Free The Undead That Saved Christmas Vol. 2 by ed. Lyle Perez-Tinics

Harry was on the ladder in the hall, caught in another life-or-death brawl with holly boughs.
    “I've just been over to see Old Mrs. Crawford From Next Door,” she informed, passing him another sprig. “There was no answer and the door was locked. I looked in the window but the whole place is in darkness.”
    “Maybe she went to her step son, by the sea?” he suggested around a mouthful of tacks.

    * * *

    December twenty-third. Harry stayed at home to look after Mikey while Catherine went to the shops. They needed an extra pâté. She woke up at the crack of a sparrows eyelid, and decided they did not have enough. They agreed she should pick up the turkey too, when she was out. It was a day early, but just to be on the safe side. Who wanted to deal with any unforeseen circumstances on Christmas Eve? Certainly not the Kinsey's, that's for sure.
    Harry and Michael used the time to wrap up their presents to her, and were watching some Christmas movies in their pajamas when she came in, bursting with news.
    “So, I called by the butchers,” she said, dumping her bags and adjusting some bows on the tree. “It was closed.”
    Harry gulped, his eyes bugging, until his greater sense told him, in no way, shape or form, would Catherine be tweaking the decorations if they had no bird for Christmas day. It was only when he relaxed that he realized he had been gripping a clump of Tiny Mikey's pajamas. Lucky it was only the material and not the poor kid's knee.
    “I went around back, but everything was locked up tight. I was about to call Joan down at the precinct, when I saw Mr. Prior The Bald Butcher, walking up the street. I shouted for him, but he completely ignored me, just kept on walking as if he was oblivious to everything around him.”
    Harry tutted, scandalized. How unprofessional.
    “By that stage I was getting quite frustrated.”
    Harry could only imagine.
    “I didn't know what else to do, so I went round the house.” She said it like it was nothing, but the Priors lived almost two miles out of town. “His missus answered the door. She looked terrible. She was grey as ash, her hair was a mess and she looked like she hadn't eaten in days. Skin and bone she was. Anyway, I told her I needed my order, and she just handed me the key to the shop! Can you believe that?”
    Harry shook his head and threw his eyes up.
    “Between you and me, I think there's something going on there. You've heard the stories about Mr. Prior The Bald Butcher and The School Mistress Miss Brigsby. Anyway, I let myself into the shop and there was our order, all packaged up, ready for collection. I found some pâté, and left the money on the counter.”
    And so concluded her recitation of the days events. Tiny Mikey, weak as a kitten, had dozed off somewhere in the middle. He could hardly keep his eyes open for more than a few hours at a time those days. Catherine saw that he was sleeping and muted the TV. She wound up a snow globe on the mantelpiece and it tinkled to the tune of jingle bells.
    She smoothed his hair back, and kissed his clammy forehead. Harry felt that lump rise in his throat again. It seldom went away of late, and he began to wonder if it wasn't something malignant. He just couldn't imagine what life would be like when Tiny Mikey was gone. He didn't want to imagine it. Before he had been diagnosed, he and Catherine discussed the possibility of starting again, of making a little brother or sister for Mikey. But of course, after that fatal day in the cold, sterile waiting room, it had been the last thing on either of their minds. Maybe they should have gone ahead; would they ever find the heart to do it after Mikey was gone?
    No! This would not do. It was Christmas. The best Christmas, ever.
    “Well, I had a similar experience.” His voice came out an octave higher than was normal; the effect of having to squeeze around the lump. “I saw old Mrs. Crawford From Next Door, wandering up the sidewalk. I was about to give her a