The Undead That Saved Christmas Vol. 2 (23 page)

Inside the master bedroom Darrin slammed the door shut. “We have to get something to barricade it!” He looked around the room. “Grab that chest!” He pointed to the foot of the bed and as he did the first of the zombie horde hit the door with a thud. The door shook. There was a thud, then another. They grabbed the chest at the foot of the bed and slid it towards the door as it opened. The first zombie through the door was a hulking giant with hands the size of meat cleavers. The undead thing lunged at Craig and knocked him to the floor. Darrin scanned the room for a weapon and found a poker near the fireplace to be his best bet. Craig struggled against the dead giant who was now within inches of his face. The thing opened its mouth and the smell of rotten fish and curdled milk took the breath from his chest, he felt bile rising in his throat as he started to heave; he closed his eyes.

Darrin raised the poker over his head and swung it like a golf club, making contact with the giant’s head and sending a wet chunk of the thing’s skull flying off into the wall. He looked down and could see an exposed black, pulsating dead brain. He took the poker and jammed it into the opening; there was a wet sloshing sound as he wiggled the poker back and forth. He jerked the poker from the hole, taking with it the top half of the skull. The zombie collapsed onto Craig.

More zombies rushed the door as Darrin grabbed his hand and helped him to his feet. They grabbed the chest and slammed it against the door pinning an arm in the door jam. The arm banged against the wall and clawed at the wood frantically, anxious to bring warm meat to its hungry mouth. The two men watched as the arm writhed and wiggled against its confinement and finally twisted towards the handle as if it somehow remembered what a doorknob was. The door banged again as more zombies filled the hallway and tried to push their way in. The men grabbed the oak wardrobe in the corner. They scooted it across the floor and when they were within a couple feet they tipped it on its end sending it crashing into the door. The zombie’s arm snapped off at the elbow as the door closed completely; it fell to the floor, flexed once and then went still.

Craig and Darrin scrambled away from the door and cowered against the old record player in the corner which bumped to life. The zombies filled the hall outside with a cacophonous symphony of moans fit only for the devil his self. They pounded at the door. Outside the rain had stopped and the stars began to peak through the cold southern sky. The grass twinkled with droplets of slick rain. Alistair and Samara shambled through the front door, pausing briefly under the mistletoe as if remembering an already forgotten tradition. They moved across the porch into the yard amongst the gathering army of undead. From somewhere above came a scream, the terrified cry of the living – a sound that would soon be in danger of being snuffed out completely – and lofting from an upstairs bedroom window, within the confines of what now could only be called a mausoleum, came the deep velvety sound of Bing Crosby singing what was possibly the final rendition of “White Christmas”.

Story Art Cover

By Jess Smart Smiley

www.Jess-Smiley.com

Dedication

Mom, your support means everything

Author Bio

Suzanne Robb's
 debut novel Z-Boat will be released by Twisted Library Press. She has stories in several anthologies currently out and soon to be released. In her free time she reads, watches movies, plays with her dog, and enjoys chocolate and Legos. To learn more check out 
http://suzannerobb.blogspot.com/

With a Little Help from my Elves

By Suzanne Robb

Mark Anderson watched the men in front of him. A room full of degenerates which he would assign to a local mall to play the role of Santa. He hated this job, but he had to do it.

“Alright everybody, gather ‘round to get your assignment.” Mark said and sighed as none of the men moved away from the refreshment table.

Every year he made the same mistake: he put out the coffee and doughnuts before getting them to sign the contracts in triplicate, and swearing an oath to wear the red suit proudly. There were also several addendums about improper touching, drinking, drug tests, and crude jokes about hot moms.

“Excuse me, the table will be there when we are done. I promise to buy more muffins if you get over here now.” The sound of scurrying feet could be heard as the men bum rushed Mark in an effort to get a seat.

“My name is Mark Anderson. I recognize some faces, like Jerry over there. Let’s not have a repeat of last year’s incident with one of Santa’s little helpers,” Jerry turned bright red, and Mark made a mental note to check Jerry’s contract and follow up with his parole officer about any recent indecent exposure incidents.

“As all of you know this is an open call for the job of mall Santa. You will each be given a uniform, and assigned a location to go and be jolly at. Your job is to be clean, not drink, be nice to the kids --- even the ones who cry and pee on you --- and most of all to assure them they will get what’s on their wish list.”

Mark glanced around the room to see if they understood. He saw several men still shoving doughnuts in their mouths while some eyed the refreshment table like it was a T-bone steak.

“Okay, if you have any questions this would be the time to ask. If not, I’m going to hand out these forms for you to fill out. Please take note of all the places highlighted for your initials, and read them over carefully.”

Not a single hand rose into the air. They never asked questions. Mark exhaled slowly, and began to hand out the forms. He watched as the men signed anywhere they saw a line. Most put an X where he had highlighted, and one even tried to remove a page, but stopped when he saw Mark eyeing him.

Within three minutes all the contracts were back on his desk- and the refreshment table became the center of attention.

“Alright guys, I’ll be back with the muffins and more coffee in five minutes. I’ll also have your assignments.” No one paid any attention. They never did.

Every year he volunteered so much of his time to charity organizations to help others, and Santa’s were the worst. Thank God he had a plan this year.

* * *

Eric Gunderson ate a doughnut and observed his fellow Santas. He didn’t quite fit in. He had showered today, wasn’t sneaking sips from a flask, and didn’t have stories about hot helpers when they bent over.

Eric ate slowly, wondering what kind of people this agency hired. Were there any requirements? The guy in charge, Mark, didn’t seem to care. He wanted to kick himself. He thought giving back to the community after so many people had helped him would be a good thing.

He tried to start a conversation with some of the guys to see if any were decent men.

“Hey guys, so you do this every year?” A few heads nodded, most ignored him.

“So it’s because it makes you feel good, right? To help out and make a kid smile?” Some snorted and a few outright laughed.

“You’re new here aren’t you? Look, it’s like this; we come here for food, meet once for assignments, and get paid under the table. The rest we could care less about, and that guy Anderson is a moron.”

Eric nodded. He had had made a mistake. However, he had signed the contract, and was a man of his word. He would go through with this; in fact he would be the best damn Santa they had ever seen. He would set a new standard for Santas so next year they would hire better people.

* * *

Mark stood outside the building, hands sweating. His whole body shaking, he had never been so nervous. He carried a bag of thirty muffins, and two carafes full of coffee. Not just any coffee though, his own special blend.

He entered the room unsurprised to see the men still eating. He made a path through them. By the time he reached the table half the muffins were gone, and one carafe of coffee empty.

Mark placed the remaining muffins on the table, and then poured a cup of coffee for each and every man present. He watched carefully, making sure they had some of his special blend. A man off in the corner didn’t have a cup. Mark couldn’t have that.

“Hey there, I’m Mark, thought you might like a cup of coffee.”

“I’m Eric, and as for coffee, no thanks, I already had my fill.”

“No, really have some, it’s my special blend you’ll love it.”

This coffee would change everything. His coffee would ensure he never dealt with an angry mom about being groped, or a child crying because he found out Santa is the homeless guy who lives in the mall parking lot.

In fact, if he did this right, mall Santa’s would be cancelled until the end of time. He smiled at the thought of never having to deal with this again. He had several other charity organizations he actually liked being a part of, and would get to spend more time with them after his plan went into effect.

He only organized the mall Santa’s because he had an agenda. His parents had taken him to see Santa like all other parents. However, the Santa’s beard had fallen off, he smelled like pee and vomit, and told Mark he wasn’t getting anything because he had been a bad boy. From that day on, Mark began to plot his takedown of the mall Santa’s.

“Thanks, but I really have to say no.”

“Just have some coffee dammit.” Mark tried to look intimidating. Being five foot four made it hard, especially when the guy in front of him stood at least six foot.

“Look Mark, I don’t want your damn coffee. Now give me my assignment and uniform so I can get the hell out of here.”

“Fine, but you have to remember to show up in two weeks at the parade downtown. Two weeks. You have to be there.”

“All right, and just an idea, but maybe you should lay off the coffee.”

Mark gave the man a look, then scurried away to get the uniform and assignment list. He would show this guy. He would send him to
Kirwood
mall. All the gangs liked to hang out there, and police were called for shootings, drug deals, and prostitution on a regular basis. Eric would love it.

A few moments later Mark returned to Eric. He handed him his uniform and assignment without a word. As he watched the large man leave he smiled to himself. In two weeks revenge would be his.

* * *

A week later Mark woke, took a shower, opened his front door, and grabbed the paper. Part of his routing, next he headed into the kitchen to read the headlines. He had poured himself a bowl of cereal, and as he took a bite he read the main headline.
“Santa saves the day at Kirwood mall.”

Mark spit out his cereal. “What the hell? I sent him there to get him killed, at the very least scare the crap out of him. I did not send him there to become a damn hero.”

Reading the article he discovered Eric had been responsible for catching four purse snatchers, turning in three drug dealers, and helping eight old ladies cross the street. The quote from Eric made him want to spit. “I’m just trying to make people proud of the man in the red suit.”

“Is he crazy? No volunteer actually takes the oath seriously.” The empty room didn’t respond, but Mark looked around as if it might.

He got out of his chair and paced. This could ruin everything. This Eric fellow had to be stopped.

* * *

Eric sat in the Santa chair holding an infant in his arms. Moments before it had been crying incessantly, and he could tell the mother was at her wits end. As he took the child, he began to hum. A minute later the baby calmed.

“Oh my God, it’s true! You really are amazing.” Eric blushed underneath his beard.

“No ma’am, I’m just doing my job.”

Eric handed the now sleeping child back to the woman. There were no more people lined up, so one of the helper elves put up the break sign. They all headed into Santa’s house and started eating.

“Thanks for getting the food this time Cassie.”

“No problem. It’s the least I could do after you helped me study for my real estate license exam.”

“It was my pleasure. I’m sure you nailed it.”

Eric ate his salad with tofu, looking around at his team of helpers. He had six elves, all of whom were good people. The first day he thought there might be a few problems. He had caught them smoking in front of the kids, the North Pole had not been kept up, and their uniforms were dirty.

He took them into Santa’s house to have a talk. He told them they were supposed to be setting an example to the kids coming there. They had a responsibility to make sure the kids actually believed they were sitting on Santa’s lap and meeting his elves.

Eric might have let a bit of his military leadership show through, but it had paid off. The next day the North Pole was as clean as a whistle, the elves uniforms were spotless, and no activities of a questionable nature were performed in front of the kids, or Eric.

Working together for over a week now, they were a proper unit. They operated as an efficient tiny team. Each person knew where they were supposed to be and when. No one waited too long, and candy and surprises were provided for every crying child.

In his free moments Eric found himself in the right place at the right time to help people out. The police even came down to commend his work. Since he had started working there crime had dropped sixty percent. Eric tried to shrug it off, but they gave him a little medal and a job offer when he finished with the Santa thing.