The Undead That Saved Christmas Vol. 2 (10 page)

Harry dashed out the back door to the shed, and hurried back with various lengths of timber under his arm. He locked and bolted the door behind him and started to hammer some boards over it for extra support. Then he proceeded to do the same with all the doors and windows on the ground floor.

The slightest exertion brought him out in a sweat, yet he shivered with the cold; even in the sitting room where the fire crackled and blazed with Christmas cheer, completely unaware of the pandemonium outside its chimney. He felt sick and his nose was a constant source of pain. The damn cat had probably given him tetanus.

And the
thirst!
Nothing could slake it. His throat was on fire. But he could keep it together; he had to. It was just for one more day, then he could be as sick as he liked.

On the lawn across the road, he saw the mangled mess of Poor Elizabeth Gordon twitch and move and pull itself to its feet. A flap of skin was hanging from her face, a deep hollow between her shoulder and her neck. She stood, disorientated for a moment, then staggered off to join the rounds.

Harry drew the curtains to hide the makeshift buttressing, and what was going on between its gaps, from Tiny Mikey. Then he scooted as close to the fire as he could while still holding his sons hand. They decided to let him open another present, but he couldn't lift his arms. Catherine opened it for him and tried to show him, but he wasn't able to keep his eyes open for long enough.

“I have to check on the ham,” she said suddenly. “Harry, come help me.”

He followed her to the kitchen. When she turned to him there were tears staining her cheeks.

“I don't think he's going to make it until tomorrow,” she said in a choked whisper.

A sudden palpitation made Harry's eyesight waver. Fear slid like ice cream through his veins, numbing his brain and making him incapable of clear thought. He had known it was coming, had thought he was prepared. But it had always been after Christmas that it would happen, and now suddenly they were in their last hours?

Mikey called out from the sitting room and Catherine hurried in to him, leaving Harry in the kitchen trying to make sense of things, to adjust. But he couldn't think; it was like his brain was only operating at half capacity. All sorts of bizarre and unconnected images flittered across his mind-sight. It showed him again, that ghastly scene he and Catherine had witnessed with Poor Elizabeth Gordon. What was odd though, was that instead of feeling horrified, he felt... hungry.

Through the glass door of the oven he could see the roast ham, all pink and raw. The fat blistered and a little bubble rose on top and popped. Harry licked his lips. It was as if it called to him, drawing him like a magnet. He drifted over to the oven and opened the door. He had never felt such an intense desire in all his life. He wanted the ham, now; cooked or uncooked, he didn't care.

He grabbed the dish and took it from the oven. He could hear the skin of his hands sizzle, but oddly he couldn't feel it. He was completely focused on the meat. He lifted it out of the dish and stared at it. It jiggled in his hands. His mouth watered. He wanted it so bad.

The lust was too much for him. He buried his face in the pink juiciness. It felt heavenly against his burning throat. And the taste! Whether it was Catherine's cooking or the fact that it was almost raw, he didn't know, and he didn't care; he wanted more.

He gorged himself until there was nothing but crumbs left between his fingers. He licked them out and whipped around, his eyes roaming the countertops looking for something else. Already his throat was starting to burn again.

On the draining board sat the turkey, waiting to be stuffed. Little rivers of fresh blood leaked from it. A gurgle of lust erupted from his throat. Drool collected at the corners of his lips and rolled down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand as he staggered over to the sink. The turkey was so enticing, so raw.

He lowered his head and bit into it. The skin was chewy and it pulled away with a snap. The raw meat squeaked against his teeth. He twisted the leg off and one of the veins split, letting loose a trickle of blood. He moaned in ecstasy and drank it down, then sucked on the vein like it was a straw in the nectar of life.

“Harry!” Catherine shouted from the sitting room.

He staggered in. Everything seemed so surreal, like he was looking through eyes that had seen one too many glasses of wine. Catherine was looking down at Tiny Mikey, holding his limp hand and sobbing.

His little boy's chest rose and fell with each agonized breath he took.

“He's slipping,” she choked. “He's not going to make it.”

She looked up at Harry and her eyes pleaded with him - 'Fix it Harry,' they said.

Harry looked around the room in desperation; as if the tree with its lights could jump start his son, as if the presents in their multicolored wrappings could revive him. He could not find a solution.

Something was happening in his brain. It was slowing; the last synapses firing off like gunshots. His throat was drying up again and he thought of the turkey he has just left, of the ham he had devoured. He remembered the image that had instigated his binge.

Poor Elizabeth Gordon had stood up and walked again.

Harry turned to Tiny Mikey. The lust hit him again, and a string of saliva dangled from his lip.

“Harry?” Catherine asked, her eyes were wary and she was trying to back away from him, but she refused to let go of Mikey's hand. “Harry, what's wrong?”

Harry ignored her and walked over to their son. His bare arm lay over his blanket, the flesh not as plump as it used to be, but it was flesh nonetheless.

He put the little forearm between his teeth and bit down. Catherine screamed. Tiny Mikey moaned. Harry kept on chewing. They would damn well have Christmas.

By some inhuman – or perhaps human – restraint, Harry managed to pull away while there was still some meat left on his son's bones. He stood and watched him, his limbs twitching to get back to the feast, but somehow he managed to abstain.

Catherine was screaming and cowering in the corner. Harry had done his job well; there were no exits left.

On the sofa Tiny Mikey started to stir, and Harry knew it would be okay. His little body was reanimating, coming back to life in death. His rebirth had been quick, probably because he had been so close to death in the first place.

Harry turned to his wife. What a fine piece of meat she was. Her thighs jiggled as she shook in terror; such quivering, juicy hams.

Oh yes, they would damn well have Christmas after all.

Zombie Party Mix

By Beth Bartlett

If you’re strapped for a gift

Zombies are used to being stiffed

Just go ahead and put that wallet away

They want a present from the heart

And any other body parts

You have all the stuff to make their day

Those chilblained fingers

Have a taste that lingers

Especially when tossed

In Worchester sauce

Snow-covered noses

Frost-bitten toeses

It all goes

In the Zombie Party Mix

Those dangling earlobes

Are better gifts than robes

And how often do you use those eyelids, anyway?

Let a zombie take a nibble

Or stir you into kibble

Because it’s all about sharing for the holiday

Unused knuckles

Nobbly carbuncles

Toasted or not

It still hits the spot

Elbows and meaty things

Or Grandma’s bingo wings

Makes all the Undead sing

For the Zombie Party Mix

They’ll take a liver or a bladder

Or even some brain matter

And toss it in a big bowl for the buffet

Just wait until dessert

You’ll give until it hurts

With finger foods arranged on a tray

Eyeballs to pluck

Are tasty potluck

Achilles heels

Bring on the squeals

Throw in a juicy appendix

It’s the perfect fix

With a few breadsticks

For the Zombie Party Mix

If you don’t want to end up thinner

Or the main course of a zombie dinner

This is the part where you run away

Shut the door and lock yourself in

Rub some peanut butter on your skin

Undead peanut allergies will keep them at bay

You’ll be alive

To live and thrive

You can survive

The Zombie Party Mix.

Story Art Cover

LyndalFerguson

[email protected]

Dedication

For my mom

Author Bio

Melissa Helwig
is a Print Journalism graduate who currently lives in Oakville, Ontario. She has been a fan of the horror genre for as long as she can remember. She is the creator of blog Little Miss Zombie (http://littlemisszombie.blogspot.com), where she reviews horror books and movies.

Attack of the Zombie Toys

By Melissa Helwig

“Attention everyone!” Princess Penelope shouted through the Barbie microphone, her voice high-pitched. “Ryan and Molly are about to open their presents, so gather ‘round.”

Molly’s toys began filtering toward the center of her bedroom, where Princess Penelope stood. They kept their eyes on the door, in case a human walked by. Rule One of the Toy Code stated, “No toy shall ever reveal to a human that they are real – accidentally or purposely.”

Molly was a sly little girl who always poked her head into her room minutes after she left, hoping to catch one of her toys walking around. She had an inkling that her toys were as alive as she was. Princess Penelope longed to tell her, so they could carry on a conversation as two normal best friends would, but rules were rules.

Bobo came before the other toys. He was Molly’s first teddy bear. The pink ribbon he wore around his neck was as bright as the day she got him, but his brown fur was matted and completely gone in a few patches on his belly. Bobo was the oldest of Molly’s toys.

Next came Baby Burps-a-Lot, a baby doll that Molly received for her sixth birthday a few months ago. After Molly fed Baby her bottle and rubbed her back, she would let out a loud belch.

Ken arrived with Barbie One and Barbie Two on each arm. They were decked out for the holidays. Ken wore his usual tuxedo, but added a Santa hat. Barbie One had her long, blonde hair tied back with a red ribbon and wore an ankle-length red dress and a white apron with a gingerbread man on it. Barbie Two wore a short sequined red dress and left her long, blonde hair down. The threesome lived in the North Corner, the best area of Molly’s Room, in a giant house complete with a pool and a Corvette. Ken had the best of both worlds with his two girlfriends. Barbie One took care of him. She loved cooking and baking, while all Barbie Two wanted to do was have fun.

The ponies were the last to join the group. Even then, they stood near the back, whispering to each other. Sparkles, Rainbow and Cupcake had their own snobby clique and spent most of their time gossiping about the other toys.

Now that the toys had gathered, Princess Penelope dropped the microphone and picked up a pink Walkie-Talkie.

Princess Penelope wasn’t just the leader of the toys because she was a princess. It was because she was Molly’s favorite doll. She hadn’t been around as long as Bobo – she arrived a few years after. Princess Penelope was a beautiful doll. She had blonde hair, which was always tied in a braid that reached her feet. A silver tiara studded with jewels sat upon her head and she wore a long pink dress. She had dark blue eyes, the color of blueberries.

“Angel, are you there? Over!” Princess Penelope said.

“Yes. The kids finished breakfast. They’re heading to the tree now. Over!” Angel whispered.

Angel was another of Molly’s dolls and Princess Penelope’s best friend. She hadn’t been around for very long, arriving last Christmas, but Angel bonded with Molly and Princess Penelope quickly. Angel was also a gorgeous doll, wearing a long, white gown, curly blonde hair with a golden halo, and had small angel wings protruding from her back. Which was why she was chosen for the spy mission. Nobody would look twice if they saw an angel on a Christmas tree. She hid off the side and tied the Walkie-Talkie to a branch on the inside of the tree with Molly’s jump rope.

Angel ducked into the tree as the kids came racing in, followed by their parents holding mugs of steaming coffee.

“Wait!” Mom exclaimed and the kids froze, presents in hand. “I have to get the camera.”

Ryan and Molly rolled their eyes as she walked away.

A few minutes later she returned, digital camera in hand.

“Okay. Go ahead,” she said, positioning the camera to get a good shot.

The kids gleefully tore into the gifts, shredding shiny green and red wrapping paper.

Ryan gasped in surprise as he opened his first present: a Louisville Slugger.

Molly squealed in delight when she opened her gift: a doll with long black hair, big brown eyes, a frilly blue dress and a huge smile filled with white teeth.