Freddy hesitated a moment. “It taste like Cwistmas!”
The whole room erupted in laughter. From then on, the holiday joke became, “It tastes like Christmas!”
All that happened four years before. Freddy was seven now. It was Christmas Eve, his mother’s family was over, and waiting for the arrival of Santa Claus.
This Christmas was going to be very special. Freddy and three of his cousins were going to be awake when Santa came to visit. Freddy had been extra good this year. Santa was coming to visit at 5 PM as his reward.
The doorbell rang as Freddy watched the fire, wondering what Santa would bring. He heard his mom say, “Come on in,” and then, “Freddy. Brian’s here.”
Brian was Freddy’s next-door neighbor and his best friend. Both were the same age and had been constant companions at home and at school.
Brian came running into the living room all excited. He would be seeing Santa too, with Freddy, and the rest.
“Hey, Brian. Who’s that present for?” Freddy asked, pointing to a small, green foil wrapped box.
“It’s your Christmas present. Here, open it.” Brian shoved it toward Freddy.
Freddy’s eyes were wide open in anticipation. He scratched around on the paper until he found a seam and peeled the wrapping off. He opened the box and pulled out a rectangular metal tag, edged in green and brown camouflage plastic. It was attached to a thin metal chain. Freddy let the box drop to the floor, and carefully examined the tag.
“It’s a dog tag. It’s got your name and address on it. Look, I’ve got one too!” Brian reached in the neck of his red sweater and pulled his out, and let it dangle on his chest. “Now when we play Army, we can be just like real soldiers.”
Freddy quickly draped it over his head, and picked up the tag to examine it again. “This is great! Thanks, Brian.” Then Freddy frowned. “I got you a present too, but Mom said to give it to you tomorrow. So you will have a present to open on Christmas Day.”
“That’s okay. Santa’s going to be here soon, and I’ll have lots of stuff to play with,” Brian said, jumping up and down. Freddy jumped too, and clapped his hands in excitement.
It would be the last time the two would share a happy moment together.
*
A light snow had kicked up, adding another layer to the crusty six inches that already covered the ground. That, and the fact that the sun was going down, made it harder for Freddy and Brian to see as they sat by the front window.
Freddy craned his head around. “Mom, what time is it?”
“Five forty-five,” she said, arms folded, giving her husband cross-eyes and a frown.
A 1999 Honda Civic slowly traveled up the street, coming almost to a stop in front of Freddy’s house, and then picked up speed and went down the road. Freddy’s eye’s followed it. He thought he saw a man with a white beard driving. Could this be Santa? He had asked his mom if Santa would be coming in his sleigh, but she said no. Rudolph and the other reindeer had to rest for the big night ahead. When he asked how Santa would get to their house, she said she didn’t know, and to ask him when he arrived.
The car pulled to the side of the road at an intersection. Freddy could barely make out a figure wearing red clothing get out the car, and open the hatchback.
“Brian, look over there. Is that Santa Claus?” Freddy said, pointing.
“I don’t know, but he’s wearing red, and he’s pulling a big sack out of his trunk.”
The hefty figure walked down the road toward Freddy’s house. With each step, it became clearer that it was Santa, and he was on his way with a bag of toys for good girls and boys!
“It’s Santa! He’s coming!” Freddy said, running to tell his mom and dad. Brian followed at his heels.
“Thank God,” Beth said, over shrieks of excitement from her nieces and nephew. Dan powered up the video camera hanging from his neck. Beth picked up the digital camera. This was a Christmas she wanted to remember forever.
Most of the family gathered behind the front door in anticipation of St. Nick. Beth and Dan were to the right of the door, so when it opened, they could get shots of the kid’s faces at the sight of Santa.
In all, the family included Freddy’s Grandpa and Grandma, Amy and James (his mother’s sister and her husband). Their two daughters, Tracy and Karla . Barry and Kyle (his mother’s brother and his son). Finishing the group was Brian’s mother, Grace. Brian’s dad was a policeman and on patrol. Fortunately, his shift would be ending soon.
A knock on the door, and the joyous sounds of bells jingling from the other side brought ear-to-ear grins to the children.
Beth stooped down making sure she wasn’t blocking the video camera’s view. She turned the doorknob, and pulled the door open.
“Ho, Ho, Ho!” Santa bellowed, adjusting the sack slung over his shoulder, and stomping his feet dry of slush on the welcome mat. “Santa’s here with Christmas cheer for all.” He stepped inside to the flash of cameras and the squeals of delight from the children.
Beth got a whiff of Christmas ‘cheer’ and body odor as Santa stepped past her into the house. His suit looked like it might have been cleaned as recently as two years before. His beard had turned urine yellow from its original gray. The broken veins on his nose and cheek plastered across his ruddy face resembled a road map leading to nowhere.
Despite the unkempt appearance of the hobo Santa, the bandage wrapped around his left hand concerned her the most. Blood saturating the bandage might get on the children or the furniture.
Beth herded everyone into the living room. The Lazy Boy chair was set up for Santa to receive each of the children one by one.
Dan leaned into Santa’s ear before entering the living room. “You’re late. What happened?”
Santa whispered, “Me and the elves were having a little nip after our shift was up behind the Department store. This bum comes walking our way with a bunch of cops chasing after him. I tried to slow him down so the cops could get him, in case there was a reward. But that good for nothing sucker bit my hand before the cops got him and hauled him off. I had to stop at the drug store and patch myself up before coming here.”
The unpleasant smell of garlic, baloney, and the sweetness of an unidentifiable rye whiskey assaulted Dan’s nostrils. He took a deep breath to purge his respiratory system, and showed Santa to the Lazy Boy.
Santa shifted the sack off his back, carried it in front using both hands, and set it next to his chair. Dan had noticed his weak legs, attributing his shaky walk to his near three hundred pounds of weight, and the kiss of the whiskey.
But it became clear when Santa sat down more than that was wrong. His eyes were bloodshot, and beads of perspiration formed on his brow. He put the back of his hand to his mouth and expelled a low, long, burp. “Excuse me. Now, who wants to be the first on Santa’s lap?”
Karla was the youngest at four. Amy, her mother, placed her on Santa’s lap. Karla grinned, and locked her gaze on her mom and raised her arms toward her.
“Now, little Karla. Santa’s over here,” he said, trying to get her attention. Karla continued to crane her head toward Amy. Santa balanced Karla on his left thigh and leaned over, reaching into his sack for a gift. As he strained to find the present with her name on the outside, more gas from his stomach escaped to freedom, announcing itself this time from his trousers.
The kids laughed. The adults cringed, turning to each other for a solution. How were they going to handle this situation without ruining it for the kids?
Santa sat up straight, giving up on the present. His eyes started to flutter, his head slowly shifted back and forth. He leaned forward with his head drooping between his legs, throwing up a stream of green and yellow bile.
Amy dashed to Santa’s side like a mother hawk and snatched Karla to safety. Freddy and Brian turned to each other in disbelief. Kyle started gagging. Tracy ran to be with her mother and Karla.
Santa fell forward into the pool of vomit. The adults cautiously surrounded
him. No one wanted to touch fat and nasty Santa.
Dan had all of it on film, and decided it was well past time to turn the video camera off. Ho, fricking ho, he thought.
James was the first to bend to a knee and roll Santa out of the emesis onto his side. He knew better than to lay him on his back, as Santa could drown in his own vomit. He reached down and pulled Santa’s eyelid open. The pupil was dilated, not a good sign. And before he could make a report to the rest, he felt an incredible pressure latch down on his little finger. He let out a yell and jerked his hand away from Santa, and stared at a bloody nub where his little finger used to be.
James sprang from the floor holding his wrist, biting his lower lip in an attempt to muffle the series of curses pouring out of his mouth. Grandma ran to Grandpa’s side and clung to his waist, jostling his second rum and punch drink. Amy grabbed a dishtowel by the sink and ran to James’ side, wrapping the towel loosely around his bleeding finger.
“We’ve got to get you to the hospital,” Amy said.
James shook his head. “I thought that fat bastard was dead! Look what he did to me.”
Barry came up to the two. “Maybe it was an involuntary twitch. He’s out cold.”
“I’m calling the police,” Beth said, receiver in hand and dialing 911.
Santa twitched again, this time it was his whole body. Slowly, in an ethereal sort of way, he rose to his feet. The stump of James’ little finger protruded from the right corner of Santa’s mouth. Blood tricked down his beard. Santa started to chew.
“What the…he’s eating my finger! Stop! They might be able to reattach it!” James hollered, taking a step toward Santa, and then hesitated before taking the next.
Screams and cries of protest clashed together as the hulking Santa chewed the finger down as if it were a French fry. His eyes were devoid of emotion, devoid of life itself.
Barry wasn’t known for physical prowess, and said, “What should we do?”
“The line keeps being busy at the police station,” Beth said.
Dan pulled Beth by the arm. “Women and children, get down the hall and close and lock the door. We’ll figure something out. You too, Gramps. Keep an eye on them.” In other words, Dan wanted Grandpa to stay out of the men’s way.
Amy gathered her two kids and shoved them toward the hall. Grace and Beth were right behind Freddy and Brian. Barry brought up the rear with Kyle, and told him to ‘listen to Grandpa’ before he closed the hall door. He heard the click of the lock from the other side. His bowels quivered as he walked down the hall to face the man-eating Santa.
Santa was still by the chair, the fireplace to his left, the Christmas tree to his right, and a couch directly in front of him.
Dan and James had moved behind the couch facing Santa. Barry joined in, standing behind them, keeping an additional layer of safety between finger munching Santa.
Santa raised his arms and took a stiff step forward. The three men watched, uncertain what to do next. Santa continued walking like an un-oiled robot. When he reached the front of the couch, he stopped. The three men took one step back out of reach.
Santa leaned over as much as he could, but couldn’t get his hands on the three. He then turned and walked around the couch. The three men matched each step he took in the opposite direction until Santa moved to the back of the couch and the three men were in front.
“How long are we going to play ring around the rosy?” Dan asked James.
“I don’t know, but my hand is throbbing. I need to see a doctor.”
“I hope someone is still trying to contact the police. If we take matters into our own hands, we might get sued,” Dan said.
“Maybe we can take him down, tie him up until the police get here. This is your house and we are in fear of our life. Screw the courts. We’ve got women and children to protect here,” James said.
Dan waited until the circular walk brought him back around to the fireplace, and removed a cast iron poker from the tool station. He gathered up his nerve, sped around the couch, hoping to catch Santa off guard. He did, and slammed the ‘S’ shaped end of the poker into the side of Santa’s knee.
Santa turned in Dan’s direction and made a grab for him. Dan managed to keep away and hurried back around the couch.
“I hit him with all I had. This guy took it like he felt nothing,” Dan said, massaging his hands together.
“Guys, I don’t feel so good,” James said, looking as white as a sheet.
“Okay, get back there with the rest of the family. Get some water from the bathroom and try to lie down, keep your hand elevated. Keep calling 911—” Before Dan could finish his words, James passed out and fell to the ground, with Santa only a few steps from him.
“Let’s drag James down the hall. We can all get behind the door. I don’t think this fat-ass is fast enough to catch us, and I don’t think he can open a locked door.”
As those words left Barry’s lips, James’ hand went up and grabbed him by the leg.
Barry hit the floor and tried crawling away, but James held him tightly in his grip. Tight enough that Barry was able to pull James across the floor as he attempted to escape.
Dan came to an abrupt stop, trying to pull James’ grip from Barry’s leg. Santa was on him before he knew it. He dropped on his back as the blubbery mass fell on top of him. Dan put his arms up, pushing against the crazed Santa’s chest, keeping the gnashing teeth at bay. The nasty vomit soaked beard tickled Dan’s chin. The stomach turning smell made him gag.
James still had Barry by the leg, but now was on his stomach crawling toward Barry.
Barry kicked with his free leg. First at the hand that held him, then at James’ face when it got too close. Barry heard Dan making low sounds of distress, which turned into coughing.
James was relentless. The room charged with pheromones of fear. James had a faraway look in his eyes as his snapping teeth neared Barry.
Santa’s gaping mouth was inching ever so slowly toward Dan’s neck.
The kitchen door crashed opened. “Everybody! Pack up, we need to—” A man standing 6’ 4,” dressed in mossy oak winter camouflage, stepped into the empty kitchen. He looked toward the living room and saw Dan struggling underneath Santa. “What the . . .”
“Get him off me, John! Get him off!” Dan used the last of his remaining energy to call to his brother for help.
John stepped forward, reared his foot back as if he were going to kick a ball, and sent his steel-toed boot smashing to Santa’s side. Ribs snapped like cracking wood in the fireplace. The sheer force of the kick sent the flesh-crazed zombie off Dan, and onto the floor.
John stood with his fists raised in a defensive position, and then saw Barry struggling with James on the floor. The couch had hidden their view from the kitchen.
John turned to Barry. “What the hell is going on here?”
“Stop him, John! Don’t let him bite me! Don’t let him bite you!” Barry screamed.
John grabbed James by his feet and pulled him away. Barry slid backward, still unable to free himself from James’ grip.
“James, what’s gotten into you? Knock this crap off,” John said, holding his feet off the ground as if playing wheelbarrow.
Dan was on his feet, his strength returning to him. Santa was on his feet too, with death in his eyes, and hunger in his mouth. “John!” Dan shouted.
John turned his head and saw the zombie Santa lumbering forward. He dropped one leg, reached in his jacket, and pulled out a small pistol. He pointed the gun at Santa, a small red dot from its laser danced on the zombie’s chest. “Stop! I will shoot if you don’t stop!”
Zombie Santa didn’t stop. John fired twice. One bullet found its target. One missed as James kicked John with his free leg. The bullet didn’t slow the zombie’s approach.
Dan stood motionless, unsure what move to make next. John had a gun, and James was still fighting to get at Barry.
“Crap,” John uttered under his breath, and dropped James�
� other leg. He turned and faced zombie Santa, gripping the gun with both hands, and placed the laser mark on his forehead. The crack from the barrel sounded, and the bullet penetrated Santa’s skull. A hole from the back of his head erupted blood and something resembling partially digested hamburger meat. Zombie Santa collapsed to the ground.
“Guys, a little help here!” Barry cried.
John put both of his knees in James’ back. He leaned forward and grabbed James by the wrist on the hand holding Barry. Using both of his hands with great effort, he managed to break the grip from Barry’s leg, and twisted the arm behind James’ back. Dan rushed to John’s aid and grabbed the other arm, and twisted it around until both hands were touching. James was squirming like a worm on hot cement.
“Barry, get over here and get a tie-wrap from my pocket,” John called out. Barry crawled over and pulled out a wad of plastic tie-wraps, and hurriedly threaded one around both of James’ wrists. John quickly pulled a tie-wrap from the pile on the floor and tied up James’ legs around his ankles.
Before the three had a chance to catch their breath, the nerve quickening sound of breaking glass came from the back of the house.
When the first gunshots rang out, Grandpa told everyone to lie on the floor. They had already moved from the hall to the master bedroom. Brian had been looking out the window. When he heard the gunshot, he turned around, placing his back to it. Freddy was on the floor, looking at his mother, waiting for her to tell him that everything was going to be okay.
Something hit the window Brian was standing by. Everyone’s head turned in time to see a pair of arms come crashing through, pulling Brian to the world outside. Blood dripped from the remaining shards of glass of the broken window.
Freddy’s heart sank. A wave of fear and nausea swept over him. Brian’s mother screamed and dashed toward the window. She stuck her head out of the empty frame, frantically calling Brian’s name. Unseen hands pulled her out too.
Everyone was off the floor, up and running out the bedroom, and down the hall. Grandpa led the group with Beth pulling Freddy by the hand, bringing up the rear.
Dreaming of an Undead Christmas Page 3