Collected Christmas Horror Shorts (Collected Horror Shorts Book 1)

by Tim Curran

  “MERRY CHRISTMAS, BROOKLYN!” I shouted. Wait, was it Christmas yet? I couldn’t quite remember.

  Thinking quickly, I looked down and saw a teenager, gift in hand, ambling down the street. When in doubt, ask.

  “You there, boy,” I hailed him. “What day is ... OH FUCK!”

  I began to sizzle as the rays of the morning sun hit me. I yanked my head inside as fast as I could and shut the drapes. Note to self: embracing my humanity was fine, I just needed to remember that there were still a few caveats attached to it.

  Remembering that I had just exposed my vampiric nature to the world at large, I peeked through the curtains to see what was happening below. The kid I had yelled to was continuing on his merry way as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. Thank God for New Yorkers. This was the only place in the world where the heights of weirdness were barely worthy of a shrug.

  Oh well. I stopped, dropped, and rolled to put myself out, then threw on a fresh – and unburnt – set of clothes. Slightly singed, but presentable, I opened my bedroom door and stepped out. Despite my little mishap of bursting aflame, my new outlook on life was still intact.

  “Merry Christmas!” I shouted, spotting Ed in our kitchen nook, coffee cup in hand.

  He took a sip and nonchalantly replied, “Christmas is tomorrow, Bill. I’m driving you to your parents, remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” I lied. “But just because it’s tomorrow, doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate it today. Hell, we can celebrate it every day!” I turned and spied my other roommate, Tom. He was sitting on the couch with his lovely girlfriend Christy.

  “Merry Christmas, you two!” I said, striding over. I gave him a hearty handshake, then pulled him to his feet and embraced him like a brother. I even bent down and gave Christy a little peck on the cheek.

  “You’re in a surprisingly good mood,” Ed remarked, walking over. He raised one eyebrow quizzically and said, “I thought you weren’t excited about the holidays.”

  “Not anymore, my friend. I’ve decided I need a whole new outlook on life. From here on in things will be different. No more moping and whining. I’ve been given a gift and, by God, I’m going to use it to make a difference in this world. Today is the first day of the rest of my life and it’s going to be a long, fulfilling life. It’s...”

  “I knew it would work!” Tom cried, turning to Ed. “You owe me, dude.”

  Christy swatted his arm. “Shhhh. You’re not supposed to say anything.”

  “Say anything?” I asked, confused, albeit still elated.

  “It’s nothing,” Ed said.

  Tom nodded and replied, “Ed’s right, but he still owes me ten bucks.”

  Despite knowing that more important matters awaited me, I found my curiosity piqued. “Why do you owe Tom ten dollars?”

  “Oh, no reason,” he replied, sipping his coffee. I still had a grin on my face, but something about his tone bothered me. When you lived with people long enough you could practically smell when they’re bullshitting you from a mile away. This whole place stank of it right then and it was causing my veneer of good cheer to start cracking.

  I knew Ed was a tough nut to crack. Thus I turned to the weakest link in the room. “Tom, why does Ed owe you money?” Christy opened her mouth to say something, but I held up a hand to silence her. “Care to enlighten me?”

  “You’re probably gonna be pissed” he replied. Ed let out a sigh of disgust and walked back over to the kitchen. We could both tell when Tom was about to spill his guts. It wasn’t particularly hard. The dude couldn’t keep his mouth shut if it was Krazy-glued.

  “I promise I will not be pissed.” I held up a finger and crossed it over my non-beating heart.

  “Well, you’ve been a little glum lately, what with all the shit going on.”

  “And,” I prodded, keeping an overly-friendly smile plastered on my mug.

  “And I remembered Christy mentioning a couple of weeks back that she knew this spell, something to do with using a person’s subconscious to help perk them up. Right, hon?”

  “Heh. It’s a little more complicated than that,” she replied, quickly stepping behind him, a sheepish grin on her face.

  “How so?” I asked conversationally.

  “You know, dimensional doors, linking of minds through the astral plane. Silly stuff like that.”

  “You don’t say,” I replied, feeling my smile falter as I gritted my teeth. “Truly fascinating.”

  “I thought it was an awesome idea,” Tom continued, still oblivious to the hole he was digging himself, “but Ed told me it was all bullshit. We argued a bit until he bet me that Christy couldn’t change your outlook on life.”

  “Let me get this straight,” I said, walking over and putting an arm around his shoulders. “Ed bet you that Christy couldn’t make me happy by fucking with my brain – all for the princely sum of ten dollars. And you accepted?” As I spoke, I slowly tightened my grip on him into a choke hold.

  “Something like that,” he sputtered.

  “And you thought this was a good idea?!” I asked Ed, feeling my fangs involuntarily extend.

  “I take it, then,” he replied calmly, “that your outlook has not improved.”

  “What the fuck do you think?”

  “What do I think?” He turned his attention back toward Tom. “I think that proves my point. Kindly fork over the cash.”

  I let go of Tom, feeling utterly exasperated. My God, what a bunch of pricks I lived with.

  I turned toward my room, deciding that going back to sleep was my best course of action. Visions of Gan suddenly didn’t sound so bad.

  “No hard feelings, Bill?” Ed called after me. “It was all in good fun ... and a little easy money.”

  “Ask me that in about a hundred years,” was my reply as I slammed the door shut behind me.

  I took a step toward my bed, then had a thought. Didn’t Christy say something about linking minds? Was it possible? Hmm. What the hell? It was worth a shot.

  I stuck my head back out and said, “Oh, and just for your information, Sally hates rubies.”

  The last thing I saw before shutting the door again were Ed’s eyes opening wide in genuine surprise.

  It was only then that I allowed myself the ghost of a smile. Perhaps it was worth the ten bucks after all.

  Bah Humbug indeed.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Rick Gualtieri lives alone in central New Jersey with only his wife, three kids, and countless pets to both keep him company and constantly plot against him. When he’s not busy monkey-clicking words, he can typically be found jealously guarding his collection of vintage Transformers from all who would seek to defile them.

  Defilers beware!

  To contact Rick (with either undying praise or rude comments) please visit:

  Rick’s Website: www.rickgualtieri.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/RickGualtieriAuthor

  Twitter: www.twitter.com/RickGualtieri

  Christmas Market

  By

  Amy Cross

  “How about now? Are you finally feeling Christmassy?”

  It takes me a moment to answer. The Christmas market is so bright and busy and loud, and so beautiful all lit-up against the dark trees and the night sky beyond, that it feels curmudgeonly to not join in. I mean, it's not the market's fault that I'm not in the mood for Christmas, and it's not Jessie's fault either. It's no-one's fault but mine. So I do what I always do in these situations, which is that I turn to her and smile, and I tell her what she wants to hear.

  “Sure, Jessie. You were right. It's kinda cool and -”

  “Let me show you something!” she stammers, grabbing my hand and pulling me past several stalls, dragging me through the sea of thickly over-coated, scarf-wearing Christmas shoppers. “You're gonna love it!”

  “If you say so,” I mutter, almost tripping several times before slamming into her shoulder as she comes to a sudden halt ah
ead of me.

  Feeling a little breathless, I look around at the stalls, and I have to admit that they look very warm and jolly. Tonight has been advertised as a special food extravaganza, The Gobblin' Market, which means every stall is selling some variation of cake, pies, puddings and glog. I swear, I can feel my waistline expanding simply from looking at the pile of chocolate logs on the stall next to me, and that's before I've even spotted the vast array of marzipan animals on another stall. Electric lights are shining so brightly all around me, and I can feel their warmth as I step over to take a closer look at the array of marzipan pigs, marzipan ladybugs and marzipan farm animals. One of the pigs, in particular, looks extremely happy with his little red scarf tucked tight around his neck.

  For the first time in months, I actually smile a genuine smile. Mum and Dad would have loved a marzipan pig.

  “Not that! This!” Jessie says suddenly, grabbing my arm and turning me around, before pulling me a few feet forward until we're right in front of a completely different stall. “Look at it!”

  This time, I find myself staring at a stall filled with old-fashioned Christmas puddings, the kind I remember from when I was a kid. The kind you have to eat carefully, in case you get the slice with the penny. Stepping closer, I see that there are puddings of all shapes and sizes here, including one in the middle that's easily as big as Grandpa Joe's head. Grandpa Joe was known for having a very big head – big from the front and very long from the side – so a pudding of that size is quite an achievement. Not that anybody could ever eat such a thing, even if they had a huge family. Or am I underestimating the appetite of the modern British family?

  “Aren't you gonna buy anything?” Jessie asks.

  “Um -”

  “I want one of those!”

  She points at a medium-sized pudding near the front of the stall, while taking some crumpled banknotes from her pocket.

  “I'm gonna wait and see what else there is first,” I mutter, as the woman behind the stall reaches for the pudding and starts wrapping it, ready for Jessie to carry it away.

  “What about that one?” a man says next to me.

  I turn a little, not enough to look straight at them, just enough to see that he's admiring some brandy trifles.

  “Are you kidding?” replies his companion, a middle-aged woman wearing earmuffs. “They look deadly.”

  “That's what Boxing Day's for,” he tells her, and now I'm getting a really strong whiff of his bad, coffee-stained breath. “You sit around in your pants, trying to digest everything you ate the day before. It's all part of the fun.”

  “I'm just gonna take a look at some of the other stalls,” I explain, nudging Jessie's arm.

  “Just hang on a mo!”

  “I won't go far. I just -”

  Suddenly the whiff of the man's breath becomes really strong, and I almost gag.

  “Catch up, yeah?” I tell Jessie, before turning and squeezing my way through the crowd. I swear, that guy's breath was the worst, and it's clear that Jessie's going to have to wait a few minutes for the stall-holder to finish wrapping that ginormous pudding. Besides, the market isn't too scary, and I think it might be good for me to spend a few minutes alone in the crowd.

  After all, I'm getting better and better. Maybe Christmas isn't going to be so bad this year after all.

  I glance over my shoulder and briefly spot Jessie's excited face, bathed in the stall's light as she waits for her pudding.

  Wandering through the crowd, I take the path of least resistance whenever I come up against a wall of bodies. Instead of fighting my way to specific spots, I just let the currents of the crowd bump me this way and that, and for several minutes I don't get anywhere near any of the stalls. Instead, I'm kept more or less in the center line of the crowd that's flooding through the market, and that's absolutely fine. Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I crane my neck to catch passing glimpses of all the stalls I'm missing, and after a while I actually start to think that I wouldn't mind a biscuit or two, or maybe a slice of cake.

  Of course, that would require wriggling through the crowd with some sense of purpose, and I'm not sure I can do that. I guess I'll just let the crowd carry me along, and I'll wait to see where I get spat out. I mean, I have to get spat out eventually.

  Suddenly I'm squeezed between two passing freighter-like women, neither of whom seems to have noticed me. Just as I think I might be crushed to oblivion, one of the women shifts slightly and this allows the force from the other to shoot me out past a couple of boys and their mother, at which point I trip slightly and pull the other way. This, in turn, sends me bumping into a well-dressed man who mutters something – I think directed at me – as I stumble between a pair of very thin girls who look like they're heading to a club. After ricocheting against a few more people, and clattering into a wall of arms and elbows, the flow of the crowd briefly carries me around the far corner before finally – and very thankfully – I find myself dumped out at the crowd's edge, in a slightly darker part of the market to which everyone else seems to have their backs turned.

  Well, at least I have survived so far.

  Taking a deep breath, I can't help feeling slightly relieved. I know I should go back into the throng and find Jessie, but now I can't quite find a gap in the flow. I try to excuse myself and ask if I might nip into a few gaps, but the wall of bodies is resolute and after a moment I step back, figuring I should wait for things to die down slightly. The market is insanely busy tonight, and I honestly don't know how everybody else manages.

  Turning, I look around and realize that I really do seem to be in an ignored corner of the market. At first, all I see is a dark, unlit patch of ground, but after a moment I see that there's actually one stall here, albeit one with no lights and no attention. In fact, this particular stall is not only set well back from the crowd, it also seems to be turned the wrong way, with the serving platform facing the crowd and the display section – where it would have all its wares for sale, if it had any wares at all – facing out toward the dark forest.

  Stepping closer, I hold my mittened hands up to my mouth and blow on my exposed finger-tips, just to get a little warmth.

  The ground beneath my feet is slightly muddy here, less even, and a little soggy. The air is noticeably colder.

  When I reach the darkened stall, I find that there's definitely nothing on display. I guess this stall must have been left over when all the others were rented out, so the market's organizers simply dumped it here so it was out of the way. I can't help feeling a little sorry for the poor stall, since all the others have been dressed up so nicely whereas this one was unceremoniously pushed aside. As I get closer, I peer through the open rectangular frame and try to imagine what it would be like to sell something to a customer, but all I see are the cold, naked trees at the far edge of the park. Reaching down, I place my bare finger-tips against the stall's cold, wrinkled wood. This stall isn't quite like any of the others. It's a little more battered, as if it's from an earlier time.

  “What's up?” I mutter. “Too old and ugly for anyone to rent you, huh? Well, I'd rent you, if I had anything to sell.”

  I pause for a moment, before realizing that I'm getting unbearably maudlin and sentimental. Stuffing my hands back into my pockets, I take one final look through to the stall's dark other side, and then I turn and head back toward the bright crowd.

  “What about that one?” a voice suddenly asks behind me. “The one in the green coat?”

  Turning, I'm startled to see a man and a woman standing on the other side of the neglected stall. The man is pointing toward the crowd, but the woman next to him is already furrowing her brow as if she's deeply unimpressed. There was no sign of them a moment ago, and I have no idea where they came from, but they're definitely here now.

  “No?” the man mutters, as he continues to look past me. “What's wrong? Too short? Too round?”

  “I don't like the head much,” the woman replies, squinting now as if she's having trouble
seeing the crowd properly at all.

  “What about the one in the brown coat, then?” the man asks. “I know it's a man, but he might be okay with that. After all, variety is the spice of life. Maybe he's sick of girls.”

  Looking over my shoulder, I see that there's a man in a brown coat not too far away, with his back turned to us. There's a woman in a green coat, too, but everyone is looking at the other stalls. Nobody else seems to have noticed this dark, out-of-the-way stall at all.

  “It's not a very enticing mix this year, is it?” the man continues as I turn back to look at them. “It's usually a lot better than this.”

  As they continue to discuss the matter between themselves, I can't help noticing that while I can just about make out their faces in the low light, I can't see their eyes very well. Not that I need to see their eyes, of course, but something about not being able to see them makes me curious, so I take a cautious step forward, heading back toward the abandoned stall.

  “That one in the orange might do,” the woman murmurs, although she still doesn't sound too keen. “Emphasis on the might.”

  “Well we can always try somewhere else,” the man tells her. “It's only the twenty-third. We've got the rest of tonight, and then tomorrow night too, before -”

  “What about her?” the woman asks suddenly, pointing straight at me. “Look! Her in the red coat!”

  The man looks at me, although he doesn't seem too interested.

  “I know she's not perfect,” the woman continues, “but for God's sake, Julian, do we really want to go traipsing around every Christmas market in the country, hunting for perfection? She looks perfectly fine to me, and you know the red will go down well!”

  “I suppose so,” the man mutters, eyeing me up and down. “Still, we shouldn't be too hasty. She looks a little... Well, you know.”