A Bloody Christmas

Once upon a cold Night. It was the night before Christmas, and all was still in the frosty neighborhood. Snow blanketed the ground, muffling every sound, and Tommy’s house glowed softly with multicolored lights. Inside, eleven-year-old Tommy sat perched on his bed, wrapped in his favorite blanket, peering out the window into the wintery darkness.

Every Christmas Eve, he promised himself he would stay awake to see Santa Claus. Yet, year after year, sleep always won, leaving him to wake with disappointment and only a stuffed stocking to remind him Santa had come and gone. But this year was different. This year, he had a plan.

Tommy had prepared snacks, set an alarm on his watch, and even made a checklist of “Santa sighting protocols” to keep himself sharp. As midnight approached, he watched the snow-covered yard with unwavering determination. The cemetery behind his house, usually a dark and eerie place, now looked almost magical under the moonlight, with the headstones sparkling with frost.

But then, something odd happened. Tommy blinked and leaned closer to the window. The pristine snow in the graveyard wasn’t as still as it should have been. A faint ripple spread across its surface, like a pebble thrown into a pond. For a moment, he thought it might be a raccoon or a stray dog.

Then, a hand burst through the snow.

Tommy’s heart stopped. The hand, skeletal and gray, clawed at the cold night air, its bony fingers stretching toward the sky. A second hand followed, and together, they pulled up a grotesque figure. The decayed, shambling corpse had sunken eyes and scraps of flesh clinging to its skull.

Tommy froze in horror. His mind raced to make sense of what he was seeing. Was this a prank? A dream? No, it was too real. The creature staggered to its feet, its hollow gaze sweeping the graveyard.

The snow rippled again. Another hand emerged, and then another. Soon, the cemetery was alive with movement as more figures clawed their way out of the earth. Some were missing limbs; others had exposed bones glinting in the moonlight. They shuffled aimlessly at first, bumping into headstones and each other, like wind-up toys gone wrong.

Tommy wanted to scream, but his voice caught in his throat. Instead, he watched in terrified silence as the lead zombie, the first to rise, stumbled to a nearby headstone and placed its withered hand on the cold granite. As if on command, the grave beside it began to stir, and another corpse emerged, joining the ghastly procession. Before long, a dozen zombies wandered the graveyard, their moans low and haunting. At first, Tommy was too scared to move, but as the minutes ticked by, the absurdity of the scene began to sink in. The zombies weren’t menacing; they were clumsy. One slipped on a patch of ice and fell face-first into the snow. Another tripped over a headstone, taking two others down with it.

Tommy snorted. He couldn’t help it. “Zombies are just big dummies,” he whispered, a nervous laugh escaping his lips.

But his amusement didn’t last long. A faint jingling sound reached his ears, growing louder by the second. Tommy’s heart leapt. He knew that sound, for it was sleigh bells.

Scanning the sky, he spotted a faint light, like a distant star, growing brighter as it approached. The jingling grew louder, accompanied by the rhythmic whoosh of galloping hooves. His excitement soared as the source of the sound came into view: a sleigh pulled by eight magnificent reindeer, their antlers gleaming like polished silver.

“It’s him!” Tommy whispered, his breath fogging the window.

The sleigh descended gracefully, landing in the snowy expanse of his backyard. The reindeer snorted and pawed at the ground, their harnesses jingling softly as Santa Claus himself climbed down. His red suit was vivid against the white snow. He carried a large sack, its contents bulging and shifting as he set it on the ground.

Tommy’s excitement was short-lived. The zombies had seen the sleigh too, and their aimless shuffling was replaced by a chilling focus. Their heads snapped toward Santa in unison, and they began moving with alarming speed.

“No, no, no,” Tommy muttered, his heart pounding.

He banged on the window, shouting, “Santa! Look out! Zombies!”

Santa didn’t hear him. He was too busy rummaging through his sack, humming a cheerful tune as he searched for Tommy’s presents.

“Santa!” Tommy yelled, louder this time.

Finally, Santa looked up, his rosy-cheeked face creased with confusion. He waved at Tommy, his smile as jolly as ever, but then his eyes widened as he noticed the approaching horde. Dropping the sack, he scrambled for the reins.

“Up, Dasher! Up, Dancer!” he shouted.

The reindeer strained, their hooves digging into the snow, but the sleigh wouldn’t budge. The zombies had reached it, their clawed hands gripping the wooden frame with unnatural strength.

Tommy’s chest tightened as he watched the scene unfold. He had to do something. He couldn’t just stand there and let Santa get eaten by zombies. But what could he do?

His gaze darted around the room, landing on the baseball bat leaning against his closet. Grabbing it, he bolted downstairs, his mind racing. He didn’t have a plan, but he couldn’t let Santa face the zombies alone.

Bursting out the back door, Tommy charged into the yard, the cold air biting his skin. “Hey! Over here!” he shouted, waving the bat.

Several zombies turned toward him, their empty eyes locking onto their new target. Tommy’s stomach churned, but he stood his ground. As they lurched toward him, a new sound pierced the night. It was a deep, resonant gallop.

Tommy turned to see a red blur streaking across the sky, descending with a thunderous crash. Rudolph had arrived. His glowing nose illuminated the yard, casting eerie shadows across the snow. Lowering his antlers, he charged at the nearest zombie, impaling it with a force that sent it flying.

Tommy watched in awe as Rudolph fought with ferocity, his antlers slashing and his hooves crushing. The other reindeer joined the fray, their powerful kicks sending zombies sprawling. Santa, armed with a candy cane as long as a spear, leapt from the sleigh and swung at the undead with surprising agility.

The battle was chaotic. Zombies clawed and snapped, but the reindeer and Santa held their ground. Rudolph, his nose blazing like a fiery beacon, seemed unstoppable, his antlers slicing through the horde with precision.

Tommy gripped his bat tightly, stepping in to help where he could. He swung at a zombie’s head, the impact jarring his arms but sending the creature toppling. Another lunged at him, but Rudolph intervened, trampling it before it could reach him.

After what felt like an eternity, the yard fell silent. The zombies lay scattered and broken, their lifeless bodies sinking into the snow. Santa wiped his brow, his red suit dusted with glitter and snow.

“Young man,” he said, turning to Tommy with a grin, “you’ve got quite the swing. You saved Christmas tonight.”

Tommy blushed, his breath coming in ragged puffs. “I just… I couldn’t let them get you.”

Santa chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Bravery like that deserves a special reward.”

As the reindeer lined up, ready to take off, Santa climbed back into the sleigh. He tipped his fur-lined hat to Tommy and called out, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

The sleigh soared into the sky, disappearing among the stars. Tommy stood in the yard, his heart swelling with pride. When he returned to his room, he found his stocking stuffed to bursting. But the greatest gift, he thought, was knowing he had helped save Christmas—and had witnessed the magic firsthand.