Dad's Christmas Story

Dad's Christmas Story
         
         
          "'T'was the night before Christmas, when all through the house'... Are you even listening to this?" Granger asked his two teenage children. "It's our family tradition to listen to this every year. Besides, it might be different this year."

          "Come on, Dad, we have listened to this for ten years. This year's only difference is that you have been drinking spiked eggnog."

          "Yeah, what Judy said. Plus, I want to play my video game. This story is for babies who still believe in Santa Claus." Chimed Greg.

          "Well, excuse me for trying to add a little Christmas spirit. I didn't know I had two killjoys living here."

          "Dad, it's the week before Halloween."

          "You never let me get to the best part of the story, Judy. Like I said, it's different this year."

          "How is it different? Does Santa not give out presents? Did he get rid of his reindeer? Or did he gain weight so he couldn't go down chimneys anymore?" Judy asked with her right eyebrow raised.

          "Yeah, what she said," Greg stated, trying to raise his eyebrow like Judy. He eventually gave up and used his index finger to raise an eyebrow.

          "Fine. I won't read the story. Are you both happy now?"

          "Yep, I'm good." Judy quickly responded.

          "Does this mean I can play now?" Greg said as he started to get up.

          "No. I have a different story. It's a true story about a Christmas. One that is only told to children after they reach seventeen. That is when you hear the real story about Christmas and Santa Claus."

          "Dad," Judy began, "we already know there is no such thing as Santa Claus. We have known for years."

          "That's what the adults want you to believe. If you knew the truth, you would never leave the house during Christmas. And forget those cute Christmas pictures of you sitting with Santa at the mall." Granger visibly shudders.

          "I sat on his lap last week, remember? Why shouldn't I have sat with him? What's wrong with Santa?"

          "There is nothing wrong with Santa because he is made up." Judy snapped at Greg.

          "There's where you are wrong, Judy. Dead wrong."

          "What do you mean I am 'Dead wrong'?"

          "I was getting to that before you interrupted my story. But, I guess you don't want to hear the real story."

          Their curiosity piqued, and they both replied simultaneously, "No, tell us the story. What is so different?"

          "That's better. Just listen. No interruptions or questions while I am telling the true story."

          Granger sits on the floor, careful not to spill his large eggnog. "Come over here and sit close. I don't want anyone to hear me telling you the true story of Santa." Greg was the first to hurriedly sit by his dad, while Judy hesitated briefly before she, too, sat close.

          "Now, where was I? Oh, yes." Lowering his voice so Judy and Greg would have to move their heads a little closer. "At one time, Santa was chubby and plump, a happy old man. When he was visiting an old, run-down shack, a nasty little ghoul bit him, and he changed for the worse. Soon, all the elves and reindeer were gone, and Mrs. Claus was not to be found. Instead of stopping, he grabbed his Naughty List and flew around. After years of searching for and finding everyone on his list, he was still hungry, so he searched for good little girls and boys. Thus ending Christmas as it used to be."

          "Who is he?" Asked Greg, barely above a whisper.

          "After years of people disappearing during Christmas Eve, everyone began to board up their houses, bricking over their chimney, placing shutters on the windows, and turning off all the lights. One house thought they were safe and would be looked over."

          "The children were hiding underneath their bed, with visions of the living dead dancing on their heads. The mother hid in the closet, mouth covered in fear, and the dad in the downstairs bathroom, peeking through the keyhole."

          "No one talked or moved, afraid someone would hear; as the shutters and doors, the chimney was closed, praying he would walk past without a second glance."

          "On the roof, a mighty thump of the dead weight of six fleshless moose and a large wooden box."

         "Santa doesn't use a wooden box to ride in," Judy stated, unsure if she was right.          

         "It wasn't a box like you think. It was a wooden coffin."

          "Out popped a corpse, all moldy with ooze, sniffing to find its next tasty snack. They heard it slowly walk around in circles, sniffing and huffing, dragging its useless right leg. And then the pounding on the shingles and roof began as he smelled his favorite morsel to eat: frightened children beneath the snow-covered roof."

          "How did he smell the kids? They were hiding." Asked Greg while rubbing his hands together in fear.

          "The zombie dead can smell fresh meat through anything. Even roofs and bed covers."

         "As Dead Santa pounded and beat the roof with a mighty force, he didn't reckon the ceilings would be reinforced. All of a sudden, the sound abated. The family heard nothing except their hearts beating against their chests."

         "Then arose a mighty howl as Dead Santa leaped to the earth and limped to the door. The frame shook with such violence and noise that the father thought this was undoubtedly the end. As quickly as it started, the pounding stopped. Nothing was heard outside in the snow."

         Judy and Greg were now staring wide-eyed at their dad while he continued the tale.

         "Downstairs, the ripping of shutters to the living room; nails and wood discarded as bony claws wrench them free. Glass shattered, window frames torn asunder, all while hearing the guttural howl of unabated hunger."

         "I want to hear the other story, Dad. Can you please tell us that one instead?" Pleaded Greg.

         "The zombie Santa was dressed all in tatters, with dark red stains splashed from head to feet. Around the bearded chin, all brown and smelly, rested his last snack from an elf named Billie. With only one eye in the socket, the other dangled down, zombie Santa peers for his next dangling meat."

         "His eye, which lay limp on his cheek, was glazed over with a red hue while his other eye darted around the room. Drool dripped out of his mouth freely; his tongue darted in and out, tasting the scent. The beard of his chin was full of what had fallen from his ever-open mouth."

         "Peeking through the keyhole, holding his breath, the dad saw Zombie Santa spinning around, stopping at once to face the door he stood behind. With a howl of hunger, Zombie Santa rushed to the door and was about to rip it off the hinges. Dad, seeing this, fell back in fright and hit his head on the side of the tub."

          "Zombie Santa went straight to work, ripping and throwing the door aside. Once in the bathroom, he went straight to his meal. Stopping just short, turning with a jerk. He rushed out the door and through the window. Soon, in his box, he grunted a command. Off flew the six decayed moose, pulling the coffin with screams of anger heard all the way."

          Granger stopped his story and waited for his kids to say something. While Judy just sat there staring at her dad, Greg was visibly shaken and wide-eyed, looking straight ahead without blinking.

          "That's it? What happened to the dad in the bathroom? It can't end there. Somebody had to kill the zombie."

          Seeing the doubt in his daughter's eyes, "Oh, the dad was killed when he hit the back of the tub with his head. He's dead."

          "No, that's not true. You're lying. The dad is alive. Isn't he?"

          "Nope. Sorry. He is dead."

          "This was supposed to have a happy ending. You said this was a Christmas story. All Christmas stories have a happy ending."

          "You're right. I did say this was a Christmas story. It's the real Christmas story. Believe it or not." After looking both his children in the eyes, he said, "Ok, it's time for bed. Sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite."

          With this said, Granger gets off the floor, goes over to the lamp, and turns it off. "See you two in the morning."

          Five hours after everyone went to bed, a loud, prolonged pounding came from the roof. The noise went silent and then was heard directly above Judy's room. Still thinking about the story, she screams and runs to her parent's room, where Greg hides underneath the covers. Not seeing her dad present, she says, "Oh, that's just dad. He is trying to scare us."

          "I'm trying to what?" Asked Granger as he walked out of the bathroom connected to their room. The pounding is heard again, coming directly above their parent's room.

          "Don't worry about that."

          Calming down and thinking she knew what happened, Judy replies, "I knew that was fake, like your story."

          "Oh, no, that's real. So is the noise you are hearing. It is just Zombie Santa testing the roof for weaknesses. Makes it easier for him to get in quicker."


Prompt: A zombie outbreak at Santa's Village in the North Pole.
Word Count: 1,545