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

turned to leave, if they would come back to find their only son flown from his shriveled vessel. “Very drab. There was no heart in it. It was like they were only doing it for the sake of it.”
    Catherine left the door open a crack, and Harry turned on the light in the hall, so Mikey wouldn't be left in darkness.
    “Must be that damn bug,” she said and went off to get herself ready for bed.
    As if on cue, a red hot shiver snaked up Harry's back. He swallowed hard, feeling like a kid with a guilty secret. He walked around the house, turning off lights and plugging out model trains and various other Christmas doo dahs that Catherine had running all day. As he switched out the porch light he happened to glance through the glass panel in the front door. The carol singers were still there, standing in their line, their lanterns held aloft. How creepy.
    He looked around for Catherine.
    “Honey, those carolers are still out there.” It had been a perfect day. Spending some quality man time with his son, followed by Catherine's scrumptious dinner, and then all of them gathered together around the tree. “I'd swear they haven't moved.”
    One could have almost believed it had been a normal day just like any other, had it not been for the sounds of Catherine's solitary sobs coming from behind the bathroom door.

    * * *

    Christmas Eve. When Tiny Mikey had not woken by noon, they went in to wake him. They approached the bed with trepidation, neither of them knowing what to expect. They had checked in on him of course, throughout the night and that morning, but they had not wanted to disturb him; that night was the big one, and he needed his rest.
    But to their relief, he woke up, crying. He was a very sick little boy indeed. They tried to get him to stay in bed, but he wanted to be by the tree, he wanted to see his cartoons. And then he had to be carried; his legs simply wouldn't hold him up.
    Harry honored the mini man’s wishes, and got him set up in the sitting room. Catherine went to phone Doctor Shelborne. It took forever before his secretary answered.
    “Hello, Doctor Shelborne's office,” she greeted, in her usual monotone.
    “Hi, this is Ca...”
    Her relieved rush of words were cut off by the secretary's banal voice repeating the same practiced phrase, “Hello, Doctor Shelborne's office.”
    “Yes, I'm calling on behalf of...”
    “Hello, Doctor Shelborne's office.”
    Catherine stared at the receiver in confusion, then slowly brought it back to her ear.
    “Hello, Doctor Shelborne's office. Hello, Doctor Shelborne's office. Hello, Doctor Shelborne's office.”
    Over and over and over it was repeated.
    Catherine slammed the phone down, and stared at it, her arms crossed tight across her chest, as though she was afraid to touch it again. Just then Harry came out into the hall.
    “Something's wrong at Doctor Shelbornes,” she told him.
    “It doesn't matter,” he replied, hurrying to the front door. “I just saw him walk down the street.”
    He yanked open the door and leaned out, only vaguely registering the line of carol singers on the doorstep. There was a layer of frost on their lanterns and their song sheets were crispy with it.
    “Doctor Shelborne!” he called.
    On the sidewalk, Doctor Shelborne whipped around to the sound of Harry's voice. Harry recoiled in shock. Even from across the street he could see that something was very, very different about the usually quite sophisticated medicine man. His eyeballs looked like they had been injected with black ink. There was no color or life in there whatsoever. His teeth were bared in a crazy snarl, and what looked like blood frothed at the corners of his lips and on his chin.
    “Eh,” Harry stammered, “can you come look at Michael?”
    Doctor Shelborne seemed to hover for a moment before stepping off the footpath and crossing the road. His movements were wrong, leaden. The bits no longer worked in conjunction with each other; his shoulders drooped, his