The Undead That Saved Christmas

by ed. Lyle Perez-Tinics

  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

  By Lyle Perez-Tinics

  “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.