The Undead That Saved Christmas

by ed. Lyle Perez-Tinics

  Why not just ask me to drop my wallet into the kettle. I watched the elderly bell ringer with an overwhelming sense of disgust.

  He sat the red handled bell on the snow-dusted sidewalk; pulled his black knit gloves off, and rapidly rubbed his hands together to warm them. He straightened his Santa hat, checked to make sure it was secure with the

  bobby pins, then pulled his gloves back on. He proceeded to greet the weak-minded shoppers with a well-rehearsed smile spread across his weathered face. He never ceased ringing the bell, as I passed by his red kettle neglecting to drop a single dime in it.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an old woman standing behind the old man. She wore a pure white unadorned wrap dress (knotted at the side) that fell just below her knees with a matching scarf covering her raven black hair. A woman her age should never leave the house without a coat on. She had to be freezing dressed as she was. She stared after me with eyes the color of a moonless night. I could feel her gaze piercing my mind like razor-tipped arrows. A wave of dizziness washed over me causing me to stumble on a raised part of the sidewalk. I cursed under my breath as I regained my footing and shook my head to clear my mind. I did not dare look back at the cursed woman.

  Sandra was not amused with my lack of generosity toward the Salvation Army. “Hugh, how could you?”

  “Thanks for asking if I was alright after I came really damn close to falling on my face,” I said, then bent down to brush the snow off my jeans.

  “Oh good God, Hugh, stop acting like such a baby. Now, I’m waiting for an answer.”

  “What was the question again? I’m sorry, I was distracted by your lack of caring.”

  “You are so obsessed with being a tight ass that you can’t even spare a dollar for the Salvation Army. Would it be so horrible to feel a sense of pride knowing that your small donation helped provide Christmas dinners, toys, and clothing to families in need? It could be that you have just forgotten what the true meaning of Christmas is.”

  “I am not even going to dignify that with an answer. You should know by now that guilt trips do not work on me,” I said.

  Sandra crossed her arms over her chest refusing to look at me.

  “Will it make you feel better if I buy the old man a cup of hot chocolate?”

  “You know damn well that does nothing to help those poor families,” she replied, as she uncrossed her arms, letting them fall to her sides and balled her hands into fists.

  ”Every Holiday Season these vampyres rise to suck the generosity out of people like you.” I tossed my hands up in the air and shrugged my shoulders. “I’m sorry my love, but you’re an easy target.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Her anger permeated the frosty air.

  “I can’t help that you are just like those people that become emotionally distraught after viewing the heart-wrenching pictures displayed on one of those commercials about starving children or abused animals. You obediently write a check - for your entire life savings- then mail it to the address listed at the end of the commercial. They put those pictures in the commercials specifically for people like you. You swallow the bait ‘hook, line, and sinker’ every single damn time!” I spat back.

  The look Sandra gave me was so chilling that it could have easily frozen the fires of hell. Maybe I had gone a little bit too far with that one. I guess a normal person would have felt an immediate sense of remorse for hurting a loved one like that, but I never claimed to be a normal person. The fact that I am not remorseful does not imply in any way that I enjoy hurting her.

  “I do not enjoy fighting with you. Why don’t we put this behind us and enjoy the rest of the day shopping?” I said, then laid my hand on Sandra’s shoulder. I bent down to kiss the top of her head and closed my eyes enjoying the warm, sweet scent of her hair like a summer breeze.

  She responded by wrapping her arms around my neck and lightly kissing my cheek. I placed my hands around her waist and pulled her close to me. Neither of us can ever admit we were wrong, but the love we share always surpasses our stubborn nature.

  Our small argument caught the attention of a middle-aged woman dressed extravagantly in high-heeled leather boots dyed midnight blue to match her royal blue pantsuit. Two sapphire blue Chinese sticks held her chestnut hair in a French twist at the nape of her neck. She studied us intently with smoky, sultry eyes.

  Sandra stepped behind me, always anxious about how others perceived her. I knew her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Sandra’s demure reaction invoked a pernicious smile on the woman’s face. I took Sandra’s hand in mine allowing her to walk behind me as I stepped toward the woman.

  “I would appreciate it if you would stop staring at us. You are making my wife very uncomfortable.” I told her,

  The woman placed the tips of her fingers together at the center of her bottom lip as if in prayer. “Oh dear, I apologize for being so rude.” She lowered her chin resting her hand on her forehead. “I do that all the time. I become deeply engrossed in my thoughts and stare without meaning to. I am very sorry.”

  Sandra lightly touched the woman’s shoulder in a gesture of understanding. “It’s alright. My Husband can be a little bit overdramatic at times.”

  Both women laughed and exchanged Christmas blessings toward one another. The pleasantries disgusted me; I was about to make one of my signature ‘don’t let it happen again’ exits, when I heard an unfamiliar voice behind me whisper my name. It was a deep French Creole accent, sounding as if it traveled on a gentle breeze, whispering through moss draped cypress trees on a warm Louisiana night, or at least how I imagined a warm Louisiana night, I had never visited any of the Deep South including the Bayou state. A strong sense of disorientation overwhelmed me, and I had to force myself to remain calm.

  I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I turned towards the light touch, and it seemed as if time stood still. The old woman - whom I saw standing behind the old bell ringer earlier today- stood before me, but she appeared to be 30 years younger. I had to blink my eyes several times to make sure I was not hallucinating. The pure white scarf wrapped loosely around her neck was the only thing that looked familiar. She tapped her flawless burgundy lips with the tip of her fingernail, as if trying to make a difficult decision. She turned to take a few steps away from us. Sandra and I took that moment to exchange nervous glances. The dark woman reached to move her waist length black hair off her shoulder. It fell in shimmering strands forming a curtain of midnight across her back.

  Sandra reached for my hand, and I gladly entwined my fingers with hers. The chestnut haired woman inched a little closer to Sandra. The three of us anxiously observed the old woman’s movements as if she was a serial killer. The scent of danger clung to the old woman - though she has not harmed us.

  As if she had heard our thoughts, the old woman turned to face us. She addressed the chestnut haired woman completely ignoring Sandra and I.

  “Imogene, come speak with Auntie Carel for a moment.” Her voice was rich and pure as honey, but danger laid hidden in that sticky sweet confection.

  The name “Imogene” was very old fashioned for such a fashion conscious woman. I kept my thoughts to myself as I watched Imogene’s confidence and positive self-image fade to nothing.

  Imogene did not hesitate to obey the request. She stood before Carel with her head bowed - the perfect image of an obedient child. Carel gently lifted Imogene’s chin and brushed her chestnut colored hair back from her small face; then she looked deep into her eyes and smiled affectionately. Imogene tried to mask the fear she felt with a nervous smile. She was the helpless child at the mercy of one who knew no limits when administering harsh punishment.

  “Why have you chosen to mock the faith I had placed in you?” Her small hint of a southern accent made her appear the sweet matronly figure that she definitely was not.

  Imogene, started to answer, but Carel interrupted her. “It would be ill advised for you to insult me by attempting to explain yourself. Any explanati
on spoken with such a filthy tongue will only make your situation worse.”

  All hope left Imogene’s eyes as she lowered her head in defeat. A blanket of ominous silence fell over us. The merriment outside our invisible prison continued. Christmas shoppers wearing Santa hats and festively decorated sweaters continued to arrive at Meijer in a last minute attempt to cross everything off their list. They passed by us blind to the grim situation unfolding right before their eyes. Carel’s mesmerizing voice pierced through the silence.

  Carel tilted her head as her eyes narrowed into the shape of dark almonds. Imogene’s innocent blue eyes glazed over with panic; she raked her trembling hands through her hair accidentally loosening the Chinese sticks. The sticks fell to the snow dusted ground allowing her hair to spill freely over her shoulders. She took a few steps backwards silently imploring someone to help her. It was the forsaken image of a trapped animal desperate for escape.

  Imogene’s emotional state had no effect on Carel’s transformation from a warm, charismatic young woman into the sinister old woman I had originally seen. Imogene glared at Carel with wild, half-crazed eyes.

  “No! No! No!” A single tear fell down her cheek as she forced herself to speak. “I did not fail you. Please, the evidence is all around you. I have helped many strangers change their ways.” She gestured to a young woman carrying five bags of gifts. “Look at her; there is not an ounce of hatred, disbelief, or lack of faith left in her soul.”

  Carel shook her head, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then approached Imogene with a slow graceful step. The panic and anxiety slipped away leaving only a peaceful calm in its place. Carel held her hand out and Imogene hesitantly accepted.

  “Darling, you know that my life is not my own; it belongs to the Loa.”

  Carel’s face was a mask of remorse and regret shadowed by the warmth of a smile, as she nodded her head to each of us. She turned her eyes up toward the snow-veiled sky; her lips moved as if in prayer. Finally, she rubbed her hands together seeking warmth from the cold, then placed her right hand in her coat pocket. Carel stepped toward us with a warm smile on her face.

  “The Loa are good to us. They see more than we could ever know!” The sudden determination and strength in her voice caused all three of us to start. We gave each other a nervous glance. As we turned to face Carel again, a sudden gust of wind blew a light dusting of snow in our faces.

  In a matter of seconds, a weightless feeling came over me. I could see Sandra and Imogene on their knees below me holding their head in their hands. I seemed to float above the festivly-decorated sidewalk listening to the sound of Carel’s chants folded into Sandra and Imogene’s persistent moaning.

  Sandra whispered my name calling me back from my place above this misery. The chanting ceased and Carel walked to each of us, touching the opening of a small intricately decorated bottle to each of our lips. An effigy of a small child resembling the image of each of our faces crafted around the neck of each bottle. The small effigy was bound to the bottle by vanilla colored ribbon.

  “Please forgive me for the uncomfortable side-effects. I promise you that the headaches, the feeling of floating, numbness of your lips and tongue, and your trouble breathing will pass in due time.”

  I wanted to ask her, ‘what the hell she was talking about’, but my lips refused to comply. It was time for the bottle to touch upon my lips. Carel was aware of the loss of control over my body; she gently opened my lips to place the powder on my tongue. The bitter tasting concoction found the back of my throat causing me to choke. It was a nightmarish feeling knowing I was unable to cough to rid myself of the affliction. Carel whispered words in an ancient tongue while she massaged my throat, and the momentary feeling of relief gave in to something worse.

  The fast-paced beating of my heart pounded inside my head. Something began to rise inside me floating upwards from my toes to my chest. The Pain was like a Boa Constrictor coiling around my chest; then constricting to prevent life sustaining air from reaching my lungs. The pain grew more intense as the chanting of the ancient words became increasingly rapid. My body danced in a strange pirouette to the sinister melody composed from the drums played on my heart, and the haunting sound created by a violin bow moving across the strings of my mind. Finally, whatever was inside me was able to escape through my mouth into the opening of the bottle. I caught a brief glance of the misty human form inside the bottle, as I fell to the ground. I realized the misty form was my soul. I noticed my wife and Imogene’s bodies lying next to me, their eyes already closed to this world. I could hear the carolers’ cheerful voices, and my heart overflowed with longing.

  Oh, I wish that I could join the carolers in singing the last stanza of ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ before I leave this world. I felt a single tear trail down my cheek as my eyes closed for the last time.

  Carel bid me to wake by whispering in my ear, “Awaken now. I command you.”

  * * *

  Night had fallen, but I could see the outline of Sandra and Imogene’s bodies lying next to me. The shoppers still passed us by as if we were invisible. The sticky sweet taste of sweet potato and pure sugar cane lingered on my tongue. I reached toward Sandra and we pressed our shoulders together just to let the other know we were still there. Carel joined us in our small circle, and squatted down so we could see her better.

  “I have resurrected your bodies by forcing you to ingest Datura - also known as zombie cucumber. The Loa have judged you too great a risk to the sanctity of human society. Sandra is the only exception to that judgment, but she is guilty of supporting her husband’s transgressions so she suffers the same fate. You are doomed to exist as the zombie astral – soulless but capable of consciousness and independent thought. Your soulless bodies have been left intact which will enable you to go to work, play with your children, and take care of your loved ones.”

  She paced back and forth in front of us as she educated us about the meaning of our fate. “You are each my slaves to do my bidding.”

  A hint of sorrow and regret glistened in her eyes. “I know you are traumatized from this experience, but you must understand that I saved you from the agony of hearing and seeing your own funeral. My life belongs to the Loa; I do only as they bid, so please do not think that I gain any gratification in reducing you to the zombie astral.”

  She stopped pacing to reach out to me. I took her hand allowing her to assist me to stand up; she lightly traced her finger down my cheek and looked deep into my eyes. “You are the guiltiest of all those sitting here. You spit hatred at everyone that fails to fit into your perception of what a person should be. If they are not as intelligent as you believe they should be, you cast them out as imbeciles unfit to live in society.”

  Carel held my chin in her hands to implore my understanding of the gravity of my sentence. “Hugh, not only are you guilty of throwing stones, but you even refused to give a single donation to the Salvation Army so others less fortunate than you could have a nice Christmas with their family. Do you have the heart that the old man has to stand in the freezing cold for something you believe in?”

  The image of the person I had become stared back at me reflected in Carel’s raven black eyes. Two small piles of white ash were all that remained of the thing’s ears. The deep brown iris in the right eye (now blind) had turned stark white and all that remained of the left eye was a blackened hole. It opened its thin parched lips to reveal a bloodied stump where a tongue used to be. I screamed long and hard holding my hands over my ears.

  Carel allowed the screaming to continue for a few minutes before she forced my arms down to my sides and turned me to face her. “The image you saw represents the proverbial principles to, ‘see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil’. We are all familiar with just the three, but many do not realize there is a fourth, ‘do no evil’.”

  She bid me to return to sit beside my wife; then she addressed all three of us. “Hugh did not see the fourth proverbial principle in his reflection, b
ecause the three of you are going to commit acts of evil. Eventually, the acts you commit will tear at your heart and scar your mind. You will wish for death to end the pain.”

  She took a moment to observe our anxious and mortified reactions, satisfied with the depth of our emotional turmoil she continued. “Know this, one sentenced to zombie astral can only be granted a true death by God if he decides to come retrieve your soul. He will not consider it until you have completed the tasks I give you to his satisfaction. You will have three days to complete the tasks: tonight, Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day. If you fail to complete these tasks then your soul will remain trapped in the bottles, and you will be forever my slaves.”

  We sat in silence as Carel, retrieving a small duffle bag, opened a small container within and started placing the bottles inside. She zipped the duffle bag and stood up.

  “My orders are for you to kill every person you see that is selfish, cold-hearted, hateful, lacking morals, not generous, and not loving. Basically, if their souls are beyond redemption, they die – no exceptions. You are to complete these orders within the three days allotted to you. The Meijer store is open 24/7 for the Christmas season so you have plenty of time.”

  “Do not worry you are not alone. I have amassed quite a large army over the past 30 years due to the ones who were unable to complete the tasks. Are there any questions?”

  We shook our heads, and I knew without looking at Imogene and Sandra that each of us were on the verge of tears. This is definitely hell on Earth!

  Carel placed the bag on her shoulder. “I will return to my place behind my friend. You will start performing your tasks right away.” She started walking away.

  No matter how much we wanted to resist doing this, we could not. Carel stopped to look back at us. “I want the floor of Meijer and the entire parking lot covered with the blood of sinners. Their life essence will bless this Christmas Season!”

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