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

good telling off about her crazy cat, when she ran off down a side alley after someone.”
    “Hmmm,” Catherine said. “I guess she didn't go to the coast after all.”

    * * *

    That evening they allowed Tiny Mikey to open his first present. His hands shook as he tried to tear away the wrapping. Catherine had to help him. The poor kid tried to show the excitement he should have felt, but he just didn't have the energy.
    Harry and Catherine's eyes shone with tears. Mikey thanked them, actually thanked them! How many children do that? It all became too much for Catherine and she went out to the kitchen to fix dinner. Mikey wasn't eating much those days; his body was shutting down, but boy did she put on a spread. Cheeses, cold meats, pickles, sauces. Just to see it all laid out would make one's mouth water.
    This kind of dinner was Mikey's favorite. He could dispense with the old inhibiting knife and fork, and use his hands. On any normal day, he would build stacks and towers out of layers of crackers and his favorite fillings, to see how high he could build it and still fit it in his mouth. And he tried, he really did. They even let him have a dribble of wine in the bottom of a glass – it had always fascinated him, those shiny glasses, that stuff that Mammy and Daddy loved so much – but he was fading from them. Fading fast.
    Countless times Harry was tempted to get up and rip down Christmas, cancel it all, and just let him go. What is Christmas anyway, if the children can't enjoy it? But then he would look at Catherine and it would all somehow seem worth it. It gave her something to work for, a purpose that took her mind off the inevitable, even if it was only for a few minutes a day. Harry didn't know how he and Tiny Mikey would have fared out through all this, if it hadn't been for her.
    After dinner Mikey chose his favorite Christmas movie and Harry got up to put it on. When he stood up from the TV he got a sudden head rush. The room suddenly felt very warm and it seemed like all the blood in his body ran to his cheeks.
    “Is it hot in here?” he asked, whipping off his jumper on the way back to the sofa, where the rest of his family were snuggled up.
    As soon as he sat down he was cold again. Oh good Lord, if he caught that bug that was going around Catherine would have his guts for garters.
    About halfway through the film Mikey threw up. A vile, yellowish-green substance that smelled like acid. While Harry took care of the carpet, Catherine tended to the child. And then they decided to call it a day. The poor thing was worn out and there was no point in using up all his strength on the twenty-third.
    Harry bundled his son into his arms to carry him to bed. As he was crossing the hallway to the stairs there came a knock on the door. Well, more of a persistent hammering actually. Catherine came out behind them and opened it.
    On the porch stood a gaggle of carol singers, led by The School Mistress Miss Brigsby. By the light of the lanterns they all looked pale, almost grey, and their eyes were darkly shadowed and rheumy. Nonetheless, the family paused for a while to listen to them warble, and before long there wasn't a dry eye in the Kinsey house.
    When the rendition of the usual suspects was over, and they had closed the door again, Catherine tutted.
    “Well that wasn't half as good as last year,” she commented, leading them up the stairs. “I think they could have done with more practice.”
    Harry laid his little heir in the bed and tucked the covers around him. Tiny Mikey was just a shadow of his former, cheerful self; pale, sunken cheeks made his eyes look huge, a thin body that looked like it might snap if handled too roughly. They were like two separate people. It broke his heart.
    “I agree,” he croaked, switching out the lights. He had come to hate that part of the day, and he sensed Catherine did too; they always forced some mundane conversation to try and ride over it. They never knew, as they