SHORT STORY: Zombie Santa Must Die! Part 3

ZOMBIE SANTA MUST DIE!

PART THREE: THE RETURN OF ZOMBIE SANTA

Fay Campbell - Log Entry - December 23, 2012 - 12:46 PM

In two days, my brother Eddie, his friend Jon, and myself will have been hunting zombies for a year now. Our newest addition, Sarah, has been with us for the past four months. She’s really grown on me, on all of us. Her expertise with combat strategy is astounding. It’d hurt us a lot to lose her.

I’ve been tracing the origins of the zombie plague. So far my findings have led us north, far north. Just how much farther, I do not know. But with every new day comes more answers AND more questions. I believe we are close though, very close. Our journey has brought us to an abandoned farmhouse in northern Canada. We scoped it out last night, made sure there were no nasty surprises waiting for us inside. Fortunately the cabinets were stocked with canned goods so I believe we can stretch our supplies another week at least. I hope that’s all it takes. I’m getting tired of this game. It has to end.

We passed a mall on our way through town. It looks deserted but I think it’s worth a closer look. Malls are common places for gatherings. I’ll check it out later today if I get time and see what’s going on out there. Otherwise I’ll talk to the guys, maybe we’ll just go down there tomorrow morning and blow the place to hell, see what happens. If nothing else we can find some more supplies.

On a side note, it’ll be Christmas in two days. It’ll also be the one year anniversary of the death of my parents. Eddie’s parents. Jon’s parents. I’m not really looking forward to it. That’s when this “quest” really began. After those zombie SOB’s took everything away from me, I have taken it upon myself to take it all away from them. They will pay for what they’ve done. Everything I thought I knew about Christmas is dead to me. At least I have Eddie. And our…family. If that’s what you’d like to call it. I don’t think I’m really ready to call it that. Not yet anyway.

December 24, 2012 - Farmhouse - 11:57 PM

The flame from a candle sitting atop a dining room table danced gently in the old farmhouse tenderly lighting moldy Christmas stockings, dusty snowman knickknacks, and creating a silhouette of a brown and carefully decorated Christmas tree. The melted wax overflowed and poured into the candle holder’s basin, presumably to stay that way forever. The wax within the candle rose like floodwaters and the light flickered one final time and disappeared, a steady stream of smoke rising from its still illuminated wick.

      The hunters had returned to the farmhouse earlier that morning. They didn’t say a word to one another on the trip back to base. Once there, they unpacked their supplies and sat in silence in the living room. Eddie dozed off while Jon and Fay played a few rounds of cards. Fay made them an exquisite feast from the canned goods they had found in the pantry. After dinner they sat around and avoided talking about Sarah at all. Instead, they plotted out their next target, planned out their rations for the next week and a half, then drew up a course northbound that would lead through towns most likely to contain zombie gatherings. Each time Fay brought up something relevant to Sarah, Eddie tried to get her to talk about it. And each time she changed the subject and focused at the task at hand. Shortly after the sun vanished below the horizon and went to sleep. So did the hunters. Eddie and Jon slept soundly in spite of what had happened. Fay on the other hand…

...A deep black shadow extended out of the light and took hold of Fay, gripping tighter and tighter. It squeezed hard enough to make a python cringe. Her eyes began to bulge until they finally burst from her skull, smacking against her cheek. Her tongue began to swell and spill out of her mouth, unrolling onto her chest like a red carpet event. The final moments before she was crushed underneath this behemoth gloom Sarah’s voice cried out from the darkness, “Where were you? You said you would protect me, where were you when that thing was eating my brains. Where were yyyoooouuu.” The voice trailed off. The shadow released for a moment letting Fay take one last breathe and as she inhaled, it squeezed, her entire body-

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there

      Fay woke up in a cold sweat. Her rapid breathing spurt out quick shots of white smoke from the cold night air like an ancient steam engine. The farmhouse provided shelter from the wind but unfortunately the furnace was useless. To the hunters, it was a relic from a civilization long passed.

      She snapped back to reality and her pulse gradually returned to normal. Her hand reached up and massaged her face. “Just a dream,” she sighed in relief. Then she glanced at Eddie and Jon. Still sleeping. They could pretty much sleep through anything. Since there wasn’t much chance she was going to get anymore sleep tonight she decided to get up and go for a short walk. “Maybe some fresh air will help clear my head a little,” she thought as she put on another sweater.

      The moon and stars were uncharacteristically bright this evening. Their light combined together and with the help of a mirrorlike snow made for perfect lighting conditions. One star in particular stood out from all the rest. It lied high above the horizon, twinkling radiantly. The North Star. It guided their way towards their “destiny.” “This is what Mary must have felt like the night Jesus was born,” Fay thought to herself, “it’s so beautiful.”

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

      From behind her Fay heard a light shuffling of feet. It wasn’t directly behind her but loud enough to crank on her radar. Utterly defenseless, she scrambled for a weapon. Anything! If any of the undead were to appear here, right now, Fay was done for. She frantically searched all around her, and with surprised joy on her face, she spotted a shovel leaning against the side of the tool shed. She grasped the handle and held the spade up high, readying it to lay a devastating blow to any creature that dare try to get the jump on her.

      By the light of the moon, she searched around. Looked left then right. Nothing. She gazed beyond the front porch, still nothing. She snuck back towards the house, careful to make as little noise as possible. All of the doors and windows were locked, Eddie and Jon were safe. “Where are you, you zombie bastard? Aunt Fay has a Christmas present for you,” she spoke softly.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

      That’s when she heard a peculiar sound, not so much a snort like an animal would make but more of a rough cough, almost like the kind you would hear from a seasoned smoker. She looked around, nothing. Then she heard it again, this time not around her but above her. Her vision elevated slowly from the porch to the roof. Once her eyes met what lay above, her chin dropped to the ground like an anvil. Sitting atop the roof was a blood red sleigh and nine familiar looking reindeer.

      A passing cloud in the night sky moved beyond the gaze of the full moon and Fay got a closer look at these monstrosities. Their skin was meaty, practically melting off their bodies. Half of them had visible bone structures, and once the lead creature caught sight of Fay it’s nose suddenly flickered to life. Red, the color of blood, the color of death.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

Jon screeched in agony. She cast her attention immediately to the house, forgetting the reindeer even existed. She dropped the shovel (a fatal mistake) and ran to the door with a flash. He screamed again. This time more...gargally. After a quick flip of the lock she entered the house. What she saw when she stepped into the living room would never leave her memory until the day she died.

      To her left, Eddie was bound to the couch in ribbons and Christmas lights, a stocking gagged his mouth. To her right was Jon...being eaten alive. His head bobbed madly as the creature sporting a red overcoat and black boots took hold of his ear, tore it from the side of his head and swallowed it with little resolution. Fay would never forget the horror in Jon’s eyes as the pleasantly plump figure standing before her reached into the slit it had made in his neck earlier and pulled, then twisted. Jon’s head came off like a champagne cork, popping sound and all. This...thing held Jon’s head up to eye level and gazed deep into what could only be described as Jon’s soul. In a raspy voice it moaned, “Ho Ho Ho.”

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose

      “Santa?”

      Santa, the Zombie Santa, startled by her presence, turned and hissed. Its mouth opened wide displaying rows of razor sharp teeth and a snaky forked obsidian tongue. From the innards of its horrible mouth came a stream of egg nog looking liquid. It arced over the living room and landed firmly upon Fay’s shoulder. It immediately began to sizzle and smoke. With no regard towards human curiosity, she ripped the sweater from her back and threw it to the floor. The acidic goo melted through the sweater leaving a hole in the floor the size of a basketball.

      While Fay was distracted by the sweater, Santa lunged at her. Her head was perfectly turned towards the floor and a cool clamp of death bit down on her neck sending a steady stream of fresh blood into the air. It landed softly onto a family Christmas portrait on the wall. The streak of blood slid over the picture transforming it into a work of absolute terror.

      Fay shrieked. Behind Santa, Eddie’s screams were muffled by the stocking in his mouth. He thrashed around until he fell to the floor in a failed attempt to free himself. Santa let go of Fay readying to attack again. In that moment opportunity knocked and Fay answered. Santa hissed again, preparing to send another shot of acidic egg nog in her direction. Instead of retreating Fay rushed him and pushed him back. The zombie Santa tripped over his sack full of evil and crashed to the floor. Fay didn’t miss a beat. She flew to the fireplace and pulled the fire poker from its holder.

      Santa got to his feet and turned to give Fay another Christmas surprise. The next thing he saw as he turned towards her was a black metal spear coming towards his face. It slid effortlessly into his mouth, into his eggnog spitting sack, and out through the back of his head. The acidic sack fell from the spear and melted through the floor.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

      Santa, knowing when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em, pushed Fay aside. She collapsed to the ground, crushing presents and knocking over a long gone pine tree. Spear in head, Santa took hold of Eddie and heaved him into the fireplace. Fay lay on the floor looking up at the Zombie Santa, not with hope and love like she once had as a child, but with fear and hatred.

      Santa pulled the fire poker from his mouth and threw it to the floor. He turned towards Fay one last time and in a voice as hoarse as a week old cold said, “To all a good fright!” And with that he took hold of Eddie, stomped his boot to the floor, and flew up the chimney.

      Fay scrambled to her feet, “EDDIE!” and dove into the empty fireplace. She caught a glimpse of Eddie’s shoe as it disappeared over the edge of the fireplace above her.

      Across the living room and next to a decapitated Jon, lay Jon’s pump action shotgun. Fay grabbed it and ran outside, praying that Santa was still there.

      As if the Lord had answered her prayers, Santa was still atop the roof. “On Dancer, on Prancer, Comet, and Vixen! Heave you dusty bags of bones!”

      Fay raised the barrel of the gun, aimed for the deer and fired.

      She missed. The reindeer sneered and panicked. Santa whipped the reins and they began to take off. They charged across the rooftop, moments from lift off.

      Just before they leapt off into the night sky, Eddie poked his head over the edge of the cab. He caught one last glimpse of his baby sister. Tears began to roll down his cheek. He loved her, hoped the best for her, and was glad that it was him in that terrible sleigh and not her.

      Fay fired again, this time hitting the lead deer. The one with the blinking red nose. The creature went limp and the leather straps holding it in place broke loose. It crashed to the ground with the speed of a shooting star.

      As Santa’s sleigh and her brother within flew off into the night’s sky, Fay wished upon that shooting star-deer, “Please god, give me strength...Zombie Santa Must Die.”

Author's Notes:

So I originally thought Part 3 would be a quick short part but it ended up being the longest one. I just wanted them to get back to the farmhouse and wallow in their sorrows...and then Zombie Santa comes and kills them. But it ended up more than I could have imagined. Overall...I enjoyed this part. The gore was pretty cool. And as I was writing this story I started to see coincidences with "Twas the Night Before Christmas" so I just went with it and pulled some pieces of the poem and incorporated them into this part. I thought it was a cool idea.


And oddly enough...the ending of this part kind of rhymes.