A Very Vampire Holiday: A YA Christmas Story Read online

A Very Vampire Holiday:

  A YA Christmas Story

  By Rusty Fischer, author of Vamplayers

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  A Very Vampire Holiday

  Rusty Fischer

  Copyright 2012 by Rusty Fischer

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  This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Cover credit: © Andrey Kiselev – Fotolia.com

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  Author’s Note:

  The following is a FREE Vampire Christmas story. Any errors, typos, grammar or spelling issues are completely the fault of the vampires. (They’re not very patient with the editorial process!)

  Anyway, I hope you can overlook any minor errors you may find; enjoy!

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  A Very Vampire Holiday:

  A YA Christmas Story

  “Let me get this straight,” I ask the fat man, standing – quite literally – with his fuzzy red cap in hand. “You want us to help you deliver your presents tonight?”

  “Yes, Sheila, that’s right.”

  His voice is louder than I thought it would be; firmer, too.

  I’ve read too many kids’ books, I suppose.

  Once upon a time, that is.

  “What of your miraculous elves you’re always bragging about?” I ask, sitting up in my ice throne just the same.

  “Well, you see…” He pauses to chuckle and, I must admit, even though my heart hasn’t beaten for over two centuries, it’s hard not to like the dude.

  I mean, this is Santa Claus we’re talking about here, right?

  “That’s the thing, you see, Madam Sasha. Mrs. Claus whipped up a batch of her favorite molasses and macadamia macaroni, you know, so the elves could carbo load for the big day. Well, apparently, the pasta had gone bad and now, you see, I have 6,000 elves all down with food poisoning.”

  I chuckle, staring out the ice wall at Santa’s back to see the rest of my coven lingering closely as they eavesdrop through the sheer, crystalline walls of my inner sanctum.

  You can take the heart out of the vampire but you can’t take out the gossip, let me tell you.

  “I don’t see how we can help, you see; we’re such a small, humble coven.”

  “Over 60 strong,” Santa boasts. “And, you’re vampires, aren’t you? That means you have the strength of 10 men each!”

  “Aha! So you do know we exist.”

  “Why, of course dear,” he sighs, fat hands anxiously wringing the life out of his cap. “I’m Santa Claus, you see.”

  I nod, licking my lips. “If you say so. I mean, we were starting to wonder seeing as you haven’t dropped off a present in over 78 years!”

  Santa blushes, three shades of crimson.

  Now it’s impossible to tell where his neck starts and his red satin overcoat begins.

  “Well, now, we talked about that Sasha, you see. I can’t have you draining my reindeer dry every time I stop by to drop off a few gifts for you and your… undead friends.”

  “Hey, better we drain reindeer blood than elves’ blood!”

  “Better neither, my dear,” Santa corrects and, looking closely, his nose really is red.

  I shrug and admire one of my three-inch long, razor sharp claws. “Besides, I thought we were doing you a favor. Vampire reindeer could fly you around the word faster, stronger and sooner than those regular old reindeer.”

  “Yes, Sasha, but… regular reindeer don’t try to eat the children at every stop, you see?”

  I sigh. “Details, details…”

  “I put you on the naughty list then, you see, and I haven’t seen fit to take you off yet.”

  “And yet, here you are. On Christmas Eve, of all nights. So, which is it? Are we too naughty for gifts, but just naughty enough to help you deliver gifts? Is that it, St. Nick?”

  Santa shakes his head irritably. “But you’re vampires, dear. Whatever would I give you anyway?”

  At last I stand from my chilly throne and slink down the three shaved ice steps to the cavern floor, my thick-heeled boots providing both dramatic effect as well as much-needed traction.

  It wouldn’t do to slip and fall at my finest moment, now, would it?

  “Millions of things, as I see it Santa. Files for our fangs, crystal tumblers for our blood, a new cape… heck, a new coffin! You of all people know how far it is to the nearest town, and yet every year, you fly right on by without so much as a lump of coal, to say nothing of a clot of blood. How do you think that makes us feel?”

  “Feel?” he asks, combing fat fingers through even fatter whiskers. “I, well dear… I never stopped to consider your feelings, I suppose.”

  “That’s right,” I “aha” him, waving a long, dangerous finger in his face as I circle him, raggedy cape still managing to “hiss” dramatically along the pure ice floor beneath our feet.

  “Every year we wait, and we wait, all Christmas long. And you fly right on by, and you fly back, and never even a nod as you sail across the sky over our heads. And there we sit, black stockings hanging from our ice chimney, red lights blinking on our dead fir tree, hoping just once that you’ll finally forgive us for that one little transgression lo these many years ago…”

  “Little?” he gasps, stepping back in his own fancy black boots to issue one of his famous lectures. “Why, Donder and Blitzen were two of my best reindeer. Do you know how long it took me to find worthy replacements?”

  “Okay, so we screwed up Santa, but… look how good we’ve been ever since. No more feasting on Arctic scientists, no more terrorizing documentary film crews, no more depleting the local polar bear population, now we ship our blood in, along with our capes and fang files and everything else you won’t bring us each December.”

  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.

&n
bsp; 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?

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  Rusty Fischer specializes in seasonal short stories for the YA paranormal audience. Read more of Rusty’s FREE stories at www.rushingtheseason.com.