A Long Winter's Fright: 13 FREE YA Holiday Poems & Stories Page 7

  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 elves they did battle

  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