A Zombie Christmas Carol

by Michael G. Thomas; Charles Dickens

  “Good Lord, I remember now. Poor Cratchit and his family are at this very moment trapped and fighting for their lives in their home,” he said, as he recalled his previous experience of Mr Cratchit barricading the door of his home against the horde.

  “Well, his family is certainly going to need a hearty meal if they are to survive this day, and I have every intention of making sure they do!”

  He moved to the wall that carried the odd assortment of relics and weapons. The first looked just like the old sword that Mr. Jenkins had shown him so many years before. He pulled it down and withdrew the blade. It was dark and pitted but sturdy and still sharp, even after this long time of abandon. Next to the sword was a small dagger that he ducked into his trousers and a duelling sword of a type known as a smallsword that looked like a thin, pointed fire poker. As he examined the weapons, a series of shouts and screams came from the street. He rushed outwards, grabbing his thick coat on the way.

  “What is happening?” he shouted, as some stricken people darted past him and along the road. A young boy looked towards him as his mother grabbed and yanked him away. Scrooge looked to the right and spotted the danger, the undead were here and they had already made their way from the docks and into the heart of the city.

  “What did the Ghost say?” he muttered to himself, trying to recall what he had seen in his experiences with the Spirits.

  “Why yes, the creatures are being controlled by some malevolent beast looking to bring ruin to the city. The Spirit said there was something in the Bank that they were drawn to, an object from across the seas that was responsible for their evil intent and power.”

  Scrooge stopped and looked whimsical as though an idea of great import and peculiarity had entered his mind.

  “Yes, of course. I will stop these creatures and with that will ensure Christmas stays the way it always should be. First things first though, I must endeavour to make certain Cratchit and his family are safe, then I will resolve the situation at the Bank,” he said wryly before adding, “and it is perhaps time to rectify certain inequities.”

  Staggering up the road the first party of the dead approached him. They were just like the creatures he had encountered seven years prior, but unlike at that time these monsters appeared to have a purpose. Off into the distance he could see other groups taking different routes though the city, almost like a team of cleaners working through a large house.

  “Good Lord, they plan to empty or kill every soul in the city!” exclaimed Scrooge.

  He looked down to the scabbard of the light cavalry sword and withdrew the dull blade. It was heavy in his hand and without any effort seemed to drop down at the tip as though it had a will of its own to cut. Scrooge looked up and centred his attention on the three zombies now only twenty feet from him.

  “Come on you devils!” he shouted as he shuffled towards them, holding the sword up high to his right shoulder.

  As he reached the first creature, he noticed it wearing a docker’s clothing and even carried some tools on it. Some poor worker must have fallen victim to these most evil of creatures. Looking at its face, the eyes were pitted and sunken and its mouth dripped a congealed and foul looking blood. The skin was pale and lifeless and the creature moved as though another person was twisting and contorting its limbs.

  With a single bold movement, Scrooge brought the blade down in a cutting motion that instantly transformed him back to decades earlier. The blade slashed into the creature’s shoulder, keeping the movement until it left its body just below the ribs. As the blade dropped down Scrooge stepped forward and lifted it back to deliver another downwards cut but this time from the left. The two cuts formed an X shape on the creature and before he had returned the sword to his right shoulder, the creature started its collapse.

  The other two zombies moved forward, each reaching out to grab at Scrooge. He stepped back, almost stumbling as he gave ground. With several quick cuts, he slashed into the arms of his attackers but other than causing cursory damage, they continued their progress towards him.

  “Stop damn you!” shouted Scrooge as his cuts became more erratic.

  The closest zombie now grabbed Scrooge’s arm and its grip was stronger and more powerful than he could possibly have imagined. Pain shot up through his muscles and the reflex action caused him to open his hand. The sword dropped down to the floor and, in a brief moment, the two creatures were on him. He fought back as hard as his frail body would allow but he simply was not strong enough to hold off the two of them. One moved closer, exposing its foul fangs and the blood infused drool that ran from its mouth. Scrooge looked down in fear but spotted the small dagger he had pushed into his belt earlier. He pushed his elbow up into the closest creature’s throat to give him some advantage and then grabbed the dagger. Without thought, or hesitation, he stabbed it into the thing’s throat in an upward motion that must have forced the point into the base of the back of the brain.

  It was as though somebody had blown on the wick of a candle. The creature’s eyes flickered and life vanished from the body. It collapsed to the ground as though an invisible hand had been holding it up to walk and move. Spurred on by his success Scrooge pushed the remaining monster from him and then stepped back himself giving him a little space to move. He spotted his sword lying on the ground and grabbed for it. The zombie was almost upon him but was not speedy enough. With one swift horizontal cut, he slashed the thing’s head clean from its shoulders. The head toppled off and the body slumped lifelessly to the ground.

  Behind the body stood two children, both young boys and both in absolute awe. The first boy carried the bird that Scrooge had asked him to buy earlier.

  “Mr. Scrooge, sir!” said the first.

  “Where did you learn that?” asked the second.

  Scrooge straightened his back and tried to retrieve his breath before speaking to the boy.

  “A long, long time ago from an old soldier. Where are you both going?” he asked, out of interest, and surprise, being as everybody else was abandoning the streets.

  “We heard that a group of foreigners are bring something into the city, any person that becomes near it is attacked by those dark, unholy things,” said the first boy.

  “My brother was bitten by one in the dark just two hours ago, sir. He had a fever and died. Then he awoke from death and attacked my sister. That’s when the rest of us scarpered, sir,” said the second.

  Scrooge considered the situation for a moment. It occurred to him that he could never stop them placing the object at the sacred site in the heart of the city all by himself. He needed help from people that cared enough to put themselves in danger for others.

  More people ran past, some dropping their goods as they ran but none slowed down, they simply continued as fast as they could, shouting, crying and screaming.

  “Boys, we need to stop this. Do you want to be forced out of your own town by this group of thieves and filth?” he asked sternly

  “No, sir. How can we do anything, sir?” asked the first boy.

  “Boy, you know the home of Mr Cratchit?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir, the gentleman who works here?” answered the boy.

  “Find your friends and tell them to meet there in ten minutes, not a minute more. We shall create an army of good people and we will march on the Bank. We will fight our way inside and destroy that which the evil wishes to reach.”

  The two boys looked at each other in confusion, not understanding the point old Scrooge was making.

  “Listen, I have seen this object before, it is evil and will destroy all we know and love. I am not able to explain how, but I know it will bring ruin to this place for years to come. Bring your family, your friends and all you can find. Arm yourselves with pans, knives or anything else you can acquire. You will be like Lord Uxbridge and his heavy cavalry, riding to the rescue. Now go, young boys, with haste!” he cried.

  The two boys excitedly rushed away towards their homes, leaving Scrooge with a sword in one h
and and the great bird in another.

  Picking up his feet, Scrooge ambled down the street and towards Cratchit’s home. It was a bizarre sight, as the old man appeared to be impervious to the gloom of the city as those inhabitants continued to stream by. One man, of similar age stopped, recognising Scrooge.

  “Good day, sir,” he said in surprise.

  Scrooge slowed and glanced up and down at the man. A moment of realisation dawned on him as he recognised the man from his visions of the future. It was one of the gentlemen who said he had said hello to Scrooge on many a day.

  “A good day it is indeed, Sir!” said Scrooge as he hurriedly shook the man’s hand.

  Scrooge made to move away but the man held on to him with a puzzled expression on his face.

  “But, sir, have you not seen the evils entering the city? We must leave forthwith,” he said.

  “Humbug, sir, humbug!” said Scrooge with a glint in his eye. “I say we gather up the good citizens and we resolve to defeat the confounded horde this very day. Already the young boys and urchins are assembling just a few roads away. We will leave in not more than five minutes to the heart of this problem!” he said with great gusto.

  “But, sir, what do you know of this evil?” asked the befuddled man.

  “I have seen its face and I have fought it before. Trust me my good man, if you join me you will help to make this Christmas Day one that is always remembered.”

  The man looked about, noticing a small number of people watching their conversation. A few more continued to run past, but an even greater number stood by.

  “I saw him fighting them just now, he killed a group of them and he’s just an old man!” shouted one.

  “Old man indeed!” laughed Scrooge. “Think what we could do together. We will drive them out, as the rain drives the filth from the streets. Are you with me, good people?” he cried.

  A great cheer rose up in the street from over thirty people that had gathered.

  “Grab any weapon you can and follow me!” he cried, and shouting they moved off towards Cratchit’s home. Each of the crowd grabbed any item they could to use as a weapon. Some grabbed rocks, others pieces of timber and some a mixture of labouring tools. As they moved on they encountered more terrified people. These poor souls slowed and then stopped in amazement to see the small, scruffy army of people marching behind Scrooge. As they rounded the final corner, Scrooge could see the Cratchit home and it was not a minute too soon. In front of the house was a group of at least twenty of the walking dead. Off behind these in the distant gloom an even larger group staggered ever closer.

  “Here they are good people of London. Will you see them take your homes, your friends and your families?” shouted Scrooge.

  “No!” came the reply in unison from the swelling ranks.

  “Follow me!” shouted Scrooge and with a swing of his sword, he rushed ahead as fast as he could.

  With a crash, he hit the first of the zombies and then proceeded to hack and slash with great vigour. As each cut came down onto the head of a creature, Scrooge felt his zeal and strength returning. It was as though life was breathing back into his shell. For a moment he could have been overwhelmed, but for the small group of vagabonds and youths that jumped out from the dark alleys nearby and joined in the fight. They were small but far from weak and with each strike that Scrooge delivered, another ten came from the young boys.

  “Come!” shouted the gentleman that Scrooge had so recently seen scorning him in the future.

  “Will you let common children such as these deny you of your chance to cleanse this place?” he added.

  With a deft move, he withdrew a slender and sophisticated looking sword. It had much in common with a traditional court sword, and though lacking in any discernable edge its tip was sharp and it was well constructed. From inside his coat pocket he withdrew a small pistol and with a cry rushed headlong into the fight.

  Before long the entire street looked like some ancient battlefield, as one by one the local inhabitants opened their doors and joined the fray, men with their axes and woman carrying pots and pans. In less than a full minute the horde of creatures lay battered and crushed, and all for the loss of not one person. As the people paused catching their breath, the door to old Bob Cratchit’s home opened and he stepped out, holding a metal poker in one hand. He looked terrified and had evidently been struggling against these fiends for some time. He looked at the armed group and held out his weapon in front of him, expecting an attack at any moment.

  “I will not let you in!” he shouted.

  “Mr Cratchit, old boy! It is me, your friend Scrooge!” came a shout from the centre of the mass of people.

  “Scrooge?” he asked in surprise.

  He pushed forward of the crowd, now dripping in sweat and still carrying the wrapped bird under his arm. He moved up to the man and handed him the concealed item.

  “Something for you and your dear family!” he said a grin. “I am sorry it took so long.”

  Mr Cratchit opened up the brown paper and peered inside, spotting the massive, tasty looking bird before looking back at Scrooge.

  “I, I don’t know what to say,” he said in surprise.

  “Say nothing, my good man. I could do with your help though,” he said as he waved over to the crowd of people

  Mrs Cratchit moved to the open door and looked out, surprised to see Scrooge stood there.

  “Mr Scrooge has brought us a fine gift,” said old Bob Cratchit, as he handed the mighty bird over to his wife.

  She peeked inside, still stunned by the crowd and the arrival of such a gift.

  “We must be off, this group of creatures is just one of many, they are making their way to the Bank, just like they did when old Jacob met his end, God rest his soul,” said Scrooge as he stepped back.

  “You are going to fight them?” said an incredulous Mr Cratchit.

  “Yes, and if you would join us I would be honoured,” Scrooge replied.

  Turning to his wife and children, he spoke briefly and then after hugging his children he pushed the door shut behind him. Jumping down into the street, he moved up to the front of the crowd where Scrooge stood waiting.

  “I’m here, sir, what did you have in mind?” he asked.

  Scrooge turned to the people and raised his sword in the air.

  “To the Bank!” he cried.

  He turned to Mr Cratchit, “I’ll explain my little plan on the way,” he said.

  As they rounded the corner, they encountered two more zombies who were beating incessantly on some poor soul’s door. Scrooge did not even have to act; the number of the men at the front leapt into action and smashed them both to the floor. They all moved on and swelled in numbers as those in their homes felt it would be safer to stay with them, rather than trapped in their homes waiting for Death.

  “These creatures are controlled by some foul artefact from overseas. There is a sacred spot below the Bank, in fact where years ago a mysterious and sinister cult used to worship. If the artefact is placed there it will allow its owner to take control of this horde, and command them at will. Until that happens only those creatures very near to the object can be fully controlled,” he explained.

  “Jacob and I saw it years ago and the Keepers very nearly managed to use it. Thankfully, the militia arrived in time and drove it away. This time I fear they may already be close, look!” said Scrooge, as he pointed down one of the alleys. At the far end, he could see the parallel street to the one they followed. A group at least as large as theirs staggered along, presumably heading to the Bank.

  “Why don’t we just find the Keepers and stop them before they reach the Bank?” asked Mr Cratchit.

  “A fine question, my boy, and one that is simply answered, where are the Keepers? Yes, they brought it here but how do we find them? The only thing we know for certainty is that the Bank is where they must take it. If we can take control of the Bank and stop them from placing the item in its place at the heart of the old
temple, we can stop them and perhaps destroy the artefact once and for all,” explained Scrooge.

  The group continued their march, now more a small army and their numbers still swelled to more than two hundred souls. As they moved on Scrooge looked back proud of the spirit of his companions, and of what they had achieved with just a little effort and courage. Three children came running from a side alley and up to Scrooge.

  “Mr, they are just over the hill, you should turn back!” said one.

  “Yes, you’ll all be killed!” said another.

  “Not with Mr Scrooge with us!” shouted one of the boys in the small army.

  They moved past the three children who upon seeing such a mighty host quickly fell in at the rear and followed. If nothing else, they preferred the company of large numbers to the hiding out in the shadows, waiting for help that likely would never arrive.

  They reached the summit and the front line slowed and then stopped. From their position, they could see the open square in front of the Bank was an open battle. A mixture of the undead, local people and the odd soldier were fighting a bloody battle and it was clear the increasing number of undead were winning. From the front of the Bank a small group of militia were trying to fight their way out of the broken door, but only a handful remained and the weight of numbers were soon to push them inside. Several fires burned in the street, a column of smoke rose up from a broken structure nearby.

  “They must have already placed the object in its evil place!” shouted Scrooge.

  He turned to his group of volunteers.

  “I have seen this object before now, it is fragile and can be destroyed. We need to break through their line and fight our way inside. We must be strong and make our way into the catacombs to where the object lies. Once it is smashed, its power will be lost and these creatures will lose their master’s control. They will not suddenly die but they will lose their plan and will be much easier to beat. Are you ready to end this?” he shouted as he lifted his curved sword high into the air.

  “Let ‘em have it!” shouted one of the boys who rushed off, closely followed by several of his friends.