said Lyle pulling away to show her the bag of packages for Hugs. “I don’t
know why, but he left this here.”
She frowned and then grinned. “I guess he does know who’s naughty and nice. He must
know that you had it in your heart to help those children this year.”
Lyle looked away with a crocked grin and shrugged. “I’ll have to make some calls
and get people out of bed, so we can make sure these presents make it under some
trees before morning.”
His wife laughed. “Let’s do that!”
They made calls for the next hour, getting the addresses to all the children, and
even got some volunteers to help.
The first rays of the morning sun were just peeking over the horizon as Lyle and
his wife walked arm in arm to their front door. All the packages had been delivered
and they were extremely tired.
Pausing, they smiled and let the first warming rays bathe their upturned faces.
“This is gonna be a great Christmas,” Lyle said and kissed his wife’s forehead.
Together they went inside and enjoyed their Christmas together, knowing that they
had helped bring smiles to the faces of many children, who were at that very
moment, opening their presents.
* * *
Santa passed out on the way back to the North Pole. Luckily the reindeer knew their
way home. They were still nervous and flew faster than normal. They needed the
security and safety they knew they would feel when they got into their stalls.
The smell of blood reached them, even in the air. The reindeer jerked so hard, and
rocked the sleigh so violently, it woke Santa. He moaned and took the reins,
guiding the reindeer down the best he could.
He passed out again, just as they halted in the bright red snow.
* * *
Hammond had seen the sleigh land and had come out to meet it. As he approached, he
noticed how pale Santa was. Rushing to him, he shuddered as he saw the festering
wound on Santa’s neck and the blood that dotted his coat.
For a moment he just stood there, not knowing what to do. He wasn’t sure if he
should waste his time by having Santa dragged inside, or if he should just slam
something into his head now, before he turned.
The choice was taken away as a young female elf saw Santa. She screeched with joy
and tugged at her mother’s skirt, yelling, announcing his return.
Soon the remaining elves were surrounding the sleigh. The adult’s eyes took in the
situation and they looked to Hammond with panic and concern.
“Take the reindeer to the barn and see to them,” he instructed a small group of
elves. “The rest of us will get Santa inside. Janet, why don’t you take all the
little ones to your house while we get him inside.”
Janet nodded and took charge of the small children.
The remaining elves helped him get Santa inside. They removed his belt, boots, hat,
and coat and put him in bed.
Hammond stayed with Santa. He could hear the nervous chatter of the other elves in
the hall. There was no hope for Santa. He was going to become a zombie, too.
Hammond bowed his head to pray, and jumped when the door to Santa’s room flew open
and an elf, no more than five-years-old, came dashing in giggling. Her blonde hair
was coming free from her long braids, looking like woven gold in the candle light.
“Santa!” she squealed and hopped up onto the bed.
Hammond jumped up and tried to grab the child, but she was too fast.
Santa’s eyes shot open, they were cloudy. He hissed and sat up, grabbing the girl
as she wrapped her arms around his neck. His teeth were merely an inch away from
her tender flesh, when she spoke.
“Merry Christmas, Santa!”
Zombie Santa froze, and a blinding flash of light flashed between him and the
little girl.
Hammond raised his hand to shield his eyes from the glare. Blinking rapidly, he
waited for it to fade. It only took moments.
When he could see again, he looked at the girl and Santa. He was normal! He looked
cheerful and healthy! The girl was sitting on his lap rattling off all the presents
she had gotten, like nothing at all had happened.
Speechless, Hammond turned and left the room. The Magic of Christmas had come
through for them after all. Everything would be fine, and there would be more
presents next year.
Story Art Cover
By Faron Baldwin
Dedication
To all those boys and girls that feel lost…you are never alone
Author Bio
TW Brown is the author of the Zomblog series and the Dead series. He is deeply
immersed in the multiple sequels of each franchise while trying to balance the
duties of husband, father, friend, and band member as well as keeping busy reading
and editing the numerous submissions for a variety of upcoming anthologies and
full-length titles for May December Publications. He is a member of Horror Writers
Association and has had short stories published by Pill Hill Press and Living Dead
Press.
You can contact him at twbrown@maydecemberpublications.com or visit his website at

http://www.MayDecemberPublications.com
You can follow him on twitter @maydecpub and on Facebook under Todd Brown and also
under May December Publications.
Yes, Rindy, There is a Santa Claus
By TW Brown
Rindy Farmer peeked out from the shadowy doorway. This house had been a good find,
sitting all by itself on a hill looking out over a vastness that everyone was
pretty sure must be somewhere in Wyoming. A steady rain continued to fall, adding
to the gloom felt by everybody the past few days. Nobody could be absolutely
certain, but the general consensus placed it to be sometime in December. This would
be the third Christmas since, them. Most folks called them zombies, not Rindy. That
was the nickname she had given her little brother, Zimbalist—named after some long-
dead television star that her dad liked when he was little.
When her parents brought him home the first day and told her the name they had
picked, she wrinkled her nose in distaste. From that day, he’d been ‘Baby Zombie’
to her. He was dead now. Both times. Same as her parents.
At age twelve, Rindy Farmer had been trapped in a bathroom while her mom, dad, and
little brother clawed at the door. Then, the soldier came. His name was Morgan, and
he had shot each of them in the head.
He saved Rindy.
Over the next two years, she traveled with Corporal Morgan. He taught her to shoot.
He also taught her not to shoot. Noise always brought more of them. That was why he
also taught her how to use a knife, a spear—for jabbing, not throwing—and a bow and
arrow. He showed her how to search a room. Then secure it after ensuring an escape
route.
He taught her other stuff, too. He taught her how to tell if a can of food was bad,
how to make fire with a flint and the blade of her machete. And he taught her how
to hide.
“Never trust anybody,” Corporal Morgan said time and again. “Especially men.”
“You’re a man,” Rindy pointed out the obvious the first time.
“Yep,” Corporal Morgan agreed. “And my daughter was about half your age.”
“They got her?”
The corporal nodded. “But not everybody had daughters. Some men will see you
differently.”
Rindy knew what Corporal Morgan wasn’t saying…was too embarrassed to say. The past
few years she had seen gruesome examples of exactly why he had given that warning.
Two hundred and thirteen days ago, Corporal Morgan died. Then, he sat back up.
Rindy put him down and unlike with her brother and
parents, Rindy was able to take the time to bury him. Afterwards, she had been
alone for almost a month. Just like when she traveled with Corporal Morgan,
sometimes there were others; sometimes not. One morning, twenty-six days after she
buried Corporal Morgan, Rindy discovered a motel all by itself on an empty stretch
of what was left of a highway. That wasn’t a very big deal. The big deal was
finding Marjorie, Brad, and Amber.
Marjorie was only a few years older than Rindy. She was Brad and Angie’s big
sister. She was also very pregnant. She and her brother and sister didn’t have a
Corporal Morgan. They had found out the hard way that they couldn’t trust just
anybody. Especially men.
Brad, age nine, and Amber, age seven, didn’t talk anymore. Marjorie told Rindy that
they had seen things. Rindy didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know. The four of them
lived in one motel room together for a week. Rindy didn’t like staying in one place
too long.
One morning, she woke up, ready to say farewell to Marjorie, Amber, and Brad. Only,
Marjorie wasn’t there. She checked in the bathroom…empty. She went outside, peeking
through the dusty plastic blinds first, just like she’d been taught.
In the room to the left, the door was open. Rindy peeked inside, finding Marjorie
on the bed. Something was sticking out between her legs. It looked like tiny feet.
Marjorie was dead. Rindy covered Marjorie with a blanket, then left the room
closing the door behind her.
Just leaving wasn’t a choice. After all, where would she be if Corporal Morgan had
just left her behind? So, she went into the room and woke up Brad and Amber. After
breakfast—the last can of beef stew—she explained what happened and held them as
they cried. It was okay to cry. Corporal Morgan said that holding everything in
wasn’t good for you. When things happen that upset her, he always told her, “One
good cry…get it all out and move on. It ain’t like the old days when you had time
to let one tiny problem own you for weeks.”
Rindy let them cry. It was obvious that they needed it, because they cried for a
long time. Then something strange happened, Brad stood up and asked, “Can we leave?
I don’t want to stay where my sister died.”
Little Amber got up next to her brother and wiped her red, runny nose with her
sleeve and sniffled. “Me, too.”
Rindy helped them gather their few belongings, and they began walking up the long,
empty road. Two days later they met Ryan and Penny; they were both twenty-five.
Ryan was a cook and Penny was a dancer. Rindy tried not to giggle when Amber asked
if Penny could teach her to dance.
The two had met at a FEMA evacuation center. One night the soldiers in charge
simply up and left. Ryan said it got bad fast. A couple of men were ‘hurting’ Penny
when he found them. He had a .22 pistol and shot one of the men. The other man
walked away. That night Ryan and Penny left the FEMA center. They’d been on the
road ever since.
The five of them travelled together. Twice they thought they’d found a place to
hold up through the winter. Once, a large gang rolled into the area. Nobody wanted
to wait to find out if they were friendly, so they slipped out under the cover of
night.
The second place, a non-descript house in a partially burned down development

seemed perfect. Even though many of the houses had burned down, the whole community
was behind a waist-high wall. A stone’s throw away, a river swept past. Ryan said
it was the Platte River. The blessing became a curse when a terrible storm came
through. For three days they watched as the river flowed over its banks, creeping
just as slowly and steadily across the flat plain as any zombie. Every hour it came
closer to the houses. Eventually, water began flowing down the razor-straight grid
of streets. They travelled for two more weeks when they found the biggest, most
amazing house Rindy had ever seen. It sat on a hill looking over a valley that
stretched off to the east and west. The valley was bordered by enormous rocky
cliffs to the north and the south.
Unlike many houses these days, this one still had most of its windows intact. It
stood three stories high, and had a huge fireplace inside that seemed bigger than
Rindy’s bedroom in her old house with mom, dad, and ‘Baby Zombie’. The only
disappointment had been the pantry. Easily the size of a small apartment, it was
full of bags and bins. These people had obviously not believed in food out of a
can. Not a single box of macaroni and cheese. There were a variety of herbs and
spices…all rotten and useless.
Looking around, they found a large plot that Ryan said was a garden. Of course it
was dead and full of weeds, but Ryan said it held promise. It looked like they had
found not just their winter home, but maybe a place that they could stay. At least
that’s what Ryan and Penny kept saying. Rindy wasn’t so sure. She didn’t like
staying any place too long.
The days grew shorter, colder, and gloomy. Rindy continued to teach Brad and Amber
the things Corporal Morgan taught her. Sometimes Ryan and Penny watched, whispering
back and forth. For some reason, watching her train Brad and Amber seemed to make
them sad.
One morning, Rindy was out early before the sun came up. She’d made herself a
breakfast, roasting a chunk of pumpkin and eating it with her fish that Penny
caught and smoked a few days before. She liked going out early by herself. The
first day, she’d come back with three rabbits. That had been quite a feast. She
hadn’t been out twenty minutes when she saw it: an enormous deer.
An hour later, she, Ryan, and Penny were hauling the field-stripped carcass back to
the house. While Rindy and Penny went to work cutting it up, Ryan and Brad went
foraging for some editable winter greens. Ryan was really good at identifying
plants.
Late that afternoon, Ryan and Brad returned. Ryan was very excited. The two had
gone off searching for some greens, and hopefully a few herbs he could use to
spruce up that night’s meal. They found a road, mostly washed out. Curiosity
getting the better of them, they’d followed it. It was Brad who found the sign:
Elkhart 2 mi. A town was a mere two miles away!
“You know what that means?” Ryan asked.
“That we’ll need to be more careful and keep our eyes open for roamers and
stragglers,” Rindy said.
“Gloomy much?” Penny snorted.
“It means that we might be able to salvage some useful stuff,” Ryan ignored Rindy.
“It will be like a shopping spree,” said Penny sounding like she’d just won the
grand prize on a game show.
That night, everybody sat around the fire, eating venison, a bitter salad that
Amber took one taste of and refused to take another, cups of steaming hot water
from the creek nearby, and the big surprise that Ryan had kept hidden and sent Brad
for once dinner was done…apples! One of the houses on the outskirt of the newly
discovered town had a pair of apple trees in the yard. They were kinda shriveled,
but everybody snacked away with ear-to-ear grins.
“You went into town?” Penny asked.
“Naw,” Ryan shook his head, “just this one house on the outskirts.”
That night, the rest of the talk centered on the possibilities of what they might
find. The next day, Ryan and Penny left early with empty backpacks. They were gone
all that day and night. The next day, they came back with full packs and huge
smiles.
“We got the makin’s of a regular feast,” Ryan crowed. “Just in time for
Thanksgiving.”
“Did you find turkey?” Amber climbed up onto a stool next to the counter as Ryan
and Penny unloaded their packs.
“Nope, but we got venison, just like the pilgrims ate, and…” He produced two
bottles carefully wrapped. “I found corn syrup.”
“Ohhhkay,” Rindy raised an eyebrow.
“The perfect sweetener, along with some cinnamon and ginger. I think I can make
something close to pumpkin pie. Just without the crust,” Ryan explained.
This made everybody smile. The next day, while she was out in the morning, Rindy
bagged five quail. To make things even better, she’d found a nest with seven newly
hatched eggs, bundled up the chicks and returned to the house.
“You’re lethal with that bow and arrow, kid,” Ryan said. Rindy scowled, and Ryan
raised his hands. “Young lady…sorry”
“That’s pretty close to turkey,” Penny offered. “But what’s with the little
peepers?” she asked tilting her head. Rindy carefully arranged the cluster of
chicks in the empty kitchen sink, nestling them in a ratty sweatshirt.
“Maybe we can raise ‘em and use their eggs,” Rindy shrugged.
“That’s not a bad idea at all,” Ryan admitted.
That night, they decided it was close enough to Thanksgiving. The meal was great,
and everybody loved Ryan’s pumpkin custard. None of them could remember being that
full and that satisfied in a long time.
“All we need is the Detroit and the Dallas game, and it would be just like old
times,” Ryan said as he undid the button on his pants and stretched out on the
couch.
“You were into that?” Penny scoffed.
“I’m a guy aren’t I?”
“I miss the Black Friday shopping with my sister and a few friends,” Penny said
sheepishly.
“You were one of those people?” Ryan sat up so that Penny could sit at the other
end of the couch. Amber had taken to following the woman everywhere, and climbed up
to nestle under her arm.
“And I suppose you were the type that did all his Christmas shopping on Christmas
Eve.”
“Christmas?” Amber’s head popped up. “With Santa Claus?”
Silence.
Everybody looked at each other, hoping the other would speak. Rindy watched Ryan
and Penny raise eyebrows and shrug.
“Well…” Ryan began, drawing that first word out. “Now that we have a house to live
in…I don’t see why not.”
Rindy felt her mouth fall open. What could he be thinking? Her eyes burned into the
side of his head until he finally glanced her way. What? Ryan mouthed. Rindy’s eyes
flash from Amber and back.
“Wont the monsters get him?” Amber looked up at Penny with the sincere concern that
only a child seemed so adept at expressing with just their eyes, and their hands
clasped delicately under their chin.
“Ummm…well…no,” Penny answered, caught off-guard. “His reindeer are too quick, and
will protect Santa.”
Rindy stormed out of the room, heading upstairs. She heard more talking followed by
squeals of laughter from Amber as she stalked into the room that she’d claimed. It
caught the rising sun in the morning—when it wasn’t obscured by clouds. It helped
her remember something that Corporal Morgan used to say a lot. “If you see the sun
come up, then you’ve made it through the hardest part.”
Lying on her bed, the food in her stomach suddenly felt like a lead ball. It didn’t
matter that Ryan and Penny were older; Brad and Amber were her responsibility. She
couldn’t have little Amber’s hopes riding on some imaginary character from a world
that was long since dead. Those days were gone. If this were that old world, Amber
would be at about the age when Santa ceased to exist.
“Hey,” Ryan stuck his head inside the door. Rindy rolled onto her stomach, turning
her face away from him. She had started crying for some stupid reason.
“What’s so wrong with letting Amber have a little piece of childhood?” Ryan asked.
He sat down at the foot of Rindy’s bed. “It can’t hurt.”
“Yes,” Rindy insisted. “It most certainly can.”
“How?”
“When none of her Christmas wishes are there on whatever day you decided is
Christmas Day…”
“You know what she asked for?”
“What?” Rindy rolled over, curious.
“Candy and a Barbie.” Ryan laughed.
“In case you haven’t noticed, nobody makes that stuff anymore.”
“Actually,” Ryan smiled, “I found a bunch of hard candy in the grocery store. I’m
pretty sure that some of it might still be edible.”
“After over three years?”
“It’s not like hard candy spoils. As long as no holes were made in the package, it
should still be okay. And after this long…even if it’s stale, who’d notice?”
“And the Barbie?” Rindy prodded.
“A bit more difficult,” Ryan conceded. “But there has to be one in that town, if
not in the store. We may have to wash it up a bit, but that is no biggie.”
“I still don’t like it,” Rindy scowled.
“Keep up that attitude and Santa won’t bring you anything,” Ryan laughed again and
left.
Rindy laid on her back staring up at the ceiling. There’s no such thing as Santa
Claus, Rindy thought. Still, she couldn’t help but let her mind wonder a bit. Had
it really been over a decade since she sat on Santa’s lap? She’d been six—only a
year younger than Amber is now—and it would be the last year that she believed. All
thanks to Richard Gulley…the stupid boy that sat in front of her in Miss Miller’s
class.
A dress, she thought. How wonderful would it be to wear girl’s clothes again? And
strawberries. Take that, Santa. Rindy drifted off thinking of pretty dresses and
bowls of red, ripe strawberries. As she slept, she smiled.
The next morning, Ryan was gone. He must have gotten up awfully early. Rindy was
awake an hour before sunrise and already fitted out to do some hunting. Penny was a
whiz at curing and drying meat. It would be wise to stock up now. Better too much
than not enough. Corporal Morgan taught her that.
When she came back from hunting, nobody was outside. That wasn’t such a big deal
considering that it had been raining all day. Rindy was soaked, and couldn’t wait
to warm up in front of the fire.
As soon as she opened the door, she went on her guard. It was silent. Drawing her
machete, she crept down the entry hall. She could see the flickering glow of the
fireplace and hear the occasional pop of burning wood.
Reaching the end of the hall, she paused and took a deep breath. She couldn’t smell
anything. At least not anything dead. Cautiously, from a crouch well below eye-
level just like Corporal Morgan taught, she peeked around the corner.
“Surprise!” Penny, Amber, and Brad yelled.
In the corner, a huge pine tree reached almost up to the twenty foot high vaulted
ceiling. Sparkling decorations of all kinds glittered in the light of the fire.
Underneath it was a dozen packages wrapped in…
“We found some fancy dresses in a box. Fortunately, the woman must have been huge,
so there was plenty of material,” Penny laughed.
“Penny said that a Christmas tree would help Santa Claus find us, “Amber squealed
with delight.
Rindy glanced at Penny and Brad who stood behind the excited little girl with dopey
grins on their faces. She slid the machete back in its sheath and walked the rest
of the way into the room. “It’s really nice, Amber,” she said trying her best to
sound enthusiastic.
As soon as she was able to pry herself away from the happy little girl, she went to
the kitchen to clean the two rabbits she’d bagged. She was just finishing wrapping
up the waste and cleaning up the area when she heard Penny scream.
Drawing her blade, Rindy rushed toward the commotion. She heard Amber’s crying
above everything else, and it wrapped around her stomach like an icy fist. Reaching
the door, she skidded to a stop. “Step away from him,” Rindy said surprised at the
calm in her voice.
Everyone was gathered around Ryan. He looked up at her, the knowledge already in
his eyes. His face was waxy and covered in sweat. Rindy only glanced briefly at the
left arm wrapped in bloody rags.
Penny was verging on hysterics, which in turn amplified the stress to both Amber
and Brad. Rindy took a deep breath, the smell of death tickling her nostrils,
fouling her mouth with its rank familiarity. She walked down the stairs, and as she
reached Brad, she guided him over next to his sister. Then, with a gentle nudge,
she sent Penny to stand beside the children. With very little effort, she’d managed
to get the three in a group and place herself between them and Ryan.
“You shouldn’t have gone alone,” Rindy whispered. Then, louder, “Everybody go back
inside.”
“What are you going to do?” Penny sniffled.
“Inside,” Rindy repeated, keeping her eyes on Ryan.
“Go!” Ryan added, looking past Rindy.
The two waited, Rindy never taking her eyes off Ryan until the door closed with a
loud, ominous click. Once they were alone, he unslung the pack from his shoulders
and held it out to Rindy.
“Found a couple of Barbies, and a surprising amount of candy that wasn’t ruined,”
Ryan said, then coughed. “Also, found a little .22 pistol that you could probably
teach Brad to shoot, earrings for Penny…she said she’d never owned diamonds before,
so I figured—”
“You shouldn’t have gone alone,” Rindy snapped, cutting him off. “Is this supposed
to make Christmas better? You going off and getting yourself killed to bring us
things?”
Ryan hung his head, instantly taking the steam out of her anger. “I just wanted
everybody to have something special,” Ryan rasped.
“And so your present to me is…what?” Rindy waived her machete in the air and
pointed it at his injured arm. “I get to watch you die, then put you down?”
“Jesus, kid,” Ryan looked up.
“I’m not a kid,” Rindy snapped back.
“Well maybe you should try it every once in a while,” Ryan smiled. “That’s why I
did this.” He shook the pack that Rindy still hadn’t taken from him. “It makes me
sad to see somebody so young…who never had the chance to be a teenager…act like a
freakin’ soldier. And the way Amber looks up to you…well…I just wanted her to have
a moment of childhood before you turn her into a Rindy action-figure.
“I just wanted to give her a Christmas morning, one last visit from Santa Claus,
before she’s drafted into your army.” Ryan slumped, and the pack fell from his
hand. He seemed to melt as he slowly sunk to the ground. He lay still for a moment.
Rindy grabbed the pack and removed it from between her and Ryan. Her eyes stayed
fixed on the prone figure in the mud at her feet. The first sign came from the left
hand: it twitched once…twice…then curled into a claw, digging furrows in the
saturated earth. The head began to rise; a dry, rattling moan escaped its lips. The
face that looked up at Rindy was a lifeless, slack caricature of Ryan.
With one swing, she brought the machete down smashing through the crown of the
skull with hand-numbing finality. The body collapsed to the ground as she wrenched
the blade free. “There is no such thing as Santa Claus,” Rindy whispered.
That afternoon they stood over the grave that Rindy dug by herself. She’d also
dragged the body, dumped it into the hole, and covered it alone. When she was done,
she went inside and gathered everybody. Penny had found a bible, and read Psalms
23. Then, each of them said something nice about Ryan and returned inside.
That night, she and Penny wrapped the items they had found in the pack. Together,
they agreed to wait a week to celebrate Christmas. It just didn’t seem right to
skip it after Ryan had gone through so much to make it happen.
The night they declared as Christmas Eve, Penny recited as much as she could recall
of T’was the Night Before Christmas. She and Rindy tucked Amber in, then went
downstairs and set out the rest of the presents. Penny went to bed, leaving Rindy
alone in front of the tree. She sat for a while listening to the rain. With a yawn,
she got up ready for a little sleep till Amber woke the house.
Rindy Farmer peeked out from the shadowy doorway. This house had been a good find
sitting all by itself on a hill looking out over a vastness that everyone was
pretty sure had to be somewhere in Wyoming. A steady rain continued to fall adding
to the gloom felt by everybody the past few days.
Maybe tomorrow would help pull them out of it. Before closing the door, her eyes
tried to find the outline of the marker where she buried Ryan. “Merry Christmas,”
she whispered into the darkness.
As expected, Amber woke everybody bright and early. Rindy rolled over, the chill in
the room cold enough to turn her exasperated exhale to a visible fog.
“Rindy!” Amber burst into the room, a ball of child-generated electricity. “Santa
came! Come look!” Then the child dashed out. The sound of another door being flung
open was followed by “Penny! Santa came! He came!”
Brad stumbled into Rindy’s room. “We’d better go downstairs before she explodes,”
he yawned.
Rindy sat up and threw the covers aside. Instantly her body was pebbled with goose
bumps. She looked out her window, but it was so fogged over that she couldn’t see.
All that she could tell was that the sun hadn’t risen yet. The faintest hint of
light was barely discernable.
As quickly as possible, she pulled on a few layers of clothes. Finally satisfied,

she went out into the hallway. Amber stood at the head of the stairs dancing
excitedly from one foot to the other. She was barefoot, and wearing the long
flannel shirt she normally slept in.
“C’mon, Rindy!” she pleaded, darting to her and grabbing her hand.
Penny and Brad came in their wake as they headed down the stairs. Rindy was already
trying to figure out how to get this done as quickly as possible in order to get in
some hunting. Christmas or not, they needed to continue stocking up on food.
Reaching the landing halfway down the stairs, Rindy froze. She could see outside
through the giant picture window. The ground was covered in a blanket of pure
white. A wave of warmth hit her, drawing her attention to the fireplace where,
mysteriously, a raging fire roared. But that was only the first surprise.
Spilled out across the floor were brightly wrapped packages complete with bows and
dangling tags. Three red stockings hung from the mantle above the fireplace, giant
candy canes poking from each one. Rubbing her eyes, Rindy continued down the stairs
in slow, halting steps. She glanced back at Penny who was wide-eyed and open-
mouthed. Brad scooted past, joining Amber in the final dash towards the sea of
presents.
As Rindy reached the final steps, Amber hurried back to her, a Barbie clutched in
one hand. The other hand shot out holding an envelope. “This has your name on it!”
she giggled, then ran back to join her brother who was wading into the pile.
Rindy looked down at the tiny, waxy envelope in her hand. Her name was written
elaborately across the top. A picture emblazoned on the front showed a cluster of
bright red strawberries. She shook the envelope, hearing the whispering rattles of
the tiny seeds inside.
“This one’s for you, too!” Brad came up to her with a package wrapped in blue foil,
with a silver bow. The tag that dangled from it was in the same script with her
name.
Sitting on the stairs, she opened the package to discover a beautiful black dress.
Her eyes began to water a bit. She blinked to clear them and noticed something
written on the back of the tag. She picked it up and read: Yes, Rindy, there is a
Santa Claus.
Story Art Cover
By Robert Elrod
http://www.RobertElrodLLC.com
Dedication
To everyone who still enjoys the magic of the season
Author Bio
Robert Freese has had short stories published in various print and electronic
publications including The Random Eye, Dark-Fiction Ezine, Morbid Musings, Blood
Moon Rising, Alternate Realities, Dream Passage, Scream Queens Illustrated,
Bloodletters, Crimson and Werewolf Magazine as well as the anthologies Forrest J.
Ackerman Presents: The Anthology of the Living Dead, Blood From the Underground
Volume II, Dark Jesters and 100 Stories for Haiti.
Christmas 2009 saw the release of his sci-fi/horror novella The Santa Thing from
Stone Garden Publishing. October 2010 will see the release of his zombie novel
Bijou of the Dead (which concerns the living dead attacking a grindhouse theater
during a slasher movie double feature) and Paranormal Journeys, which he co-wrote
with paranormal investigator Paul Cagle (both from Stone Garden Publishing).
In addition to his fiction work, Robert writes for a number of film magazines
including The Phantom of the Movies' Videoscope Magazine, for which he contributes
reviews and interviews, and Scary Monsters Magazine, the home of his cult column
The Cosmic Drive-in. (He was nominated for a Rondo Award for his work in Videoscope
in 2010.)
He currently lives in Alabama with his wife Frances. Check out www.robertfreese.com
for more on his work.
Living Dead Babes in Toyland
By Robert Freese
Dr. Anton Phibes smashed the red warning button, instantly putting the entire
compound on automatic lockdown. People ran from office to office, from laboratories
and testing rooms, cramming the corridors, their arms filled with papers and
computer disks, as the giant steel security doors rolled down over all the exits
from the building.
44-45 Dioxin would have revolutionized how wars were fought in the future. Dead
soldiers would be transformed into the ultimate killing machines, resurrected from
the ashes of death with armor-like skin, heightened senses and a driving force to
destroy and kill.
Feeling the first choking effects of the biogas, Phibes grabbed his throat while
gasping for air. Invisible and odorless, the gas was everywhere. Blood began
seeping freely from his ears and eyes. The blood was black, which meant the gas was
already changing the cells in his body.
Pressure built steadily in his skull. It felt as if his head was ready to blow
apart. His last coherent thought before the intensely building pain in his body
gave way to a warm numbness was the hope that he had been able to contain the gas
before it got free of the laboratory.
* * *
The bus cut through the night like a bullet tearing through a paper target. It was
traveling fast, but there was no one else out on the city roads at this late hour.
Inside, members of the Roanoke Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Babes were celebrating their skull
thumping victory over the Bay City Shooting Stars. Some played cards while others
talked to spouses on cell phones, promising to be home soon for the holidays. The
roller derby gals were loud and boisterous, adrenaline from the match still
coursing through their bruised and sore but shapely bodies.
Many were yelling from the back of the bus to the front in an attempt to personally
get the bus driver’s attention.
“Yo, Marty,” Gorgeous Gams Glenda, really Mary Sue Cochran from Minneapolis,
hollered to the driver over the ruckus of the girls. “Are you gonna stop somewhere
soon so we can grab a bite to eat? I’m starvin’ back here!”
“There ain’t nowhere to stop,” Marty hollered back once he pin-pointed Gorgeous
Gams in the giant rearview mirror. “This town rolled up its sidewalks hours ago.”
“Stop anywhere,” Luscious Lips Lucinda, really Nancy Barrett-Johnson from Corinth,
chimed in. “Tacos, pancakes, greasy burgers, anything.”
The driver found her in the mirror. “I said as soon as I find a place I’ll stop so
leave me the hell alone. All right?”
Luscious Lips replied silently with a quick finger gesture.
Jesus, he thought, staring at them all in the rearview mirror. Twenty-three years
driving bus for the public school system and grade school kids were better behaved
than these mean bitches. He hated when they left a match because the girls were
always so wound up, restless and hungry. That trifecta always guaranteed they would
be major pains in his ass.
Looking back at the road he yelped when he made out the shape of a man stumbling
across the road. The way he was walking suggested the guy was either drunk or
injured. The poor sap never even looked up and saw the oncoming bus that was
swooping down upon him, about to turn him into a smear of grandma’s homemade
strawberry jam.
“Hold on!”
Instinct made Marty attempt to swerve the bus out of the path of the stumbling man,
even though he knew it was a wasted effort. The guy was a bloody bag of smashed
parts before he even knew what hit him.
Tires screeching, breaks shrieking, Marty fought with the steering wheel to keep
the bus on the road.
Swerving too sharply; the bus glided across the rain coated street, finding a thin
patch of ice and lost traction. Jumping the curb, the bus took out a mail box,
bounced off a lamppost and then smashed through the dark and empty storefront of
Frannie’s Cake Emporium. Holiday cakes adorned with smiling snowmen, Christmas
trees and various renditions of Santa Claus wishing season’s greetings scattered as
the bus exploded into the bakery.
Marty’s head disintegrated as his body was flung through the windshield, bursting
like some sort of exotic pink fruit, his bald pate tearing open and splashing blood
and brains.
Between the rocketing out of control and then the sudden stop, the members of the
Roanoke Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Babes tumbled and flew from one end of the bus to the
other. The audible snapping of bones was drowned out only by the shocked screams as
the girls’ bodies were thrown about.
When it was over, the world was quiet. Blood dripped from the ceiling of the bus
and flowed freely from lacerations and raw stumps, pooling on the floor in great
puddles. Some of the girls groaned and cried while others were deathly silent.
None were even faintly aware of the odorless gas that wafted through the smashed
windows, gently touching each one of them. When the girls still holding onto a
filament of life felt the first effects of the gas it was already too late.
* * *
“What the hell do you think that was?” Lenny Danvers smoked a cigarette with the
others on the loading dock of the Toyland Castle of Smiles toy store.
“Had to have been some kind of accident,” Ziggy said, waving his hand in the air,
making a trail of cigarette smoke.
“It could have been a transformer blowing,” Dale said. He was eating potato chips
and drinking a soft drink purchased from the break room vending machines.
“It pretty much sounded like a meteorite crash landing,” Cassidy Lankford said
matter-of-factly. She was peering into the cold winter sky. It was a clear night
and it seemed that every star in the cosmos could be seen.
Since she didn’t smoke, and she hated being the only one in the break room while
everyone else took their break out on the loading dock, she bit loudly into a
celery stick, pushed her horn rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose and looked
at her co-workers.
“You’re so full of crap, Cass,” Lenny said before anyone else could. “You wouldn’t
know what a crash landing meteorite sounded like even if one came down and banged
into your square head.” Ziggy and Dale laughed. Even Doris Nieder, who was usually
totally quiet, especially when Lenny was picking on someone, snickered.
Smiling widely, Lenny said, “See, even Penis Eater agrees.”
Doris stopped laughing at the mention of the nickname the guys had given her. She
stormed away angry and embarrassed.
Unaffected by his comment, Cass said, “If you had gotten past fourth grade you
would know what I was talking about, Lenny. A meteorite was the cause for the
dinosaurs going extinct, you know. We’ll probably feel the ripple effect any second
now.”
Silently debating whether or not he should flick his cigarette stub in her face,
Lenny just sighed, dropped the butt, stomped it out then turned and left.
Cass smiled smugly. “Yep, while he’s surfing pornography, I’m on Wikipedia learning
stuff.”
“Break time’s over,” Andy Caruso, the night shift manager, barked. He had come up
quietly behind the workers standing on the dock in an attempt to catch them off
guard. He was delighted to see a couple of them jump.
“Jeez-Louise, Mr. C., you almost gave me a heart attack. You know, if you startle a
person just right, you could kill them. I saw this documentary one time on
adrenaline junkies who actually died from doing these crazy death defying stunts.
Only, I guess, they’re not really “death defying” because they really died. Did you
see that one, Mr. C.? Probably not. I think I have a copy. You want me to make you
a copy, Mr. C.?”
Andy hated being called Mr. C., but after six years it was pointless in trying to
correct her. It grated on his nerves.
“Everybody get back on the floor so I can lock up the dock door.” He was flushed
red, holding his tongue as he located the key on his ring to secure the roll down
door.
“Hey, Mr. C., do you think we could talk about moving me into the fashion dolls
aisle? I hate the sporting goods corner. I’m on the other side of the store, away
from everybody, with no one to talk to. Besides, I don’t think Eddie is properly
merchandising the accessories. I hate to be a rat fink and tell on him, but he’s
putting evening gowns and bathing suits together on the same pegs.” She fell silent
for a moment to gauge the manager’s reaction. When she got no reaction she
continued. “I mean, come on, Mr. C. You can’t do that. Plus, I saw Eddie pulling up
the dresses of the display dolls. You know what that looks like don’t you, Mr. C.?”
Again she fell silent.
Wishing he was anywhere else in the world with a bottle of bourbon the manager went
against his better judgment and asked what it looked like to her.
“Sexual harassment,” she said barely above a whisper. “And I know for a fact that
after the dresses were pulled up he took a black magic marker and drew…”
Andy had a hand up like a traffic cop stopping her in mid-sentence. “We’ve talked
about this before, Cassidy. You’re my go-to gal in sporting goods. The balls never
looked better after you’ve handled them and gotten them all worked up nicely. We’re
going to show record sales in footballs this year and I think that’s all due to
your consistent hard work.”
“Yeah, Mr. C., but…”
Mr. Thumb and his four brothers were standing at attention again only a couple
inches from her face. “The seasonal assignments have already been made for this
year, Cassidy. Maybe next year.”
“That’s what you said last year,” she mumbled under her breath.
“I’m sorry, Cassidy, I didn’t hear that.”
“Nothing Mr. C.” Stepping aside so he could pull down the dock door and lock it,
she thought she heard something in the far off distance. The sound carried in the
deserted night. It sounded like several people were out walking, many pushing
shopping carts. Could it just be homeless people? If so it sounded like there were
at least a dozen of them, each pushing their own shopping cart. The wheels didn’t
squeak, but she distinctly heard them on the wet street. Well past midnight, it was
odd and a little eerie hearing people out at such a late hour on a weeknight.
As the door came down with a thud, she would have sworn she heard people moaning.
* * *
More of them were changing, coming alive as dead things. The pain of torn and
rendered flesh, of broken, snapped limbs was replaced by a gnawing hunger that
drove the creatures insane.
Instinct drove them. For no reason other than it was what some small part of their
brains remembered doing when they were alive, many of them had raided the equipment
boxes and geared up with their pads and roller skates. It was some tiny portion of
familiarity in their brains that they clung to.
Outside the bus their heightened sense of smell detected the delectable scent of
fresh meat. Like a magnet attracting metal shavings, the living dead derby girls
made a beeline down the deserted city street. A cold winter wind blew, but none of
the dead things noticed. They moved as one, making their way to the Toyland Castle
of Smiles.
* * *
Walking slowly down the long aisles of toys, Cass tried to make small talk with the
co-workers she encountered. All were too busy to stop and talk to her, even when
she found two or three standing around doing nothing more than talking to each
other. She watched longingly as Eddie cut open a box of Holiday Style Fashion Fancy
Francine dolls and displayed them sloppily on the end cap.
Taking the corner she walked past the row of twenty-five register lanes, past a
giant display of swing sets to the darkest corner of the store, sporting goods. It
wasn’t literally dark, but she referred to it as the darkest corner because when
she was in her assigned section she could barely see or hear any of the other
people on the night stocking crew. She couldn’t even hear the radio they were
listening to.
The sporting goods aisles were neat and packed out. The store sold a good bit of
football, baseball and hockey equipment during the season, but nothing like what
was sold from the toy aisles.
She had a number of bicycles to build and display before her shift ended. She
tended to build more of the girls’ bikes than bikes for boys. When she was little
she had a Little Princess bicycle with all the fancy and frilly trimmings. She
often imagined the look of surprise on the faces of the little girls who found the
bikes she built under the Christmas tree. She was content to be alone with her
thoughts as she began assembling another bicycle.
* * *
They rolled to a stop in front of the giant glass doorway. The façade of the
building was that of a castle, with toy soldiers, smiley faced dolls, Christmas
trees and snowmen decorating the glass.
The smell of food was overwhelming. The crimson flow pulsating in delicate veins,
the soft chewy skin of the food inside was driving them insane. They pushed against
one another to scratch uselessly on the glass and peer into the building.
Instinct again began to govern their decisions. They worked as one, drawing on the
skills they once employed in the roller rink. Grabbing Black Betty’s arm, Crazy
Mary began swinging her teammate around in a circle, building momentum. When enough
force was built up, Crazy Mary let go and launched Black Betty directly into the
glass doors. It was a move their fans knew as the “Sling Shot,” and they cheered
wildly whenever the girls set it up.
Black Betty banged into the window glass with a loud thump. It was a bone breaking
move as she was slammed flat against the glass, but in her current state the hunger
was the only pain she felt. Keeping her balance she rolled a couple feet backwards.
Crazy Mary grabbed her arm and set up another launch. Black Betty again smashed
into the glass with a thunderous boom, the festively painted panes shaking in their
frames. The Luscious Warrior and Pink Lady rolled up and began the same move, with
Pink Lady slamming into the glass in time with Black Betty.
* * *
“What the hell?” Ziggy had been re-merchandising the overstock of Stella Star
action figures and accessories when the loud banging broke his concentration.
Someone was beating on the glass front doors, causing him to lose his train of
thought. It was probably kids. Kids shouldn’t be out this late, but some had
parents who didn’t care. He wandered up the same time the shift manager was rushing
up to check out the ruckus.
“What the hell are they doing,” Andy barked. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Women on
roller skates were slamming each other against the front doors as hard and as fast
as they could.
“They’re probably on PCP or something,” Ziggy offered for lack of anything else to
say.
The women continued slamming into the giant front doors.
“Hey!” Andy was hollering to be heard over the din of the slamming bodies. “Stop it
before you…”
The thunderous sound of breaking safety glass boomed and echoed loudly throughout
the quiet toy store.
* * *
EAT! EAT! EAT!
Their minds screamed at them to rush the food, attack the food and eat the food.
They stomped across the glass pebble covered floor until they could use their
wheels. When they were clear of the glass the living dead women skated toward the
two screaming men as fast as their pumping legs would propel them.
Those in the front rocketed forward, body slamming the two men into the customer
service desk, knocking the air from their lungs. Both men went down with grunts.
The members of the Roanoke Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Babes fell on the men and instantly
began devouring them. Limbs were wrenched from sockets, gnawed free of muscles and
removed like prized turkey legs. Chests were torn open and emptied, the rib cages
being smashed and removed to make the warm internal organs more accessible.
The dead things feasted on kidneys, livers and hearts, scarfed intestines, gall
bladders and spleens but it wasn’t enough. No matter how much they ate, the hunger
burning deep within them was never sated. They had to continue eating. The hunger
had to be fed.
Suddenly the pack of hungry dead things noticed people standing around, fresh food
for the picking. In an instant the undead women were back on their skates and
chasing their dinner down the long aisles of toys and games.
* * *
“Hello?” From the other end of the store Cass had been unable to make out anything
but what sounded like frantic screams coming from her late night co-workers. It
sounded like bloody murder. She wondered if it was Horace Dickson, who was fired
from the holiday night shift two years ago for coming to work all liquored up and
smelling like sewage. He’d drunkenly sworn when they walked him out that he would
be back to make them all pay.
When she came around the end of the game aisle she saw Linda Gordon running for her
life. Two women with cut up bloody faces on roller skates were chasing her. Because
Linda liked her snack cakes and chocolate covered honey buns she was no match for
the dead things on wheels.
“Cass, help!” She desperately reached out for aid.
It was too late. The living dead derby girls were on top of her, leaping and
knocking her down to the ground. The rotund girl had her arms outstretched toward
Cass. When she fell, she was close enough that she slammed solidly into Cass,
knocking into her, sending the smaller woman crashing into an end cap display of
electronic Barrel Full of Monkeys and Kung Fu Kitty handheld video games.
Cass hit the end cap full on, dislodging the metal shelving from its brackets and
bringing the entire display down upon her. Buried in the beeping landslide of
electronic games, darkness momentarily swept her away.
* * *
She was so excited. She had been good all year and she was now finally getting to
talk to the big man himself and negotiate her reward for a year of good living.
When she finally got to the front of the line, she was surprised to see that the
“Jolly One” did not in any way look like he was depicted on soda pop billboards and
greeting cards. No, this Santa Claus looked as if he had just fallen off one of
those “Hunky Firemen” calendars, right down to the shiny red suspenders pulled over
his flat, tanned, muscular chest. He was handsome with wavy blond hair and a dark
moustache with just a hint of stubble on his rosy cheeks. His hair seemed to be
perpetually blowing in the wind, even though there was no wind and his eyes were as
blue as the liquid inside a Magic Eight Ball.
She was lifted gently onto his lap and her heartbeat quickened. His body radiated
warmth. Her body reacted accordingly and she squirmed in his lap.
“Have you been a good girl this year, Cassidy,” he asked, almost seductively.
“Oh, yes, Santa.”
“Do you know what you want for Christmas this year?” His words were warm and soft
in her ears, like fine silk spun around her brain.
“This year, Santa, I want a man who will love me, an apartment of my own because
I’m tired of living with my mother who doesn’t listen to me or let me watch what I
want on television, a new kitty to replace Mr. Pickles who got squashed in the
trash compactor under the sink- which was an accident, a princess dress that I can
wear to prom, where I’ll be crowned queen and I’d like you to do something about
this slight overbite.” She smiled like a horse to emphasize the overbite. “I don’t
know if other people notice it but I notice it when I’m in the mirror talking to
myself. You ever do that, Santa? Where you just look in the mirror and talk to
yourself? I do it all the time. Sometimes I do funny voices. This one time…”
Beach Bum Santa seemed to have lost interest in talking to her and was making eyes
at a nearby sexy female elf. He zoned out, thought about grabbing a chicken salad
sandwich for lunch and then noticed the yapping girl in his lap.
“Hey Cassidy, wake up, kiddo. Nobody’s been that good all year. Besides, I’m Santa
Claus, not some wish granting genie in a lamp. How about we give you a BB gun and
call it good? Maybe you can shoot your eye out.”
“A BB gun?”
“Bye, now.” Before she could protest, Santa pressed a large red and white striped
button on the arm rest of his throne. All of a sudden a spring popped up from
between his legs, launching Cass up into the sky. She was in space, among the stars
and planets. Continuing to blast forward, she passed all the heavenly bodies until
she was in pitch blackness. Sounds started to form. They were mostly screams of
agony. She started making them out more distinctively as consciousness slowly
filled her body.
A dull ache thumped in her head and her side where she crashed into the end cap
shelving. In their haste to attack Big Linda the ghouls had left Cass buried under
the display of electronic games. Now she was the only one not fending the creatures
off.
Delores Harden, who Lenny and Ziggy referred to as “Clitoris Hard-On,” was climbing
up the shelving at the end of the aisle in an attempt to get away from the
monsters. Two of the ghouls were grabbing at her ankles, trying to pull her down.
Delores kicked frantically, her blows doing little to slow the creatures’ ferocious
attack.
“Climb higher, Dee,” Cass hollered out. Delores stopped her desperate kicking to
look and see who hollered at her. That was all the ghouls needed. Quickly they
jumped, grabbing her legs and pulling her from her perch. The woman screamed as the
ghouls forced her into doing an impression of a gore filled wishbone being torn in
half.
“Oops!” Cass backed away. The fiends were busy feeding, digging deep inside Delores
and scooping out her innards. They paid no attention to Cass.
With screams permeating the air, mixing with the scent of fresh spilled blood, the
Toyland Castle of Smiles was becoming a slaughterhouse of mutilation and mayhem.
Crouched low, Cass made her way back to the sporting goods section, her brain
racing.
* * *
I’ve got to do something…I’ve got to do something…I’ve got to do something…
What can I do?
There was no way she could get outside. Not from the front door at least. Before
she came back to her department, she checked out the front. Although they were
smashed out, several of the creatures were still coming in through the front. Many
were lingering to pick at the remains of Ziggy and Mr. C.
That left the emergency exit at the back of the store as the only other way out. To
get to it, she would have to go right through the thick of those things. She wished
she had a cell phone. She had to do something.
Then it came to her. The answer was all around her.
* * *
Shoulder pads. Football helmet. Baseball catcher’s chest pad. Elbow pads. Knee
pads. Shin guards. Batting gloves. Hockey stick. A satchel of baseballs tied at her
waist. Finally, crisscrossed baseball bats secured to her back with Velcro straps.
One was solid wood and the other aluminum. To top it off she mounted a Princess
Sparkle Ten Speed with a bell and frills hanging off the ends of the handles. She
laid the hockey stick across the handle bars and began pumping her legs.
Nothing could stop her.
* * *
“Jesus, no!” It seemed that all the third shift stockers believed it was a good
idea to take to the high ground and climb the racking. Lenny was no different. It
boggled their minds when the dead women on wheels began climbing after them.
Lenny felt an ice cold hand grab his ankle. It held on fiercely. He tried to shake
it loose, but the dead thing was not letting go. The dead bitch was holding tight.
Then a bell chimed melodically.
The first of the two climbing ghouls turned to look toward the intruding sound. The
blade of the wooden hockey stick slapped the dead thing across its mouth. It howled
and spit teeth as Cass zoomed past, spinning around at the end of the aisle and
returning for another pass.
“What the hell are you doing, Cass?” Lenny managed to kick free of the second dead
girl and climb to the next shelf. He pushed boxes of toys out of his away to
accommodate his body on the narrow shelving.
“Saving your ass!” She sped by a second time. Hooking the blade of the hockey stick
beneath the first ghoul’s chin, at the speed she was traveling she was able to
completely sever the head from the body. A spraying torrent of black blood and bits
spewed from the neck stump with volcanic force. The body jerked around, losing
balance on the roller skates and fell to the floor where it kicked spasmodically
until it completely bled out.
The head turned several times in the air. It flew up far enough so it was
momentarily eye to eye with Lenny on the top shelf of the aisle. The dead thing
looked right at him and snarled but then gravity went to work and tugged the
airborne head to the ground. When it hit it exploded like an egg, the skull
cracking and the skin going gooey like melting wax.
A cold hand grasped at Lenny’s foot.
“The other one, Cass!”
There was no time for another pass and the ghoul was higher than the first. The
hockey stick would never reach it.
Dismounting the bike, Cass adjusted the football helmet, pushed her glasses up and
took one of the baseballs from the satchel tied to her waist. Calling upon her
years of pitching high school softball, she took time to eye the target.
“Stop dicking around, Cass, and do something!”
She fired a fastball. Any announcer would report they saw smoke coming off the tail
of the ball. It was hard, fast and traveled directly where she was looking. She
cursed that Lenny had distracted her.
The ball smacked Lenny right in the left eye. His world went white then red. The
shock of the fastball to the face knocked him off balance. He fell from of the
racking like a wooden milk jug being knocked over in a carnival pitch game.
“Oops!”
The other ghoul jumped down to where Lenny landed. He was rolling around, holding
his eye and calling Cass names that rhymed with “witch,” “sucker” and “hunt.”
“Hey, Fugly!”
When the dead thing looked up, Cass fired another fastball. Upon impact the ghoul’s
head seemed to detonate, exploding in a tropical rainstorm of black blood, bits and
brains. On its feet for a moment, it seemed to dance a little two-step as chunks of
dead derby girl continued to rain down. At last, like a deflated balloon, it
dropped empty to the ground next to the other.
“Come on.” She helped pull Lenny to his feet. He was covered in gore.
“You blinded me.” He was still holding his eye.
“Let me see.”
“Get the hell away from me.” He turned his head away.
“Quit being a baby.” She touched his shoulder and turned him to face her.
He looked pissed. His eye was swelling shut.
“Move your hand. Can you open it?”
Barely able to open it, what was exposed of his eyeball was watery and red, like
every blood vessel had been shattered.
“Close it, close it.” She looked sick to her stomach. The peanut butter and celery
sandwich she had for lunch was threatening to make a guest appearance from her gut.
“Is it that bad?” His voice cracked and he sounded pathetic.
“Um, you know, it’ll get better. I think. We probably need to get some ice for it.
You need an eye patch.”
“Where in the hell am I gonna find a frickin’ eye patch, genius?”
On the nearby racking was a roll of Was/Now Clearance stickers. She peeled one of
the large labels from the roll and gently placed it over his swollen eye.
“Good as new,” she said with a smile.
“I hate you.”
“I saved your life.”
Rather than say what he wanted to say, he said, “What the hell’s wrong with them?”
He motioned toward the bodies on the floor.
“They’re the undead. Zombies.”
“They’re what?”
“Oh, come on. Look around, Lenny. They’re cold and obviously dead. They’re eating
people. This is classic text book zombie mayhem. George Romero has been warning us
about them for four decades.” Crouching at the nearest body she touched the skin
around the ruined head. The flesh was spongy.
“Their skin is really soft. I think they’re melting. Maybe whatever turned them all
“bitey” doesn’t give them a very long shelf life.”
“And what movie are you basing this lamebrain hypothesis on, Dr. Destructo?”
“You ever see someone’s head explode because of a baseball? That wooden hockey
blade cut through the other ghoul like a machete. It cut through the bone. Do you
find any of that in the least bit normal? Maybe they start to disintegrate if they
don’t feed fast enough. It’s anybody’s guess. All I know is we’ve got to stop
them.”
“Stop them? You stop them. I’m getting the hell out of here.”
“Aren’t you Employee of the Month material all of a sudden? Jeez, Lenny. Just stick
with me.”
A scream from a co-worker being attacked in a nearby aisle cracked the air like
thunder.
With one fluid moment, she slid both baseball bats from their Velcro straps and
held them like a samurai warrior brandishing his sword. In her best impression of
her favorite actor in the world, Bruce Campbell, she said, “I’m dressed for prom,
baby.” She clicked the bats together. “And momma’s ready to dance!”
Picking up the hockey stick, hoping what she said about the creatures’ shelf life
was correct, Lenny reluctantly followed behind her with a sigh.
* * *
Two of the dead derby girls were in a tug-of-war with Denny Martin. Denny was
screaming hysterically, his arms already pulled from their sockets and threatening
to be ripped free of his body. The ghoul girls were tugging ferociously, like lions
ripping at a downed gazelle.
“Hey, fuglies!”
Startled, the ghouls looked up in time to see the twin bats swinging. Cass was
working the bats like a master chef works his cutlery. First the wooden bat, then
the aluminum, came crashing down on the skulls of the dead derby girls like she was
playing some obscene drum solo in a concert of pain and mutilation.
When their skulls were cracked open, twin volcanic spews erupted. One of the ghouls
even had the explosive bile spraying from its eye sockets, ears, mouth and nose.
The dead girls banged into one another until they were empty and fell lifelessly to
the gore spattered floor.
“You’re okay now, Denny,” she said in a calm voice.
Denny looked at her a moment like he was witnessing Martians landing on his front
lawn. When he opened his mouth to speak all that came out was a labored, painful
howl of excruciating pain associated with having one’s arms wrenched from their
sockets. Eyes wide, like a madman, he screamed at the top of his lungs. Suddenly,
in mid-scream, he took off running down the aisle, his arms dangling uselessly at
his sides. Continuing to scream he cut around the corner and ran out of sight.
“Uh, he’ll be okay. Come on.” She charged the next creature. It was pulling Eddie’s
intestines out through a hole in his abdomen and chewing savagely into them. She
brought the wooden bat around, swiping the dead thing’s legs out from under it.
While it was flat on its back, Lenny stepped in. Using the hockey stick like an
axe, he chopped at the downed derby girl. Each new hole in the dead thing’s body
spewed a forceful spray of black blood and chunks. It was like popping a zit. He
stood in the middle of the gore geysers until the thing stopped moving.
Following the screams, Cass was off to save the next terrified co-worker being
attacked. She fired another baseball with deadly accuracy, punching a hole through
the ghoul gal’s midsection. The re-animated corpse that had once been Fantastic
Frances Valentine didn’t even have time to look down before her guts exploded
through both sides of the sucking wound tunneling through her.
Cass and Lenny continued chopping, looping, cutting and hammering until the last of
the ghouls was little more than a grotesque puddle of black snot. Some of the
others joined in, but practice was making perfect and Cass was offing the ghouls
with one well placed shot to the head.
One of the last ghouls to be exterminated actually tried to get away before it was
snuffed. Cass saw the dead thing rolling past the front end of the aisle making its
way to the front door. Firing the last baseball in her satchel, she picked the
creature off with an expertly delivered shot, knocking the thing off balance as its
head exploded like an egg in the microwave.
“Was that all of them?” It was Harold Helman who spoke. He was in charge of the
infants’ toys section.
“I think so,” Cass responded, taking off the football helmet. No one else said a
word. She waited a minute for them to hoist her up on their shoulders and walk her
around for saving the day, but that moment never came. Finally she started taking
off all the pads. Her moment was over.
* * *
By the time the police arrived, whatever had been of the Roanoke Rock ‘em Sock ‘em
Babes was little more than grease smears on the floor. Foul black pools covered the
floor. When they started asking questions, all fingers pointed to Cass. The
detective on the case and two uniformed officers escorted her to a patrol car. The
entire way she talked about the living dead and how they exploded and that they had
to be killed. Detective Simmons shuddered inwardly at the mountain of paperwork
this case was going to produce.
* * *
Somewhere deep inside the brain of the thing that was once Anton Phibes, a small
enough fragment worked, comprehending and making decisions. The dead thing had
successfully overridden the compound’s security system. Now, all of the people
affected by the 44-45 Dioxin were wandering into the chilly winter night. They
scoured the empty city streets, searching out human flesh for sustenance.
If the dead thing that had been Dr. Phibes witnessed the attack on the Toyland
Castle of Smiles, he would have absolutely found the exercise to have been a
complete failure on the grandest scale. The creatures had barely been exposed to
the 44-45 Dioxin. Their bodies had not gone through the entire metamorphosis. Their
skins were too soft, the chemical make-up of their bodies was volatile and the
flesh they consumed did not make them stronger. They would never make it on the
battlefield.
But the creatures from the compound roaming the night had fully benefited from full
exposure to the 44-45 Dioxin. Their skin was thick, like a shell. After the initial
bleed out period, their bodies had stabilized. To a limited degree, they still had
use of their brain functions. They were not mindless creatures. All their senses
were enhanced.
The dead thing that was once Dr. Phibes detected the scent of living flesh ever so
mildly on the chilly night wind. The others followed, instinctively knowing he was
their leader.
Around the corner was the Joyful Bread Company. The smell of living flesh set their
senses aflame and drove them forward.
Story Art Cover
By Lindsay Babroski
www.mousetamerdesignz.com
Dedication
To Tony’s foster brother, Bradley Raymond
Author Bio
Tony Faville is the author of zombie novel Kings of the Dead. He has served in the
US Navy, worked as an IT Guru for Nike and also spent several years working as a
professional Chef. Tony currently resides in Portland, Oregon with his wife, two
dogs and a cat. Together with his wife they enjoy shooting, movies, cooking and
preparing for the inevitable zombie apocalypse. www.TonyFaville.com
Heather Faville is the creator of, www.doubleshotreviews.com a book review blog

focusing on the horror genre with the occasional foray into other genre. She has a
Bachelors of Science in Education and taught Kindergarten for 10 years before
moving on to other endeavors. Heather lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband,
Tony Faville, author of Kings of the Dead, two dogs and cat.
A Christmas Wish
By Tony & Heather Faville
The doors to the emergency room slid open as the two weary paramedics pushed the
gurney into the area. Strapped down to a board on the gurney was a woman covered in
blood with multiple lacerations over most of her body.
One of the paramedics started calling out her information, “We have a thirty-six
year old female, post MVA, massive chest trauma, tension pneumothorax of the left
lung, open fracture of the left femur, blood pressure is ninety-eight over sixty
and dropping, respirations are ninety-four.”
A team of nurses surrounded the gurney and guided it past the fake Christmas tree
at the nurse’s station and into the nearest available trauma room. A man and his
young daughter immediately stepped into the emergency room, both of them appeared
to be equally deep in shock.
Ruth, the admissions nurse stepped up and asked, “Can I help you sir?”
“That’s my wife,” he said, nodding his head toward the injured woman, “Her name is
Lynn, I’m Bill. I was driving behind her, we saw it happen. We saw the other
vehicle cross the line and hit her head on.”
“Okay Bill, the best thing you can do for your wife right now is to have a seat
over here. Is that alright?”
“Yeah, I guess, sure, whatever. The, uh, the other driver, he’s dead, isn’t he?”
“Honestly Bill, I have no idea, we just got your wife here and are just learning
what happened to her. So we can best take care of her Bill, as much as I know this
is a bad time, I will need to ask you a few questions, is that okay?”
Bill collapsed into a chair, his daughter, Kara, was still in his arms as he looked
up at Ruth and started to cry.
In Trauma Room Two, the nurses had moved Lynn from the gurney to a trauma bed as
the doctor came walking into the room. This would be his third motor vehicle
accident tonight, he was tired, and he missed his family, but it was Christmas and
tonight, this woman needed him more. “What do we have?”
“Massive chest trauma, post MVA, drunk crossed the line and hit her head on. The
medics performed a pleural decompression in the field, but her cavity keeps
filling.”
“Okay, it’s Christmas Eve ladies and gentlemen, let’s do the best we can for her.
We need to get a chest tube inserted, I need a PA chest x-ray stat,
get her typed and crossed for twelve units, somebody get ortho on the line and have
O.R. get a room ready for us. This is going to be a long night.”
The nurse to the left of the doctor prepped a chest tube kit while another nurse -
to his right- started prepping Lynn’s chest wall for the tube insertion. Once she
was anesthetized, the doctor used a scalpel to make his initial cuts, then using a
pair of forceps, he dissected a hole large enough for the chest tube. Fully
inserting the tube, he noticed the mixture of pericardial fluid and blood in the
tube. The sac around her heart was ruptured.
He cringed, knowing all too well that her heart was most likely irreparably
damaged. As if to confirm his thoughts, her heart monitors flat-lined. His team
went into immediate action, pulling out the crash cart, charging the defibrillator,
prepping the intra-cardiac medications, and dropping the trauma bed to a lower
position.
The doctor placed his hands on her chest and gave an initial compression.
What he felt made his heart sink, her chest was completely crushed and he honestly
doubted a single rib was not fractured. He continued his compressions while a nurse
bagged her for respirations. He called for the defib paddles and hit her at 200
joules, no response. He hit her again at 200 joules, no response. Checking her
pulse himself and feeling nothing, he looked at the clock on the wall; the time
read 8:14. “Time of death, 8:14, December twenty-fourth.”
* * *
The house had been decorated with Christmas lights and garland since long before
the accident; neither Bill nor his young daughter noticed the lights as they
returned home from the hospital later that night. Kara did not wait for her father
to come around and help unbuckle her seatbelt. She let herself out of the car and
waited impatiently at the front door for her father to come and unlock it.
Kara ran into the house and through the kitchen, where just yesterday she and her
mother had baked dozens of Christmas cookies. She slammed a dish of cookies across
the room and walked past the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree in their family
room, then into her bedroom.
In a daze, Bill followed while he watched his daughter run through the house and
into her bedroom. Stopping just outside of her closed bedroom door, he stood and
listened for her through the door. Failing to hear her crying, he walked back into
the kitchen to pick up the cookies and broken plate from the floor. When he walked
into the family room, Bill stood and looked at the Christmas tree they had
decorated as a family one short week before. The tree was decorated with all of the
ornaments they had collected over the years, combined with all the ornaments Kara
had made, they left not a single empty space on the tree. He immediately thought of
the empty space that was created in his precious little family and fell to his
knees sobbing uncontrollably. Looking towards the ceiling he yelled, "Why? Why
would you take her from us?"
A short while later he looked up to see Kara standing in front of him, her face
barren of any emotion. It crushed his heart to see her in shock. She held a sheet
of paper in her hand and asked, “Daddy can we put out a glass of milk and cookies
for Santa tonight?”
“I don't know if Santa is coming tonight sweetheart, he may want to give us a

little time before he brings us your presents.”
“No daddy, he has to come tonight, it's very important, he has to!”
Bill reached out and took the note from her hand and went to open it. She snatched
it back from his hands and yelled, “No! This note is for Santa only. You can't read
it or else it won't work.”
“What won't work baby?”
“The Christmas magic daddy, it has to work.”
Bill held back his tears knowing all too well what she was asking Santa to do for
her. Should he tell her that Santa cannot do that and break her heart more? Or let
her put the note out and deal with what happens tomorrow? Bill decided to put the
note out for Santa. He rose to his feet and walked into the kitchen; he grabbed a
plate and glass from the cupboard, piled a few cookies on the plate and filled the
glass with milk. He set them on the coffee table in the family room.
Kara placed the note on top of the cookies, and then climbed up into her father’s
arms. “Put me to bed before Santa gets here daddy, I've been a good girl all year,
Santa has to do this for me.”
Bill carried her down the hallway and into her bedroom. He gently laid her down on
her bed and pulled her blankets up around her chin. He asked her, “Do you want to
say a prayer to mommy before you fall asleep Kara?”
“No daddy, Santa will take care of everything, I know he will and tomorrow you will
see.”
“How do you know Santa will take care of everything baby?”
“Because mommy told me that Santa was magical and could do anything. My mommy would
never lie to me daddy, I believe her, and I believe in Santa.”
Bill stood upright and walked to the door, pausing momentarily, he looked back at
Kara and started to say something to her but he stopped himself. Tonight was not
the night for what he wanted to say. He pulled the door shut and headed back out
into the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of scotch from above the refrigerator and
walked into the family room. Standing in front of the Christmas tree, he pulled the
cork out of the bottle and took a long drink. Raising the bottle as if toasting
someone he said, “Yeah, here's to some Merry fricking Christmas magic!”
***
Shortly after Bill passed out drunk in his chair, Santa stepped out of his sleigh
that was gently parked on the roof of their home. Stretching his back and popping
out a few of the kinks from his long nights work, Santa reached into his sleigh and
pulled out his list. “Ah yes, Kara. Nice. In fact, she has been nice for several
years running. Don't find many good kids these days. Didn't ask for anything early
this year, maybe she left me a note downstairs.”
Santa grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder before stepping over to the
chimney. He then placed a finger alongside his nose and with a wink he was whisked
down the chimney and into the living room. Looking around he saw Bill, laid out in
his chair with the empty bottle of scotch on the floor. Leaning in carefully over
Bill, Santa listened for signs of breathing and immediately smelled the heavy odor
of alcohol on his breath. Straightening up Santa whispered, “That's naughty Bill,
drunk on Christmas Eve? Tsk-tsk!”
Then he saw the cookies and milk on the table by the tray. With a smile he slid
over to the table and picked up the glass and a cookie. He promptly drank the milk
and ate the cookie in one bite. Smiling as he chewed he glanced down and saw the
note Kara had written. Unfolding it, he started to read:
Dear Santa-
My mommy died tonight. My daddy says it was a drunk driver that hit her car and
killed her.
My daddy and me are very sad and all I want for Christmas is my mommy back. My
mommy told me that you have special magic so I believe you can bring her back for
me.
I promise you, I will never ask for anything else if you do this for me. No family
should ever be this sad on Christmas Santa.
So please, just bring my mommy back from the dead. Please Santa!
Love,
Kara
p.s. If you agree to bring her back, eat some of the cookies and drink the milk.
That way I will know.
Santa collapsed on the chair beside him. This was one of many hundreds of similar
requests this very night. Fact is, Santa had received thousands of these requests
over the years, but had ignored them as there are just some things that should not
be done. This request was different though, maybe it was the timing, maybe he was
tired of ignoring them, or maybe it was that by eating the cookie and drinking the
milk he had entered into a contract with this little girl and now felt obligated to
help her.
Santa quickly stepped back by the fireplace and again placed his finger alongside
his nose, winked and was whisked up the chimney and back onto the roof. Pacing
around the reindeer and mumbling he cursed himself for having consumed the milk and
cookie. This is old magic, I'm not even sure I can remember how to do that anymore,
it has been so long. Momma will know what to do.
Reaching into his sleigh, he picked up his radio and clicked the button on the
side, “Claus Two, this is Claus One, come in Claus Two.”
“This is Elf Control, Claus One; we will get Claus Two on the line in a jiffy.
Anything we can do for you until Claus Two is on the line?”
“Thank you Elf Control, no, I will hold for Claus Two.”
A moment later Santa heard a familiar voice on the radio, “Is that you poppa?”
“Yes momma, it's me. I got myself into a little bit of a pickle down here.”
“What did you do this time poppa?”
“I ate some cookies and milk before reading a little girl’s note. This girl’s
mother died tonight in an accident and she has asked me to bring her back from the
dead.”
“Oh no, you can't do that poppa. It's been how many years since the last time you
did it? And do you remember what happened?”
“I know, I know. But I think I can do it this time; besides, I unknowingly entered
into a contract with her when I ate the cookie.”
“What? How did she?”
Santa cut her off, “She had a p.s. on the note that said if I agree to do it, then
I should eat a cookie.”
"Oh no poppa, you ate a cookie, didn’t you"
"It has been a long night momma, and they were my favorite kind!"
"All cookies are your favorite poppa! Well, it looks like you are going to have to
do it then. Please, be more careful this time.”
“Will do momma. Claus One out.”
“I love you poppa. Claus Two out.”
Santa tossed the handset back onto the seat then stood and thought about the magic.
It wasn't so much the words he needed to say, it was the amount of magic he needed
to use, and the sincerity in his heart. After several minutes Santa stepped back
over to the chimney, looked down into the darkness and said the words he needed to
say, then clapped his hands together causing an incredible flash of light.
Climbing into his sleigh and lifting off, he looked back over his shoulder as he
flew off into the night, Boy, I sure hope that works!
* * *
A series of loud noises outside of his home woke Bill from his stupor. Gunshots?
Gunshots on Christmas day? He heard a cop car with its sirens blaring, flying down
his street. Suddenly, he heard it come to a screeching halt just a few houses down.
Reaching over for the remote, he turned on the TV and flipped to a news station.
The disheveled looking reporter looked back and forth between the papers on his
desk and the camera, “Local law enforcement agencies are asking people to stay in
their homes, and allow them to handle the situation at hand. Citizens all over town
are reporting seeing people attacking others and eating their flesh. We’ve even had
several reports that the recently deceased are coming back to life, walking about
and attacking people...”
Bill changed the channel several times and saw the same reports from all the local
news stations. Flipping over to a national channel, he saw that they were reporting
the disturbance as well, but were denying that it was anything more than a local
problem.
What the hell? Bill thought to himself, dead people walking around? Attacking and
eating the living? How much scotch did I drink?
That was when Bill heard the noise in the backyard. He jumped over the stool in
front of him and ran to the closet beside the front door. Rummaging through the
closet, he found a baseball bat. He held the weapon in his grip as he walked
quickly through the house. He reached the French doors in the kitchen that led to
the backyard. Through the thin curtains, he could see an object moving slowly
around the planters that surrounded their small patio. Reaching out, he slowly
turned the handle of the door with his left hand while he held the bat above his
shoulder with his right. Opening the door fully he bumped the snow shovel he had
left out the day before, sending it clattering to the ground. The figure in the
yard bolted upright as Bill took the bat in both hands and prepared to swing it
down onto their head.
“Mommy!” Kara screamed from behind him. She ran passed her father and toward the
figure.
Bill’s eyes widened in disbelief and shock as he dropped the bat and focused on the
woman in the yard. It was Lynn; she was dressed in surgical scrubs and slippers.
She put her arms around Kara. Lynn looked over Kara’s head, and smiled at Bill. He
stepped down the steps and onto the snow, then wrapped his arms around both of
them.
“How did this happen, Lynn? You were...”

“I don't know Bill, I woke up in the hospital’s morgue a few hours ago. All the
bodies in the morgue were sitting up at the same time. ”
“But, all of your injuries, they are gone. You were dead Lynn!”
“I know I was, but I'm here and I…”
“It was Santa daddy! I asked Santa to bring mommy back from the dead and he did it,
he really did it!”
“Yeah, I did it alright!” They all turned around to see Santa standing in the
doorway, “I did it but I screwed it up, just like I did back in...”
“What do you mean you screwed it up?” Bill asked as he stepped back from Lynn,
pulling Kara away from her.
Santa reached and took him by the arm, “Lynn is okay, Bill. The magic worked fine
for her, she is completely normal. Where I screwed up was when I used too much
magic. It ended up having some collateral damage if you will.”
“Collateral damage? What the hell are you talking about?”
“When I brought Lynn back, the magic kind of splashed out. Instead of just waking
Lynn, I brought back everyone in the immediate vicinity. However; since the magic
was meant for her and her alone, it affected the others differently and it brought
the other people back. Well… it brought them back wrong.”
Bill stared in total shock and disbelief. He looked at Lynn -who was alive and
healthy, and as beautiful as she was the day before the accident. “The magic was
meant for her?”
“It was my note to Santa daddy! I asked him to bring mommy back and he did, isn't
that right Santa?”
“That is right Kara, it was the love you have for your mother, combined with my
magic that brought her back to life. But now we have a problem, and I need to know
if you are willing to help me fix this, Bill.”
“Fix this? Fix what?”
“Your wife is here, alive, healthy. Out there,” he pointed towards town, “Out there
are people who are not alive and healthy. They are walking around, doing horrible
things. They have killed a lot of people already this morning. And all of the
people they killed will get up and kill others. Imagine the worst virus possible
and how quickly it can spread. That is what we are facing and that is why I need
your help, I can't do this alone.”
“Well just snap your fingers and make it go away!”
“I can't do that, things don’t work that way. If I tried, with my magic having been
weakened, I might end up doing more harm than good. Lynn could easily go away
again.”
Kara screamed, “No! Don't let that happen daddy! Help Santa, you have to help
Santa!”
Bill looked at the bat on the ground, and then looked up at Santa, “I'm not a
fighter Santa, I mean, yeah, I was in the military, but I don't own any weapons
other than that bat by your feet. I can't help you.”
Santa stepped back into the house and returned a moment later with his bag. He
opened the satchel and reached inside. Santa glanced at Bill, “Military man eh?
Marine Corps if memory serves me correctly?”
“Yeah, I was a Marine, but I was a helicopter mechanic, not an infantryman.”
Santa chuckled and pulled a Colt M-4 rifle out of the bag and handed it to Bill,
“Every Marine is a rifleman, or did you forget that? I have imbued the rounds for
this rifle with magic. They will kill the zombies, for lack of a better term, that
were brought back with my spell last night. Those killed by the zombies will be
whisked back to where they were killed. You will not really be killing anyone Bill,
just putting things back where they belong."
Bill smiled slightly as Santa pulled a tactical vest; full of spare magazines, out
of the bag and handed it to him, “Ooo-freaking-rah Santa!”
"Just make sure to shoot them in the head," Santa said as he looked over at Lynne,
“Go get dressed Lynn, and get some warm clothes on Kara, you two will be driving my
sleigh, Bill and I, will be on foot.”
“Are you seriously thinking you can clear out the entire town? I mean, I know you
are Santa but, I don't know how to fly your sleigh and don’t you have elves
that...”
Santa cut her off and said, “Don't I have elves? Why yes, yes I do have elves, and
they should be arriving....” He looked up into the sky for something, “..now! Here
they come.”
They looked into the sky and saw little flashes of light in a huge circle around
the town. Coming out of the light were dozens of elves hanging beneath parachutes.
“These are my, how should I say this? They are my special elves. Oh, and before I
forget,” he reached out and touched Lynn on the tip of her nose, “There you go, now
you are ready.”
“Ready for what, ready to drive your....oh crap, why do I know how to fly your
sleigh?”
“Go Lynn, go get dressed, when you are ready, take Kara by the hand and think about
being on the sleigh and the sleigh will take care of the rest.”
Santa then turned his attention back to his bag and pulled out a bright red and
white AK-47 and a red chest rig full of magazines. He turned to see Bill staring at
him. “What?”
“Seriously Santa? A red and white AK?”
“And what color assault rifle do you think Santa should have?”
“This is all too surreal, Santa; I don't even know what to think right now.”
“Look, when this is all over, you guys can come home, have a Christmas ham and move
on. Before you know it, you'll never even remember this stuff happened.”
A few minutes later Lynn and Kara stepped out of the door with winter coats and
snow boots on, “We're ready to....” With a flash of light she and Kara were in the
sleigh.
Santa called up to her on the roof, “You weren't quite ready to think about being
in the sleigh, were you?”
“No,” she called down, “I guess not!”
“Head out to the street, we will be there in a moment.”
Santa and Bill walked through the house and out the front door. Stopping on the top
step he pulled out a fresh magazine for his rifle, inserted it and racked the bolt.
“You ready Bill?”
Bill mimicked Santa’s actions with his own rifle, looked Santa directly in the eye
and said, “Now or never I guess, right?”
“Ooo-freaking-rah Bill, let's go save Christmas!”
Story Art Cover
By David Naughton-Shires
http://www.TheImageDesigns.com
Dedication
To Puggy, who tells the Things That Go Bump In The Night that they can run but
they'll just die tired
Author Bio
Jason Tudor, a San Diego, Calif. native and 21-year military veteran, is a writer
and illustrator. His writing is primarily in the science fiction and
mystery/thriller genres. Jason also has a large body of nonfiction. As a military
journalist and combat correspondent, his nonfiction work has been published in
better than 100 printed publications in 41 countries, including the U.S. Air
Force's official magazine, Airman, which has a distribution of more than 390,000
copies. Jason is also a published poet and has self published an anthology of
poetry entitled "Vibrating Moonlight." He was the designer for the poetry book
"Absolute Write, Volume 1," and served as executive producer, co-writer and
designer for the self-published cowboy poetry anthology, "Tales of the Gunfighter
Hollis Brown." both available from www.lulu.com. He is currently finishing a
Science Fiction satire titled "Galactic Milk" and recently completed a
mystery/thriller "Breaking Enigma." He's also drafting a script for a graphic
novel. Jason's art and writing are on display at his website, www.JasonTudor.com He
also has a Facebook fan page and can be followed on Twitter at @JasonTudor. He
attended the University of Maryland University College and the Defense Information
School.
Rudolph The Undead Reindeer
By Jason Tudor
Top elf Baker Standish stood watching the last of the toys roll off the rumbling
North Pole Workshop assembly line. On schedule and on time, this would be Baker’s
third decade without a glitch stopping Santa Claus from getting out the door, up in
the air and around the world on time. The error-free performance also meant another
opportunity to ride with Santa on the sleigh on the joy-filled, 24-hour worldwide
odyssey. A banner year, indeed!
As he mused on his success and hovered over the clipboard, Baker’s thoughts were
broken by a scared, panicked elf racing toward him.
“Mister Baker! Mister Baker!” Baker turned and saw Myer, one of the elves from the
stable, eyes wide and arms flailing.
“What are you doing on the manufacturing floor, Myer? We’re almost finished here,
packing the last bag and readying the sleigh.”
“It’s Rudolph, sir!” Myer said.
“What about him, Myer? Is he being temperamental again? Compliment his nose one
more time. He loves that,” Baker said, pointing his own nose back down at his
clipboard.
“No, sir,” Myer said. “He’s … dead.”
Baker looked at Myer, and then smiled. “We’re this close to Christmas. This is no
time for jokes.”
“No joke, Mister Baker. He fell over dead about two minutes ago.”
“And how do you know he’s dead? He might just be sleeping or exhausted.”
“Mister Baker, he is D-E-A-D. We checked. No pulse. Nothing.”
Baker called over his floor supervisor, handed him the clipboard and then grabbed
Myer by the arm. “Show me.”
* * *
A few minutes later, Baker, Myer and another one of the stable hands, Jerry, stood
in the large hay-lined paddock looking down on Rudolph’s corpse.
“Well, he’s dead alright. How’d this happen?” Baker asked.
“No one knows. I came in here to play one last reindeer game with him, and he was
just lying there like that,” Jerry said.
“This is not good at all. Who else knows about this?” Baker asked.
“You, me and Jerry here,” Myer told him. Baker looked over at Jerry.
“There’s – there’s no one else to guide the sleigh,” Jerry said. “What are we going
to do?”
A fair question. There wasn’t another Rudolph. Any hope of getting another reindeer
with a nose that glowed like a light bulb went out the window around the time that
people started hanging their Christmas lights. Baker stood determined that this
would not be one of those dire emergencies.
“What are we going to do, Mister Baker?” Myer asked, gently stroking Rudolph’s
light brown fur. “I mean, we’re just a few hours before Santa needs to get in the
sleigh and go.”
Baker stood up, walked toward a nearby window and stared at the deep blue horizon.
He looked out past the North Pole, past the workshop boundaries, toward the dark
icy area elves are told never to go. “Myer and Jerry? You stay here and keep the
paddock door closed. No one in. No one out. Get a few of the other stable elves to
keep the other eight reindeer entertained. Keep a lid on this until I get back.”
“Where are you going, Mister Baker?” Myer asked as Baker walked toward the paddock
gate.
“I’m going to see my brother,” Baker said and walked out.
* * *
Baker had few friends in the Workshop. Only Santa knew that Baker came from a
family of dark elves, who were bound by contract to remain in the darkest corners
of the North Pole, mining coal and ensuring that, “bad boys and girls had a
sizeable lump of coal in their stockings.” As he left the gated workshop compound
and mounted the snowmobile for the short journey across the snow, Baker saw the
glow of the moon dim and the cold creep like tentacles into his winter gear.
Despite the amount of time Baker had been away from his dark elf roots, he realized
there was more to his ancestors than mining coal. Much more. Though long hidden,
those black crafts were what Baker hoped would serve him successfully tonight – or
many people around the world would suffer for years to come.
He pulled through the ramshackle entrance to the dark elf compound and parked in
front of his brother’s dank, rundown cottage. He hesitated before he knocked.
“Who is it?” asked a voice behind the door.
“Your brother.”
“Baker?”
“The same.”
The door swung open. “Well, you’ve got some nerve.”
“I need your help.”
“I don’t know that I want to give it to you.”
“May I come in, Linus?”
Linus nodded and closed the door. The two elves sat down.
“We have a situation that jeopardizes both of our futures. It could cut out the
mining business completely and put a big dent in toy production and distribution.”
“What? Someone’s killed Christmas?”
“In a way …”
“Please be serious. Why are you here, Baker?”
“It’s Rudolph. He’s dead.”
Linus raised his eyebrows. “Someone did kill Christmas. Well now …”
“Yes. I know. And here we are,” Baker checked his pocket watch, “mere hours before
Santa settles in for the big delivery run.”
“And what is it you think I can do to help you? Get you another reindeer?”
Baker frowned. “You know you can’t.”
“So?”
“Reanimation.”
Startled, Linus jumped up out of his chair. “Shhhh! Baker, are you crazy? None of
us have done that in hundreds of years. It’s … it’s just not even discussed.”
“We’re discussing it now.”
“Santa would banish us both to the deepest part of the mines if he even thought we
might do something like that!”
“Linus, I need you to come over and reanimate Rudolph right now or Christmas may be
closed for the foreseeable future.”
“And I’m telling you this sort of thing is just not done, Baker! It’s part of the
deal with Santa and his elves! If we break the contract, it puts us back into the
same league as warlocks, demons, gnomes and gorgons. It puts us out of business and
makes us criminals.”
“Just this time. You know how to do it. Father taught only you the craft. No one
even knows Rudolph is gone yet,” Baker pleaded. “Besides, you run the coal mines.
You know how important this is to everyone who works there. This is about business,
too.”
Linus growled. “You should have stayed with us! I would have taught it to you and
you could have done this yourself.”
“There’s no time for this discussion. You and I are the only elves in this room. We
can handle this,” Baker said. “Please. For Christmas.”
Linus stood silent for what seemed like hours, and then walked out of the room.
Baker started to walk out, thinking he had failed. Then there was commotion and
Linus returned with a large black satchel. He grabbed his heavy coat and stared
straight into Baker’s eyes.
“I’m only doing this because we have a mutual interest -- Christmas,” Linus said.
“Thank you, brother,” Baker said as they walked to the snowmobile.
“Don’t count your reindeer until they’ve flown, Baker,” Linus barked. They hopped
on the snowmobile and sped back to the Workshop.
* * *
As requested, Baker found the stable closed off. He walked his brother toward
Rudolph’s paddock where they met Myer.
“Who is this?” Myer asked. “A dark elf? Here?”
“Myer, this is someone who’s going to take care of this for us,” Baker said. “You
never met him. He is not here.”
“Um, okay,” Myer said. He stared at Linus’ much darker skin and his white-on-white
eyes from working in the mines.
“He needs to leave,” Linus said, pointing at Myer and then unfastened the black
satchel. “Are there any reindeer in these adjacent stalls? If so, they need to
leave, too.”
Baker motioned to Myer and he sped off. He returned a few minutes later, saying
that he moved Donner and Dasher to the reserve stalls. Baker dismissed Myer and
turned toward Linus.
“Now what?” Baker said.
“I’ll take it from here.”

Linus placed several quartz stones around Rudolph’s carcass. Then, with a flick of
his hand, he showered the dead reindeer with a fine red powder that glittered.
“Are you making a cake?” Baker joked.
“Quiet.”
From the satchel, Linus removed something spongy, gruesome and wet and set it on a
pewter dish near Rudolph’s head. He then wrapped himself in a black robe stitched
with purple runes. Baker felt the paddock grow colder.
“You need to get out of here now,” Linus said.
Baker walked out and shut the gate behind him. He peered through the slats of wood,
watching his brother lower himself into an awkward, painful looking position in
front of Rudolph’s head. Linus poured something into a brass decanter that looked
like blood and set it near the plate of goop. He then pulled the robe’s hood over
his face and began chanting.
For better than thirty minutes, Baker listened to his brother make croaks, wheezes,
clicks and growls, each one different, some for longer periods than others. At
times, there were two or three sets of voices in the room, some distant and some
directly in Baker’s ear.
Twenty more minutes passed. Just as Baker felt he should be back on the
manufacturing floor, the quartz stones surrounding Rudolph’s body rose and glowed.
When they started spinning, a deep, rattling thrum grabbed Baker in the chest and
filled the stable. He looked around as the other eight reindeer poked their heads
out to see what was going on.
“Back in your stalls,” Baker cried out. “It’s almost time to fly.”
He turned back to see Rudolph’s paddock alight with some sort of magical fire.
Tendrils of blue smoke flowed out between the fencing near his feet. Linus
screamed. Baker turned away just as something that sounded like a cannon fired, the
concussive wave belting him across the stable. He gathered himself and sat up.
There was silence.
“It’s done,” said the tinny, hoarse voice across the stable. Baker rushed over to
the paddock and looked in. Rudolph stood, head bobbing and moving his legs. Linus
closed his satchel and walked over to his brother.
“He’s not going to know what he is for about another two hours,” Linus said.
“What … is he?”
“Rudolph’s soul was somewhere in between. He’s undead now and that’s the way he’ll
stay. Whatever part of his soul remains in him needs to find its way back. You’re
not going to know what you get until then. But right now, he’s nothing but a
shell.”
Baker scowled at him. “Fine … but two hours? That’s when we leave!”
“I did what you asked me to do, Baker. I’ll show myself out,” Linus said. He put on
his heavy coat and left.
Baker went back into the stall. From behind, he could see the glow of Rudolph’s
nose much brighter than before. Well then, he thought, this might be just another
Christmas then.
As Baker walked around to greet undead Rudolph, a horrific reality set in. Instead
of his nose glowing and soft features greeting Baker, Rudolph’s eyes shined a
furious crimson from hollowed out gouges in his skull, radiating like bright
headlamps on an automobile. Tinged saliva dripped down from jagged fangs surrounded
by pale gums and dying tissue. Parts of the reindeer’s jawbone and skull were
exposed. By any measure, Rudolph did not look like Rudolph. Instead, Baker
realized, Rudolph looked like some beast conjured to eat the children rather than
deliver their presents.
Baker angrily swung open the gate to the paddock, yelling in the direction of his
departed brother. “Yeah, thanks!” Baker cried. “Now I have a reindeer makeover
problem!”
He called Myer and Jerry back into the paddock and devised two plans. The first
dealt with how to get Rudolph to fly. The second dealt with keeping a zombie
reindeer under wraps.
* * *
About two hours later, Baker stood in a room with the other Workshop department
heads talking to Santa as he donned the red suit that made him famous.
“Toys are done! As always Baker, an exemplary job. And we’re ready to fly?” Santa
said, fastening the chrome buckle on his patent leather black belt.
“Just one small glitch sir but nothing that will affect the flight,” Baker said.
“Oh? And what’s that?” Santa said, turning toward Baker with a broad, warm smile.
“It’s Rudolph, sir,” Baker said. “Nothing that won’t prevent him from flying.”
“Well?” Santa asked, leaning down toward Baker’s face, still smiling. “What is it?”
Baker swallowed. “Strep throat.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Rudolph has a terrible case of strep throat.”
“Reindeer get … strep throat?”
“All the time.”
“So, how many of the other reindeer have had …”
“Strep throat? Just Rudolph.”
“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa laughed “I think someone is pulling Santa’s leg.”
“He’s fine to fly. He’ll just have something on his head so he doesn’t … spread
it.”
“Like what?” Santa asked.
“A bag.”
“A bag?”
“Well, like a bag. But more … Christmas-ish. Like a Christmas-ish … bag.”
“But won’t that look …?”
“No one ever sees him but us. Children all tucked in their beds and all that.”
“Ah yes. I suppose. We don’t want him to show up in any children’s books or
Christmas literature with that bag on his head,” Santa said with a hearty laugh.
The others in the room laughed in unison. “So long as he can fly. I need him to
guide that sleigh tonight!”
“And he will do just that! Everything is ready,” Baker said.
Santa pressed his cap onto his head. “Then let’s go deliver some presents!”
* * *
A few minutes later, Santa and Baker walked toward the sleigh. Baker realized what
remained of Rudolph’s soul would be popping into his zombie shell within minutes.
While Baker had no idea what that meant, that would be just enough time for the
reindeer to get oriented and lead the sleigh. He figured that it was still
Rudolph’s soul and that was enough to get things moving zombie or not.
Santa stopped walking. “I should talk to Rudolph and cheer him up a bit.”
“No, Santa. Really. He feels bad enough as it is. He’s raring to get out of the
gates and get the flight started,” Baker replied.
“Oh. Alright then. We’ll get going. Lots to do!”
Baker followed Santa onto the sleigh sitting in front of the massive sack of goods.
The sky cleared up nicely for the takeoff. The waxing moon gleamed off on the
shining sled. The entire Workshop staff gathered around the sleigh sipping hot
drinks and wrapped in warm clothes.
Santa leaned into Baker and gave him a wink. “This is my favorite part,” he
whispered, then looked toward the crowd and bellowed. “Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer!
Now, Prancer, and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen! On Rudolph,
let’s go! You lead the way! And on this great night, guide our wonderful sleigh!”
Santa snapped the reins. The crowd cheered.

And nothing happened.
Baker sat nervously as Santa tried again. “Okay, Rudolph! Let’s go, my friend! Up
in to the sky! The children await! Ho, ho, ho!”
Still nothing.
Baker turned toward Santa who, while still jolly, seemed disturbed.
“Let me go check on him,” Baker said.
Baker walked to the front of the team. He was running out of ideas and they needed
to leave. He lifted the decorated covering above Rudolph’s head and did the only
thing he could think of.
“Rudolph! It’s time to go. Wake up. Wake up and let’s go, you dumb zombie!”
Rudolph didn't budge.
Baker looked back at Santa.
“Strep throat still botherin’ him?” Santa asked.
“A bit. Should be just a minute.”
“Well, we’ve, uh, got to go! Ho, ho, ho!”
“He’s being a little … self-conscious.”
Baker leaned under the hood again. “Listen to me, you undead prima donna! It is
time to fly. I’m not going to have you ruin this because you are …”
Baker couldn't finish his sentence. In one swift motion, Rudolph kicked him out of
the way and ripped off the costume hood, loosing an unholy squeal and breaking free
from the rigging holding the once red-nosed reindeer to the rest of the sleigh
team. Zombie Rudolph rose onto two legs and lurched toward Prancer, jaws open wide
and oozing the stuff of undead hunger.
“Oh my!” Santa yelled. “Everyone, run away! We don't want anyone to get strep
throat!”
Rudolph’s jaws came down on top of Prancer’s head. Baker covered his eyes. He heard
growling and crying; shrieks of horror on Christmas Eve night. When Baker got brave
enough to look again, he saw Prancer fall limp, Rudolph finishing off the last bits
of the reindeer’s grey matter. Rudolph turned toward the other reindeer, which were
helpless to free themselves from their sleigh team bindings. This is it, Baker
thought. Here comes the carnage.
Then, something wonderful happened. In what Baker could only describe as a

Christmas miracle, Rudolph calmly settled onto the snow. The red light shining from
his eyes looked a bit more like Santa’s cheeks instead of fear.
“Wow,” Rudolph said. “What – what happened?”
Santa climbed out from his hiding position behind the sleigh and cautiously joined
Baker near Rudolph.
“You … you have strep throat.”

“No, Santa. Actually, it’s a bit more severe than that,” Baker said, He knew he had
to come clean with Kris Kringle. Baker explained what happened.
“So, I’m … a zombie?”
“But you’re still our Rudolph!” Santa said, surprising Baker. A half-smile crossed
the jolly old man’s face. “Can your undead, glowing red eyes help me find my way
through the fog again tonight?”
Santa took time to calm the Workshop employees and make spirits right. Elves
quickly cleaned the blood and entrails off the sleigh-team rigging and carriage
while others dragged Prancer around to the back of the stable. Another set of elves
reequipped Rudolph and his eight companions for the night ride. Fireball took
Prancer’s place.
Santa and Baker took their seats on the sleigh bench again. Baker started to feel
like everything would be alright. Then Santa looked down at him.
“Strep throat?” he said.
Baker shrugged his shoulders. “Best I could do on short notice.”
“We’ll talk more about this later.” Santa snapped his whip and the sleigh leapt up
into the night sky to applause and good cheer from the reformed crowd. “Let’s off,
my red-eyed, zombie friend! Lead the way!”
Baker felt uneasy about an undead Rudolph. Would he try to feed on the other
reindeer’s brains again? And what might become of the newly dead Prancer? Then he
stopped and reminded himself that it was still Christmas Eve.
Zooming over the first few countries on their ride, Baker grabbed his clipboard and
a pen and rewrote the lyrics of a classic:
Rudolph the Zombie Reindeer,
Had two very shiny eyes.
And if you ever saw them,
It probably meant that you would die.
All of the other reindeer,
Now gave him respect instead.
They didn’t want zombie Rudolph,
To also make them into undead.

Then one scary Christmas Eve,
Santa had to say,
“Rudolph, with your glowing red eyes,
Help me guide my sleigh tonight!”
All of the Workshop feared him,
But kept on building toys and trains.
Because they knew if they didn't,
Undead Rudolph would eat their brains!
Story Art Cover
By Chris Williams
http://www.DeadMeatNovel.com
Dedication
To Brother D - Thank you for the encouragement and advice to help me bring this
story to paper. I'm proud to call you my friend.
Author Bio
Scott, a.k.a Need a Nickname Scott, lives with his wife Tracey in West Lafayette,
Indiana. This first time author is the host of the Zombie Beat news section of the
Mail Order Zombie podcast, (www.mailorderzombie.com). Scott has appeared on this
program since April 2009. Besides the news, Scott has provided several reviews and
sketches on the podcast and was voted Voice of the Mail Order Zombie family in Feb
2010.
Zombies are not his only passion. Scott and Tracey started a bi-weekly podcast on
all things Disney in July 2008 entitled Disney, Indiana (www.disneyindiana.com).
They have visited both Disneyland and Walt Disney World over 15 times in their 17
years together.
Santa’s Helpers
By Scott Morris
The sign read Wyoming Federal Penitentiary, well at least it used to. Over the top
someone had spray painted “Welcome to Yorktown”. Ezekiel knew that no amount of
spray paint would change things, this place was still a prison. He had been born
here, 14 years ago, part of the first generation born after everyone took shelter
from the rise of the Munchers.
Zeke had often heard of the world before them, the world the elders grew up in. He
wished he could have lived in that world instead of this one. He doesn’t know what
happened to that world, none of the sixty families living in Yorktown do. Zeke and
his family just try to make this one as livable as possible.
Staring at the sign, Zeke heard the school bell ring; he was late to class again.
“Welcome Zeke, glad to see you could join us for history class,” said Mr. Williams,
as Zeke walked into the former prison's visitor’s area, now the compound’s one room
schoolhouse.
“Sorry Mr. Williams, it won’t happen again”
Mr. Williams replied, “That’s the fifth time this month you’ve been late. I’d like
you to stay after class please, Zeke”.
“You are in trouble now buddy,” said Ruth, as Zeke took his seat, “You know Santa’s
watching.”
Mr. Williams’ lesson was the American Revolution and the birth of the United
States, something Zeke found utterly boring. After class, Zeke remained in his seat
as his classmates filed out.
“You know son, you need to show more interest in your class work and arrive on
time,” started Mr. Williams.
“What’s the point,” blurted Zeke, “really, learning about American Revolution isn’t
going to help us today, besides the United States doesn’t even exist! Who cares
whether a king or president was in charge when you are cold, hungry and have never
ending chores to do?”
Mr. Williams slowly walked toward Zeke’s desk and placed his hand on Zeke’s
shoulder. “Zeke, you want to be careful this time of year. You know Santa is
watching.”
“I know, Mr. Williams, I know. I shouldn’t have said that.” Zeke replied, not
really meaning those words.
“Well, just remember it’s the start of December and he’s out there - you better
stay on the straight and narrow. Now get on back to your family, I’m sure you’ve
got chores to do,” replied the teacher.
Zeke put on his coat and left the former visitor’s center to face the cold. He
sighed as he stepped outside... it was pointless to argue with Mr. Williams.
The teacher wouldn’t change his story about Santa; none of the adults would. All
the kids grew up being told that Santa brought presents to good children and did...
something ...with the bad ones.
Last holiday season, around the 5th or 6th of December, one of Zeke’s classmates
vanished. Her name was Anna and she was a year younger than Zeke. He knew of the
girl, but they weren’t that close. Anna cut school quite a bit, preferring to hang
out near the barns, bully the younger kids and flirt with the younger men. They
also said that Anna didn’t help out with her folks in the gardens or bothered to
learn to shoot. Zeke often wondered what really happened. Of course, all the elders
would just say she was naughty, so Santa took her.
Strangely enough, that wasn’t the only disappearance. Around the same time it
seemed the numbers of Munchers outside the fence dwindled. Nobody could say exactly
how many, but after so many years of watching the perimeters, some of the sharp
shooters could recognize the clothing of the Munchers, and even gave them
nicknames. Zeke’s older brother, Ben, was one of the guards that swore some of them
went missing about the same time Anna did. Most people figured they wandered away
or finally fell apart, but the one Ben remembered - FlannelMan, was still in good
shape when he disappeared.
Once Zeke got home, his mother was waiting for him.
“Son, you need to help your sister outside - the animals need feeding and you
promised you’d clear the path to the tower last night. Remember what time of year
this happens to be. He’s watching you.”
“Alright mom, I’ll go get the shovel,” replied Zeke, not really wanting to argue
the Santa point any more.
“Son, you need to be more responsible - I don’t want to see you ... go away,” said
his mother. Zeke could hear the slight fear in her voice as he went back outside to
clear the path.
Later that evening, Zeke was just starting to fall asleep in his bed. He had
finished the path, and was tired. That’s when he heard the bells. Faintly at first,
but getting closer. They almost seemed to enter the room with him, then he realized
the sound was just outside the barred window. He looked out and could not believe
his eyes.
There in the newly falling snow, just inside the perimeter fence was a sleigh, a
team of reindeer and a very large man dressed in all red. It was Santa, but not
like the picture books his family had shown him all these years. He was still
dressed in red fur, from his head to his foot, and on his chin was that beard as
white as snow - just like in the stories. But he was also wearing a fully stocked
bandolier around his chest and a high powered rifle slung over his shoulder.
The sleigh itself was different as well. Much larger than in the storybooks, with
most of the back end covered. To be honest, it looked more like a shipping
container with an outside bench where Santa sat and two large runners underneath.
Instead of eight tiny reindeer, there had to be at least twenty big brutes pulling
that sleigh. And not a red nose among them.
Santa jumped nimbly down from his perch and went about feeding his reindeer team.
Zeke couldn’t stop staring. Where had they come from? The reindeer and sleigh
tracks only started about 15 yards behind where they were standing, and there had
been no alarm or gunshots... Once St. Nick finished, he turned and faced Zeke’s
window.
“Happy Holidays Zeke, could you please come out here with me,” said Santa.
Zeke felt compelled to obey the man, though he didn’t know why, so he got dressed
quickly and made his way outside to the sleigh.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” asked Zeke, rather meekly.
“Me? Well, I’m Santa Claus, of course! And, I’m here for you my boy. Now hop up
there on the sleigh, we’ve got a lot more stops to make before day break.”
Without really knowing what he was doing, or why, Zeke jumped up on the bench next
to Santa. He glanced behind him to see something moving through the steel mesh
covering the rear of the sleigh and he nearly bolted.
“Santa, you’ve got… you’ve got a Muncher in there.” cried out Zeke.
“Don’t worry about him Zeke - I need him and he won’t bother you. I’ve got him
chained to the wall,” Santa calmly replied.
As Zeke sat down in the sleigh, the Muncher attempted to lunge at him and Zeke
jerked back. But the chains that held the Muncher did their job and held the
creature to the wall of the sleigh.
Santa sat next to Zeke, chucked the reins and they began to move, then flew into
the cold night sky. “Wait a minute, fly?” Zeke thought, “We’re really flying?” The
child in him stared in wonder out into the night sky, while the rest of him gripped
the bench seat tightly.
After a few moments Zeke looked out over the darkened landscape below, repulsed by
what he saw. Most of the world looked dead. Large groups of Munchers hung around in
packs, wandering the countryside. Burned buildings and abandoned autos littered the
landscape. Zeke had never realized the world was so big, or so empty.
“Where are we going?” he asked Santa.
“I need to pick up a few more guests and then head back to the workshop. We’ve got
a lot of work to finish, Christmas is only 18 days away you know,” said St. Nick,
“Just sit back and relax, we are coming up on our next stop.
The sleigh banked slightly to the right and began to descend. Zeke could make out a
large building surrounded by fencing. He knew there were other people still alive
in the world, his uncle had an old style emergency radio that worked with a hand
crank and they would pick up signals from time to time, but he’d never actually
seen any other homestead before. This compound didn’t look like the prison he’d
being living in; the towers built here were obviously installed at a later time.
Zeke guessed that whoever was living here added those after they took it over.
The sleigh made a soft landing near the largest building and Santa leaped down off
the bench.
“Zeke, there’s some carrots in a cooler behind your seat. Could you please get some
out and give the reindeer a snack? I’ll be right back.”
Zeke jumped off the sleigh and began to pass out the carrots to the team. It
reminded him of feeding the horses and cows back home. Normally he hated that
chore, but now it made him feel a little homesick. Zeke was just finishing up his
task when Santa returned, but he wasn’t alone.
“Zeke, I’d like you to meet William, he’s going to join us on our journey. William,
this is Zeke,” Santa said as the two boys met each other, “Now let’s climb on
board, we need to be leaving.”
The boys and Father Christmas climbed back into the sleigh and once again they were
off into the night sky. Zeke looked at William and smiled, but William just
wrinkled his nose and stared off into space.
“Boys, I have one more stop to make before our final destination and it’s not going
to be an easy one. Can you handle guns? I need to make sure my reindeer are
protected.”
“Yeah, my dad’s been teaching me to use a pistol to off those scum-sucking Uglies,“
responded William.
“Uglies?” Zeke questioned.
“You know, those things that are trying to eat us out there,” snapped William.
“Like the fat man said, can you handle yourself with a gun?”
“I’ve been trained on shotguns and do ok with target practice,” added Zeke.
“Very well, we’re almost there, hang on.”
The sleigh made a quick bank to the left and descended upon a large city. The boys
knew this was not a good idea, but they were helpless to do anything. They came to
rest near what looked to be a large grandstand.
As St. Nick climbed down, he said, “Boys, you’ll find two pistols in that metal box
under William’s feet. Protect my reindeer team or you’ll never get out of here.
There shouldn’t be too many Munchers around here, since this infield area is
surrounded by fencing, but you can never be too sure.”
Santa went to the back of the sleigh and got a large, wheeled steel cage out and
pushed it in front of him and into the darkness.
“What the hell is going on here? This can’t be happening. Santa’s a crock of lies!”
blurted out William, as soon as the jolly fat man was out of earshot.
“I wish I knew,” replied Zeke, “this all seems very real to me.”
“Well, I’m not buying it. Zeke, right? I’ve been told for years to straighten up
and behave or Santa would get me. Why are so many of the grownups still trying to
make us believe in Santa when the entire world has checked out?” William grumbled.
“I’m not sure William, but right now we need to keep an eye out for these reindeer.
Do you have any idea where we are?” replied Zeke, as he tried to make out his
surroundings.
Luckily, the sky was clear and it was a full moon. The boys were able to read most
of the signs around, and there were a lot of them. Welcome race fans and something
they couldn’t quite make out claiming to be the ‘official beer of the Indy 500’.
Zeke got concerned when he saw a sign that said something about a SnakePit - he
hated snakes!
William pointed to a faded poster of a bikini-clad woman wearing a t-shirt and

orange shorts. “Check out the hooters on her, huh? Man, none of the girls where I
live look like that!” Zeke just rolled his eyes and kept a lookout.
Just then, the boys heard the wheels of the cage that Santa had taken with him
along with the unmistakable moaning of a Muncher.
“Boys, I need your help to push this cage up the ramp and get it locked away,”
yelled Santa, as he neared the boys.
Doing what they were told, the boys jumped out - frightened to be so close to a
Muncher, yet even more frightened to disobey. Santa secured their new passenger and
went back for more. He repeated this task eight or nine more times, often with a
couple of undead in the cage. The back of the sled quickly filled up with Munchers
who were not too happy about being chained to the sides.
As Santa and the boys got ready to leave, William spoke up, “Dude, you are crazy
going after those things all by yourself. Aren’t you afraid they’ll eat you?”
“Well William, those things aren’t interested in me. I’ve been around for thousands
of years and I guess they don’t have a taste for aged meat,” Santa said with a
laugh.
“Then why do you carry the guns?” questioned Zeke.
“The reindeer, I’ve lost several good beasts to those things, and I use the guns to
protect them.” answered St. Nick.
William then looked at Santa, as if he’d lost his mind and grilled him with, “Then
why do you mess with the Munchers? Even if I were immune from those damned things,
I’d still stay away!”
“All in good time my boy, all in good time. We best be off, we need to head back to
my workshop, I’ve got some things to show you two.”
The rest of the flight was uneventful, Zeke spent his time looking down on the
Earth below. It was dark and cold without many signs of life. All that he could see
was an occasional bonfire or torch light.
After about seven hours in the sleigh, Zeke spotted the last thing he thought he’d
ever see in real life again - electric lights. In fact on the horizon ahead was a
brightly lit campus in the middle of a snow covered wasteland. In the center of the
lighted area was a very colorful building that reminded Zeke of gingerbread houses
from his grandmother’s cookbooks. He saw a lot of activity around this building, as
people were going in and out carrying boxes and supplies.
As they got past the lights, another much larger building was coming into view.
This building was the complete opposite of the first. It looked cold and
industrial, made all of metal with no windows and only one door. It was easily 10
times larger than the other building and there was no activity around it, just
wires running back to the brightly lit area.
The sleigh started its descent just past a control tower outside the colorful
building and came to a stop near a large barn. A team of small people - elves, Zeke
guessed - met the sleigh and started to unhook the reindeer team. Santa and the
boys climbed down off the sleigh and were met by a couple of very muscular, armed
elves.
“Welcome back, Santa,” one of them spoke.
“Thanks Evergreen, we’ve got a full load of helpers in the back, can you see to
them as I give our guests the tour?”
“Yes, sir, we’ll handle everything,” replied Evergreen, and the elves quickly went
to the task of unloading the cages of Munchers in the back of the sleigh, and
wheeling them off into the darkness.
“Alright boys, welcome to the North Pole and my humble facilities here. This is
where all the magic happens. Shall we start the tour in the workshop?” Santa
directed the boys over to the brightly lit, gingerbread looking building where the
elves bustled in and out. As the three of them entered, the boys could see rows and
rows of elves at workstations hard at work building wooden trucks, sewing dolls,
painting sleighs and various other toy making activities.
“Boys, there it is, my workshop. My teams are hard at work getting ready for
Christmas. Those toys will be going to all the deserving boys and girls all over
the world,” St. Nick beamed.
“I bet you don’t have to make as many as you used to!” William cracked.
“You’d be surprised, son. There are still a lot of people out there and most of the
boys and girls are good children. Christmas is still a very busy time for us and I
hope it continues that way. It makes my jolly heart proud to know that we can still
bring some joy into this world.” Santa said quickly. “Besides, it’s nice to get
back to the old fashioned toys. I never did think much, of those electronic
gadgets.”
Zeke was in awe as he looked around at all the work being done. Then a puzzled look
came across his face. “Santa,” he said, “where do you get your electricity? This
workshop is brightly lit, the elves are using power tools and it’s nice and toasty
warm in here. We have not had electricity at home for several years, since we ran
out of gas for the generators.”
“Follow me, boys and I’ll show you.”
Santa and his guests exited out a rear door of the work shop and stood near the
giant building they’d seen earlier.
“This is my power plant boys, let’s take a look inside!” Santa said with a smile.
The party made their way to the one and only door, which opened into a small
control room, not more than 20 by 20 feet. They saw two doors on the other side of
the room and between them was a bank of computers underneath large windows that
looked out onto the plant floor. There were a few elves monitoring the gauges and
dials, and for the moment, all those windows showed was a reflection of what was in
the control room - the plant floor was dark.
“Boys,” explained Santa. During better times, this was a warehouse full of toys,
but now, it fulfills other needs. This building is where I get my power to run
things here at the North Pole.” Zeke heard the door behind them open and felt a
cold breeze blow into the room.
“And I bet this is one of my fresh batteries now,” finished Santa.

The boys turned to see the elf named Evergreen pushing one of the cages into the
control room. Inside the cage was what looked to be a former police officer. She
was wearing riot gear and her helmet, but the boys could tell she was a Muncher.
As soon as the former cop saw the boys, she lunged at the cage wall in an attempt
to reach them, but all she managed to do was rock the cage and receive a cattle
prod to her lower back, courtesy of Evergreen.
The elf pushed the cage toward the door to the right of the control panel. As the
cage got closer to the door, Zeke noticed that the cage and the door were about the
same size. In fact the cage fit right into some grooves on the door frame, once it
was pushed up against the door. Evergreen flipped a couple of latches to lock the
cage in place, and pressed a button. At that point, the door to the plant floor
swung open with the cage door following it.
Suddenly, a smell of death and decay flooded into the control room. Santa reached
over and flicked a switch to turn on the plant floor lights as Evergreen, using the
cattle prod, forced the Muncher through the doorway.
The boys were horrified at what they saw. There was no machinery in the room, no
pillars holding the roof, nothing but a large open space filled with Munchers as
far as the eye could see, Shoulder to shoulder, hundreds of undead stood. No, they
were moving, all walking somehow, in the same direction toward one end of the
building. The police officer joined their ranks, pushing some of the more decrepit
Munchers aside in her eagerness.
Zeke tried to look beyond the horde to see what they were shambling toward, and
that’s when he saw them. At the far end of the building, on what looked like a
stage in an auditorium, were dozens of kids chained to the wall. Some of them
looked awful, nearly as bad as the Munchers themselves, while others hadn’t been
there long - they could still scream. There was a trough along the wall that looked
just like the one in the pig sty at home, where Zeke threw slop to feed the pigs.
Then it hit Zeke - near the middle of the small stage was Anna, the girl who had
disappeared from Yorktown last year. She had been naughty and Santa finally brought
her here. All the color left Zeke’s face and he nearly passed out.
William then blurted out, “The Munchers! They’re going to kill those kids! You’ve
got to get them out of there!”
Santa motioned to Evergreen and he walked up silently behind William.
“Don’t worry, the children are safe... mostly. Look at the floor, it moves with the
undead. We built a giant treadmill, and their movement generates all the power we
need here. The only thing we need is a reason for them to keep walking.”
As Santa spoke his last line, Evergreen clamped his meaty hands on William’s arms
and forced him toward the door to the left of the control panel.
“You, see William and Zeke, I need, let us say... bait, to keep the undead moving.
That’s why I keep track of all the naughty boys and girls and bring them here, so
they can ... motivate my helpers out there to power my workshop. You’ll be quite
helpful, quite helpful indeed!” Santa explained, as Evergreen pushed William toward
the door. The boy screamed and pled for his life, but it was too late. He had been
on the list for years and it was his turn.
Silence again filled the control room as the door behind Evergreen and William
closed. Zeke and Santa watched as Evergreen moved William down a caged hallway and
into place along the bait wall, chaining him in place, leaving just enough slack to
reach the food trough. Then Evergreen returned to the control room and faced Santa,
waiting for his next task.
“What are you going to do with me, Santa? Are you going to chain me out there too?”
Zeke sobbed, knowing that there wasn’t much hope for him right now. He knew he’d
been bad, but he was sorry, really sorry for everything he’d ever done!
“No,” said Santa, “you’ve been brought here because I’ve noticed that while you
question your elders, are often negligent in your chores and have been late to
class many times ... you’ve not made it to my naughty list ... yet.
Every year, I bring a few boys and girls to the North Pole to learn what happens if
you are on my naughty list. This way they can straighten out their own lives as
well as influence others. I’ve visited Yorktown for just this reason before, and I
think you know the last young man I gave this talk to,” Santa explained.
With that, Santa reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of magic dust and
blew it into Zeke’s face.
* * *
Zeke awoke in his own bed the next morning. Looking around, everything seemed
normal. He questioned himself - Was it just a dream? What really happened last
night? He looked out the window to see if there were tracks in the snow, but more
had fallen during the night and he just couldn’t tell.
“Zeke, you up? It snowed some last night and your father really needs your help
outside clearing a path to the guard tower,” called his mother.
“Sure mom,” replied Zeke, as he threw on some clothes and his coat before heading
out to help his dad. Walking outside, he noticed that the path was already cleared
and his father was standing at the base of the tower waiting for him.
As Zeke started apologizing over and over for not helping, his father just laughed.
“Hey sleepyhead, your timing couldn’t be better. Want to head up the tower and do
some target practice?”
They scaled the tower and Zeke, who was normally a decent shot, couldn’t hit much
of anything. He turned shame-faced to his father.
“Son, what’s wrong? Your aim is all off, your hands are shaking. You’re practically
missing the ground with your shots today!”
“Sorry, dad. Last night something happened. Well, I think something happened, I’m
not really sure. I was almost asleep when I thought I heard sleigh bells, and
then... ” Zeke stammered.
His father looked at him soberly. “You met Santa’s Helpers, didn’t you?”
Story Art Cover
By Jason Tudor
Dedication
To dreams, nightmares, and everything in between...
Author Bio
I am a lifelong Horror/Zombie/SciFi nut who decided one day it was time to write a
novel. I had no real plan at first, but after thinking a while I felt that an
apocalyptic story told completely from the zombie's point of view needed to be
written so I wrote Het Madden, A Zombie Perspective. I wanted to do the whole book,
cover to cover, my way, and after a few disagreements with publishers I started
Zilyon Publishing with my buddy Greg Bogle. We've also recently released "The
Undead Nation Anthology" with Alan Gandy (author of Voyeur Dead) and "Living My
Nighmare, The Work Of Filmmaker Coven Delacruz". I love to write and publish, and I
also have a web comic at www.TedDead.com to keep me busy. www.CalvinALMillerII.com.
cal_in_space@yahoo.com.
Santa Claws is Coming to Town
“Leaving me is not going to solve anything!” I shouted, a bit pitifully. “I do

everything for you and we are great together!”
“We are not together, at least not anymore,” She said as she pulled on her jeans,
and she meant it. Our relationship had been spiraling downward ever since I quit
school. I only had a year to go but I couldn’t bear the thought of Kelly alone for
any period of time so I just quit and moved to Philadelphia to be with her. We met
at the beach over Memorial Day weekend at a bar called Secrets. She was the most
beautiful girl I had ever seen and I had one of those movie moments where
everything went silent as I saw her across the room. I waited until her glass was
nearly empty and asked the bartender to give her one of what she was drinking. The
second she was finished I walked over to her and said, “Hi,” while the bartender
handed her a madras and said it was from me. Perfect timing. We spent the entire
weekend together and began dating immediately. She lived in Philly and I went to
school at the University of Maryland but we made it work. It wasn’t that long a
distance and my friends thought I was completely crazy to quit school. My parents
were pissed.
“It’s a year, dude!” my buddy Craig said. “Just finish up and then see what
happens. You might not even be together by then.” My dad said nearly the exact same
thing. I believed them both and felt the only way to keep her was to be with her
all the time. At first she loved the idea, and I really believe she loved me too.
But it didn’t take long for my jealousy, which had been well hidden when we were
over a hundred miles away, to come out and drive a wedge between us.
“All you do is work at that drug store and play video games.” She said as she
closed her suitcase. “And you follow me everywhere and watch my every move. We
never go out or go anywhere either and I’m tired of being broke, James.”
She is the only one besides my mom that calls me James.
“What if I got some money? We could go on a trip. Or we could get married. Please
don’t leave me Kelly,” I begged.
“I have to go. I’ll get the rest of my things later, or not. I need time to think.
I need to breathe. Merry Christmas James.”
And she was gone.
I woke up the next morning feeling horribly alone. I could think of nothing but who
she had spent the night with and how I needed to win her back.
So I came up with a plan…
I would be closing the store that night, Christmas Eve. The biggest day of the year
in sales. And I would be in charge of the money. And the receipts. If I worked it
right I could skim a couple thousand dollars off the top and no one would ever
know. No, I would volunteer to work the entire day! I got my cell phone out and
dialed Dave.
“Hello, and Merry Christmas Jimbo!” Dave answered. “Surprised to see you on the
Caller ID. Why are you up so early, it’s not even six o’clock?”
“Dave, how about I work the whole day. Kelly left last night an-”
“Jim I am sorry,” Dave interrupted. “That’s a shame.”
“Yeah, well I’d like to get my mind off it, you know. Keep busy. So what do you
say?”
“Well, OK Jim,” Dave said after a few long seconds. “You know the code to turn the
alarm off when you open up. It’s the same as setting it when you close. You have
the keys. Take it easy buddy and let Barb and I know if there’s anything we can do.
You know what, come on over tomorrow if you feel up to it. We can have some
Christmas dinner and then watch a movie. We’d love to have you buddy.”
Why is he being so nice and making this so God Damn difficult?!

“If I feel up to it I will. Thanks for doing this Dave, and enjoy the day.”
* * *
I got to the store and brought in the newspapers that had been dropped off earlier.
I then began to finalize my plan. I was the first one there; it was six thirty AM.
Store opens in an hour and a half and the staff doesn’t show until seven thirty.
Plenty of time. First I needed someone to set up. Bob was my man. He was old and it
would be understandable if he lost something. Or we’d fire him, I really didn’t
care. I could even slip a few hundred dollars in Bob’s coat while he worked and
later “catch him” in the act. He kept to himself and no one really liked him that
much. It was even common knowledge among non-management that he stole small items
now and then. The thoughts I was having were those of a monster, but I just had to
get Kelly back. I’d make Bob a key carrier so he’d have keys to the register drop
boxes and I’d send him to pick up money from the registers to bring to me in the
office. I’d have him wait until the boxes were really full to make each haul a big
one. The store was in a neighborhood that uses a lot of cash. Not many of the
customers that shopped in this store used or even had credit cards, even in this
day and age. But I’d have access to the numbers of everyone who did. I wouldn’t be
using the numbers to buy anything, or even get cash advances, oh no... But I
imagined there were people who would be interested in purchasing the numbers from
me. I could sell them before the New Year. It seemed almost perfect. By my
calculations I should be able to get about five thousand dollars in money “lost” or
“stolen” by Bob, and who knows how much for the card numbers.
I heard a knock at the door up front. It was after seven o’clock already, but no
matter. My plan was complete. I got to the front and the face outside the glass
door looked very familiar. I unlocked the door.
“Ma’am we aren’t open until eight o’clock.” I said, smiling broadly with the
thoughts of my plan and getting Kelly back firmly in my head.
“Jimmy Paugh, I can’t believe it!” she said astonished.
I knew who it was instantly. It was Celia Curry, the girl who used to baby sit me
when I was younger. My mother had choir practice Wednesday nights and my dad
worked, so Celia would watch me for about three or four hours nearly every
Wednesday from when I was four to when I was around six years old. Then my dad
started working days and she stopped. She lived in the apartment above us and was
about nine years older than me.
“Celia! How are you? Come on in!” I said as I let her in and relocked the door.
“You live in Philadelphia now?”
“Yeah, I moved here a few years ago.” she said smiling. “How are your mom and dad?
Your dad was so funny!”
“They’re great, still back in Maryland. How about yours?”
“They both died. Auto accident. About a year ago.” She said. I could tell she still
felt bad, but she started to get a little fidgety.
“Hey!” she said obviously wanting to change the subject. “The Christmas decorations
just reminded me, do you remember the story I told you that time about Santa
Claws?”
“Santa Claus?” I answered with a question.
“Santa C-L-A-W-S, remember?” She said, spelling it out and smiling deep into my
eyes.
Then it came back to me… Santa Claws. I remembered. I was young, right when she
started to baby sit me. It was around Christmas and I had been snooping around my
parents’ bedroom while my Mom was in the bathroom getting ready to go to choir
practice. I found them! My Christmas presents! Was there no Santa Claus? Did he
come early? I had heard Chris Sykes and Tony Wymer, two older boys, talk about how
there was no Santa Claus but didn’t believe them. They also told me there was a
pool on the roof of every apartment and that they wrote the Star Spangled Banner. I
heard a knock at the door and my mom going to get it. I had begun to unwrap one of
the presents instinctively and hurried to put the tape back. I came out of the room
looking guilty I imagine, but my mom was in a hurry and didn’t notice. Celia did,
and she also noticed the small, torn piece of decorative tape on my shirt. Mom
kissed me goodbye and left.
“What do we have here?” she asked, pulling off the tape. I was remembering all this
very vividly now. “You look like the cat that ate the canary!” She was thirteen at
the time and usually treated me cruelly. Later, as I got older, rumors were going
around that her father molested her, or at least physically abused her in a non-
sexual way. She was always a strange girl. How I had forgotten, I don’t know.
I remember she hit me hard on the head and grabbed me by my neck.
“I bet you were in HERE!” she said as she dragged me into my parents' room and to
the closet. “Bad kids sneak looks at the gifts their parents are hiding for
Christmas, and bad kids get GOT by Santa Claws!”
“I didn’t do it!” I cried.
“You’re a liar!” she screamed as she threw me on the bed. “Let me tell you what the
deal is you little son of a bitch. Your parents, everyone’s parents, have to buy
gifts now because Santa Claus is DEAD! He died at the North Pole last year and now
Santa CLAWS comes on Christmas instead!” And then she spelled it out so I would
know.
“But HE only comes for bad kids now, bad kids like YOU!” she continued her tirade.
“He comes in on Christmas Eve and kills the bad kid’s parents and family. Then he
sinks his claws into the bad kid and takes him back to the North Pole!”
I must have had my hands in the air acting out the scene when Celia broke in…
“I see you do remember!” she cackled. “Well if you are thinking about being bad, I
wouldn’t. Santa Claws is coming to town.”
We both looked in each other’s eyes and started to laugh. I had long since forgiven
her, at least in my head, for the way she treated me. She had quite possibly been
tortured by her father and she never really hurt me, she was just a bit rough.
Maybe I just wanted to forgive her, or maybe it was just so long ago. I don’t know.
“Listen, take care of yourself Jimmy.” She said, turning to leave.

“Hey wait, why did you come here anyway?” I asked.
“Oh, for a paper!” she answered as we laughed again. I handed her one, she gave me
the money, and she was on her way. I locked the door and stayed up front and waited
for the staff to arrive.
* * *
Everybody started arriving for work. Judy got there first. She was in charge of the
sundry items like soap, paper towels, greeting cards and magazines. Bobbie, the
cosmetics lady was next followed by Rose who worked the seasonal isles and the
second register. Mr. Thickett, the Pharmacist, was next and then John the photo
clerk. Giovanna, the drug counter girl, came in at five of eight. I left the door
opened and people immediately started coming in. I went back to the safe and got
out the money from last night. At the end of the night the money from the register
drop boxes are put in the safe and the manager who opens the store counts it out
and records the amounts broken out into cash, checks, credit cards, coupons, etc. I
took it all into the office and started counting out the money from last night.
This I would do perfectly. The big money would come today.
The day dragged on and it got to be around five o’clock so I asked Bob to go and
get money from the drops, take it to the office, and then go on a break. I hadn’t
had him do this since before noon so I knew the drops were full. I went back to the
drug counter to talk to Giovanna and Mr. Thickett while he did. This would put me
there while Bob was in contact with the money. Giovanna needed to grab a smoke so I
ran the counter while she was gone. A lady, Mrs. Davis, came up with a prescription
and handed it to me.
“So you ready for Santa?” she said as she scratched her neck. “I hope you’ve been
good.”
I smiled at her and said “Not too good,” and winked. She was a regular and smiled
back. “Be about twenty minutes, you wanna wait for it?”
“Yeah I have to get a couple things,” She said and walked off.
Giovanna came back and I headed to the photo counter. I thought I’d go up and ask
John if Bob had emptied his drop. I knew he had, and I knew John would say he had.
More separation. After a few minutes helping out John I headed back to the office.
I got there, unlocked the door, and Bob had dutifully placed the drop money on the
desk in their zip-up carriers. They were bulging huge with money. I peaked inside
each one and could tell there was more than five thousand dollars here, maybe even
near ten thousand. I opened the back door and took the money out with a few boxes
for the trash. But I thought about it and I couldn’t hide the money in the trash,
someone may find it. What would I do with it? I hadn’t really thought this part
out. If I hide it anywhere out there, someone could find it and take it. I needed
this money to save my relationship. I needed it to get Kelly back. I needed it so
bad to solve all my problems. Then it came to me. I’ll bury it. There was a small
clearing of trees about a hundred yards up the back alley. I ran inside and got the
shovel we used to clear snow for the trash trucks and ran up to the clearing with
the money, cloaked in early winter darkness. I got there and started digging.
Luckily it hadn’t been too cold out lately so the ground wasn’t frozen. I placed
the money in the hole and covered it. I would call Dave and tell him I didn’t know
what Bob had done with the money as soon as I got back to the office. Dave would
then call the police and they would all come to the store, question Bob, and when I
spoke up and said I never saw the money they would arrest him. But wait, the police
would canvas the vicinity after that for the money. If they didn’t find it they
would be watching the area closely making it impossible for me to retrieve the
loot. This was getting really difficult.
“Why you burying the drop box money, Jim?” I heard from behind me. It was Bob’s
voice.
Without hesitation I swung around, bringing the shovel to his skull, all my anger
at Kelly for leaving me, at the men I knew she loved more than me, all the anger I
had in the world.
Bob fell like lead to the ground. He was still moving.
“I’m gonna tell the police what you did, I’ll…” Bob threatened. Until I shoved the
sharp edge of the shovel down hard on his neck, nearly severing his head.
He stopped moving.
I quickly picked up the money and then it came to me. I took the money out of each
zip-up carrier and stuffed it in my shirt. I laid the empty carriers and shovel
next to Bob’s body. I’d leave him there and report him and the money missing. It
would look as if HE took the money and was robbed. It was PERFECT!
I ran back to the store, went in, and locked the door behind me. I had to wash
Bob’s blood off of me, but first I went into the office to stow the money until I
could get cleaned up and figure out what to do with it. While I was putting the
money in the filing cabinet the security screen that sits on top of it caught my
eye. The screens showed a view of what was going on up at the front counter. I saw
something but I couldn’t really tell what it was. The whole surveillance system
from cameras to viewing screens was horrible. I could tell that people were running
around and there were others following after them, maybe chasing them, but not much
else. Something was wrong. Is there anything else that could fuck this up for Kelly
and me? I picked up the phone to call the front counters and it was dead. I still
had to clean up so I went to the big janitor sink in the back room and washed up. I
didn’t have as much blood on me as I thought. I finished and headed to the front of
the store.
I passed the drug counter and Mr. Thickett said “Something is going on up there. I
tried to call the police but the phones are dead. I’m using my cell phone now.” I
no longer had a cell phone. I made Kelly get rid of hers ‘cause I thought she was
using it to talk to other guys and I had to agree to get rid of mine too.
Then I heard it.
“Jiiimmy Paaugh has been a baaaad boyyy!!!” echoed loudly through the store, even
louder than the screams I just realized I had somehow been blocking out. Then Judy
came running toward me, bleeding heavily from the side of her neck. She was holding
her hand tightly to it to try and stop the blood.
“Jim run, they’re everywhere. Six of them I think. Killing everyone and biting
them.” She grabbed my drug store vest and slowly fell to the floor dead. I then
noticed there was a large bite out of her neck.
I inched my way down the seasonal isle and saw Rose lying on the floor, lifeless,
with a man on top of her. Blood covered his hands and face, and I noticed his head,
neck, and shoulders had been spray painted a bright Christmas Green. His clothes
were filthy, torn and covered in blood. It was obvious to me now that Rose was dead
and this man was eating her. He stopped to look up at me, but before I could react
I heard the voice again, not shouting this time but addressing me like I was a
child.
“Jiiimmy Paaugh, you have been baaaad.” I looked up and saw it. Him. A man, at
least I thought, in a Santa suit covered in blood and what looked like chewed
flesh. He was clearly not alive, and neither were his cohorts. They all had
terrible wounds that no longer bled. They simply leaked a dark, thick, fluid. I
could no longer hold my stomach and I vomited all over the floor.
“You killed a man for money, Jimmy,” he continued, “And for a woman. A woman who
doesn’t even want you. A woman who fucks other men behind your back. You know what
that makes you, besides a murderer and a thief Jimmy? A fool. And no matter what
anyone says, hell is full of fools Jimmy.”
The screams had gotten fewer and more of the green faced ghouls were gathering
behind the hellish St. Nick. At that moment, Mr. Thickett came running down the
isle with the drug counter’s bottle of grain alcohol. Every drug store has a
bottle. It’s used to prepare certain types of prescriptions. He had broken the top
off of the bottle and was able to throw its contents on the ghastly Santa. He
quickly lit a match and tossed it, but just before the match hit Santa, one of his
elves, who also had been doused by Thickett’s toss, grabbed the match out of the
air and then burst into flames. At first he burned only where the alcohol soaked
him, but then his whole body went up. He didn’t move a muscle, he just stood there,
smiling, and on fire. One of the other monsters was on Thickett immediately,
sinking her teeth into his neck and chewing ravenously to the bone as he died.
“Jimmy, when you’re one of us you welcome the end,” Santa smiled and said. “It’s
just that it rarely comes. But when it does it’s painful. Gloriously painful and
so, so sweet. Like Jesus himself. You know he loves us, Jimmy. He loves all of us.
But he loves you more, and I hate him for that Jimmy. I hate him forever. Now, as
far as your people here, no one can get out, I locked the door with this Jimmy,” he
stated innocently, smiling a bloody, fleshy grin. I looked and he was holding up
one finger. The tip was fleshless and only bone remained. Bone sharpened to a
seemingly razor sharp point.
“Fit the lock perfect. Or maybe I have a key. That’s my secret Jimmy. Santa has to
have his secrets, doesn’t he? I sharpen these as often as I can. Gotta have my
claws Jimmy. I’m just not Santa without my Claws. Ah hah hah hah hah!!!” he
laughed, the sound of his voice clogged with the flesh in his throat. The flesh of
my coworkers no doubt, or at least the customers they served. Then he opened both
hands wide displaying ten fingers, all bare at the tip with the exposed bones
sharpened to a fine point.
“Like ‘em don’t you, you baaaad, baaaad boyyyy?” He growled.
It was at that moment that I began to cry and my bowels relaxed. I soiled myself so
completely it ran down my leg reaching the floor. It was Santa Claws. Just like
Celia had described. And I had been bad, just like he had said. I noticed that two
of the hideous elves had begun to chew on my legs. Another lapped up the former
contents of my bowels.
* * *
That’s the last thing I remember. I must have passed out. Or died. Actually that’s
got to be it, I’m definitely dead. I seem to be in the back of a van with five
other people… or ghouls? Zombies? The elves as it were? There are a few cans of
green spray paint rolling around on the floor of the van and some partially eaten
body parts thrown around. Every so often we chew on them, and each other, forcing
Santa to shout back at us “Save that appetite. We have a few more to pick up before
the night’s over. Next up is Carl Dobson. He’s been a baaaad boyyyy. A verry baaaad
boyyyy…”
Story Art Cover
By Topetine
www.twitter.com/topetine
Dedication
To Todd Brown
Author Bio
Sean Hoade is the author of two novels, the noir thriller Ain't that America and
the literary fantasy Darwin's Dreams. Sean's short stories, poems, and cartoons
have been published internationally, and he is currently at work on a graphic
novel. He loves to hear from readers at seanhoade@gmail.com.
Brains Like Figgy Pudding
By Sean Hoade
12 Drummers Drumming
Mike’s heartbeat pounded in his ears and his vision danced wildly around the scene.
The fire trucks slushed through the mountains of snow to get at the house, which by
now had burned down to black wood. Pervy wasn’t breathing, his dropped inhaler
shunting a puffer-shaped hole into the snowbank next to the buried cars in what
used to be the driveway. “Perv?” Mike whispered to his best friend, all but
invisible where he fell, then shouted, “Perv!” He knelt down, stuck his hand down
under his best friend’s shoulder—then jerked it back so fast he almost toppled
over.
His best friend wasn’t breathing… but he did sit up. And when his dead eyes locked
on Mike, his whole body galvanized itself into movement, first standing, then
staggering, shoving its legs through the snow.
His gnarled hands reached out toward Mike, and that wretched, airless moan
assaulted his ears.
Mike slipped and slid and kicked his feet into action, pushing himself away from
Pervy Kilgore and upright so he could run.
By now, the firemen had gotten to the house and were ineffectually spraying cold
water on the remains of Mike’s house, Mike’s parents’ house, Mike’s frickin’
Grandma’s house. When one of them noticed Mike getting to his feet and running as
best he could through the icy mix half-thawed by the fire, he yelled, “Hey! Hold up
there, boys! It ain’t safe!”
Boys? In the half-second it took his mind to understand the fireman’s words—he
sounded so much like Mike’s father he had to physically shake the mistake out of
his head—Pervy caught up to him and knocked him down into the snow, his mouth
gaping as he tried to bite Mike’s arm, shoulder, face, whatever was near.
From what he knew about the walking dead, it was one bite and game over, Mario. And
Pervy was obviously a zombie. But…
But he had never actually seen Pervy get bitten.
The mouth came closer and closer, and while stiff-arming his former buddy, Mike
checked all over Perv for bites, scratches, anything on the skin not covered by his
thick coat and woolen hat.
Nothing. Pervy was a zombie and he hadn’t been bitten. That meant—
WHUNK! The fireman’s axe went into Pervy’s neck at a sharp angle and the boy’s
whole head shot up and off to the side like a misfired mortar.
No blood, no guts. Living dead for sure.
“BUT NOTHING BIT HIM!” Mike screamed at the firefighter’s weary face. “HE WASN’T A
ZOMBIE—NOTHING—”
“Son, anything that dies is coming back. We ain’t even putting out the fires
tonight until we’re sure everybody’s burnt up—only way to kill ’em except removing
the head.”
“But it’s a virus, right? It’s always a virus!”
The fireman pulled Mike up and wrapped a scratchy gray blanket around his thin
shoulders. “This ain’t a movie, son. This here’s an act of God.”
Despite the blanket, Mike’s entire body went even colder. “G-God?”
The fireman shook his head sadly. “Only explanation I can think of. He works in
mysterious ways, and tonight he decided ain’t nobody staying dead on Christmas
Eve.”
11 Pipers Piping
At that moment, even over the wind, even over Pervy freaking out, they finally
could hear the whining high pitch of sirens.
“They’re all dead, Perv, really dead. Calm down,” Mike said solemnly, his hand on
his friend’s shoulder. “Nothing could survive th—”
“Oh shit oh fuck oh HELL NO,” Pervy almost chanted, his horror-struck eyes fixed on
a spot inside the shell of the house. Mike followed the direction of his gaze and
saw what Perv saw—
One of the columns of fire pushed outward. Inside it was the black shape of what
was once a person. Who was it: Mom? Dad? Uncle Rebar? Oh God—was it Grandma, still
kicking despite everything? It was impossible to tell through the wind-whipped
flames.
The fire-zombie-thing somehow spotted them and now raced forward with incredible
speed for something that was (a) dead; (b) engulfed in flames and burned almost to
a cinder; and (c) both of the fucking above, which even for a zombie should have
meant dead.
But it rushed at them, slipping on the melting ice and snow and tripping on the
Christmas lights that had been attached to the porch when there was still a porch.
“We don’t have a gun—you dropped the axe—fuck—man, what are we gonna—” Perv said in
a panic, then suddenly shot both of his hands up to his neck and gasped for air
like a fish thrown from its bowl.
Stress-triggered asthma attack, Mike’s brain regurgitated and he yelled above the
wind, “Your puffer, dude! Where the fuck—” Pervy yanked the inhaler from his parka
pocket and shoved the nozzle into his mouth, and Mike let out a huge sigh of relief
—
—which stuck in his throat as the fire-zombie knocked it out of Perv’s hand and
sent it flying in an arc into the snow.
Perv screamed without making a sound and Mike screamed making a fuckload of sound.
But the zombie—now a naked, charred skeleton—collapsed into the melting snow,
finally succumbing to the flames that still engulfed it.
Not ten seconds after the zombie fell, Perv fell where he was standing, no oxygen
making it into his asthmatic system.
“Oh fuck, where the fuck is your fucking—” Mike scrambled over the flaming bones
and then over Pervy’s prone body to find the hole in the snow where the puffer
fell. The ever-changing light from the house fire made it very difficult. And there
was the zombie fire. And—
Mike yelped as he saw and felt simultaneously that his pant leg was on fire. He
screeched and fell down and shoved his whole foot and leg into the soft side of the
snow pile, putting out the flames immediately but leaving him paralyzed with pain.
The puffer. He had to get the puffer.
Mike dragged himself a foot or two before he realized that the cold snow had numbed
his burn enough for him to get up. He did, and immediately saw that there was no
need to get the inhaler now.
Perv was blue and stiffening from the cold. His best friend was dead.
10 Lords a-Leaping
Pervy and Mike retreated as quickly as they could in the snow, stretching out their
legs and hopping through the banks to what seemed like a safe distance, then turned
to watch the house collapsing behind the huge tongues of flame, the whole scene
looking like a double exposure of horror, the zombie-infested house and the fire
that consumed it looking like they existed on different planes. The ice and snow
nearest the house had already turned to slippery pools of ice and water, the
intense heat still singeing the 13-year-olds’ downy facial hair even from fifty
feet away.
Even looking directly into the flames that lapped up and out of the first-story
windows, neither boy could see anybody moving. Not Pervy’s Uncle Rebar, not Mike’s
parents or sister, not even Pogo the dog.
And, thank God, not Grandma.
“Everyone’s dead,” Pervy said after a few more minutes of watching the flames. He
could hear sirens, but the heavy snow must have been blocking the dirt roads out to
Mike’s. The police had never made it, so how could the fire department?
“We don’t know that for sure,” Mike said. “Not for sure.”
“Jeez, man, what are we supposed to do, go into the fire and stake ’em in the
heart?”
“That’s vampires.”
Pervy wheezed a little, and took a puff from his inhaler, which when the shit went
down was the very first thing he grabbed, before the axe, before anything else. You
can’t run if you can’t breathe, Mike thought as he watched Perv draw on his puffer…
and then remembered that those things didn’t breathe, and they ran like all fuck.
Well, Perv couldn’t run if he couldn’t breathe, anyway.
“Besides, fire kills everything,” Mike added. “Even zombies need a body.”
“Then we do know for sure,” Pervy said, satisfied with his logical deduction. “Fire
kills the undead. So all we have to do is wait. We’re gonna be okay.”
“Okay?” Mike said, sweat trickling down his face. “Everybody’s fucking dead, man.”
“Maybe they’re not dead—they came back once, maybe—Jesus Christ!” His breath was
spasming in and out as the panic seized him again. “And where the fuck are the
police? Where’s the fire department?”
“Pervy, don’t—dude, calm down—”
“JESUS OH FUCKING CHRIST WHAT IF THEY’RE STILL NOT DEAD?”
9 Ladies Dancing
Mike’s mom’s naked form twisted in the flume of fire that had consumed her
nightgown and robe. She was skewered on the end of the fireplace poker, so she
couldn’t quite reach her son. Was she in pain? It seemed like it, with her jumping
around and howling and screaming even as her clothes burned away, her hair, her
eyes.
“Kill her, man! Kill her!” Pervy yelled, his knees on his uncle’s chest and
Grandma’s knitting needles shoved through his uncle’s eye sockets and into his
brain. “I got him—now get her!”
Mike’s mom was still shrieking and when he turned back to look at her, she had
grabbed the poker and was pulling herself up the shaft like it was a movie. Bits
and pieces of her were blackening and sloughing off like ash from a cigar, but not
enough would be gone by the time she got to her son. The poker was already burning
his hand, heating up from the inferno that once was his mother; he couldn’t hold on
much longer.
“Mike, kill her! Now!”
“With what, dude?!”
Pervy left the needles in his dead—re-dead—uncle’s eyes and looked around for
something, anything that he could throw to Mike to bash his mother’s head in before
she took a chunk out of him.
Half his mom’s left arm crumbled away now, but her right one just swept the collar
of his flannel shirt. Five more seconds and she would have him and probably set him
on fire at the same time she ripped out his throat.
Crumbling: The word shot into Mike’s mind and he looked over the charred horror
that had been his mother. She’s crumbling like overcooked bacon.
Burning the shit out of both hands now, Mike grabbed the little bit of poker handle
his mom couldn’t reach and swung it like a bat, as hard as he could. Which, as his
eighth-grade baseball coach could attest, was pretty damned hard and fast.
His mom, caught by the centrifugal force as he swung the poker around, slid off the
glowing red shaft, tripped backward over the remains of the Christmas tree, and
shattered against the living room wall—
“YES!” Pervy shouted.
—into a thousand flaming coals, each one of which started a new fire almost
immediately wherever it landed.
“NO!” Pervy shouted.
Flames roared up the curtains and the walls, blanketed the ceiling above them, and
turned the house into an inferno in less than twenty seconds.
“Let’s get out of here! They’re dead, man, they’re all fucking dead. Twice!” Pervy
screamed and grabbed Mike with one arm and their heavy coats hanging by the front
door with the other. “Get out! OUT!”
But Mike stopped, even though bits of ceiling and support beams were raining down
as the fire raced up the stairs and overtook the entire upper story, scanning the
bodies that carpeted the room. “Where’s Grandma?”
“Dude, she’s fucking dead, too—come on!”
“She’s not here!”
A huge flaming chunk of drywall fell through the ceiling then, a massive sheet of
fire and heat crashing to the floor between Mike and Pervy on one side and the
unmoving bodies on the other.
“Come on, man!” Pervy yelled, and caught hold of Mike’s forearm and whipped him out
the front door and onto the porch. the same way Mike had whipped his mother off the
poker and into the wall. “They’re all dead for real, and nothing can hurt us now if
we just get outside!”
Mike snapped out of his worried trance and ran off the porch and through the icy
melt with Pervy, away from the fire-ravaged house.
8 Maids a-Milking
“ZOMBIES! ZOMBIES!!!”
Mike burst through Claire’s bedroom door just in time to see his 15-year-old sister
yanking on his best friend’s penis, both of them red in the face from
concentration.
“ZOMB—” Mike saw what was happening, took a second to process it, grimaced and let
out a loud “AW, GOD!”
Claire jumped back, unhanding Perv’s stiff cock in surprise, and jizz flew up in
globules like Tang on a spaceship, only arcing back to a messy end when gravity
yanked it down.
“What the fuck, man?” Pervy said, his hands shaking with orgasmic energy, his mind
not yet returned to Earth along with his rocketed semen. “Don’t you knock?”
“When did you—with my sis—” Mike started, then shook his head hard. “Dude, ZOMBIES!
Fucking Mom and Dad and your uncle and my grandma—”
“Not funny,” Claire said. “Grandma’s dying.”
“No—she’s dead! I mean, undead! Claire, she just took a chunk out of Dad, and then
—”
Pervy sat up, his softening penis still way too visible for Mike. “Is that what
that sound was? They’re dead? I was kinda—”
“Undead, Perv. He’s—”
“You goddamned geeks and your zombie bullshit!” Claire spat and got off the bed,
making a beeline for the door Mike had just come in through.
Pervy followed her with his eyes. “Wait a minute! I didn’t—”
“Shut up, little dick!”
Mike tried to stop her going out her bedroom door, but she was two years older, and
bigger, and she pushed him out of the way like a bead curtain. “Claire, don’t—”
“Fuck off, both of you! When I come back, I want you out!” She slammed the door
behind her, and Mike rushed up and turned the tiny doorknob lock.
“What are you doing, man? Locking her door? She will kill you.”
“Dude, if she’s gone out there, she’s already dead.”
Pervy, who was six months older than Mike and had, including tonight, gotten
exactly one handjob in his life—one more than Mike had gotten, but still—looked at
Mike like he was a little kid and Pervy was the rational adult. “Okay, enough with
the zombie shit, man. I really like your sister.”
“It is the end of the world,” Mike muttered to himself.
“Why do have to fuck this up for me? Why can’t you just—”
BAM! Something smashed against the bedroom door, cracking it almost in half up the
middle as it nearly bucked out of its hinges and lock.
Both boys screamed. Pervy tucked his penis back into his pants and zipped up.
“Jesus, Mike, what’s going on out there?”
“I told you. They’re zombies. Grandma comes roaring out and—Dad—then Uncle Rebar—he
—FUCK!” A huge gasping sob kept Mike from saying anything else.
“What? What? I thought your grandma was upstairs in her bed! You said she was
fuckin’ dying!” He looked at Mike’s distraught, tear-stained face. “I mean, sorry,
but I thought she was gonna… you know…”
Mike sniffed hard. “Dude, that’s what I’m saying. She did die. She must’ve died and
come back as a zombie.”
Pervy sighed and rolled his eyes. “Claire was right. You really are a—“
MWAGHEEEEEAHHHHH! something screamed and slammed into the door, making both boys
jump and scream. A huge chunk of painted wood shot forward and there, jammed
through the door with an eye missing and a mouth full of blood, was Claire’s head.
She shrieked and fought to work her trapped head out of the stockade of wood around
it, but she was good and stuck.
“Is she in on this with you?” Pervy immediately said, but looked at Mike, then at
the slobbering, angry, undead Claire-thing trapped by the door, and shook his head.
“Not really her style, I guess.”
MWARRRRRGHRRRRAHHHHH! the thing roared, and pieces of skin and muscle and bone
splattered against the wall against the door, where she was pushing to try to rip
her head back through the too-small opening. One jagged board held her under the
chin, and at her angle she couldn’t pull hard enough to break it off.
“Man,” Pervy said, staring at her, “Three minutes ago she was jerking on—”
“Focus! We have to get past her and down the stairs and out the front door without
any of them getting us. If one of them grabs us, we’re gonna end up like them.”
“God, it works fast. It doesn’t work that fast in the movies.”
“In the movies, it’s a virus. This is… I don’t know what the hell this is. It’s
like they get killed and boom—five seconds later, they’re up and at ’em again.”
“It’s like they don’t die at all!”
Mike froze. “W-What did you just say?”
RIARGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!! the Claire-thing let out and ripped paint and strips of wood
from the door as she flailed feverishly to get her head loose.
“Never mind. Through that door, down the stairs, out the front door. The police
should be here any second and we’ll be safe. GO!!!”
Pervy didn’t need to be told twice. He revved up like a sprinter and darted past
the zombie stuck in the door, just slipping past her bloody nail-less fingers,
which flexed and tried to snag him as he rushed by.
In her agitation, Claire slammed her head against the wall and rebounded, slamming
the door shut with Mike still trapped in the room.
He was so fucked.
The zombie spit and snarled and raged against the door, which was finally giving
way enough for her to almost get her head out. Mike could see that as soon as she
got free, she could ram through the remainder of the door. Then it would be short
work for him to end up like Grandma and his dad and mom and Perv’s uncle and—
“Claire, no! Get away from there!”
Was that… his mom? She was alive? “Mom! Watch out! She’s a—”
At the sound of prey on the correct side of the door, the Claire-thing’s blood-
rimmed eyes shot fully open and she yanked her head with fresh zombie hunger. The
head disappeared.
Three seconds later, Mike heard his mother scream through gurgled blood.
“Dude, this is our chance! It’s distracted!”
Tears were already streaming down Mike’s face. “That’s my mother!”
“She’s not your mother anymore!” Pervy shouted, and then let out a laugh as he
recognized the words. “Hey, that’s like from—”
“Shut the fuck up! You’re an asshole!” Mike shook it off and spied the empty hole
in the door. “Come on—follow me.”
Mike unlocked the bedroom door and slowly eased it open, both boys wincing at every
creak of the hinges. But there was no new attack, only… a sound.
A slurping, sucking sound that Mike and Pervy instantly recognized from a thousand
Foley artists’ effects from a thousand horror movies: It was the sound of guts
being sucked out and chewed.
And there, with Claire’s face in the middle of her exploded gut, was Mike’s mom
getting her intestines gulped down. Pervy shoved a hand against his mouth but still
puked against it, the bile fanning out like water from a stopped-up garden hose.
Gayness be damned, Mike grabbed his friend’s hand and yanked him past the
distracted zombie to get down the stairs, the stairs that had killed Uncle Rebar.
At the bottom, Mike scanned the overturned living room for any signs of undeath and
Pervy shot a glance back up the stairs.
“Mike, your mom—”
“I know, dude, but I can’t deal with it right now.”
“No, man, your mom—” Pervy started, but couldn’t finish what he was going to say
because Mike’s mom smashed into him, her mouth open and bleeding and drooling, the
new zombie snarling and looking very, very hungry.
Mike spun around in time to see his mother lunging for Pervy’s neck and snatched
him out of the way just as her teeth chomped down. He half-ran, half-dragged his
friend toward the door, Pervy’s eyes fixed behind them on the spectacle of the
ravenous Claire-thing falling down the stairs—and breaking her neck, dashing her
brains against the railing—and knocking Mike’s-mom-thing across the living room,
where she rolled hard up against the burning fireplace, a spark leaping out and
catching the hem of her Christmas dress, and then her kindling-dry undead leg, on
fire.
She went up like an oil-soaked rag, running around the room, shrieking in hunger
and rage and turning everything she even got near into a plume of angry flame.
And now, she was between Mike and Pervy and their only way outside.
And they couldn’t go back upstairs, either—because, shambling toward them, not even
noticing the body of The Thing Formerly Known As The Zombie Formerly Known As
Claire as it kicked it out of the way, was Uncle Rebar, undead now himself and
ready to rumble.
Back to back, Mike and Pervy navigated the living room, lashing out against the
randomly scurrying Mike’s-mom-thing and staving off the slow-moving-but-still-
totally-deadly Uncle-Rebar-thing.
Pervy bent down and picked up the ottoman, holding it between him and Uncle Rebar
like a lion tamer with a chair. Rebar lunged, but Pervy shoved him away as he and
Mike inched toward the door.
Somehow, through the flames and the agony, Mike’s mom noticed there was still
living, breathing meat in the room and instantly scrambled her column of flame
right at him. If she didn’t sink her teeth into him and turn him into a zombie,
she’d catch him on fire and kill him even more horribly that way.
Without even having time to scream in shock, Mike caught sight of the fireplace set
and grabbed the long metal poker. “Come on, bitch!” he yelled, and for one weird
second worried he’d be in trouble for cursing.
7 Swans a-Swimming
Thunk! The swan-shaped gravy boat bounced off Mike’s dad’s undead head.
“What is that, two fucking ounces?! That’s goddamn porcelain!” Perv’s Uncle Rebar
yelled, unfortunately attracting Mike’s dad’s attention. “Watch this!”
He took a carving knife from next to where the serving dish was and in one
amazingly fast move severed Mike’s dad’s spine, dropping the zombie like a sack of
gravel.
“Now that’s how you kill a… oh, goddamn it.” Uncle Rebar looked down at his
forearm, which was now missing a huge bite-shaped piece of flesh. When he looked up
again, his eyes were blank and Mike was already scrambling up the stairs.
6 Geese a-Laying
Splorch! The stuffed goose exploded against Mike’s dad’s undead head, knocking him
to the side momentarily but hardly distracting him from his gnashing attack on
Uncle Rebar. The hot platter had blistered Mike’s hands but otherwise done
absolutely no damage.
“That won’t work! That’s goddamn soft, it’s meat!” Rebar yelled as Mike’s dad
snapped at his hands and forearms. “Throw something solid!”
5 Golden Rings
“Honey? HONEY!” Mike’s mom yelped, making Mike’s dad break his hungry stare at his
son and fix immediately on Perv’s Uncle Rebar. The dad-thing lunged across the
table at their guest. “HONEY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
“Mom, he’s a zombie! GET AWAY FROM HIM!”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Michael—”
Uncle Rebar didn’t try to reason with Mike’s mom—he just grabbed her arm and flung
her around him and toward Mike. “Get her out of here, son! Your dad’s gone crazy!”
“Grandma bit him—he’s not crazy—he’s a zombie! Seriously, Uncle Re—”
“Get her OUT!” Rebar yelled, pointing at Mike’s mom, and jumped into a defensive
position as the Mike’s-dad-thing figured out he had to go around the table to get a
piece of the living hunk of flesh that was Pervy’s Uncle Rebar.
Mike caught his mother from falling and started pulling her toward the living room
and the door outside—but she wouldn’t budge. “Michael, your father! He’s sick! He’s
going to hurt himself! He needs me here—”
The wail of sirens pierced through the guttural growls and snarling. But they still
sounded far-off—they wouldn’t be in time to save any of them.
“Didn’t you see Grandma? They’re zombies and we will be too if we don’t—”
“They’re sick! The ambulance is almost here! I need to be with your father—” She
broke his grip and ran toward his dad, but Uncle Rebar clotheslined her and she
fell to the floor with an audible whump. From the floor she wheezed, “Rebar, that’s
my husband! I’m not leaving him when he’s sick! Just calm him down!”
“Fine!” Rebar grabbed Mike’s dad’s hands to subdue him, but the dead sheath of skin
sloughed off the zombie’s fingers and left Rebar holding a hairy, gory glove of
skin with a gold wedding band still on its finger.
Mike retched, but Rebar—who had served in the first Gulf War—was unfazed. “Jesus
Christ, it’s Ebola! Go over by the stairs and watch for the police and paramedics!
Just get out of the way, don’t breathe it in, you and the boys and Claire!”
Mike’s mom sat up straight at the mention of her daughter’s name. “Claire? OH MY
GOD, WHERE IS CLAIRE?”
And Perv? Where the hell was Perv?

4 Calling Birds
“Nine-one-one, what is your emerg—”
“My grandmother just ripped out my dad’s throat!”
“Are you in need of an ambulance?”
“Fuck, yes! And police! My dad is…”
“Sir? Young man? What is your location?”
“My dad, he’s… uh…”
“What is your location, sir?”
A few seconds earlier, Mike’s dad laid dead on the floor, unmoving, his jugular
ripped away by Mike’s grandmother’s two remaining teeth that hooked it and sliced
it open in one drooling bite. Before succumbing and falling to his knees, he had
smashed his elbow against Grandma’s face in a panic, ricocheting her across the
room and dumping her to the floor with a surprisingly loud crunching of bone.
Five seconds ago, he was dead. But now he was standing and his blood-ringed eyes
looked around the room; Mike could see past the flaps of his dad’s neck right
through to his blood-smeared spinal cord. His dad was alive.
No, Mike’s mind quickly corrected itself. He’s not alive. You know what he is.
“No fucking way,” he muttered, and the zombie’s eyes rolled to focus on him. “Dad?”
“Dave?” Uncle Rebar said to Mike’s dad—his best friend—and now those eyes fell on
him and, no doubt since Rebar was closer, elicited a screech from Mike’s dad and
sent the thing reaching and scraping over the table at him.
“He’s a zombie, Uncle Rebar! Grandma must’ve—” Mike said, but then remembered that
Grandma had vanished after her fall. “What happened to Grandma?”
Now that he listened more closely, he could hear a second snarling, choking roar,
coming from the kitchen doorway, right where Grandma had fallen. He peeked around
the table and saw his grandmother writhing there, trying to pull herself toward the
living people in the dining room, desperate to get at that meat.
Her hip, Mike realized. She’s so old even as a zombie she broke her fucking hip.
Mike couldn’t move, frozen with horror at the thought of old age.
“Sir, help is on the way,” the 911 operator said from the phone Mike had forgotten
he still held. “Sir?”
“M-My Grandma needs medical attention. I think she’s... hurt.”
He stood there in a daze, listening to the clicking of a keyboard on the other side
of the line and watching his zombie dad attack Pervy’s uncle. “So your grandmother
and your father are both in need of medical attention?”
“Yeah. They’re dead and now they’re killing everybody else.”
At that, the thing that was Mike’s dad locked his ravenous eyes right on him.
3 French Hens
Mike’s mom and dad excused themselves from the table, and Mike, being closest to
the kitchen, could just hear them talking in hushed tones on the other side of the
door.
“I think she’s gone, Jacquelyn,” his dad said. “I can’t hear the respirator any
more.”
“Honey, why don’t you go and check, put your mind at ease?”
“Too obvious.” He sighed. “Even if she did just die, I don’t want to tell everybody
right in the middle of Christmas dinner.”
“I guess, if she passes tonight—I mean, if she already passed—we’ll just tell the
kids in the morning?”
“They’re teen-agers; once they see the police car and ambulance with no lights on,
they’ll know what’s up. They can come downstairs and we’ll have a group hug and cry
it out,” Mike’s dad said with a loving tone in his voice.
“Okay, honey.” Mike could hear the little smack of their old married kiss. “You’re
being so good with all of this.”
“I’m just glad she’s finally at peace. It’s been so long coming.”
So that was it, then. Grandma, so long wasting away in the room down the hall, was
dead. Christmas wish DENIED. Thanks, God or whoever.
Hearing them heading back into the room, Mike scrambled to rejoin Uncle Rebar at
the table, and he had to admit that despite the sadness in the air over Grandma
Adele dying in the back room and all, the brown and glistening holiday bird on the
table—already carved by Mike’s dad and ready to serve—smelled fantastic, and he
hadn’t eaten lunch in anticipation of this feast. His stomach gurgled loudly—
growwwl—making Uncle Rebar grin at him.
“Sorry about that, everybody,” Mike’s dad said as he stood behind his chair, his
back to the hallway leading to Mike’s grandmother’s room. “Okay, let’s… wait,
where’s Claire?”
“And Purvis?” Uncle Rebar said, seeming to notice for the first time that his
nephew wasn’t there. “I hope that boy isn’t upstairs jerking off, as usual!”
“Rebar!” Mike’s mom scolded, but she was laughing. Rebar was always making salty
jokes, even on solemn occasions.
“Oh, I bet it’s about the new video game,” Mike said. “She said she had to give him
the manual.”
Growwwwwl. Uncle Rebar laughed now. “Boy, your stomach—”
“That wasn’t me this time. I heard it come from Dad’s direction.”
Mike’s dad raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, it wasn’t m-”
GROWWWWWL!
The sound definitely was coming from Mike’s dad’s direction. But not from him—from
behind him. He turned around and said in a small voice, “Mother?”
GROWWWWWWLEEEEEEEEEAAAAGHHHHHHHH! ripped forth from whatever was on the other side

of Mike’s dad, and he was thrown against the table by something small and ferocious
squelching into him like a badger digging through mud.
“HOLY SHIEEEEEEE—” Mike’s dad screamed as Grandma—Grandma!—dug her mouth into his
neck and released a torrent of blood and muscle that shot up onto the ceiling.
“MICHAEL, CALL 911!” Mike’s mom yelled. “GRANDMA’S SICK!”
His heart racing as he jumped up and back away from the table, Mike’s mind flashed
the thought: Sick? Isn’t she dead?
2 Turtle Doves
“Purvis, don’t you need to get your thing out?” Claire asked as soon as her and
Mike’s mom and dad had gone into the kitchen to discuss God knew what. “You know,
the, um, Christmas thing? Out of my room?”
“Oh, right!” Pervy said very quickly.
“We’re getting ready to eat,” Uncle Rebar protested, but they were already up and
headed for the stairs.
“It’ll just take a minute. Come on, Perv, I’ll give you a hand.”
And a Partridge in a Pear Tree

“There. All twelve days.” Mike’s dad gingerly placed the little brown ornamental
bird at the very top of the Christmas tree, above the rings of turtle doves, maids
a-milking, and all the rest. Then he bent over to Mike and added in a
conspiratorial whisper, “Just like your mother demanded.”
Mike laughed at his dad’s joke, mostly to show his dad that he was happy and
everything was great even though Grandma was dying, really dying at long last, not
fifty feet from where they stood. Not that Mike could blame him, but his dad had
seemed so gloomy all day; Mike just wanted to help him feel a little better, bring
him a little happiness. He couldn’t imagine losing him or his mom, no matter how
old he got, even if he was thirty.
He was glad Pervy and Perv’s Uncle Rebar were there—their own family gave them up
so they could help Mike’s dad through this Christmas Eve. “Done with that job?”
Rebar said. “Then it’s time for your next one, son—your wife told me to tell you to
bring that bird out here so we can eat.”
Mike’s dad chuckled and clapped Rebar on the back as they walked back toward the
kitchen. Everyone took their seats—even Mike’s mom, who with Claire had done all
the hard cooking work but now left the unveiling to Mike’s dad—and out came the
browned and beautiful bird. It was greeted with the usual oohs and aahs.
Mike’s dad led them in a prayer, but his voice broke in the middle of it and after
a few awkward seconds of silence, Mike’s mom mercifully said, “Amen.”
Mike’s dad cut a couple of juicy slices and then stopped, like he heard something.
He remained standing there, unmoving, for a full minute, the carving knife in his
hand, just staring at a spot in the middle of the table. Uncle Rebar started to get
up, saying, “Hey, pal, I can…”
“No, no. I’m good. It’s all good. Sorry, guys, I—I need to speak to Mom for a
second.” He made a couple of deft cuts into the goose and pulled something free.
“Claire, you mind if Purvis and Mike get the wishbone?”
Mike knew his sister would also do anything to make their dad feel better, so she
shook her head with a little smile.
“Thanks, sweetie,” Mike’s dad said to Claire, and tossed Pervy the wishbone and
winked. “It’s Christmas, boys—make it count.” Then, his own smile suddenly
vanishing, he took Mike’s mom by the hand and led her into the kitchen.
Mike knew what was going on. At the same time his dad had suddenly stopped carving,
Mike had heard the respirator stop, too. It created a silence in the house that
they hadn’t had for weeks.
Pervy held the wishbone out to Mike with a brace-filled grin. “I’m not saying this
has been tampered with, but if it happens to break right down the middle, we both
get our wish.”
That was classic Perv. “I know what you’re wishing for,” Mike said quietly as they
leaned in to break it. “Same as every year: That somebody other than yourself will
finally touch your dick.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny these rumors, or else I might not get anybody else
to finally touch my dick.” They laughed and each took an end. “What are you gonna
wish for?”
“Can’t tell you, dude,” Mike said lightly, and as his fingers closed down on the
slippery wishbone, he closed his eyes with true seriousness and wished as hard as
he could: Please, God, don’t let Grandma be dead.
Don’t let anybody be dead on Christmas Eve.
Story Art Cover
By Nick Hallard
http://njhallard.wordpress.com/
Dedication
To my husband, who is a zombie coo-coo.
Author Bio
Mandy Tinics is the book reviewer for
www.Vampires-Bite.com
This is Mandy’s first attempt at writing zombie fiction. She is currently working
on her first vampire novella entitled, Darkness of Night. She plans on releasing it
in October of 2010. Mandy lives in Southern California with her husband and
daughter.
The Santa Epidemic
By Mandy Tinics
“Mrs. Claus, the strangest thing happened. I was laying by the pool at the resort
relaxing before I had to start making a list and checking it twice, when out of no
where a man came at me. I thought the man was mad or had escaped from an asylum.
But when I got up, he came charging me. I ran as quickly as I could, but he kept
gaining on me. When I reached my room, I fumbled with the keycard. I finally opened
the door. Just as I was going to close and lock the door, an arm blocked the way.
Fortunately, I used the door to hit him hard enough to fall back, but not before he
scratched these deep gashes into my arm." Santa lifted his sleeve and Mrs. Claus
gasped.
"Oh my, those are infected, come, we must get that cleaned." The edges were grey as
if the tissue was dying, and pus was coming out of the wounds. "Santa, didn't you
think to clean them before you left?"
"I didn't exactly have time. Everyone was going crazy and attacking each other. I
got dressed and decided I had to get to the roof to call the boys. I waited until
there was silence before I opened the door. I poked my head out and looked from
left to right, then right to left and then again. I ran to the door that read
stairs. I figured that was my best bet because if the elevator doors opened on a
floor where one of those rabid people were, I wasn't going to make it to the roof.
It took me awhile because I'm not exactly in shape unless; you count round as a
shape,” Santa chucked at his joke, then continued. “When I reached the top, I was
weak and out of breath. When I was finally able to speak I shouted, ‘Dasher,
Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen we have to dash away
right now!’ Then from nowhere they came like a flash. They didn’t slow down so I
had to jump on. When I looked down it seemed as if everyone was going nuts.” He
shook his head. Christmas was going to be pretty bleak he thought, as he watched
Mrs. Claus clean his arm.
“It looks as though it is getting worse right before our eyes,” His wife said. “We
need to get you to the elf hospital so they can clean it properly.”
Knowing better then to fight, Santa got up and went to the sleigh. He was feeling
very ill and really wanted to get the show on the road.
“My dear wife, Will you please hurry up?”
“I’m coming don’t get your knickers in a bunch.”
Not realizing it, he dozed through the ride to the hospital and only woke up when
he heard Mrs. Claus holler stop. He didn’t have the strength to get up so she went
in and asked for assistance to help Santa in. The elves were frantic because in all
their years of working for the big guy, he had
never been sick. Magic surrounded this place so nothing could get in. But when they
saw how pale Santa was, they rushed around trying to figure out what was happening.
When they pulled back his shirt from his fingers to his elbow the skin was rotting
as if it had been dead for a long time.
“Santa, move your fingers.”
He tried and there was nothing.
“I feel my body shutting down. It is my time to go.” The elves began prepping for
surgery to remove the arm, to see if the infection stopped spreading through his
body.
When they finally put him under, they went to work cutting off the arm. They were
sewing him up when he went in to cardiac arrest. They tried and tried to
resuscitate him, but in the end Santa died. The elves all bowed their heads for a
moment of silence. They covered him and together with Mrs. Claus, they began
spreading the news and making plans.
Since they were going to have the service for him that night they didn’t think to
put him in the morgue. They left him in the room unattended. Spending the next few
hours getting everything ready for the funeral, they all decided to meet at the
hospital to dress him in his Santa suit, then put him in his final resting place,
the snow globe that was made for him. When someone died at the North Pole they were
placed in a snow globe and sealed in with magic.
Santa Claus’ head elf followed Mrs. Claus home. He was to help ready Santa’s suit
to dress him as everyone would want to remember him. The head elf’s name was Eldan.
Eldan wanted to make sure that Mrs. Claus didn’t see Santa in his current state. He
went ahead to clean the big guy up and reattach his arm. When Eldan arrived,
everything was exactly the way it was when he left. The young elf quickly got to
work.
When he finished with his task, Santa looked as if he was just sleeping. He admired
his handy work while he waited for help to get Santa loaded on to a special sleigh
that would pull him through town. After Santa made his last tour around the North
Pole, he was to be taken to the snow globe that awaited him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Eldan saw something move. He could have sworn that
Santa had just twitched. He stared at the big guy’s hand. Nothing. It must have
been one of the lights flickering that created the illusion of movement. Then he
heard a low groan mixed with a gurgling noise.
“Santa, are you alive?” Eldan asked.
Santa’s head turned in the direction of the voice, but the eyes that looked at
Eldan were not Santa’s. There was a milky film over them, and they no longer
twinkled. The thing that used to be Santa reached for Eldan like he was hungry.
“Santa it’s Eldan. What can I do to help?”
An unintelligible grumble came from Santa; he began gnashing his teeth together and
trying harder to get a hold of Eldan. Panic began at the base of his spine and was
slowly working its way.
Eldan didn’t want to think that Santa was anything but Jolly ol’ Saint Nicholas.
This thing looking at him was no longer his boss. As he began to make his way to
the door Santa rolled off the table with a loud thud. Eldan turned to see him
struggling to stand because he only had one good arm. Eldan didn’t wait to see
anymore; he ran out of the room not thinking of anything but to get the heck out of
there.
He told the nurses at the station that Santa had gotten up, and it wasn’t him
controlling his body. No one believed the elf; he sounded like a raving lunatic
talking about things that didn’t happen at the North Pole. Everyone that had been
listening just blew him off and went to investigate for themselves. Everyone knew
Eldan was talking crazy and that Santa would be lying on the table.
Eldan heard screams as he ran out of the hospital. He shook his head, wishing that
they had listened to him. He ran to city hall in the center of town and told the
council everything that he had seen. But again they laughed at him and went to go
see what the entire fuss was about. Eldan finally realized that he was the town’s
only hope. He was not going to let the North Pole be overrun by a dead Santa.
The Elf thought about his trips with Santa, when they checked on the kids who were
on his lists. He remembered finding a boy watching a movie with rotting humans
walking about eating people. What was that movie called? Something zombies, or dead
walking, he thought to himself. Could this really be happening in the North Pole,
where we don’t even get colds?
He needed to figure out what to do. He could sit upstairs and watch through the
window. As he changed course, he saw a group of elves gathering on a street corner.
Eldan was not going to go outside and take the chance of running into Santa.
Eldan ran around his house making sure all the windows were covered and locked,
then he went upstairs. It was getting dark. He sat in the corner where he could see
everyone outside, but they could not see him. Before he knew it, he had fallen
asleep.
* * *
Eldan awoke to shrieks coming from outside. He peered carefully through the window
not to be seen. To his horror, Eldan saw elves that he had once talked to eating
other elves. The Elf ducked and ran to the bathroom, barely making it to the
toilet. This was not happening, he thought, I’m still sleeping and I need to wake
up. He shook himself but nothing happened. Eldan made his way back to the window,
his legs shook as he peered down at the chaos that once was a merry little town.
He had to make a plan, but he didn’t even know what was going on. He went to his
computer in the corner and turned it on. When it was finally loaded, he typed in
‘walking dead’. So much popped up that it overwhelmed him. He was right the night
before, thinking that Santa was a zombie, but why was everything around him turning
into one? He began reading everything that he could. To kill them completely he had
to destroy the brain.
Then he came upon a newsreel. There were many people who looked like those things
outside, but they were large humans. They went after anything that wasn’t dead.
This is what we had to look forward to.
Through the stillness of the room, there came a knocking noise, but it wasn’t at
the front door. It was the secret elf door that led to Santa’s house. This was how
he was always able to be there as soon as Santa needed anything. He ran to the
door, but when he got to it, he was too afraid to open it. Then he heard a little
voice say, “Please if you’re in there let me in. I am so frightened.” He took a
deep breath and slightly opened the door.
“Have you been touched by any of those creatures in anyway?” He asked.
“No. We have been hiding in this tunnel since last night, just this morning I
realized that it came here.” The voice was that of Mrs. Claus.
“OK come in. But you must be as quiet as a mouse because there are creatures
stirring and we do not want their attention.” Eldan stood back and opened the door
with him. Mrs. Claus walked in with ten elves, Eldan counted. When he closed and
locked the door again, he looked up to see that out of all the elves present the
one he was hoping for was standing next to Mrs. Claus. She was Mrs. Claus’ number
one elf.
Eldan pointed upstairs and led the way. Once up there he went to the window to pull
the curtains closed. Everyone began sitting where they could. Looking from face to
face, it was apparent that everyone had been affected by this travesty. Eldan had
the upper hand because he didn’t have any family.
He perched himself on the desk.
“I’ve been doing some research and learned that humans have also been taken over by
this disease. The only way to take them out is by destroying the brain.” Everyone
winced at his words. “Those people out there are no longer our friends or family,
they are now zombies. Until this morning, I thought they were fictional characters
in movies, but as you can see humans have managed to get the whole world infected.
We have to take our town back, but we need a plan if we want to survive.” Everyone
nodded their heads at his words.
Eldan thought about it for a long moment. This was going to be harder for them
because in the North Pole, they didn’t need guns, or weapons for that matter.
Violence was not something they knew here.
“First we have to find out if the reindeer were affected by the disease. I need one
elf to come with me. Any volunteers?” Everyone blankly stared. Peppermint looked at
him behind heavy lashes. If this was any other circumstance, he would have been so
happy, but they were in the middle of planning a suicide mission. She gave Eldan a
slight nod and got up to stand next to him.
“I need the rest of you to start making weapons with anything that we can use, but
whatever you do, you need to stay quiet. Remember we must destroy the brain.” He
turned and headed to the stairs with Peppermint right behind him. When he got to
the secret tunnel door, he turned to look at everyone again. He walked through the
door, locking it from the other side with his key.
Peppermint grabbed Eldan’s hand tight as they walked through the tunnel. Before
they got to the end Peppermint stopped walking. Eldan looked at her. “I just wanted
to tell you that if we make it through this, I want to be your one and only elf. I
have wanted to tell you that but was too shy. Now is no time for shyness.” Eldan
grinned and put his arms around Peppermint, then kissed her.
“I would be honored to call you mine,” He said, then began walking again.
When they made it to the other door, he opened it slowly. It opened into a closet
at the home of Mrs. Claus. He looked around and saw nothing. He crept into the
house slowly. All was quiet. He crab walked under the window and over to a door
that went to the garage. Getting to his feet, he opened the garage door as quietly
as possible.
He walked in and waved to Peppermint to follow him. Once she was in, he walked over
and whispered something in Comet’s ear. The reindeer nodded. She watched as Eldan
organized a plan with the remaining reindeer. Peppermint was impressed.
“Ok, they’re all on board. We’re going to need them to fly us around so we can
collect things for the best possible sneak attack. The best part is they can each
carry one of us because we are so small. Now we have to go around this house and
make sure all the curtains are pulled. We don’t need anything seeing us as we move
around.”
“I’ll go to the other side of the house and get started there. We’ll meet in the
middle,” Peppermint said.
It took longer than they had thought because there were so many just roaming
around. They began finding things that could be turned into weapons. Pans, kitchen
knifes, and toilet covers where the only items they found. Once they secured
everything, they decided to go back and let the others know they were ok and what
the plan was. They carried the loot back with them.
When they got to the door, Eldan put his things down so he could unlock it. A thud
came from inside his house. The first thought out of his head was that his home had
been overrun. He locked the door again and picked up his stuff. The elves ran back
to where he had come from.
Once there he told Peppermint that she needed to find a place to hide. The
reindeers and Eldan needed to fly over to the house and see if there was anyone
left alive. He went and told the reindeers the plan and they followed him up to the
roof. Hopping on Dashers back, they went straight up as high as they could so that
the creatures couldn’t see them and flew to his house. Looking in the window he saw
that five elves plus Mrs. Claus had barricaded themselves in the upstairs room.
When they saw Eldan and the reindeer they ran to the window. Each of the reindeers
went to the window and took an elf on their back. The last two went together so
that Mrs. Claus could be carried. Once again they went straight up out of sight and
then came straight down on the roof. He hadn’t seen anyone look up so he was pretty
sure that they were safe.
He led the way into the house and out of nowhere they were overrun by unseen
creatures. The last thing Eldan saw was Peppermints face running toward him with
teeth bared and Santa going after Mrs. Claus.
Mrs. Claus ran to the bedroom and locked the door. Terrified, she tried to calm
down to think more clearly. She heard banging on the door followed by a moaning,
gurgling sound.
“How could this have happened?” she asked herself. Through the tears in her eyes,
she went to the window, throwing it open. Looking around at what was left of her
world she called out, “Now Dasher and Dancer, Prancer, and Vixen, Comet and Cupid,
Donner and Blitzen.” From the corner of the house she saw them fly to her window.
“Come on boys we have to get out of here. Everyone has been infected by whatever
this is. We have to find shelter from these people because they are no longer who
they used to be. Comet and Dasher come close to the window so that she could climb
on their back.
Just as she saddled the reindeer, the bedroom door broke open. The room was flooded
with mangled faces that were once people she loved. “Goodbye my darlings,” she said
through sobs. “Come on guys we have to get out of here.” They flew through the sky
headed for...
Story Art Cover
By Byron Rempel
www.idrawzombies.com
Dedication
To my mom, who always made all our Christmases merry and for always believing in
me. I love you mom
Author Bio
Joe Filippone was born and raised in Denver Colorado where he first fell in love
with zombies after seeing Night of the Living Dead on TV one late night. Since then
he has been obsessed with all things Romero and undead. While living in Denver, Joe
had a long and successful career as a stage and film actor before moving to
Hollywood California where he currently lives and works as a fulltime actor and
writer. He has appeared in numerous theatrical productions as well as films,
television, commercials and music videos. He has also worked as a casting director
and director. Joe is also an accomplished breakdancer. As a writer, Joe has had the
honor of seeing his work appear in over a dozen anthologies including Letters From
The Dead from Library of the Living Dead Press. He also has short stories scheduled
to appear in The Moron's Guide to the Inevitable Zombocalypse and Baconology; both
from Library of the Living Dead Press. Joe is also working on several novels as
well as writing a paranormal TV series. In his spare time Joe enjoys watching
horror movies, playing video games, hiking in the Hollywood Hills, going to the
beach and doing stand up comedy. Joe also plans to go back to school where he hopes
to earn a doctorate in cultural anthropology.
The Legend of Zombie Claus
By Joe Filippone
The only glow came from the multicolored twinkling Christmas tree lights we had
strung around the room with diligent care. Outside, the wind howled like a banshee,
beating mercilessly against the door. The sky was an ominous grey and despite the
fact that it was only five o’clock darkness already covered the land. Pure virginal
white snow swirled and fell to the ground. The world was completely covered by the
cold, frozen liquid.
Inside, all the kids stared at Chaz with wide eyes. The youngsters gave the fun
loving sixteen year old their full attention. Myself and the other teen volunteers
stood in the back and watched as Chaz, (clad in a Santa hat and jacket that was
about five sizes too big for him) told the kids one last story before they left for
their two week Christmas break.
“Once a year, HE, gets to come out and feed,” Chaz said slowly pacing back and
forth. His normal lyrical tenor had taken on a macabre baritone vibrato. No doubt
he had stayed up all night perfecting that voice.
“After you turn out the lights and your mommies and daddies have tucked you in, all
nice and tight and snuggly warm, HE, comes. Once you’ve drifted off to dream land,
with visions of sugar plums dancing in your head, HE, comes.”
I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t believe I was going out with such a geek. But he was
my geek. And I wouldn’t trade him for any other geek in the world. Plus he was
great with kids.
“Down your chimneys. Through your windows. There is no escaping …Zombie Claus!”
Another eye roll from me. Of course. Chaz loved zombies. His big dream was to one
day work for Romero.
Chaz let out a deranged laugh. Grabbing an unsuspecting little girl, he pulled her
to his body and pretended to eat her with exaggerated nom nom nom noises. The
little girl giggled and squealed with glee. She, like all the rest of the girls,
had a crush on Chaz, and all the boys thought of him as their best buddy.
Kicking her feet, she tried to get away, but Chaz only held on tighter. “There’s no
escaping Zombie Claus!” he cried, as the children dog piled him. “He’s going to eat
you!” Another deranged laugh escaped the dork’s mouth as he disappeared under a sea
of tiny bodies.
Myself and the other teen volunteers laughed as Chaz screamed in a girlish high
falsetto. The kids were chanting Zombie Claus! Zombie Claus! Zombie Claus! Over and
over. Watching them roll around on the floor, I
wondered who was having more fun; the kids or the teen who acted like a kid. My
money was on the teen.
Chaz and I had started volunteering at the local elementary school about four
months ago. It was part of required community service the high school made all the
students do. It was supposed to teach us about responsibility and giving back to
our community. When Chaz had suggested we volunteer at the after school program I
was more than a little hesitant. I had never been around that many kids, and the
thought of being responsible for all of them made me very nervous. But Chaz was
insistent. He thought it would be fun and a good thing to put on his resume when he
started looking for a summer job at the local summer camps and youth centers. Chaz
loved kids and wanted to work with them in some capacity. He had good reason to. He
was great with them. Everywhere we went, kids just naturally flocked to him and our
kids at the after school program were no different. Maybe it was because Chaz was
still a kid at heart himself. He didn’t care about looking cool. He’d play Legos
with them or dolls. All the kids loved him and thought he was their best buddy. I
knew he was sad that he wouldn’t see them for two weeks, but he was trying not to
show it.
After the last one had left, Chaz’s shoulders and energy slumped as he removed the
jacket and hat and looked out the window at the blistering blizzard.
“It’s not like you’re not gonna see them again,” I tried to comfort him. “Christmas
break will be over before you know it.”
Chaz laughed. “I know. It’s just gonna be weird not seeing them every day.” His
shoulders rose and fell as he sighed and looked out the window. “Wonder what I’m
gonna do all break?”
“You could spend it with your girlfriend,” I suggested, resting my chin on his
shoulder.
“I suppose.” He replied, as if the thought bored him before slowly looking at me

with a goofy grin plastered on his face.
“You’re such a geek,” I laughed. “Come on,” I said, gathering up the Christmas
cards the kids had made for us and stuffing them in my backpack. “Let’s go. This
blizzard’s getting worse by the minute and even with your truck’s four-wheel drive
it’ll be tough getting home.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, picking up the Santa jacket and hat.
Our boots echoed off the school’s hard tile. I hated to admit it but being alone in
the darkened school; surrounded by rows of dark classrooms that reminded me of
caves, made me shudder.
Easy Chrissy, I told myself. Don’t let your overactive imagination run away with
you. This is Christmas, not Halloween. You’re not supposed to be scared at
Christmas.
The cold stabbed us like a knife when we opened the door. The sky was a dismal grey
and the orange glow from the streetlamps did little to break through the blackness.
Everything was completely covered in white snow. I couldn’t even see the
neighboring houses or the street. No cars were out. It was like Chaz and I were the
last people on Earth.
The sub-zero wind whipped my face causing hot salty tears to sting my eyes. Even
bundled up the chill went right through me. The wind pushed us around as if we were
nothing more than rag dolls; I don’t know how we were able to keep our balance. The
snow seemed to come down, ravaging the Earth, with greater force every second.
I was disoriented. I lost all sense of direction. This scared me. I hated not being
in control.
“Where’s your truck?” I asked Chaz, voice getting swallowed up by the wind.
We looked around the parking lot, or what we thought was the parking lot, with
everything blanketed in white it was hard to tell where we were. We tried to look
for anything that might give us clues, but we couldn’t tell what was a snow bank
and what was a snow covered truck.
“Let’s go back inside,” I called, teeth chattering.
Our tracks had long ago been covered up and I was scared that we would freeze,
trapped between the warm sanctuary of the truck and the school. Talk about an
ironic way to go.
Somehow -must have been a Christmas miracle- we were able to find our way back to
the school.
“Trapped in a school during Christmas break,” Chaz pouted looking out at the storm.
“Major suckage.”
“Guess we should have left with the others and not bothered to clean up,” I said.
“At least there’s plenty of food in the cafeteria,” he offered brightly. “We won’t
starve. Plus there’s TVs and, oh dude!, we still have some hot chocolate in the
room! Come on! Let’s make some!”
I couldn’t help but chuckle as the overgrown dork grabbed hold of my hand and
practically drug me back to the classroom. And seriously, what other guy calls
their girlfriend dude as a term of affection? Man, I love him!
“I’ve tried five different classrooms. All of the phones are dead,” I answered
defeated. It worried me that we were, literally, cut off from civilization. What if
something happened? An accident or emergency and we needed help? Rubbing my arms I
couldn’t get rid of the goose bumps that had suddenly sprouted up like weeds. What
was wrong with me? Why was I spooked? Why did I have a feeling something bad was
going to happen?
“At least the TV still works,” Chaz said, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Come on,
dude, watch this with me.”
Settling down on the floor we watched How The Grinch Stole Christmas. Chaz was
singing along to You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch, doing his best to imitate the
baritone that was much too low for his high tenor.
“See this isn’t so bad,” Chaz said after a while.
“I guess not,” I smiled at him and ruffled his shaggy burnt cinnamon colored hair.
“And if I have to be trapped here I’m glad I’m with someone cute.”
Chaz looked at me for a couple beats. “Hey. Wait a minute. That’s me you’re talking
about,” he said, happily making me laugh. Ever since we had been little he had
always been able to make me laugh.
We kissed. As the freezing blizzard raped the outside world, inside, our make out
session got more and more heated. We probably could have melted the snow.
“Wait a minute,” I finally said.
“What?” He asked lazily, lips buried in my neck.
“I feel weird doing this with A Charlie Brown Christmas on.”
Laughing, Chaz blindly punched in a channel on the remote control. Silent Night
Deadly Night was on.
“Oh that’s much more romantic,” I laughed.
Smirking we kissed again. I had already planned to give Chaz my virginity as a

Christmas gift. I just hadn’t planned on giving it to him in an elementary school
while Linnea Quigley got speared on moose antlers.
“I love you, dude,” Chase said stroking my hair and kissing me after we had gotten
dressed. “You’re my best friend.”
“Ditto,” I promised.
We kissed again and smiled at each other. Chaz had swiped a couple blankets from
the nurse’s office. Huddled underneath them we watched Frosty The Snowman, Rudolph
and Santa Claus Conquers The Martians.
Several uneventful hours passed by. I didn’t think it was possible but the storm
had gotten worse. I couldn’t help but have visions of being buried alive. Trapped
in the school until the spring thaw.
Chaz and I had just begun to drift off to sleep when a banshee like wail made us
jump up.
“What was that?” Chaz asked, looking around.

“I don’t know. It came from outside.”
“Maybe it was the wind,” Chaz offered.
“First time I ever heard the wind make that noise.”
The glow from the television was our only source of light. The once chipper,
cheerful classroom was cast in a foreboding, otherworldly blue glow that made my
heart race.
Slowly we made our way to the window and looked outside. Squinting, we forced our
eyes to adjust to the smoky grey darkness. A layer of ice coated the window, like
icing on a cake. Through the raging snow we saw a shape a few yards away. It was
hunched over something. Chaz and I both looked at each other.
“What is that?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
The thing got up and raised its arms triumphantly to the sky. Its clothes –
tattered- seemed to hang from its body like tentacles.
“It’s a person,” Chaz exclaimed. Opening the door he yelled into the storm. “Hey!
Hello! Over here! Can you hear me?”
The thing, I’m guessing it was a person, turned toward the school. I was amazed
that the, whatever it was, wasn’t frozen solid. It wore no jacket and its clothes
were more shredded then I first thought. The thing was still, staring at us for
eons before letting out another ear splitting falsetto shriek. I had never heard
anything so demonic in my life. I couldn’t stop the shudder that assaulted my body.
My eyes grew as the thing effortlessly walked through the snow, tatters fluttering
behind him like shackles. I couldn’t believe the speed at which it moved. It was
like the blizzard didn’t even affect it.
“Close the door! Close the door!” I begged Chaz quickly. All my instincts were
telling me not to let it in.
Chaz quickly closed and locked the door. Joining me at the window we watched it
move with the speed and grace of an Olympic runner.
“Who is that?” Chaz, his voice a whisper, asked.
All I could do was shake my head. I was hypnotized. I couldn’t turn away from that
window.
“What’s he doing out in the storm? How can he move that fast in the snow? It’s up
to his knees,” Chaz continued in reverent disbelief.
I couldn’t speak. All I could do was continue to nod my head, totally confused.
Both of us froze and our breaths caught in our throats as through the haze and snow
we were able to see the thing clearly. Chaz’s arm instinctively wrapped around me
and pulled me close.
“What is that?” Chaz did little to hide the way his voice quivered with fear. I was
so shocked I couldn’t even move.
It looked like something in the comic books Chaz and my little brother reads. It
was only when the thing pressed its horribly mangled face against the glass that I
finally found my voice and screamed. Seeming to look directly through us; the thing
smiled revealing crooked, yellow rotting teeth and sensuously ran his broken,
bloodied palm across the window. There were several gaps where teeth had fallen
out. What little hair it did have left was stringy and knotted. Instead of a nose,
a large gapping crater was in the middle of its face. It had only one eye that was
coated an unhealthy milky white and bits of dried, crackling flesh were barely
hanging onto its face. I could actually see its skull!
Letting out a primal roar, the thing’s head smashed through the window, ignoring
the sharp shards that lodged themselves deep in its cavernous eye socket. The
sudden cold snapped us out of our paralyses and we ran out of the room.
As we ran down the dark hallway, we could still hear the thing tearing through the
window; moaning and howling. We didn’t stop until we reached the music room; the
only classroom without windows. We figured the blackness would hide us from that
thing. Chaz and I leaned against the wall, chests rising and falling heavily.
“Did you see that thing?” Chaz asked, nervously running his fingers through his
hair.
“What is it?” I was so scared I could barely whisper. I was sure that thing was
just outside the door. Listening. Waiting.
“Dude, I think it was a zombie,” he answered seriously. I thought I detected just a

flavor of excitement mixed in with his fright.
“Chaz, come on. Zombies aren’t real,” I argued, refusing to believe we were in the
middle of some real life zombie flick.
“That thing looked pretty real to me. Besides I’ve seen enough zombie movies to
know what o-” He stopped short and his gaze slowly traveled to the music room door.
“What is it?” My voice was even more of a whisper than before. Nervously I looked
around, even though I could barely see anything.
“Thought I heard something.”
Slowly, he made his way to the door. Right as his hand wrapped around the doorknob,
the door burst open, trapping him behind it. My hands shot across my mouth sealing
my scream. Eyes wide, I watched the thing enter the room. It had put on Chaz’s
Santa jacket and hat. The thing looked around the room, blinded by the darkness.
Pressing myself against the wall I carefully backed away, looking for a place to
hide. The real life Zombie Claus scanned the room a few more times and, not finding
anything to satiate its hunger, turned to leave.
A sigh of relief left my body and that’s when I tripped over the drum set I hadn’t
known was behind me. The bass drum rolled across the room, stopping only when it
smashed into the wall with a heavy thud. The cymbals crashed. Zombie Claus turned,
growled and quickly headed toward me. Scrambling out of the way, I got to my feet,
pulled Chaz out from behind the door and ran. Behind us we could hear Zombie Claus
tear apart the music room.
“If we make it out of this alive I’m totally writing this down and sending it to
Romero,” Chaz said.
“Shut up and run,” I answered, not in the mood.
“Why did it put on the jacket and hat?”

“It was just out in the storm. Maybe it was cold,” I answered. I really didn’t care
why it had clad itself in Chaz’s hat and jacket. I just cared about surviving.
“Where are we going?” I finally asked as we ran blindly through the school. I was
scared to turn every corner, certain Zombie Claus would be there, ready to grab us
and turn us into his undead minions. Or eat us.
“I don’t know,” Chaz answered out of breath, fear fueling him to keep running.
“Chaz. Stop.”
Grabbing his arm I pulled him against the wall. Resting my hands on my knees I took
several deep gulps of air. My side felt like a spear was puncturing it and my legs
were shaking like Jell-O.
“We gotta come up with a plan,” I said. “We can’t just keep running.”
“First, I’m gonna get some water,” Chaz said, walking over to the drinking fountain
and guzzling down the refreshing liquid. I rolled my eyes but it was a good idea.
My throat was so dry it hurt.
After we had quenched our thirst, Chaz put his hands together and began to pace
back and forth.
“Okay. Okay. A Plan. A plan… What would the hero of a Romero flick do…?”
I rolled my eyes again. I wanted to shake him. This wasn’t some cheesy horror
movie. This was real life! If we messed up that was it. No second takes. No
director yelling cut.
“I got it!” Chaz exclaimed loudly. His voice echoed in the hallway. Freezing, we
held our breaths and looked down the dark hallway. Zombie Claus didn’t appear. “I
got it,” Chaz repeated, this time whispering. His voice was so low I had to
practically be on top of him to hear. “A gun. We need a gun to shoot him in the
head. Or fire.”
“Chaz,” I began, eyes closed as I pictured our funerals. “We’re in an elementary

school. Where are we going to find a gun or something to make fire with?”
Chaz was silent. I could see the wheels turning inside his head.
“The principal’s office. I’m sure there’s a gun there for emergencies. And I’ve
seen her smoke. Maybe there’s a lighter or matches.”
It seemed like a long shot, but it was the only plan we had.
“Where’s the principal’s office?” I asked. I had no idea where we were. Every
hallway and classroom now looked the same to me.
“Down that way,” he said, pointing toward the right. “Then take a left. We passed
it when we ran.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
We jogged back the way we came. Rounding the corner, my worst nightmare came true.
We ran right into the smelly body of Zombie Claus. It all happened so fast. I ran
into his body and fell to the floor. Smiling demonically, Zombie Claus reached down
for me. Squirming like a worm on a hook, I could only stare at his long, yellow
fingernails; sharp as talons.
“Leave her alone!” Chaz cried, heroically tackling the undead monster.
Body shaking, I got up and watched, as Zombie Claus threw Chaz off him. He grabbed
him by the throat and triumphantly smirked. Chaz struggled, feet kicking trying to
make contact with the corpse, as Zombie Claus effortlessly lifted him off the
ground. His breathing became more labored as Zombie Claus’ grip became tighter and
tighter. Chaz’s eyes bugged out, and his face started to turn a sickly bluish-
purple color. As the corpse’s talons dug deeper into Chaz’s sensitive flesh, dark
magenta blood slowly dribbled between his fingers. The metallic scent of blood
filled the room. Zombie Claus’ bloated purple tongue slowly peeked out of his mouth
and licked his dry lips, rubbing off bits of dead skin.
“No! Chaz!” I cried out and moved toward them.
“Dude, Run,” Chaz’s command was barely audible.
I looked at them and down the hall and back again. Tears were streaming down my
cheeks. I didn’t know what to do.
“Run…Chrissy…” Chaz choked out as his eyes drooped like a wilting rose.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I love you.”
Hating myself I ran like a coward. The tears blinded me, making the world blurry.
I kept looking back, certain Zombie Claus was behind me. However, I was alone. It
was quiet. Too quiet. Where was he? Where was Chaz? Was he hurt? Dead? I shuddered,
scolding myself for thinking that.
Throwing open the door to the principal’s office I closed it as quietly as I could,
leaned against it and sobbed. I didn’t want to be alone. Looking at the clock, I
sighed with frustration. It was only a little after midnight. The storm wasn’t
letting up. How much longer could I avoid Zombie Claus? He was going to get me.
Sooner or later. Just like he had gotten Chaz.
Wiping my eyes I started rifling through the desk drawers. I wasn’t going to go out
without a fight. Chaz wouldn’t want me to die a coward. I only prayed he had been
right about finding a gun. Or at least a lighter. Unfortunately, all I found was
papers and files.
I let out another frustrated sigh and slammed the door so hard I broke it. Great.
What was I going to do? Give Zombie Claus a paper cut?
“I’m zombie chow,” I moaned.
The doorknob rattled. I jumped up. He had found me! Looking around the
claustrophobic office more tears popped out of my eyes. I had no hiding place. No
weapon.
My heart stopped. My stomach knotted. Little beads of sweat formed on my forehead.

The door slowly opened. My eyes bugged out.
“Dude?” Chaz’s voice relaxed me.
“Chaz!” I exclaimed, running to him and wrapping my arms around his body. “I
thought you were dead. I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Don’t worry dude,” he grinned at me. “I’ve seen every zombie flick ever made. I
know how to deal with the undead.”
“Well I hope you have a brilliant plan up your sleeve because there’s no gun and no
lighter. Not even any matches.”
“Really? What kind of nicotine addicted chain smoker is she? And what person in the
twenty-first century doesn’t carry a gun?”
“Chaz. Please. Focus. What are we going to do?”
“Don’t worry. I have a plan.”
“What?”
Not saying a word Chaz walked over to a glass panel.
“It says in case of emergency break glass. I think this would be considered an
emergency,” he said before breaking the glass. I jumped and quickly looked out the
open door awaiting Zombie Claus’ appearance. He never showed up.
Carefully, he reached inside and pulled out an axe.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“Cut off his head,” he answered, as if it were obvious.
I had to hand it to him. It was a pretty good plan.
Like thieves we tiptoed through the halls. Chaz gripped the axe tightly, ready to
strike. He had a strange, determined look in his eyes I had never seen before.
“Hey I meant to ask. How’d you escape?”
“Just remained calm and used my head. He’s not so tough,” Chaz answered keeping his
gaze straight ahead. This wasn’t like him. Maybe he was just tired.
Stealthily, we tiptoed to the room where it had all started. Opening the door we
peaked inside. The TV was still on. Zombie Claus was staring at it watching a
Christmas special. We watched, amazed as he picked up a teddy bear and a doll, sat
on a chair and placed them on his knee. Watery gurgles bubbled deep in his throat
as he talked to both the doll and teddy bear, lovingly patting their heads. Had he
been a volunteer Santa when he was alive? Had that been why he had put on the hat
and jacket? Did he still remember his old life? I almost didn’t want to cut off his
head.
“Now’s our chance,” Chaz announced.
Bursting through the door like a bomb, Chaz ran toward Zombie Claus and swung the
axe, taking off his head with one clean swipe. The head rolled across the room. The
body, still holding the toys, fell out of the chair and hit the floor with a
sickening plop.
Chaz stood over the body. The TV’s glow gave his skin an almost evil yellow hue.
Slowly he put on the jacket, walked over to the head and put on the hat.
My brow furrowed. What was that nerd up to now?
Making his way to the window he looked outside. The sky was just beginning to
lighten, staining the sky a deep pink color. At least it was finally over.
Joining him, I looked out and nearly had a heart attack. It was like the punch line
to a really bad joke. A whole army of zombies were making their way toward the
school.
“Chaz! We…” I lost the ability to speak when I touched his hand. He was so cold.
Slowly I looked at him. My eyes fell to the bruise on his neck. I thought it had
been from Zombie Claus’ talons but now, I saw it clearly. Teeth marks. There was
even a small tooth embedded in the flesh.
“Oh. My. God.” I whispered, not believing.
It was then I realized that the yellow hue wasn’t from the TV. That was his actual
skin tone. His eyes were even sunken deep in his skull.
“Chaz?” I couldn’t believe it. Not Chaz.
“Run,” was all he said looking at me with a hunger in his eyes that I had only seen
once before. In the eye of Zombie Claus…
Story Art Cover
By Jason Tudor
Dedication
To the tiny zombies that lie in wait for Santa every year.
Author Bio
Stacey Graham is a multi-tasking mother of five, sandwiching zombies and humor

writers between permission slips and lunch boxes. Please visit The Zombie Dating
Guide for sketchy advice from Undead Fred: zombiedatingguide.com, An Army of Ermas
- The New Generation of Disgruntled Housewives: anarmyofermas.com, and her website
at staceyigraham.com.
And to All a Good Fright
By Stacey Graham
The elves never saw it coming. One minute Santa Claus was happily breaking and
entering into houses and the next – dead as a Christmas cookie, crapped on by
Comet.
“What the hell was that about?” Burley never minced words. It’s no wonder they kept
him away from shopping malls when Santa popped in for a special occasion, he’d
scare the snot out of the kids. Pulling a cigarette from behind a pointed ear, he
scraped a match on the body lying on the snow-covered lawn and lit the sweet
tobacco. His breath in short puffs, he attempted to keep it going against the
coldness but with little luck. Throwing the stunted paper roll to the ground, he
looked at his partner.
“Just one more cookie, just ooone more cookie!” Elmore paced around the body. His
feet jangled with the regulation bells the main office made all elves wear on their
shoes to show solidarity. Burley complained it was more like elf torture to hear
the tingling of the silver spheres daily, his ears apparently more sensitive than
his personality.
“Forget it. The old man is gone. What did he think? All those sweets for the past
hundred years wouldn’t catch up to him? His only exercise was climbing those roofs
one night a year, and damn – those reindeer were getting husky pulling his jolly
red butt as he put on a little cookie weight.” Extending his stomach, Burley
jiggled toward the Christmas icon, “Ho, ho, meh, whatever.” Clapping his hands
together to get the blood circulating again in the cold, Burley looked around the
neighborhood where bad luck, and one-to-many Ding Dongs had stranded them.
“Oh, this is a great place. THANK YOU SANTA,” he yelled at the dead man. “This is
freakin’ perfect.” Kicking the corpse in the red suit, even the elf became a little
flustered at their predicament. The rows of houses stretched on for blocks. Cobbled
together from cheap stone, attempts at cheerfulness for the season were limited to
dirty tinsel and strings of broken lights on a drooping porch. Reaching into his
pocket, Burley pulled out the small cell phone given to elves in case of emergency.
Punching the speed dial code for Home Base he waited until it picked up before
barking into the speaker, “Hey! This is Red One. We’ve got a man down and…”
“Please press one for English,” the voice said.
“You’re kidding me. This is…”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Please press one for English, two for
Spanish, three for…”
“Customer Service!” the elf roared into the phone.
“I’ll connect you. You’ve now been placed on the Naughty List.” A series of beeps
and garbled Christmas carols accompanied him through the wait to hook up with Elf
Central.
“Naughty List my ass. Santa’s list now reads ‘Return to Sender’.” Huffing at his
own joke, Burley looked over to share it with Elmore. The older elf was sitting on
Santa Claus, his feet dangling off the old man’s rounded chest.
“You know, years ago there was a fellow around here who could help us with this
little problem,” Elmore said.
“You’ve watched too many mob movies, we don’t do that anymore. Besides, he’d never
fit in the trunk of a car.”
“Not that, you idiot. I mean another man. Voodoo.” Sliding off Santa and climbing
into the sleigh, Elmore picked up the GPS. His chubby fingers racing over the touch
screen, he zeroed in on his target. “Here he is. Next street over. I swear you
can’t throw Jack Frost without hitting a witch or a voodoo priest these days. Ever
since Oprah did a segment on them, they’re popping up like candy canes.” Climbing
off the vehicle into the snow, Elmore motioned to Burley.
“Come here. Let’s hide the body before some kid finds him and we end up footing
even more therapy bills.”
Tired of being on hold, Burley was happy to get on the move again. He disconnected
with the North Pole as another Day of Christmas started its loop. Dragging Santa’s
carcass behind the reindeer, they hoped no one would get too picky about how many
feet the animals had.
“Oh yeah. Like no one has seen eight tiny reindeer on a lawn display in this
neighborhood before. Let’s just hope the crazy people are tucked away in their beds
already,” Burley said.
Double-checking the GPS unit in his hand, Elmore started off north toward the
subway station. “I love New York. Such a diverse and rich… Christmas Holly! I just
saw a rat the size of Rudolph back there!” Their small feet sliding in the snow,
the elves moved quickly, not wanting to push their luck if one of the rodents got a
little frisky.
“He’s over here.” Cocking his head to the right, Elmore’s feet dug into the
accumulating snowfall on the sidewalk. Mixing with the dirt on the street and the
garbage strewn along the ramshackle yards, the snow turned a dingy gray color that
clung to their shoes and clogged the bells.
Neighborhood shops dotted the street corners, most of them were boarded up or
littered with paint in a cacophony of symbols meaningless to anyone not privy to
the hand that left them. The elves looked away from the misery, remembering the
same houses a century before when the promise of new buildings and young families
had swelled the streets that were now left deserted of pride and joy.
“This place just gets worse and worse.” Clicking his tongue to the memories, Burley
wanted only to escape back to the warm fire he knew waited for him at home.
“There.” The GPS beeped its announcement of their arrival. Walking up the steps of
a pristine brownstone, the elves smiled. There, among the ruins of the
neighborhood, stood a home devoid of ignorance or rejection. Lights burned in the
windows and the smell of cookies wafted from the kitchen vents.
“Get me up to the knocker, I can’t reach it.” Stretching his arms against the
painted black door, Burley struggled to grasp the iron handle.
“You have got to be kidding. Use the doorbell, Genius.” Elmore said.
“Right.” Stabbing a finger onto the round plastic button, Burley punched out the
tune to Jingle Bells as they waited.
“Oh yeah. They’re going to be thrilled to see us.” Elmore hoped Hyde would remember
them from years ago. Elves don’t age quickly, but he wasn’t the same macho tiny man
he’d been a century before, when they’d first met. Stroking his gray beard, he
wondered if he should have used a little Grecian Formula to perk it up before he’d
left. Shaking his head against the foolishness rolling around inside, he waited.
Heels clacked against the wood floors inside. Coming closer to the door, they heard
them hesitate before realizing someone was looking out the peephole – and seeing
nothing but the dirty street beyond.
“Hey! Down here!” shouted Burley.
“This is embarrassing,” said Elmore.
“Shut up and yell.”
The black door remained shut. The heels retreated …then returned. As the old-
fashioned door handle turned, smiles replaced worried frowns on the faces of the
elves.
“This is it. Don’t make an ass out of yourself or she won’t help us.” Elmore blew
into his hand, cupping the breath to check its freshness against the stale cookies
he’d snuck from houses earlier that night.
“I’m never an ass—Hello, er…” Burley stared at the woman before him. His eyes
staring at the ridiculously high alligator skin heels dyed red for the holidays and
cinched with silver buckles at the ankle. He whistled low in his throat; though
only three feet tall, he was still all man. His eyes traveled upward to her eyes
but after those shoes, who could remember the rest? Burley was a foot man. It was
just easier to sneak a peek at that level than get busted in the chops for anything
higher.
“Charlotte. Her name is Charlotte, you moron,” Elmore whispered. Elbowing his way
past the other man, he said, “Charlotte, darling, it’s lovely to see you. It’s been
what… fifty, seventy years? You don’t look a day over thirty.” Entering her home
without an invitation, he quickly glanced into the small rooms off the main hallway
where she stood. Christmas decorations filled the walls as a tree rotated on its
base in the parlor. Tiny white lights dotting the fake tree snagged on decades old
ornaments. He knew the decorations were for show and to keep her visitors from
asking too many questions. The voodoo priestess was tired of explaining that she
simply wasn’t in the Christmas spirit every year so she gave in to expectations.
Luckily in this neighborhood, tenants didn’t stay around long enough to wonder why
the stylish woman never aged.
“Boys, it’s good to see you!” Charlotte looked past them to the street, her eyes
searching for Santa Claus. “Where is he?”
“We’ve run into a bit of difficulty…” Elmore’s voiced trailed off, not sure how to
proceed.
“He bit the big one. We left him parked behind the reindeer,” Burley said. Red
frosting ringing his mouth and sprinkles dotting his beard, he swiped another
cookie from the plate on the table.
“Listen, Charlotte, we’re in a spot and could use Hyde’s talents to help revive
him,” Elmore said. “You can appreciate our time issues, I’m sure.” Bells twitching,
he started to pace the room. His nose detected a hint of something other than
Christmas cookies, the subtle tones of dried lavender and foxglove for Gris Gris
bags the couple sold to clients. Snakes basked under heat lamps along the far wall,
their skins treasured to add potency to the spells and he fought the urge to
shudder. Zombies didn’t bother him but the thought of snakes gave him the willies.
“I’ll get him, he’s just back from a Christmas party himself. The old fool loves
handing out our special ‘dolls’ to the kids.” Shaking her head, Charlotte could
only grin at the thought of those dolls being yanked around, resulting in the bumps
and bruises of local politicians whose likeness they bore.
“I’m up, I’m here. What’s going on now?” Tiredness edged the voice of the man
coming down the staircase. A well-worn red and white velour suit topped his vintage
black Doc Martens; the voodoo bokor grinned at the elves.
“Like I was telling the missus, Santa finally keeled over. We need a little help to
finish this run. Got anything to get him in the holiday spirit again?” Burley said.
Edging closer to a platter of gingerbread cookies, his hand crept toward the little
men with the candy buttons.
“Don’t even think about it, Burley.” Charlotte’s voice called from the kitchen.
“Those are for the neighbors we don’t like.” Walking back into the parlor, she
placed a large red plate of sugar cookies frosted in green. Sharing a look with her
husband, Charlotte said, “Those other cookies have a little something extra in them
for the holidays. You understand.”
Snatching his hand away, Burley crept back to stand by Elmore. The elves wanted
nothing to do with the mischief this couple could create.
“I think I can help you with this,” said Hyde as he crossed to a large armoire near
the snake tank. The hinges protesting with a loud whine as the teak doors were
opened, the elves saw rows of tiny antique bottles lining the interior. The priest
withdrew a small light blue vial, its label torn at the edges and lettered in
cobalt ink.
“Give this to your jolly old elf. Uncork the bottle and wave it under his nose, the
soul inside will enter and bring him back to life. Be careful what you wish for,
boys, souls can have a bit of an attitude.” Handing the bottle to Elmore, Hyde
turned back to shut the heavy doors.
“Enough hair on my butt to weave a rug and he’s calling us ‘boys.’ If I wasn’t…”
Burley started.
“Really. You’re going to take down a man by doing harm to his kneecap on Christmas
Eve? Lay off the eggnog before we leave the Pole next time, Tiger.” Elmore had had
enough. The combination of Santa’s demise, dog-sized rats and the imminent arrival
of dawn with a sleigh full of toys were making him cranky. Turning to the couple,
he thanked them both and led the way to the door.
“Elmore, be careful. Hyde’s right about the soul, these things are unpredictable.
Zombies may be fun at parties but their upkeep is a bitch.” Charlotte opened the
front door for them. “Be safe – and Merry Christmas!”
The elves ran down the steps and retraced their path, careful to cross the street
when overturned garbage cans revealed rats inside; their mouths busy with discarded
fruitcake, spitting out the green chunky bits.
“Fruitcake! That stuff is nasty. If this bottle of old soul doesn’t work, I’m
trying that next, it has to be good for something,” said Burley.
The reindeer pawed the snow as they approached. Night was fading quickly and from
experience they knew that the early morning light would make their journey more
difficult to remain unseen by late night party people and kids hopped up from sugar
from the night before. Elmore rushed to the man laying stiff and cold behind
Blitzen. Brushing the traces of snow from Santa’s face, he removed the cork from
the bottle and held it under the old man’s nose, then waited. Nothing - neither a
groan nor a jiggle like a bowl full of jelly from his prone body.
“It didn’t work! They gave us the wrong soul.” Exasperation led to his yelling into
the face of the world’s oldest elf.
“Let me do it. You need to work the mojo, dude,” Burley said. Lifting Santa’s head
into his lap, Burley took the vial from Elmore. Blowing softly into the bottle held
slightly beneath the cold nose of his employer, he roused the soul that had settled
to the bottom of the glass. Within the bottle, the men saw a faint light swirl and
rise to the lip, then its vapor enter Santa’s nose.
“Stand back, I think he’s going to hurl!” Burley warned.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. He’s not going to – oh my sweet Rudolph!” Elmore quickly
danced back into the aforementioned reindeer to get away from the vitreous bile
spewing from Santa’s mouth. Hyde had neglected to mention this little tidbit.
Santa’s hand rose from his side to wipe away the last bits of cookie that had
accompanied the vomit, leaving a smear of goo running down his face. Dropping
Santa’s head into the snow beneath them, Burley jumped up and away from the now
stirring Christmas icon.
“Elmore, Burley… what’s going on here?” Santa asked. Rolling to his side, he lifted
himself up on one arm to sit to escape the puddle he’d made moments before. His
skin turning from bluish to a pale gray, the old man shook himself, dislodging the
red toque atop his head. The elves could see veins criss-crossing across his scalp,
bulging from the fresh influx of oxygen as they held their own breath.
“Santa, sir, there’s been an accident…” Elmore started.
“Yeah, but we’re all right now,” Burley cut in. Tapping his watch, he warned Elmore
with a glance to be quiet until later. “Don’t want that milk getting any warmer,
Santa, let’s holly jolly it out of here.” Helping the older man to rise, the elves
assisted him into the sleigh. The reindeer were reluctant to move, their intuition
sensing something wasn’t quite right about their owner.
“Yes, of course.” Taking the reins into his hands, Santa Claus began to snap the
leather to signal the reindeer to move.
“Heeeeeeeeey, whatchudoin’ here?” A voice called out in the darkness. Stumbling

toward them came a man dressed in a suit similar to Santa’s though torn and filthy.
Dragging behind him a hefty bag full of stolen gifts, he flicked a cigarette at the
elves. “This is my territory. I don’t care if you do have ‘reindeer’ for a getaway
car.” He squinted at the sleigh in the flickering brightness the lone streetlight
offered. “Thems the biggest-ass rats I’ve ever seen.”
Santa quietly dismounted the sleigh. Once hearty, his steps now shuffled slightly,
the new soul still getting its feet under him. Stopping inches away from the
imposter, Santa said, “Are those my gifts? I didn’t leave them for you.”
“Yeah. Put me on the Naughty List, Santa Claus, I’ve been baaaaaaad.” Nearly
doubled-over in laughter, he dropped the bag. Wiping snot from his nose with the
back of his hand in a vain attempt to stop, the young man rose to find the rage of
a hundred years of bad cookies and spoiled milk in the form of one very pissed off
old elf.
Raising his arms, Santa brought down his hands to crush the man’s head between the
gloved palms and cracking the skull. The elves looked on in horror as Santa
hungrily devoured the thief’s brains and sucked on an eyeball.
“This was a really bad idea,” said Burley. “Who’s soul did we get anyway?” Backing
away from their boss, Elmore ran to the bottle, holding it up to a flickering
Christmas bulb whose paint had chipped away.
“Attila the Hun. Seriously? A Hun?” Elmore said.
“You tell him.”
“Boys, I think this young man could use a candy cane.” Licking his fingers to
remove the last of the brain matter clinging to the glove, Santa’s step was
livelier, the glow returning to his cheeks as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
Burley scrambled to find space in the back, not eager to cozy up to the monster he
and Elmore had created. Elmore made a mental note to put a load of reindeer shit in
Burley’s stocking when they returned home.
“Where to next, Santa?” Burley asked as the sleigh rose.
“China, I think. I have the strangest craving for take-out…” said Santa.
Wrapped in dreams of holiday wishes and snuggled in their beds, those below missed
the faint call of Santa as he sang into the night, “Merry Christmas to all, and to
all a good fright!”
Story Art Cover
By Scott Cole
http://www.13Visions.com
Dedication
To my husband for his understanding and support
Author Bio
ANGELICA RAENE writes dark poetry, horror, and historical fiction. Her creative use
of words to convey the beauty and love within death prompted a fan to name her the
“Poetess of Death”. The title has remained throughout her writing career.
Angelica is the author of Lost, Not Found featured in the poetry compilation, A
Surrender to the Moon. After her poem was published in the compilation, the
International Library of Poetry nominated Angelica for “Poet of the Year” in 2005.
Angelica combines her fascination with horror, and love of history to be a voice
for victims of Human-Trafficking and Child Abuse. Her articles have been published
on Gameolosophy, AuthSpot, and Socyberty. Though current obligations have meant
placing this cause on hold, it has not diminished her passion for raising the
public’s awareness.
Angelica is currently working on two historical fiction novels, two anthologies,

and preparing her poems for publishing. She lives in Indiana with her husband of 16
years, Jim, and two children – Jim and Shannandoah.
Refuse to Donate
By Angelica Raene
Enormous evergreen wreaths decorated in huge scarlet red bows and wide matching
ribbon welcomed holiday shoppers as they approached the front entrance to Meijer.
Four foot tall, Candy Canes lined the edge of the large sidewalk spaced ten feet
apart. The familiar sights, sounds, and scents unique to Christmas, excited both
the young and old. A small group of carolers gathered at the opposite entrance
doors singing, ’Once in Royal David’s City’ completed the festive ambiance.
I stopped to listen to their bright, cheerful voices. Excluding the crowds and
annoying publicity, I enjoyed the Holiday Season. The carolers’ angelic voices rose
above the wall-to-wall shopping purlieu. ‘He came down to earth from Heaven, who is
God and Lord of all, and His shelter was a stable, and His cradle was a stall, with
the poor, and mean, and lowly, lived on earth our Savior holy”
Every year, I reluctantly join my wife in battling the Christmas shopping crowd.
She knows that the mere existence of stupid people annoys me to the point where it
becomes intolerable, but she ignores this knowledge insisting I join her anyway. I
have always found a majority of the population to be extremely irritating. It just
so happens that the Holiday Season fuels this unadulterated stupidity. At the end
of the day, I am more than willing to relieve the next inherently ignorant
individual (unfortunate enough to cross my path) of their menial existence.
Sandra stopped to wait for me next to the entry doors. She made eye contact with me
and tilted her head towards the door conveying her wish for me to hurry and catch
up to her. She should know - after 16 years of marriage - that ordering me to do
something always ends with me doing the exact opposite. I made the decision to walk
just a bit slower satisfied that my smart-ass response would irritate her.
An old man stood near Sandra wearing a heavy dark green coat with matching
earmuffs. The ankle-length hem of his coat swayed with the motion of his body as he
shook a red handled bell held tightly in his hand. A large bright red kettle
suspended from a Shepard’s hook - painted the same shade of red - stood next to
him. A shield at the top displayed the words ‘The Salvation Army’ in bold white
lettering.
Why not just ask me to drop my wallet into the kettle. I watched the elderly bell
ringer with an overwhelming sense of disgust.
He sat the red handled bell on the snow-dusted sidewalk; pulled his black knit
gloves off, and rapidly rubbed his hands together to warm them. He straightened his
Santa hat, checked to make sure it was secure with the
bobby pins, then pulled his gloves back on. He proceeded to greet the weak-minded
shoppers with a well-rehearsed smile spread across his weathered face. He never
ceased ringing the bell, as I passed by his red kettle neglecting to drop a single
dime in it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an old woman standing behind the old man.
She wore a pure white unadorned wrap dress (knotted at the side) that fell just
below her knees with a matching scarf covering her raven black hair. A woman her
age should never leave the house without a coat on. She had to be freezing dressed
as she was. She stared after me with eyes the color of a moonless night. I could
feel her gaze piercing my mind like razor-tipped arrows. A wave of dizziness washed
over me causing me to stumble on a raised part of the sidewalk. I cursed under my
breath as I regained my footing and shook my head to clear my mind. I did not dare
look back at the cursed woman.
Sandra was not amused with my lack of generosity toward the Salvation Army. “Hugh,
how could you?”
“Thanks for asking if I was alright after I came really damn close to falling on my
face,” I said, then bent down to brush the snow off my jeans.
“Oh good God, Hugh, stop acting like such a baby. Now, I’m waiting for an answer.”
“What was the question again? I’m sorry, I was distracted by your lack of caring.”
“You are so obsessed with being a tight ass that you can’t even spare a dollar for
the Salvation Army. Would it be so horrible to feel a sense of pride knowing that
your small donation helped provide Christmas dinners, toys, and clothing to
families in need? It could be that you have just forgotten what the true meaning of
Christmas is.”
“I am not even going to dignify that with an answer. You should know by now that
guilt trips do not work on me,” I said.
Sandra crossed her arms over her chest refusing to look at me.
“Will it make you feel better if I buy the old man a cup of hot chocolate?”
“You know damn well that does nothing to help those poor families,” she replied, as
she uncrossed her arms, letting them fall to her sides and balled her hands into
fists.
”Every Holiday Season these vampyres rise to suck the generosity out of people like
you.” I tossed my hands up in the air and shrugged my shoulders. “I’m sorry my
love, but you’re an easy target.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Her anger permeated the frosty air.
“I can’t help that you are just like those people that become emotionally
distraught after viewing the heart-wrenching pictures displayed on one of those
commercials about starving children or abused animals. You obediently write a check
- for your entire life savings- then mail it to the address listed at the end of
the commercial. They put those pictures in the commercials specifically for people
like you. You swallow the bait ‘hook, line, and sinker’ every single damn time!” I
spat back.
The look Sandra gave me was so chilling that it could have easily frozen the fires
of hell. Maybe I had gone a little bit too far with that one. I guess a normal
person would have felt an immediate sense of remorse for hurting a loved one like
that, but I never claimed to be a normal person. The fact that I am not remorseful
does not imply in any way that I enjoy hurting her.
“I do not enjoy fighting with you. Why don’t we put this behind us and enjoy the
rest of the day shopping?” I said, then laid my hand on Sandra’s shoulder. I bent
down to kiss the top of her head and closed my eyes enjoying the warm, sweet scent
of her hair like a summer breeze.
She responded by wrapping her arms around my neck and lightly kissing my cheek. I
placed my hands around her waist and pulled her close to me. Neither of us can ever
admit we were wrong, but the love we share always surpasses our stubborn nature.
Our small argument caught the attention of a middle-aged woman dressed

extravagantly in high-heeled leather boots dyed midnight blue to match her royal
blue pantsuit. Two sapphire blue Chinese sticks held her chestnut hair in a French
twist at the nape of her neck. She studied us intently with smoky, sultry eyes.
Sandra stepped behind me, always anxious about how others perceived her. I knew her
cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Sandra’s demure reaction invoked a
pernicious smile on the woman’s face. I took Sandra’s hand in mine allowing her to
walk behind me as I stepped toward the woman.
“I would appreciate it if you would stop staring at us. You are making my wife very
uncomfortable.” I told her,
The woman placed the tips of her fingers together at the center of her bottom lip
as if in prayer. “Oh dear, I apologize for being so rude.” She lowered her chin
resting her hand on her forehead. “I do that all the time. I become deeply
engrossed in my thoughts and stare without meaning to. I am very sorry.”
Sandra lightly touched the woman’s shoulder in a gesture of understanding. “It’s

alright. My Husband can be a little bit overdramatic at times.”
Both women laughed and exchanged Christmas blessings toward one another. The
pleasantries disgusted me; I was about to make one of my signature ‘don’t let it
happen again’ exits, when I heard an unfamiliar voice behind me whisper my name. It
was a deep French Creole accent, sounding as if it traveled on a gentle breeze,
whispering through moss draped cypress trees on a warm Louisiana night, or at least
how I imagined a warm Louisiana night, I had never visited any of the Deep South
including the Bayou state. A strong sense of disorientation overwhelmed me, and I
had to force myself to remain calm.
I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I turned towards the light touch, and it seemed as
if time stood still. The old woman - whom I saw standing behind the old bell ringer
earlier today- stood before me, but she appeared to be 30 years younger. I had to
blink my eyes several times to make sure I was not hallucinating. The pure white
scarf wrapped loosely around her neck was the only thing that looked familiar. She
tapped her flawless burgundy lips with the tip of her fingernail, as if trying to
make a difficult decision. She turned to take a few steps away from us. Sandra and
I took that moment to exchange nervous glances. The dark woman reached to move her
waist length black hair off her shoulder. It fell in shimmering strands forming a
curtain of midnight across her back.
Sandra reached for my hand, and I gladly entwined my fingers with hers. The
chestnut haired woman inched a little closer to Sandra. The three of us anxiously
observed the old woman’s movements as if she was a serial killer. The scent of
danger clung to the old woman - though she has not harmed us.
As if she had heard our thoughts, the old woman turned to face us. She addressed
the chestnut haired woman completely ignoring Sandra and I.
“Imogene, come speak with Auntie Carel for a moment.” Her voice was rich and pure
as honey, but danger laid hidden in that sticky sweet confection.
The name “Imogene” was very old fashioned for such a fashion conscious woman. I
kept my thoughts to myself as I watched Imogene’s confidence and positive self-
image fade to nothing.
Imogene did not hesitate to obey the request. She stood before Carel with her head
bowed - the perfect image of an obedient child. Carel gently lifted Imogene’s chin
and brushed her chestnut colored hair back from her small face; then she looked
deep into her eyes and smiled affectionately. Imogene tried to mask the fear she
felt with a nervous smile. She was the helpless child at the mercy of one who knew
no limits when administering harsh punishment.
“Why have you chosen to mock the faith I had placed in you?” Her small hint of a
southern accent made her appear the sweet matronly figure that she definitely was
not.
Imogene, started to answer, but Carel interrupted her. “It would be ill advised for
you to insult me by attempting to explain yourself. Any explanation spoken with
such a filthy tongue will only make your situation worse.”
All hope left Imogene’s eyes as she lowered her head in defeat. A blanket of
ominous silence fell over us. The merriment outside our invisible prison continued.
Christmas shoppers wearing Santa hats and festively decorated sweaters continued to
arrive at Meijer in a last minute attempt to cross everything off their list. They
passed by us blind to the grim situation unfolding right before their eyes. Carel’s
mesmerizing voice pierced through the silence.
Carel tilted her head as her eyes narrowed into the shape of dark almonds.
Imogene’s innocent blue eyes glazed over with panic; she raked her trembling hands
through her hair accidentally loosening the Chinese sticks. The sticks fell to the
snow dusted ground allowing her hair to spill freely over her shoulders. She took a
few steps backwards silently imploring someone to help her. It was the forsaken
image of a trapped animal desperate for escape.
Imogene’s emotional state had no effect on Carel’s transformation from a warm,
charismatic young woman into the sinister old woman I had originally seen. Imogene
glared at Carel with wild, half-crazed eyes.
“No! No! No!” A single tear fell down her cheek as she forced herself to speak. “I
did not fail you. Please, the evidence is all around you. I have helped many
strangers change their ways.” She gestured to a young woman carrying five bags of
gifts. “Look at her; there is not an ounce of hatred, disbelief, or lack of faith
left in her soul.”
Carel shook her head, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then approached
Imogene with a slow graceful step. The panic and anxiety slipped away leaving only
a peaceful calm in its place. Carel held her hand out and Imogene hesitantly
accepted.
“Darling, you know that my life is not my own; it belongs to the Loa.”
Carel’s face was a mask of remorse and regret shadowed by the warmth of a smile, as
she nodded her head to each of us. She turned her eyes up toward the snow-veiled
sky; her lips moved as if in prayer. Finally, she rubbed her hands together seeking
warmth from the cold, then placed her right hand in her coat pocket. Carel stepped
toward us with a warm smile on her face.
“The Loa are good to us. They see more than we could ever know!” The sudden
determination and strength in her voice caused all three of us to start. We gave
each other a nervous glance. As we turned to face Carel again, a sudden gust of
wind blew a light dusting of snow in our faces.
In a matter of seconds, a weightless feeling came over me. I could see Sandra and
Imogene on their knees below me holding their head in their hands. I seemed to
float above the festivly-decorated sidewalk listening to the sound of Carel’s
chants folded into Sandra and Imogene’s persistent moaning.
Sandra whispered my name calling me back from my place above this misery. The
chanting ceased and Carel walked to each of us, touching the opening of a small
intricately decorated bottle to each of our lips. An effigy of a small child
resembling the image of each of our faces crafted around the neck of each bottle.
The small effigy was bound to the bottle by vanilla colored ribbon.
“Please forgive me for the uncomfortable side-effects. I promise you that the
headaches, the feeling of floating, numbness of your lips and tongue, and your
trouble breathing will pass in due time.”
I wanted to ask her, ‘what the hell she was talking about’, but my lips refused to
comply. It was time for the bottle to touch upon my lips. Carel was aware of the
loss of control over my body; she gently opened my lips to place the powder on my
tongue. The bitter tasting concoction found the back of my throat causing me to
choke. It was a nightmarish feeling knowing I was unable to cough to rid myself of
the affliction. Carel whispered words in an ancient tongue while she massaged my
throat, and the momentary feeling of relief gave in to something worse.
The fast-paced beating of my heart pounded inside my head. Something began to rise
inside me floating upwards from my toes to my chest. The Pain was like a Boa
Constrictor coiling around my chest; then constricting to prevent life sustaining
air from reaching my lungs. The pain grew more intense as the chanting of the
ancient words became increasingly rapid. My body danced in a strange pirouette to
the sinister melody composed from the drums played on my heart, and the haunting
sound created by a violin bow moving across the strings of my mind. Finally,
whatever was inside me was able to escape through my mouth into the opening of the
bottle. I caught a brief glance of the misty human form inside the bottle, as I
fell to the ground. I realized the misty form was my soul. I noticed my wife and
Imogene’s bodies lying next to me, their eyes already closed to this world. I could
hear the carolers’ cheerful voices, and my heart overflowed with longing.
Oh, I wish that I could join the carolers in singing the last stanza of ‘Once in
Royal David’s City’ before I leave this world. I felt a single tear trail down my
cheek as my eyes closed for the last time.
Carel bid me to wake by whispering in my ear, “Awaken now. I command you.”
* * *
Night had fallen, but I could see the outline of Sandra and Imogene’s bodies lying
next to me. The shoppers still passed us by as if we were invisible. The sticky
sweet taste of sweet potato and pure sugar cane lingered on my tongue. I reached
toward Sandra and we pressed our shoulders together just to let the other know we
were still there. Carel joined us in our small circle, and squatted down so we
could see her better.
“I have resurrected your bodies by forcing you to ingest Datura - also known as
zombie cucumber. The Loa have judged you too great a risk to the sanctity of human
society. Sandra is the only exception to that judgment, but she is guilty of
supporting her husband’s transgressions so she suffers the same fate. You are
doomed to exist as the zombie astral – soulless but capable of consciousness and
independent thought. Your soulless bodies have been left intact which will enable
you to go to work, play with your children, and take care of your loved ones.”
She paced back and forth in front of us as she educated us about the meaning of our
fate. “You are each my slaves to do my bidding.”
A hint of sorrow and regret glistened in her eyes. “I know you are traumatized from
this experience, but you must understand that I saved you from the agony of hearing
and seeing your own funeral. My life belongs to the Loa; I do only as they bid, so
please do not think that I gain any gratification in reducing you to the zombie
astral.”
She stopped pacing to reach out to me. I took her hand allowing her to assist me to
stand up; she lightly traced her finger down my cheek and looked deep into my eyes.
“You are the guiltiest of all those sitting here. You spit hatred at everyone that
fails to fit into your perception of what a person should be. If they are not as
intelligent as you believe they should be, you cast them out as imbeciles unfit to
live in society.”
Carel held my chin in her hands to implore my understanding of the gravity of my

sentence. “Hugh, not only are you guilty of throwing stones, but you even refused
to give a single donation to the Salvation Army so others less fortunate than you
could have a nice Christmas with their family. Do you have the heart that the old
man has to stand in the freezing cold for something you believe in?”
The image of the person I had become stared back at me reflected in Carel’s raven
black eyes. Two small piles of white ash were all that remained of the thing’s
ears. The deep brown iris in the right eye (now blind) had turned stark white and
all that remained of the left eye was a blackened hole. It opened its thin parched
lips to reveal a bloodied stump where a tongue used to be. I screamed long and hard
holding my hands over my ears.
Carel allowed the screaming to continue for a few minutes before she forced my arms
down to my sides and turned me to face her. “The image you saw represents the
proverbial principles to, ‘see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil’. We are
all familiar with just the three, but many do not realize there is a fourth, ‘do no
evil’.”
She bid me to return to sit beside my wife; then she addressed all three of us.
“Hugh did not see the fourth proverbial principle in his reflection, because the
three of you are going to commit acts of evil. Eventually, the acts you commit will
tear at your heart and scar your mind. You will wish for death to end the pain.”
She took a moment to observe our anxious and mortified reactions, satisfied with
the depth of our emotional turmoil she continued. “Know this, one sentenced to
zombie astral can only be granted a true death by God if he decides to come
retrieve your soul. He will not consider it until you have completed the tasks I
give you to his satisfaction. You will have three days to complete the tasks:
tonight, Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day. If you fail to complete these tasks then
your soul will remain trapped in the bottles, and you will be forever my slaves.”
We sat in silence as Carel, retrieving a small duffle bag, opened a small container
within and started placing the bottles inside. She zipped the duffle bag and stood
up.
“My orders are for you to kill every person you see that is selfish, cold-hearted,
hateful, lacking morals, not generous, and not loving. Basically, if their souls
are beyond redemption, they die – no exceptions. You are to complete these orders
within the three days allotted to you. The Meijer store is open 24/7 for the
Christmas season so you have plenty of time.”
“Do not worry you are not alone. I have amassed quite a large army over the past 30
years due to the ones who were unable to complete the tasks. Are there any
questions?”
We shook our heads, and I knew without looking at Imogene and Sandra that each of
us were on the verge of tears. This is definitely hell on Earth!
Carel placed the bag on her shoulder. “I will return to my place behind my friend.
You will start performing your tasks right away.” She started walking away.
No matter how much we wanted to resist doing this, we could not. Carel stopped to
look back at us. “I want the floor of Meijer and the entire parking lot covered
with the blood of sinners. Their life essence will bless this Christmas Season!”
Story Art Cover
By April Guadiana
www.manson26.deviantart.com
Dedication
This story is respectfully dedicated to the loving families who foster
children in need. So few who give so much to so many. Thank you for all you do.
Author Bio
Edward Russell was born and raised in Indiana. After nearly a decade of sight-
seeing around the country courtesy of the Army he returned to his home town and
began working on a college degree. He just completed his first novel and became a
Grandfather.
GingerBrains
By Edward J. Russell
Jacob sat in his comfy chair and watched the lights swirl on and off around the
Christmas tree, his three grandchildren positioned around him, the youngest in his
lap. Outside there was a light snow fall, the flakes fluttering down like
butterflies. Left alone he could have easily slid into a light slumber.
“Dad,” his daughter said, while touching him on the shoulder. “Not falling asleep
are you?” Jacob smiled in response; his daughter had the same sixth sense as her
mother. She had entered the living room, silently carrying a tray of treats. Little
Jane leaned forward and took a cookie off the tray.
“Have a cookie Grandpa J,” she said, holding one under his nose. “They are
gingerbread men!”
“Oh, no thanks honey, I am not really a fan of gingerbread men.”
Little Jane wrinkled her nose and gave him a quizzical look. Her mother laughed and
then kissed Jacob on the top of his head.
“You should tell them the story, Dad.”
The grandkids all looked at him expectantly and he knew he had no choice. Jacob
liked telling stories, almost as much as the kids liked hearing them. Closing his
eyes, he paused and collected his thoughts.
“This all happened a very long time ago and it started in March not December. My
best friend Wooky and I were in his room reading some comic books. I was twelve at
the time and looked forward to becoming a teenager. It was a rainy day, so with
nothing better to do we sprawled out on his floor and looked through his brother’s
comic book collection. Just before lunch, Wooky's older brother shoved the door
open and told us we had to look after his little sister. Marie was maybe eight or
nine years old and a pain in the backside.”
“Just like Jane,” quipped Jack, the middle child and Jacob’s only grandson.
“Now now, this is a long story so don’t interrupt or we won’t get to the presents.”
Jacob was pretty sure that would have the desired effect.
As I was saying we were reading comic books. Wooky tossed her a comic book and told
her to keep quiet so she did. We didn’t hear a peep out of her. I must have fallen
asleep because Marie woke me up tapping my foot. When I asked her what she wanted;
she glanced over at her brother, who was asleep. She then leaned in close to me and
held out her fist. For a brief moment, I thought she was going to pop me in the
nose. She opened her fist and showed me some coins, and asked if she had enough for
postage and handling. I asked her what she was talking about and she again glanced
at
her brother. Then she showed me an advertisement in one of the comic books.
Back then all the comics had ads for various silly things like joy buzzers, x-ray
glasses or magic kits. The items on those pages always seemed so cool. I wanted the
glowing ghost, but my father would have tanned my hide for wasting good money on
such a thing. Marie had found something she couldn’t resist. I asked her what she
wanted and she pointed to a small colorful ad for voodoo zombie plants. After
reading the ad I looked at Marie who had this huge grin on her face. I couldn’t
help but wonder what she wanted with some dumb plants. She must have read my mind
because she answered without me even asking.”
Cause they make little people who I can play with,” Marie said. “Then I won’t have
to play with you and Billy.”
William was Wooky’s real name, but his family called him Billy. His closest friends
called him Wooky and I don’t remember how that all got started. Anyway, I looked at
the ad again and noticed that you got seeds not a plant. The seeds were listed at
sixty cents and after counting the coins in Marie’s hand I saw she had sixty-three.
The problem was that the mail order company would only accept orders of a dollar or
more. She needed help if she was going to get the seeds.
It was pretty easy to convince Wooky to order something as well. He and I had our
eyes on a foot locker of Army men. After a few minutes of begging we talked his
older brother Todd into placing the order for us. Turns out Todd wanted the X-ray
specks. Todd was also able to convert all of our coins into dollar bills. Since he
worked at the local drug store, he could have the package delivered there and our
parents would never know.
Three dollars was quite a lot of money back then. Had either Wooky or I tried to
get three bills for all that change we would have been asked a bunch of questions
and our parents would have been informed. If we had money for junk, we had money
for school supplies.
The next few weeks were like a roller coaster ride filled with excitement and
disappointment. Every day we raced home from school to see if the package arrived.
I think that is something lost to your generation. With all the emails and instant
messages, you never get the excitement of receiving something the in mail.
Sometimes I think you kids are a little too connected.
The package took every bit of the six to eight weeks the ad claimed for delivery.
It arrived in May; I remember it pretty clearly because school had just let out for
the summer. The foot locker turned out to be cardboard that was nearly paper thin
and practically dissolved the first time it got wet. Still, Wooky and I played with
those Army men all summer long. The X-ray specks that Todd ordered turned out to be
a joke and he got nearly everyone with it. Instead of seeing your bones in your
hands, they put black circles around your eyes.
Poor Marie ended up a little disappointed; all she got was a tiny paper envelope
with four seeds. The little green seeds looked like dried up peas and had a funny
smell to them. I know she had this idea that she would have a playmate and the
seeds were a bit of a letdown.
Wooky was a good brother though, and while I was busy dividing up the Army men, he
helped Marie plant her seeds. I don’t remember exactly what they used for flower
pots, but I do remember that they put them on her window sill.
Her room was up in the attic and that probably helped her keep the flowers hidden
for most of the summer. I use the term flowers loosely. The plants grew to be an
ugly green splotchy mess. To me, they sort of looked fish like. As if someone had
just stuck a bass face first in a flower pot. Where the fins should have been there
were dusty, grey flowers. Only they were more like feathers than flowers. Instead
of petals the plants had filament like structures that stuck out from the side of
the plant. They looked wrong and out of place. Worst of all they smelled. By the
end of summer her room smelled like dirty feet, which is why Marie’s mother made
her get rid of them. Marie was pretty upset, so we replanted the stinky feet
flowers down by the creek just before school started back up.
Once school started the plants were pretty much forgotten, until one brisk
afternoon when Marie dragged us out to see them. It was mid-October and the flowers
had died, but in their place were four hard pods. They looked like rotten coconuts.
They were green with purple splotches. Marie asked if we could eat one. We made her
swear not to try. We got busy with school and didn’t pay any more attention to the
pods until the last day of school before Christmas break.
Marie’s class was having show and tell, so she decided to take in one of the pods.
Instead of rotting like a pumpkin after Halloween, the pods developed a husk and
were like giant seeds. They looked even more like a coconut. In fact, that’s what
Marie’s teacher said they were. Marie insisted that the pod came from a voodoo
zombie plant, but her teacher would have none of it. By the end of school that day,
the entire class had heard about it and wanted to see the pod.
Brock, the school bully, wanted to break open the pod and once he got his hands on
it, he started slamming it on the ground trying to break it open. Marie started
crying, so Wooky stepped in to try and get the pod back. This led to a game of keep
away. Brock and his buddies kept the pod just out of his reach. That’s when I
jumped in. I had been watching them toss it back and forth. I got down their
pattern and when they tossed it near me; I caught it and took off. They didn’t have
time to react. I had twenty yards on them before they even moved. I could hear some
of the other kids cheer as I escaped with the pod. Brock and his boys had no chance
of catching me.
I ran all the way to the woods without stopping and ended up by the creek with the
other three plants. I stopped to catch my breath. Wooky must have known where I
would go because a short time later he and Marie showed up. I handed the pod over
to Marie and she beamed. The grin that spread across her face seemed almost too big
to be real, like a cartoon. She jumped forward and hugged me so hard we both fell
to the ground. We started laughing. Then Brock and his toadies showed up. They had
followed our tracks through the snow.
Brock had an evil grin on his face that I knew meant trouble. He started talking
slowly in low tones and pacing back and forth. This was a sign that we were in for
a beating. Brock was older, bigger, and a lot meaner. He enjoyed intimidating his
victims sort of like a cat toying with its prey. We would not be able to run away
again. I would not have put it past Brock to even stoop so low as to rub Marie’s
face in the snow.
Without a word Wooky took the pod from Marie and told Brock he could have it if he
just left us alone. Brock laughed and said he would take the pod when he was ready,
but first he would teach us a lesson. Strangely, I was more scared of my own mother
at that point though. I knew Brock was going to pound me and I would probably end
up with two black eyes and a fat lip. I could live with that. Mom would kill me.
She was the one who started the tradition of the family getting together on
Christmas Eve and taking a family photo. To use your term, my mom was going to
freak. What could I do? We were cornered.
But when you corner something, you had better be prepared for the unexpected. Wooky
went a little crazy. He had been pushed too far and reached a point where he didn’t
care what happened to himself. Gripping the pod like a football, Wooky threw it at
Brock with all the strength he had. Time seemed to slow to a crawl and I saw
everything as if it were playing out in slow motion. I saw the pod leave his hand
in a perfect spiral -on target- to hit Brock in the face. I saw Brock turn his head
and his eyes widen as he realized what was happening. He had just enough time to
turn his head to avoid a direct impact. I had to close my eyes as the pod connected
with his face. There was a sickening crunch and the sound brought the flow of time
back to normal.
As I opened my eyes, I saw Brock down on the ground, his face resting on the pod.
Blood was streaming out of his nose, running over the pod and pooling in the snow.
He was either dead or knocked out. Everyone left standing was too stunned to move.
No one had ever stood up to Brock before; let alone taken him out. Brock’s toads
were shocked, but still moved first. One of them pointed at Wooky and screamed that
he was dead, while the other knelt down next to Brock and gently nudged him.
My first impulse was to run and I glanced over to Wooky. He seemed surprised by his
own actions and was unable to move. I started to take a step toward him when there
was a loud cracking sound. I turned to look and saw that the pod had split open and
steam was emanating from it. As the steam cleared we all watched in horror as
something reached out from within the pod. It was bright green, almost neon green
and sort of shapeless. Something was crawling out of the pod and was absorbing the
blood it came into contact with. You can imagine my amazement as I watched, what I
can only describe as a gingerbread man, made out of snot slowly crawl out of the
pod.
The ad from the comic book came back to me then. The reason Marie wanted to order
the seeds was for the little green friend pictured in the advertisement. I realized
then that the little girl in the picture was not skipping happily along squealing
with delight in play with the green gingerbread man, but was screaming in terror
and running from it. We were in serious trouble, out of the frying pan and into the
fire.
As the thing moved over Brock, his buddy who had been trying to revive him quickly
backed up. The gingerbread man thing oozed its way along to the back of Brock’s
neck and his body convulsed a few times. Then Brock sat up and his eyes opened, but
there was nothing in them. He looked like a zombie. It was like something out of a
horror movie and even though we didn’t know it, we were only at the beginning.
Marie was smart enough to know we should get out of there, quickly. She grabbed her
brother by the arm and told him she wanted to go home. That broke the spell he
seemed to be under and he started backing up. He looked at me and we all took off
running. We ran to the edge of the woods before stopping. Wooky wanted to know what
we were going to tell our parents. There was no way they were going to believe such
a crazy story. We decided to send Marie on home to keep safe while we crept back to
see what exactly was going on. Did I mention we weren’t real bright as kids?
As we walked back through the woods, we started to realize how foolish we were
being. Yet, we had to know what was happening to Brock and his friends. We didn’t
know if Brock was dead, alive, or something in between. Unfortunately, we didn’t
get any clear answers when we got back to the creek. Brock was sitting with his
back against a tree and each of his cronies was face down in the snow with one of
the gingerbread things on them. Their bodies were twitching here and there in ways
that did not make sense. It didn’t take a doctor to know that those boys were
really messed up. Between the blood stained snow and their strange actions, anyone
could tell something was very, very wrong. It was time to get the grown-ups
involved.
This time we ran all the way back to Wooky’s house without stopping. We burst
through the front door panting and started to look for his mom. The only person we
could find was Todd, who was talking to Marie. She was sobbing and we knew she had
told Todd everything. Todd was nineteen and had graduated from high school the year
before. He was the most adult person we knew who was not completely like the grown-
ups. He made us tell him what had happened and he listened intently. When we
finished, he asked us to show him. On the way back to the creek, Todd told us that
their parents had gone into town for dinner and shopping. That was good and bad.
Good that we would not have to get the grown-ups involved and bad because we would
have to fix everything ourselves. At least we had Todd.
The place was cleared when we got there. The snow had been displaced and shoved
around, but Brock and his toads were gone. There was also no trace of any blood. If
it wasn’t for the cracked pods, I think Todd would have thought we were just making
up a crazy story. There were three cracked pods now and Todd looked at them
closely. We tried to see if we could find tracks leading away, but the sun was
going down and it was getting hard to see much of anything. We didn’t have street
lights or anything out there and no one thought to bring a flashlight. Todd grabbed
one of the cracked pods and tossed it to Wooky. He then stooped to pick up the one
that had not opened yet. As soon as he touched it, a crack formed and the green goo
shot out onto his fingers. Todd reached into the crack and pulled the goo man fully
out of the pod. We got a good look at it. Wooky gasped and uttered the word
‘GingerBrains’. It had the same basic overall shape as a gingerbread man, but there
were no features. No eyes or ears or mouth. Still it could move. Like an inch worm,
it was pulling and pushing itself up Todd’s arm and towards his head. Todd was
trying to shake it off but with no luck. I stepped forward and tried to shove it,
but it was like trying to push gelatin. I remember it being very cool and slimy to
the touch, kind of like a snail.
The thing was quick and slid behind Todd’s neck and he started groaning. His face
clenched like he was in agony. Todd dropped to his knees with his hand reaching for
the back of his neck to try and pull the thing off. He screamed at us to run and
fell face first into the snow. Not knowing what else to do Wooky and I took off,
once again heading for his house.
Marie was watching for us at the window and opened the front door as we approached.
In a panic, Wooky slammed the door and started pacing around the room. While he
paced about, I explained to Marie what had happened to Todd. I saw the color drain
from her face. Holding back tears, she asked me if her brother was going to be
alright. All I could tell her was that I didn’t know.
I decided I would go to my parents for help. I took Wooky’s bicycle and it was full
dark as I pedaled away. It turned out to be a waste of time, since no one was home
at my house. Instead there was just a note telling me to go to Wooky’s house and my
parents would pick me up there later. They had gone into town to shop as well.
Looking for an adult, I continued on toward town. Riding past the school, a sudden
movement caught my eye. Based on the shape of the shadow, it looked like it might
be Brock. Trying to keep quiet, I followed him at a short distance. By the
direction Brock headed, I knew he was walking toward the football field. Leaving
the bike behind, I followed him near the middle of the stands. In its dim glow, I
could see that Brock’s friends were holding someone face down on the ground. Slowly
a part of the goo gingerbread man that was on the back of Brock’s neck stretched
out until it touched the person being held on the ground. The figure started to
struggle and I could hear muffled screams. For the first time, I was really scared.
When Brock was attacked I was just stunned and when Todd went down I was too
shocked to really understand what was going on. Seeing Brock purposely infect
someone else terrified me and brought everything home.
As quietly as I could, I made my way back to where I had left the bike and took off
pedaling as fast as I could. I didn’t get far because as I rode around a corner, I
nearly ran into old man Burns and wrecked the bike. I had to swerve to miss him and
instead of going right, I went left and rode straight into the side of the
building. Mr. Burns, our school janitor and grounds keeper jumped to his left and
fell in the snow. Old man Burns was a crotchety old man and the string of profanity
that came out of his mouth still burns my ears to this day. To add insult to
injury, the front tire of the bike was bent beyond repair. I would not be riding
that bike anymore tonight. While brushing the snow off of his clothes, old man
Burns asked me what I was doing around the school and acting like a lunatic. I
tried to tell him everything; about the seeds, the pods, and the little goo men
that came out of them. He didn’t listen. He thought I was just a stupid kid making
up crazy stories. Until I told him about Brock and the kid being held down under
the bleachers. Burns did not like anyone messing around his school after hours.
Any other time, I would have been worried, but this time I was hoping he would call
the sheriff. Without waiting, he stormed off toward the football field. Nothing was
there. I should have known. We searched around, but there was no sign that anyone
or anything had been under the bleachers. Old man Burns snorted at me in disgust
and told me to go home. Before I thought better of it, I told him I couldn’t go
home because the bike was busted. Burns tossed the bike in the back of his truck
and with me in the passenger seat, we headed toward my house. He wanted to know
what I thought my dad would say and I told him my parents were not home, that I was
supposed to be staying with Wooky. So he dropped me off there and didn’t even wait
long enough to see if Wooky’s parents were home.
Wooky did not care about his bike being busted. He was more disappointed that I had
come back empty handed. After I told him and Marie what had happened under the
bleachers, we decided that our best course of action would be to wait for Wooky’s
parents to come home and tell them everything. We had nearly every light on in the
house and eventually fell asleep. When we woke the next morning we quickly
discovered that no one had come home. Wooky’s parents were missing.
I thought about my parents and told Wooky I had to go home and see if they were
there. I grabbed my coat and headed out the door. Wooky and Marie came with me.
They did not want to stay in their house alone and I was grateful for the company.
My house was further out of town than Wooky and Marie’s. Even though I was anxious
to find out if my parents were home, we walked slowly and in silence. I think we
all knew that no one would be there. I’m not ashamed to admit that I started to
tear up as I searched the empty house. I think both Wooky and I would have lost it
if it had not been for Marie. She was hungry and wanted something to eat. So we
made breakfast and it gave us something to do and something else to concentrate on.
Saying we made breakfast is a bit too simple. What we really made was a mess. We
had just about every pot and pan out and ingredients scattered all about the place.
Our first attempt was supposed to be oatmeal, but what we ended up with was a
tasteless mess that the dogs would not even touch. Our second attempt was scrambled
eggs and they were for the most part edible. Wooky had the good idea to add a
little salt which gave the eggs a little flavor. Of course we didn’t have neat
little salt shakers back then, but a big can of salt which we did manage to spill
all over the kitchen counter. Had my parents been home to see the mess we made, I
think my mom would have had a stroke.
After our bellies were full we all took a nap. A full belly will do that. When we
woke up it was mid-afternoon. To keep from getting worried about our missing
parents, we started walking back to Wooky’s house. We had a glimmer of hope as we
got near the other house when we saw a figure standing out in the yard.
As we got closer we could see that it was Todd, but he was acting funny. Wooky
called out to him, but instead of turning toward the voice Todd just froze in
place. It was as if he did not know what to do. He stretched out his arms and
started turning in a slow circle. When he was aimed toward us, Wooky waved and
called his name again. Todd started walking in our direction. His first few steps
were awkward, like a baby taking its first steps. We stood there, watching as Todd
shambled on. His walking was getting better and while it was still a little shaky,
he was covering the gap between us quickly.
We ran back to my house and hid in the living room behind the couch. Just as we
were catching our breath, we heard Todd pounding on the front door. In our haste we
had forgotten to lock it. We didn’t get it shut all the way either because Todd
pounded the door open. Instead of staying ducked behind the couch, we stood up and
screamed. I guess we wanted to make sure he knew where we were.
Todd’s eyes were all white with no visible pupil and his face had taken on a
greenish hue. He opened his mouth and hissed at us, which sent us running through
the house and into the kitchen. I ducked in the broom closet, while Wooky and Marie
went to the far side of the kitchen table next to the sink. The door to the broom
closet had louvers that I was able to see out of. I watched as Todd moved into the
kitchen and after Wooky and Marie. Wooky was trying to talk to Todd, asking him to
stop because he was scaring Marie, but Todd would not stop. When he passed in front
of where I was hidden, I saw the gingerbrain attached to the back of his neck. It
was pulsating. I knew then that it was the goo gingerbrain men that were
controlling Todd and Brock and the others, turning them into zombies. Maybe not the
brain eating zombies that are in the movies today, but something more along the
lines of voodoo zombies. When one of those things became attached to someone that
person lost control and no longer had any will power of their own. I didn’t know
what they wanted with us, but I knew it couldn’t be good.
Wooky was smart, he was keeping as much of the table as possible between him and
his brother. He was also being very protective of his sister. As the zombie Todd
moved around toward them, they kept moving to keep away. After about their third
trip around the table, I saw Marie whisper something to Wooky. On the next pass
around Marie ducked under the table just as Wooky’s back was to the sink. The
zombie Todd froze.
While it stood there, I noticed Wooky slowly reaching behind his back and taking a
tight grip on the frying pan in the sink. He was going to brain his brother and
hopefully that would give us enough time to escape. After a few minutes of swaying
back and forth, the goo gingerbrain pulsing on his neck, zombie Todd moved again.
This time Wooky did not retreat, he was holding his ground. As the zombie passed
her, Marie stuck her leg out and tripped it. Zombie Todd went down hard, he didn’t
even try to break his fall. Wooky didn’t hesitate. As soon as his brother hit the
ground Wooky whacked him hard in the back of the head. A tinny sounding twang
reverberated throughout the kitchen and I could see the frying pan vibrating in his
hand. Wooky really nailed his brother. It should have knocked him out. Zombie Todd
was immobile but only for a moment. All I could do was stare. Suddenly, Todd
reached out and grabbed Wooky by the ankles, jerking him to the ground. I knew what
would happen next, I had watched it under the bleachers.
Todd climbed up over Wooky and opened his mouth. Marie was busy kicking zombie Todd
in the side, but he didn’t seem to notice. Bursting out of the closet, I reached
for the first thing my hands could find. What they found was the mound of spilled
salt from earlier in the day. Yelling at Todd to leave Wooky alone, I flung the
salt at him. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but then again I wasn’t much of a fighter
and I really didn’t want to hurt Todd, I just wanted him to stop being a zombie.
The salt hit Todd in the back of his head and neck. Some of it hit the goo thing on
his neck and he stopped. The gingerbrain started to pop and sizzle where the salt
struck it. Quickly I reached for two more handfuls and aimed them right at the goo.
Todd was motionless, but the thing on the back of his neck was being eaten away by
the salt. In less than a minute a quivering chunk fell off his neck and hit the
floor. There it kept sizzling and popping like bacon in a frying pan, until there
was nothing left except a small greasy spot. Todd slumped to the floor unconscious.
We revived him a short time later by splashing water on his face. He was
disoriented and confused. He had no memory of anything after going to the woods
with us the day before. We had a hard time convincing him of everything that had
happened.
Now we had to rescue the rest of the town. We gathered up all the salt we could
from houses along the way. We took their family truck and Wooky and I sat in the
bed while Marie rode up front with Todd, who drove. We found out that it didn’t
take much salt to kill the gingerbrains. All you had to do was get a little on them
and they started to die. The more you got on them the faster they shriveled up and
fell off. So we slowly drove toward town pelting every person we saw with salt. It
was actually pretty fun. We also found out that if you used sidewalk salt, the kind
you throw outside in winter to keep sidewalks clear, it worked even better. Just
one or two of those crystals was enough to take down a goo zombie. Every building
in town had salt sitting outside just by the front door and before long the bed of
the truck was just layered in it. Any salt that contacted a goo zombie basically
ate the goo away and the person fell to the ground asleep.
Shortly after midnight, we were exhausted but thought we had cured just about
everyone. Most of them were still sleeping and the ones that weren’t were still
very confused. Early that Christmas Eve morning we were driving home when we saw
Brock. He was the first person turned into a gingerbrain and by far the strongest.
Luckily for us, he wasn’t any smarter being controlled by the goo. I think we may
have even used a bit more salt than we really needed to. Wooky, Marie, and Todd all
went with me to my house and we quickly cleaned up the kitchen. Working together we
were able to get my house straightened up and back to Wooky’s place before any of
our parents arrived.
No one seemed to remember what happened or understand why they woke up in a strange
place and a full day later than the last memory they had. We never told a soul what
really had happened. Since everyone was so confused, no one asked any questions.
They were all too afraid. After a while it was all pretty much forgotten. And that
kids is how the goo zombies almost stole Christmas. “
“Now who wants a gingerbread cookie?” Jacob asked, and the grandchildren laughed.
Undead to the World
By Angie Mansfield
Go get an axe, the zombie horde has come!
They're losing all their parts;
Let every child
Chop off a leg and smile
And severed ears for all
And severed ears for all
And severed, and severed, and severed ears for all.
Lock Johnny up; he received a bite
Though he fought with all his might.
They chewed on his arm
When he sounded the alarm
Now he's craving lots of brains
Now he's craving lots of brains
Now he's craving, he's craving, he's craving lots of brains
Take Santa down; he's looking rather gray
And his hand popped off in the melee.
He's hiding Grandpa's leer
Behind his scraggly beard

And he ate Grandma's ear
And he ate Grandma's ear
And he ate, and he ate, and he ate Grandma's ear.
Oh Tanenbrain, Oh Tanenbrain
By Rusty Fischer
The zombies were ready for the first reindeer hoof
As it padded and pawed on the house’s pitched roof.
They grumbled and groused and gurgled and drooled;
They’d waited so long they wouldn’t be fooled!
They weren’t mad at Santa, not hardly, no way.
In fact he’d be President, if the zombies had their way.
No, the zombies were hungry for stuff other than brains;
They wanted to play with stuffed dolls and toy trains!
Though their hearts were quite empty And their souls long past dead;
They still got excited for the green and the red!
Their lives were so boring their mealtimes mundane.
They looked forward to playtime after another serving of… brain.
It got boring gnawing on the neighbor’s fat head;
When they’d rather be playing with Big Wheels instead!
They’d hatched their plan while watching the Grinch!
“We’ll capture Santa,” one burped. “It’ll be a cinch!”
And now the fireplace rumbled as soot fell to the floor
And boots did appear where there were none before!
The zombies were hiding behind the Christmas tree
Their rotted teeth smiling green faces covered in glee.
When the fat man stepped out the zombies did roar.
Oh, what a playtime they all had in store!
But Santa grew frightened as mortals they will
And ran to throw open the nearest windowsill.
The zombies they trampled the zombies they ran
And quickly surrounded the jolly fat man.

They did try to reason with good Old St. Nick.
But nothing they grunted did quite do the trick.
The window it opened and before he could run
The zombies dragged Santa back for more fun.
He tasted quite fleshy that jolly old man;
The zombies just quite couldn’t stick to their plan.
It wasn’t that Santa they wanted to frag;
It was really quite simple: they wanted his bag!
And now they sit scattered all over the floor
The toys and the dolls and oh so much more.
For it’s Christmas morning and the zombies all smile
As they play with their toys in the best zombie style.
And no zombie is smiling more than Santa himself
Who is having a ball as a living dead elf!
The Worst Noel

By J Gilliam Martin
On the eve before Christmas it's typical to see,
Carolers sing to spread holiday glee.
However, this year as we lay in our beds,
We woke to the sound of caroling undead.
They patrolled the neighborhood door to door,
Not singing, like those that had caroled before.
But moaning and groaning their seasonal joy,
While we board up and wait for the army’s deploy.
“They seem harmless enough”, my Daddy did say,
"But still they are zombies, so ‘tis better to stay.
Inside by the fire, warm and unharmed,
No going outside, especially unarmed."
Yet when they came to our house and sang out in front,
My brother insisted on starting a hunt.

“We must rid our neighborhood of these carolers from Hell.
They’re monsters! Flesh eaters, who don't sing very well!”
With bats and machetes they fought the undead,
Smashing and severing each of their heads.
Bodies fell everywhere, blood poured like rain.
We lost Uncle Alex, they chewed on his brain.
Suddenly a sleigh pulled by reindeer did land,
And out stepped Ol’ Santa, shaking his hand.
Cursing and pointing, and taking my gun,
He seemed really angry with everyone.
"Why must you slaughter these zombies I sent?
Do you not understand the time that I spent?
Raising the dead to sing carols for you,
To cut back my budget and keep Christmas true?”

"But now you have murdered every last one,
Except for the two or three on the run.
Because you have thought only of yourselves,
I now have to hire back all of the elves.”
The Night of the Living Dead…
Before Christmas
By The Zombieking
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house;
Three people surviving, Me, Bill and Mary, his spouse.
The owner hung himself from the chandelier with care,
Not realizing that when he rose he’d still be stuck there.
The children long gone when their mother took leave,
They left with the army two weeks ago this eve.
The three of us huddled in the attic with supplies,
We’ve been here just days, 6 months since the Dead did rise.
We’ve avoided most trouble since they travel in packs,
But there used to be six of us, we lost three in attacks.
We were set to move on, but in rolled a fog.
So we stayed till it passed, instead of walking through smog.

Out on the porch there arose such a clatter,
I peeked out the crawlspace to see what was the matter.
Out of the mist, in walked such a thing,
Leather jacket and a crown like some kind of ‘Zombieking.’
It brought three more in the house like a twisted, sick shepherd
Seeking something to eat, hunting more like a leopard.
Not listless or clumsy like its counterparts,
It hunted for us like it was some kind of art.
It shambled, and moved toward the stairs where we were,
And started to climb like it KNEW we were here.
It passed close to the legs of the owner, who hung,
And pulled the thing down, and his group grew by one.
Now five of them climbed all seeking a meal,
I knew we had to run if we were to survive this ordeal.
The king led them on at a slow steady pace,
Climbing up toward the landing, near our hiding place.
I looked once at Bill, who now understood,
We were going right now while the getting was good.
I burst out of the crawlspace in a full run,
Toward the far bedroom where I had hidden a gun.

I thought Bill, and Mary were all ready to go,
It turns out the king was faster, and they were too slow.
I looked out of the bedroom at the macabre Xmas feast,
I eveled my handgun at the king of these beasts.
The shot rang out and careened off the crown,
The thing turned about and shot me a frown.
The other four tore apart, Bill and Mary,
But the king rose up, and damn, was he scary.
The crown now askew, with a beard of blood and gore,
That was once my friend Bill, only moments before.
He regarded me once, with malice and hate,
Then turned back to eat some of Bill’s former soul mate.
I took it as a sign to just run away,
A sick Christmas gift, to live another day.
Out the window I went to the ladder we placed,
Into the fog I went towards the river I raced.
I found a small boat, now I row toward the sea,
Hoping to find some part of humanity.
I heard on the radio that there were some ships,
But no one expects a ‘Zompocalypse.’

I only hope that I never see ‘him’ again,
Cause I know if I do, he will just eat my brain.
Christmas has changed, there are no carols to sing,
There’s no Santa Claus…just the Zombieking.
“Scary Christmas to all, and to all a good FRIGHT!” –
*Vincent Price laugh…*
We Wish you Reanimation &
O Rotting Corpse
By Stacey Graham
We wish you reanimation,
And a happy new meal.
Good tidings we bring while you chase down your kin.
Good tidings for Christmas and a happy new meal.
Oh, bring us some brainy pudding,
Oh, bring us some brainy pudding,
Oh, bring us some brainy pudding and a cup of some ears.

We won’t go until we get some,
We won’t go until we get some,
We won’t go until we get some, so bring them right here.
And a happy new meal.
O Rotting Corpse, O Rotting Corpse,
Why are your limbs so tasty?
Not only in the evening light,
But all the day and through the night.
Much pleasure doth thou bring me!
Much pleasure doth thou bring me!
Jingle Bells, Something Smells
By Beth Bartlett
In the front room, a Christmas tree twinkles with a hundred tiny lights,
Piles of gifts below, and outside there’s snow.
Our hearts are warm in the toaster oven on this perfect holiday night.
The presents are wrapped but the edges are damp with ooze,
It’s red and green, a groovy festive scene,
But shaking the boxes makes them drip on your shoes.
Brains are floating in the eggnog because carolers stopped ‘round,
Dad may be dead but he bit ‘em in the head.
That screaming version of ‘Silent Night’ was the best, hands down.
Christmas can be tough for others especially when they need food,
We gave cans to the drive so the needy could survive,
But none wanted pork brains with gravy; they gave it back, how rude!
I picked out my favorite stocking and hung it on the mantle with care,
But there was a foot still in, to my chagrin.
At least I don’t have to ask Santa for a new one while I hop everywhere.
I know we’re not the normal family and I hope Santa will understand,
I wrote him myself and told that big red elf,
Zombies don’t eat magical toymakers so he can come as planned.

It might have been a little white lie because I remember last year,
The mall Santa took off his hat and, well, that was that,
Because Mom just couldn’t wait for pizza with fresh brains so near.
This year I’ve made my folks promise that the big guy they’d spare,
They’re all aglow, drooling under the mistletoe.
With eyes for only each other, kept in a large paper bag to share.
It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m celebrating with all my family and friends,
Singing ‘Jingle Bells,’ but something smells.
Happy Holidays to all, I’m having a ball and I’m eating it upwind!
Zombies Having a
Wonderful Christmas Time
It’s Christmas Eve, the dead are up.
They’re coming to, my house tonight.
Zombies having a wonderful Christmas time.
The Party’s here. The dead just knocked.

They’re coming in, to eat our brains.
Hoards of zombies sing their song,
Groan, moan, groan, moan, groan, moan, groan.
They’re Zombies having a wonderful Christmas time.
Hoards of zombies sing their song.
They’ve rotted all year long.
Groan, moan, groan, moan, groan, moan, groan.
The dead are in, my house tonight,
They don’t want us, but want to party.
The night is up, and Santa’s here.
The dead have waited, an entire year.
Zombies eating Santa’s Christmas brain.

Zombies eating Santa’s Christmas brain.
Meet
The Contributors
Artist Bios
David Naughton-Shires – (Cover art designer, art on page 43,109)
David Naughton-Shires lives in County Clare, Ireland with his wife and three
fantastic kids with a background in security he works full time as a security
officer but has the dream to make his art a full time job. He trained at Exeter
where he attained ‘A’ level in graphic design and communication studies as well as
media studies. He has a great interest in all forms of art both visual and audio.
You can buy his first fully illustrated book ‘Grunge Bob Camo Pants: Zombie Hunter’
really soon (check out the website at http://grungebobcamopants.com) and can see
samples of his work and contact him via his web site http://theimagedesigns.com or
his facebook pages http://facebook.com/david.naughtonshires
http://facebook.com/theimagedesigns
Jason Tudor – (Recreation of the “Undead in the Head” logo, Dedication page clip
arts and art on page 33, 42, 96, 133, 160, 181)
Jason Tudor is a writer and illustrator from San Diego. Rather than talk about
himself, he wanted to say what a privilege it was to create artwork and a story for
the foster kids at Hugs Foster Family Agency. Foster kids deserve every opportunity
to succeed. Please give time and money generously. After you’ve done that, please
visit Jason’s web site at
http://www.jasontudor.com
Jessica Geis – (art on page 17, 215, 227)
"i r awsom desiner sense 1986." I am a graphic designer who lives and works outside
of Minneapolis, Minnesota. I believe in creating original and innovative modern
design. I have a background of a Multimedia major and art. I've been drawing and
painting since I can remember. Outside of designing I love my video games. I'm also
a big movie nut. Where do zombies come into it? I love horror movies. I love
Halloween. Random Facts: I have an obnoxious laugh that carries...I do not enjoy
it. I am terrible at telling stories. TERRIBLE. I'm even worse at explaining
things. Jones Soda is the greatest beverage EVER.
Justin Coons – (art on page 55)
Justin Coons is a freelance fine artist/illustrator and horror enthusiast based out
of the Philadelphia, PA area. He specializes in ink and oil paints among many other
2-D mediums. Making the grotesque and macabre beautiful are continuous themes
throughout his work.
Byron Rempel – (art on page 169, 219)
Byron Rempel is hiding in rural Canada, preparing for the zombie apocalypse. He has
been creating comic book and fantasy artwork for the last 20 years, including a 7
year stint as a web graphic designer. As of the last 3 years Byron has been
exploring his dark side, unleashing a horde of zombies on an unexpecting population
in the form of zombifications (zombie portraits) zombie comic books, book covers
and paintings. You can find his artwork or hire him to create your own custom
zombie at
www.idrawzombies.com
April Guadiana – (art on page 201)
April Guadiana creates drawings that are influenced by film noir and the work of
artist Tim Bradstreet. She started drawing at a young age and has been a self
taught artist ever since. Graduated from University of North Texas with a degree in
Graphic Design, her art can be seen in the Indie movie project Night of the Living
Dead: Reanimated. April now is looking to work more with illustrations for various
project with hopes in becoming a recognized comic book artist.
Scott Cole – (art on page 191)
Scott Cole is an artist, graphic designer, and writer, all at the same time. His
words have appeared in anthologies like Bloody Carnival and Zombonauts, while his
images have been showcased in magazines and art galleries, as well as on CD covers,
and that show flyer you picked up at the coffee shop. He lives in Philadelphia,
listens to strange music, and loves cold weather. His website is 13visions.com.
S.S. Michaels - (How the Undead Saved Christmas art page 10)
S.S. Michaels has a BS in Business Administration and a MA in Media & Visual Arts.
She has worked for such entities as Scott Free (Ridley Scott), dick clark
productions, inc. (The American Music Awards, The Golden Globe Awards, Arista
Records 25th Anniversary Celebration, etc.), and CBS. She has lived abroad,
traveled widely, driven a racecar, and jumped out of an airplane. She has completed
two novels and has others in the works. A handful of her short stories have
appeared in various publications. S.S. writes from her home in the South, where she
lives with her husband, two kids, two dogs, and a swarm of inhospitable sand gnats.
Topetine – (art on page 143)
Topetine is an amateur artist who donated her services for a good cause. She can be
found on twitter at twitter.com/topetine
Robert Elrod - (art on page 79)
Robert Elrod is the creator of "Tickling A Dead Man: Stories About George" and
illustrates Monster Portraits as well as book and comic book covers. He's created
book covers and pinups for May December Publications, Sonar4 Publications,
Triskaideka Books, Pill Hill Press, Wicked East Press, Undead in the Head,
Creator's Edge Press, Bluewater Comics, and Angry Dog Press. You can see more of
his work
at www.monsterportraits.com and www.robertelrodllc.com.
Nick Hallard – (art on page 161)
N.J. Hallard is the author and illustrator of 'Breaking News: an Autozombiography'.
He lives in a cabin inside a fortified compound on the south coast of England. He

owns two zombie-killer hounds, is an expert longbowman and has destroyed over
fifteen-hundred zombies since the initial outbreak.
Jess Smart Smiley – (art on page 19)
When Jess Smart Smiley isn't busy digging himself out of his own grave or lurching
around the living, he enjoys doodling, drawing, scribbling and scrawling. He is the
author/illustrator of A Map in the Dirt and Upside Down (Top Shelf Productions,
2011). Jess lives with his wife and children in the majestic mountains of Utah.
Lindsay Babroski – (art on page 97)
Lindsay Babroski was born and raised in rural Texas just south of Dallas, where she
and her husband live with their three daughters. A classically trained artist, she
is now focused on digital graphic design and is the proud owner/operator of Mouse
Tamer Designz. Check out her design portfolio on the Mouse Tamer Designz Facebook
page or at her (work in progress) website www.mousetamerdesignz.com
Chris Williams – (art on page 121)
Chris Williams; co- author of Dead Meat (www.DeadMeatNovel.com) and artist. Top
five favorite horror movies in no particular order; Near Dark, Aliens, 28 days
later, Jaws and Funny Games (original).
Poems and Carols Author Bios
Beth Bartlett is a freelance writer and self-proclaimed psychic humorist, because

she sees funny when no one else does. When she’s not penning poetry about zombies,
she’s posting snarky horoscopes and 2012 shopping lists at www.wisecrackzodiac.com.
Her freelance work has appeared in numerous magazines, websites and newspapers,
including Writer’s Digest, Mental Floss, Meetings South and American Profile.
Rusty Fischer is a full-time freelance writer and part-time zombie author! His
first zombie novel for young adults, Zombies Don’t Cry, is due out in Spring of
2011 from Medallion Press. Rusty also writes a blog for would-be authors; check it
out at www.requestedmaterial.blogspot.com.
Angie Mansfield, confirmed insane by friends and family, is on a mission to live in

a tent for six months, hitting all of the lower 48 states. She is undertaking this
journey with her dog, her jade plant named Fred, and her twelve-pack soda box
collection, which she hopes to someday fashion into a hang glider. Because hang
gliding is, like, totally cool. Currently, she is working on her escape plan for
the coming zombie plague and setting booby traps for Santa, whom she has never
fully trusted since the Tragic Barbie Incident of '79.
Kevin Preece (aka- ‘the Zombieking’) is not a conventional writer per se…
He spent most of his life as a performing musician, writing songs. With his band he
saw a measure of success in the early 90’s with a video in rotation and touring in
Canada. It was during this time the creative spark to write began to grow expanding
into doing whole concept albums, then short stories, and screenplays. After his
music career waned, he began to shoot short films and do scores for others doing
the same.
He currently writes as ‘the Zombieking’ over on www.Zombieinfo.com
J Gilliam Martin is yet another horror author from Maine. His first book will be
released late 2010 from Severed Press, titled Hippies vs. Zombies. He often writes
little poems such as the one found in this book, usually with a sick-twist of
humor, and they are frequently posted on his website at
www.jgilliammartin.com
Comic Author Bios
Mike Schneider (Neoflux Productions) is an anti-artist who drags the traditions of

the incoherent, dada and fluxus movements into the horror genre. With video
projects such as 'Night of the Living Dead: Reanimated' and 'Unseen Horror', in
addition to a constant stream of short horror comics and charity works, Schneider
approaches every project as a chance to explore horror's rich mythologies while
working with collaborators from around the world. If you are an artist who would
like to work with Mike Schneider, email neofluxproductions@gmail.com
Lyndal Ferguson , of Beckley , WV , is an artist and a writer . He does CD covers ,

t-shirt designs , show posters and has had art and stories internationally
published in numerous magazines , including ROCK-N-ROLL COMICS , GIRLS AND CORPSES
MAGAZINE , HEAVY METAL , OUI , RIP , MR. MONSTER , MONSTER INTERNATIONAL , BLACK
CAT 13 and his own comic , DR. BANG . He can be reached at
lyndalferguson@hotmail.com
Nate Call is a 25 year old guy living in Orem Utah with his gorgeous and talented
wife Camie. He is currently going to Utah Valley University majoring in Visual Art
and Communication with an emphasis in Illustration. When he's not drawing comics
about zombies, he's killing them. In real life. Fueled by his passion for drawing
and his hatred for Nazis, Nate looks forward to illustrating his way into the
hearts of people everywhere.
Brian Germain is a multi-talented multimedia artist. He has working in tons of

different mediums and styles. After having some amount of success with fantasy art
and winning a few awards, Brian decided to turn his efforts towards comics. An avid
collector inspired by the small collection his Grandmother had saved for him, Brian
founded Dark Elf Designs a talent network and small press publishing company. Brian
has worked for Arrow Comics, Twisted Gate Ent., Core Studios, Hammer Creations and
countless others. Brian's love of art and comics alike make him a great person to
have in your company/network.
About the Anthologist
Lyle Perez-Tinics is the writer and creator of www.UndeadintheHead.com a website

dedicated to zombie books and the authors. He wrote his first short story, Dement,
in April of 2010, and from there he has written one story after another. Dement was
accepted for The Undead Nation Anthology, which is another charity project to help
raise money for breast cancer research. Lyle is a true zombie fan and will never
forget the first time he watch Dawn of the Dead with his dad. But it wasn’t until
the Resident Evil games that Lyle became the zombie fan he is today. He enjoys
writing about the undead and his goal is to one day raise enough money from his
writing to open a horror themed bookstore. Until then, you can expect a lot more
great work and charity projects from this 25-year-old writer. As of now, he has
many fresh ideas in his head along with The Undead That Saved Christmas Vol.2 and
The Undead That Saved Christmas Vampire Edition. Lyle is a big supporter of foster
homes and has always wanted to do something like this to help raise money for them.
He put in countless hours into this anthology to make it the best and most original
anthology anyone has ever seen. He loves hearing from his fans. You can email him,
Contact@UndeadintheHead.com or follow him on Twitter
www.Twitter.com/LylePerez
More From The
World
Of
The Undead
Kings of the Dead
A zombie apocalypse journal from first time writer Tony Faville. Writing from a
view point of not only knowing what a zombie is but how to deal with them, Tony has
written a novel for true zombie fans. Recipient of 4 out of 5 Undead Heads at
http://www.undeadinthehead.com
Available at your local book seller and most online book retailers, and in multiple
e-reader formats including the Amazon Kindle, Barnes and Noble Nook and the Apple
iPad.
Signed copies are available directly from the writer at http://www.tonyfaville.com
Coming soon from Lyle Perez-Tinics
For years, the vampire elves and vampire snowmen that walk the outskirts of the
North Pole waited. A three days before Christmas they attacked the North Pole full
force. The beasts manage to kidnap Santa and it’s up to Laidenn, the dark elf, to
get him back. But he is not alone. Laidenn calls upon the army of Living Dead Elves
to help bring back Santa and save Christmas. Laidenn The Dark Elf is a kid friendly
novella that will thrill children and bring out the Christmas kid in adults.
Available, November 2010.

The Undead That Saved Christmas - Lyle Perez-Tinics

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The Undead That Saved Christmas - Lyle Perez-Tinics

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Praise for

- Bill Nelson (WeZombie.com)

by highly talented writers and creators, many of whom are up and

- Stuart Conover (BuyZombie.com)

The Undead That Saved Christmas

Edited and compiled by

The Undead That Saved Christmas

Copyright © by Lyle Perez-Tinics

All rights reserved.

Cover art by David Naughton-Shires

ISBN 10: 1-453832-66-1

ISBN 13: 978-1-453832-66-0

This book is dedicated to all the foster kids at

Hugs Foster Family Agency

How the Undead Saved Christmas

Night of the Frozen Elf

Merry Christmas, Sarah!

The Magic of Christmas

Yes, Rindy, There is a Santa Claus

Living Dead Babes in Toyland

By Tony and Heather Faville

Santa Claws is Coming to Town

Brains Like Figgy Pudding

The Santa Epidemic

The Legend of Zombie Claus

And to All a Good Fright

Poems and Carols

Undead to the World

The Worst Noel

The Night of the Living Dead…Before Christmas

By Kevin Preece ‘The Zombieking’

We Wish you Reanimation & O Rotting Corpse

Zombies Having a Wonderful Christmas Time

Ted Dead, Just Your Everyday Zombie…

Illustrated by Calvin A. L. Miller II

Christmas For Creeps

Illustrated by Lyndal Ferguson

A Puppy For Christmas

Illustrated by Brian Germain

Snow Day of the Dead

Illustrated by Anders Skoglund

A Very Undead Christmas

Illustrated by Nate Call

How the Undead Saved Christmas

In December of 2009 I was, again, at my desk at work when an e-mail caught my

By S.G. Browne, author of Breathers: A Zombie’s Lament

All the zombies were munching on some guy named Paul…

Zombies and Christmas.

Salt and pepper. Peas and carrots. Mulder and Scully.

Purple and yellow. Orange and blue. Red and green.

Which brings us back to Christmas.

I watch a lot of Christmas movies.

It’s a Wonderful Life…with Zombies.

Zombies as the consumer culture devouring the spiritual message of Christmas.

Cellular growth. Decomposition.

You say potato…

With apologies to Clement C. Moore:

And I heard him exclaim, as he flew away on his sled,

“Happy Christmas to all, be you alive or undead.”

Story Art Cover

By Jess Smart Smiley

Richard S. Crawford lives in an appropriately ancient and draft house in

Night of the Frozen Elf