The Undead That Saved Christmas

by ed. Lyle Perez-Tinics

  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 ther
e 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 c
lipboard. “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.