Santa still scratches his beard, but now at least he’s nodding his head. “Yes, I suppose once we hunted down and trapped all the vampire polar bears, the North Pole has been a much more peaceful place. But dear, it took us nearly 50 years to catch them all!”
I grin, thinking of the dozen or so we still keep penned up beneath ground, pacing their ice prison with dripping fangs and dangerous claws.
You know, just in case.
I shake my head and purr, “Well, Santa, maybe we’ll need 50 years to consider your offer.”
“But I don’t have 50 years, Sasha; I barely have 50 minutes. Won’t you… won’t you fill my sleigh tonight? And, you know, avoid eating all my reindeer in the process?”
“What’s in it for us, Santa?”
“Why, you’d be saving Christmas for the entire world, Sasha; think of the goodwill it will mean for you and your coven when… oh, well, I suppose no one could ever find out, could they? It wouldn’t quite do for Santa to go boasting about his ‘undead helpers,’ now would it?”
“See what I mean? We get no presents, no press, not even any credit. I’m not feeling a lot of motivation at the moment, Nick. You’re going to have to do better than that.”
Santa Claus turns, scratching the back of his bald head as the vampires who’d been eavesdropping scatter into the various nooks and crannies of our not-so-secret – to Santa, anyway – lair.
Then he turns back, a sneaky smile on his face.
I lean in, almost expectantly, to hear his reply.
“What if, during my time in Transylvania tonight, I make a rather large withdrawal from their national blood bank? That would keep you and your coven in nourishment until Valentine’s Day at least.”
My fangs literally leap from my gums at the prospect of pure, Transylvanian blood.
Damn them!
How can you keep a poker face with six-inch road signs pointing out your every emotion?
“Tempting,” I lisp as the fangs gradually slide back in. “It would be nice to drink some pure blood for a change. And we’d be far less tempted to feast on fresh polar bar in the meantime.”
“Good,” Santa beams, extending a chubby pink hand. “Then it’s a deal.”
“Not quite, fat man. Who’s to say we won’t help you load that sleigh of yours and send you off into the night, only to have you renege on your part of the deal?”
“Why, I’m insulted you would even say such a thing. I’m Santa Claus, dear; my word is my bond.”
“Says you,” I smirk, slithering toward him. “But you promised us if we quit turning polar bears you’d bring us presents again and, well, look how that turned out?”
“What do you propose?” the fat man asks, cheery voice turning suddenly to steel.
“Only that I come along to make sure you keep your end of the bargain.”
“Out of the question.” His face fairly shudders at the very idea.
“Ditto!” I bark, whirling away from him and making the best use of my cape.
“Someone, Sasha, in fact many someone’s might see you.”
“How, Santa? No one ever sees you and, those that do, you simply snap your finger and they forget all about it. Can’t you do the same for one little old vampire?”
He looks me up and down, sniffing as if I offend his delicate senses, then concedes by saying, “Well, you can’t wear that.”
“Fine,” I snort, reaching inside my ice wardrobe to slither into a slinky red, white and green number I’ve been saving for just such an occasion.
“Why, my dear,” Santa says, admiring my getup as we saunter past the other vampires, who grunt and growl but get in line to help Santa just the same. “I never knew how much Christmas meant to you vampires.”
“More than you’ll ever know,” I gush, sliding my arm through his and steering him past the iron kitchen to our left, where the rest of the moldy pasta sits, buried behind a steel door, until we can dispose of it properly in the new year.
What, you thought I’d leave a trip on Santa’s sleigh up to chance?
* * * * *
Zombies Don’t Jingle:
A Living Dead Christmas Poem
We caroled on Elm Street
We caroled on Oak;
Yes, I’d have to say
We were caroling folk!
We sang ‘til our voices
Were scratchy and sore;
Then swallowed a cough drop
And sang 10 songs more!
The snow felt so chilly
On our bright, singing faces;
As we shuffled around
In brightly lit spaces.
The houses were decked out
So merry and gay;
As we caroled and sang
All night and all day.
Our noses were frosty
As we rounded Pine Street;
Struggling to stand
On our achy, sore feet.
“One more then we’re finished,”
Pastor Carol did boast.
“Then it’s back to the rec hall
Where it’s warm as fresh toast!”
We started to sing
That old Silent Night;
When the door burst wide open
And gave us a fright!
Three zombies came stumbling
Out the Harrington’s door;
Dripping our neighbor’s blood
All over the floor.
Those zombies they saw us
And gave quite a start;
And the smell that came off them
Was worse than… a fart!
It reeked quite of death
Of rot and decay;
Not things one should smell
On a bright Christmas Day!
Their teeth were quite yellow
Their eyes were pure red;
And the gray of their skin
Made it clear they were… undead.
I wanted to bolt
I wanted to run;
But the zombies were hungry
For some holiday fun.
I turned to find seven
Shuffling up to my back;
And six more stumbled over
To wage their attack.
Our church group was surrounded
Our future quite grim;
Until I croaked out a suggestion
To good Pastor Jim.
“The end is quite certain,”
I said with a frown;
“But I’d like one more carol
Before we go down!”
The zombies were inching
Getting ready for a fight;
When our voices sang steady
Of that first… Silent Night.
We sang to the rooftops
We sang to the rafter;
Not caring a whit
For what might happen… after.
I waited each minute
For a crunch or a bite;
For the gnawing to start
On this non-Silent night.
But the zombies stood still
And drooled on their feet;
As our singing and caroling
To them was... quite sweet.
The song it did end
And the zombies all clapped;
Sue Briggs tried to run –
In no time she was trapped.
Before we could sing
Before we could try;
They ripped her to pieces
And sucked her bones dry.
We all stood there trembling
As they wallowed in gore;
Until I haltingly suggested
That we best sing… one more!
With each Christmas carol
The zombies they sighed;
But each time we stopped
The next caroler died!
We sang and we sang
That long Christmas day;
Until the last zombie
Just… drifted away.
“We still have thr
ee songs left,”
The last caroler said.
Then I looked all around
To find my friends… dead.
The street was quite empty
The town deadly still;
I stepped on a finger
It gave me a chill!
I wandered for hours
Until it was night;
And found no survivors
Nope, not one in sight.
On the far edge of town
I heard quite a grumbling;
Like the groaning and retching
Of a hundred stomachs rumbling.
I still had my elf cap
Fixed tight to my head;
As I approached the zombie gathering
With fear and with dread.
They stood there and waited
Gore stuck in their teeth;
As I crept up toward them
As neat as a thief.
I stood there before them
And sang Oh, Christmas Tree;
Though each inch of my body
Wanted to flee.
They smiled and shuffled
They burped and passed gas;
But no mattered how hard I tried
They would not let me pass.
I settled in and gave them
The show of the year;
Grinning and smiling
In spite of my fear.
Their bellies were hungry
But the carols were soothing;
Even if my neighbors’ bones
They were chomping and toothing.
I wasn’t afraid
Oh no sir, not me;
I sang without falter
I sang loud… with glee.
I knew I’d be safe
From this living dead throng;
At least until I came
To the very last song…
* * * * *
A Vampire’s Night Before Christmas:
A Vampire Christmas Poem
‘Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through the coven
The air felt as cold
As an Eskimo’s oven!
The coffins were open
The vampires milling;
As this was the night
For some Santa blood spilling!
The vampire’s basement
Looked haunted and dusty;
The floors were quite damp
The walls rather… musty.
The air it was filled
With maximum dread;
As just up the stairs
The vampires fled.
The living room looked
Like a warm greeting card;
As to welcome dear Santa
The vamps had tried hard!
A tree it stood shining
The lights they did glitter;
As the vamps shook their heads
And started to twitter.
It wasn’t their nature
To get bright and sparkly;
For vampires preferred
To celebrate… darkly.
If they did have a tree
(Which was rather quite rare)
The vamps lit it sparsely
With black balls and devil’s hair.
Their vampire leader
Smiled wider than most;
His hair black as tar
His skin white as toast.
His name it was Chauncey
His legend quite vast;
For even among vampires
He was quite the badass.
One vamp asked him, “Chauncey,
“Do you think Santa knows…
Of our plan to attack him
And suck dry his toes?”
Chauncey nodded quite gravely
And said with a sigh,
“This isn’t the first time
We’ve tried to drain the big guy.”
Chauncey thought with a smile
Of the last 10 decades;
And how they’d tried to trap Santa
And his trusty elf aides.
For Santa had one thing
The vamps sure did not;
A magical bloodstream
That just would not clot!
If only the vamps
Could tap Santa’s vein;
Over all the immortals
Their species would reign!
So every year
On the 25th of December;
Vamps all cross the world
Tried Santa to dismember!
And now hooves were tramping
Up on the vamps’ ceiling;
As dread in his veins
Chaunce was suddenly feeling!
For now it was time,
To drain the jolly old elf;
Or bring another year of shame
Upon Chauncey’s old self.
He readied the vamps
As he put them in their places;
With fangs sticking out
Of their pancake pale faces.
“I don’t know what Santa
Has stuck up his sleeve,”
Chauncey said to his minions
Who could no longer breathe.
“But whatever you do,
Take care of yourselves.
And don’t fall into the trap
Set by Santa’s bad elves!”
Each vamp had a corner
Each vamp had his space;
As the chimney hole spat up
All over the place!
The first crucifix fell
And scattered the lot;
As the vamps ran away
Before they could rot!
The elves quickly followed
As onto the floor;
They rolled one by one
As more followed more.
They each grabbed a cross
And stood side by side;
As across the floor
They started to stride.
Only Chauncey remained
His vamps having scattered;
He had barely noticed
For nothing else mattered…
Save slaying dear Santa
On this Christmas Eve;
For elves or no elves
Santa just couldn’t leave.
They put up a fight;
But Chauncey prevailed
On this holiday night.
He slayed them quite soundly
Each pint-sized little elf;
Until he was triumphant
(And quite proud of himself!)
But the war wasn’t over
It had just begun;
For Santa brought vengeance
And all kinds of fun!
He landed quite squarely
In the fireplace grate;
And said, “Sorry Chauncey;
It appears I’m too late…”
“… to save my dear elves
From your living dead charm;
But have no fear, Chauncey –
Santa’s here to do you harm!”
And old Santa meant it
That lively old elf;
He snuffed and he snorted
In spite of himself!
He ripped off his sleeves
And flexed massive biceps;
Old Chaunce stood his ground
Fangs glistening like forceps.
“I see you’ve been lifting
Your loyal reindeer.
You’re mad if you think
You fill me with fear!”
Old Santa did wink
And the rumbling it grew;
As eight giant reindeer
Down the chimney they flew!
The reindeer were vicious
As they gathered around;
And knocked poor old Chauncey
Straight onto the ground.
They stomped as they hungered
For some prime vampire pain;
As poor Chauncey tried fightin
g
Them off quite in vain.
And as each massive paw print
Seared into his skin;
Chauncey’s face fairly burst
In a maniacal grin.
He slashed at their ankles
With his ragged, rough claws;
As each tiny reindeer
Fell straight to its paws!
They scattered and scampered
Away from his wrath;
As straight toward Santa
The vamp set a path!
The fat man was turning
To make his escape;
When Chauncey came at him
And chomped on his nape!
But Santa was lively
Quite spritely and quick;
And poor Chauncey got
No more than a lick!
And onto the rooftop
Old Santa did spring;
As into the night
His voice it did ring.
“On Dancer, On Dasher
Don’t care if you’re bleeding;
Away from this hellhole
We need to be speeding!”
Old Chauncey was wounded
And felt to one knee;
Landing in front
Of that old Christmas tree.
And there, wrapped up nicely
In ribbons and bows;
Was a sight that warmed Chauncey
Straight down to his toes.
A vial, you see
Filled with gooey red stuff;
A sight that filled Chauncey
Fully of holiday guff!
It was from Santa, you see
A gift straight from the heart;
For it was with one pint of blood
The fat man did part.
He’d given old Chauncey
His fondest gift yet;
A tube of his blood
The freshest he’d get!
His wish had come true
Santa’s blood was all his;
He poured it all down