Dark Holidays

By D. A. DeCuzzi, Abbey Sweeny, Amy Frischmann and 15 more

Come join us in a world where your fun, lovable holiday icons are transformed into twisted little horror fables for you to enjoy. Between presidents becoming zombies, Uncle Sam becoming a vampire, Cupid represented as hellspawn bent on ruining love, and many more, this collection is a hellish good time. So, come join us and find out for yourself what evil stalks the world during your favorite holiday.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dark Skull Publications
• Release date: Nov 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781502250599

Book preview

New Year, New Life, New Beginning

by Paul Adams

Is a day just like any other day? But not really? This is New Year’s Eve. In a small town like Morgansville, this is a big thing. Each and every person is preparing for their own special festivities. Most everyone, that is. Cynthia Ford, of the city council, is actually in the delivery room. This is where she has been for fourteen hours now, and she is refusing a C-section.

Now, when I say small town, Morgansville is just like every other small, South Eastern town where everyone knows everyone. So, of course each and everyone’s personal life is included with that familiarity too. For example, Cynthia had grown up here. She was a local celebrity, or she liked to think so. She had been a cheerleader, homecoming queen, etc. Her dad had owned a local hardware store, prior to his passing. Her mother was a nurse in the ER. Cynthia had always been a dreamer. She had always dreamed of big city life, fancy cars, bars, and restaurants. She wanted to be a leader and to be followed. She wasn’t quite worshipped the way she had it all pictured in her mind. All of the city council were born and raised in Morgansville. Each with their very own stories, and each making ends meet as best they could. But the town has grown substantially in the past three years. Ever since the Hogan Chemical Industries plant was built just outside the city limits, Morgansville has shown signs of being more than just a one horse town. The city council had done its job voting the plant down for three consecutive years, but this didn’t stop Jonathan Hogan. He had found a loophole and was able to build within the county. Just to be a thorn in their side, everyone believes he built as close to city limits as possible.

Ever since the plant was built, people have noticed that certain members of the city council happened to develop deeper pockets, as the townsmen refer to it. None more so than Cynthia Ford. Cindi, as her close circle call her, had bought a nice new home and automobile on her meager $15,000 per year salary. Seemed Cynthia Ford was working on making her dreams come true. Questions are asked to no certain response, and eventually just become rumors. Everyone in these parts is certain that these council members helped Mr. Hogan to find said loopholes and are receiving kickbacks for it. Nobody has proof, of course, just gut feelings and obvious certainties.

Of these certainties, Cynthia Ford was not able to afford the luxuries that she was flaunting. It appeared that someone had pointed this out to her in the past year because she had cooled it down considerably as of late. Did someone present this fact to her, or was it because she was with child? The eccentric parties and expenditures had not been as noticeable. Weekly trips to the beauty parlor, large dinners, and wild vacations, had all but ceased. She had, however, begun to date the new Vice President of Hogan Chemicals, Robert Holder, about the same time. Of course, everyone assumes he has to be the father of the child, though no formal announcement or engagement had been made public. This didn’t sit well with the old timers. Of course, Cindi had no concern of what others thought of her, none except her Elite Circle. This circle obviously consists of Jacob Foster, Alan Wilson, and the other city council members, and Mr. Hogan and his chosen company, and, of course, Robert Holder, and Misty Foster. Misty was Jacob Foster’s wife and Cindi’s dearest friend ever since they were teenagers. You rarely saw one without the other. In fact, they are both pregnant and in the hospital together, right now. There have even been bets placed as to which one would have the first baby of the New Year. There have even been jokes that they would deliver at the exact same moment, on purpose.

Other members of the council also appeared to be profiting from the chemical plant, but weren’t as obvious about it. But, as we know, in a small town, finances are not a secret, either. Alan Wilson’s savings account had more than tripled since the plant moved in. Shelly West worked at the bank, and anything Shelly knew, everyone knew in just a matter of time. For instance, Jacob Foster had made several financial investments. Aside from sitting on the city council, both of these men had small businesses. Both of their businesses had grown considerably over the past three years. Jacob had bought Cindi’s father’s hardware store after his death, and it had become a franchise store since. Alan had run a local used car lot, and now was the owner of a new dealership. But these were not the only changes since the plant had been up and running. These weren’t the changes that had most peoples’ attention, and these were not what had people concerned. They were also not the ones that people had yet to see or know anything about.

Now, back to the festivities. The usual fireworks show, that all have become accustomed to, is supposed to be bigger than ever thanks to the money donated from Jonathan Hogan. This year, they even have a lit ball on top of the courthouse on the square that will drop with the countdown. They have food booths with homemade pies and cakes, chili and hot dogs. They have games for the kids and the kids at heart. They even have small amusement rides. There’s just nothing like a holiday to bring a small town together. Cindi Ford cannot stand that she is not there to sparkle among the commoners, as she has come to think of them.

Would this damned baby ever come out?

Cindi wasn’t the only one absent from the town party. Mr. Hogan had decided to be present for the birth of his VP’s first child. He and Robert have been in the delivery waiting room for the past six of the fourteen hours. They have talked to the doctor at least two dozen times, and have been insisting that she consider a C-section. Dr. Phillips was all for it as he had five mothers due to give birth at any time, but Cynthia was having nothing to do with it. She said that this was going to be the one thing in her life that she was seeing all the way through, not to mention that the C-Section would leave a hideous scar. How could she ever wear a bikini with a C-Section scar? The stretch marks would be bad enough.

What of scars? Scars tell a story. Scars show where one has healed. There were scars in the countryside outside Morgansville now. But these were a different kind of scar. The trees were misshapen, twisted, and darkened. The bugs were bigger and more numerous. The animal’s’ eating habits had changed. In fact, just the other day Josh Jacobs had reported seeing a deer eating the remains of a raccoon. Who has ever seen a meat-eating deer? And Josh should know if anyone, he was an avid hunter and knew these parts like the back of his hand. And Nancy Smith says she has seen wasps the size of humming birds. Linda Adamson had even seen a line of ants that had stretched a country mile. Both of these ladies knew a thing or two about bugs. They both had beautiful gardens, and both had prize-winning vegetables in the county fair each year. Very few dared to drive through the countryside at night. There were too many stories of red, piercing eyes peeking out of the woods along the roadside. It seemed as if Hell had released its hounds to devour anyone that dared to venture at night. These types of things were being noticed by the locals, by the people that had called this place home for generations. These were the changes that concerned them. They didn’t care where money was coming from or going to. These were the questions being ignored and swept under the rug. What exactly were they doing at Hogan Chemical Industries anyhow? What was causing these changes in the wildlife and plants, these mutations, as they call them? Why were these issues being blatantly ignored? What were they hiding in that plant? Why was the place locked up tighter than Fort Knox, and employees signing strict confidentiality contracts? Why was no one doing something to find out?

In truth, the town was prospering. Not only the city council members, but the town economy as a whole. Nobody wanted to put an end to the double-edged sword that had put them on the map. They had their very own McDonald’s now, and there was talk about a Wal-Mart coming soon. Local businesses had grown with the population increase too. Mr. Cooper had doubled the table capacity in his diner twice already, and the Fire Department actually had three trucks now. The plant had brought with it over eight hundred new jobs, most of which were filled with existing employees that had to relocate. Property and housing values had gone up. Contractors, building materials, rental equipment, and skilled labor were high in demand. These were good times for the townsfolk. So what if some strange things were occurring? Nobody had been hurt. A few of the locals had moved off without so much as a good-bye or even a forwarding address, but that was their choice. Nobody had made them do it.

There are five other women expecting in the hospital at the very same time as Cindi. But there are only two delivery rooms, and Misty Foster is being moved into the other room now. The race is on, to see who will have the first baby of the New Year. Jacob Foster is now in the waiting room with Mr. Hogan and Robert Holder. They seem to be very close. This is no surprise, as Jacob and Misty were of the elite guests on the third Sunday gatherings at Mr. Hogan’s. Also in the waiting room now are Alan Wilson and three of the newcomers to the town. All six expectant fathers were now there. All tied to Mr. Hogan in some form or fashion, known or otherwise. The inner circle, so to speak. The elite, the invitation-only party-goers, as such. Nobody knew what the monthly parties at Mr. Hogan’s gated property were about. It made all those that were never invited rather curious. Why, on the third Sunday of every month, did the same group of people head out to the Hogan manor just before noon, and never get seen returning? Yet, the next morning, all were at their respective homes, leaving for work bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on Monday morning. But, who really cared? Just more room for the gossip and curiosity type to occupy their time. Although it was rather strange that three of the families had moved into three of the vacated properties left behind by families that had moved without notice. And, that there was no record at the bank of the property being sold or bought. Of course Shelley West had pointed this out. But nobody had seen Shelley at the festivities tonight either. It was not like Shelley to miss a town-wide party, a breeding ground for gossip and stories. This was a stage for such as Shelley. This was where she could shine.

The countdown is beginning on the square and the party is at full steam. As it also appears are the babies, wanting to enter the new world. Cindi is fully dilated and apparently the unquestionable leader, although the other mothers are not far behind her. Dr. Phillips has instructed nurses to each room and he is staying with Cynthia. As the clock ticks toward midnight the pain on each mother’s eyes is more than visible. In the square, the ball is descending and the crowd is counting. In the delivery room the doctor can’t figure out why the child is not yet visible.

Five, four . . . the doctor reaches inside to feel for the baby. He quickly snatches his hand back in pain. There is a gash in his glove with flesh missing.

Three...Cindi’s blood-curdling screams could break glass.

Two...The nurse screams that she is haemorrhaging internally.

One . . . and as the fireworks erupt so does Cynthia’s stomach. Out rises a baby like none have ever seen. The baby has eyes as black and as shiny as Onyx. A mouth full of teeth, but not just teeth, these are razor sharp canines. All of its teeth are these canines glistening wet with blood, and it has a mouth full of flesh. It has nails, but not just nails, these are claws that resemble survival knife blades. In the other rooms similar screams resound through the halls. They can be heard in the waiting room, even over the fireworks. The fathers sprint in the direction of the screams. Cindi lets out another scream as the baby turns to look at her. With the umbilical cord still intact it leaps and bites down on her neck. Blood spews from her jugular as it rips a chunk of meat from her throat and her monitor flatlines. Over the screams of the nurses, the other monitors attached to the other five expectant mothers can be heard with the same sound of a flatline.

Mr. Hogan quietly leaves the waiting room, with what could be interpreted as a smirk on his face. He heads outside, where his car awaits him. The driver opens the door and Mr. Hogan climbs in. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone. He hits a quick dial number. Six births, and a little chuckle, six children, and six dead mothers. With the New Year, a new child and a new beginning. It is done. It now begins. A demonic laugh can be heard, as his car pulls off into the smoke-filled night, with the smell of sulfur in the air.

Bloodhog Day

by John Reti

Tom had waited for this day for what seemed like more than his entire life. Really, he supposed he had only waited a season, or was it less than that?

As he stared into the black hole it seemed to him that the entirety of his existence had been encompassed by winter. This winter had been particularly bad. It had not been the weather so much. Weather could be dealt with by anyone with a shovel, some chains and some salt. The events of this winter had been particularly hard.

During the course of the last few months, his wife had left him, telling him that she needed to explore other rainbows. What the fuck did that even mean? He didn’t know. He supposed he would never know. It was some sort of pot of gold bullshit which only she could explain, and she would never explain it because she was gone. Just the thought of it agitated him in the worst way; never realizing how hurt he really was about losing something so precious.

That was not all that happened in the abysmal depths of the ever seeping hole that was this winter. His business partner had also disappeared, but not before draining all the money out of the business. Hell of a guy, that Rick, he’d taken practically everything down to the last stapler. Tom walked in one morning to find the entire office empty except for his barren office desk and the exact change needed for bus fare home taped to the bottom of a desk drawer which had been left open, and contained a bus schedule. It was a sick joke, but Tom understood all too well.

Go home! There’s nothing for you here!

The world had been giving him that message loud and clear lately. He would gladly follow that advice if he’d known where home was. He no longer did, if he had ever. Everything he had ever thought of as home had been taken from him over the course of this long arduous winter. No longer having any place he truly conceived of as home he found himself here waiting on this chilly morning in early February; just a cunt hair less than two weeks away from Valentine’s Day, a day he would no longer be celebrating with his lovely wife.

He munched bitterly on an overly sweet doughnut, staring into a hole with nothing staring back at him, only to wonder what the next day was going to bring him. Nothing could have sweetened his mood, double glazed or not. He couldn’t be sure of anything now, only to realize that life was exceptionally cruel by taking those things he held so dear.

They said if you stared into the abyss long enough, inevitably it would stare back. Having nowhere else to be, Tom had been staring into this hole for hours, though he could say for certain he was being stared at from time to time, he could have sworn he’d been winked at from the darkness. It seemed like darkness had had its eye on him for a while, long before he had ever found his way here.

He was alone here looking eye to eye with darkness. This was no famous place where people gathered to gawk at a famous pagan rodent. Screw you, Punxsutawney Phil, screw you. It was nothing, holding no significance, but being a celebrity whore...it was still nothing, but one of those waiting to fade away pop stars with fur and buck teeth; that’s what Phil was, and nothing more. Tom had gone back to basics, no celebrity groundhog for him.

He had found a groundhog’s burrow in a national park just miles from where he lived.

It had taken him days to find this place even though it had ended up being very close by. He could have gone to one of the more fanfare laden burrows but what he was doing here was not to be fodder for national weather men: six more weeks of gloom, despair and darkness, they would announce, and now a word from our sponsors.

...And isn’t he a cute little follow.

This wasn’t the point at all, all of this was purely bullshit. What he was doing here was waiting for shadows to fall, he had been waiting for that all his life. He had spent a spiritual eon watching the shadows fall and waiting for them to fall his way; it was about time they did so.

Though shadows had been calling him for his entire life—especially this year—he could not call them. It didn’t seem fair but so little in life was fair. The groundhog was the only creature out here right now that could call the shadows. As he froze his ass off in the middle of nature’s Nowhereville it occurred to him that it would be good if he could call the groundhog. If he could call this a groundhog and, most assuredly, the groundhog could call the shadows for him. It seemed only fair that that might happen, but so little in this life was fair.

He had come here early in the morning and for the most part he had been alone. There had been the occasional homeless person looking for a place to be, and a couple of dog walkers walking dogs, as their title suggested.

For the most part he was the early morning darkness, and the park had been his and his alone. He was just staring into the black hole that dwelled within him and awaiting destiny.

As the sun had begun to crack the sky he had still found himself alone. There was still the occasional dog walker doing as the name implied. Even the homeless people had for the most part moved on as the town around them awoke. Dog walkers avoided looking at him and pretty much gave him a wide birth. Even as they were filling bags of plastic with another creature’s poo a man staring into a hole was to be looked at suspiciously.

He didn’t care, he had not come here to be communing with humans. And who knew what else he was doing out in the middle of nowhere? The groundhog was the only one that held its destiny and that purpose would soon be upon him.

It wouldn’t be long now, he swore he could hear the thing rustling around in there. Staring into a hole waiting for something to pop out, he could only imagine this was what a gynaecologist felt like.

The field once again became a blank canvas. He reached for another donut from within his backpack and as he went to bite in it his ears pricked up. There was a rustling in the hole: something was about to happen. At first, the rustling had been slow, as though the groundhog had been slow in coming to his senses waking up. The sound had also been faint and muffled, now the sound was growing more furious and getting closer. The hog was on the rise!!! Soon the shadows would fall.

Tom rose from the lawn chair, subconsciously mirroring the rise of the ground he had come to anticipate so greatly. The sound of claws throwing back dirt like a beautiful earthy symphony to Tom’s ear. He couldn’t wait to put a halt to this damnably cursed season. He wanted to cheer the upward locomotion of the groundhog, but people had been staring at him off and on all morning, and had left a mark on his already fragile psyche, so for now a cheer was stifled.

The rustling in the ground became louder and louder as the sun grew brighter in the morning sky. Tom felt his anticipation grow. Something was happening. His anticipation took over. Before he knew it he was on the ground leaning over the hole. He could not wait for the emergence of the groundhog. It was overwhelming. He felt like one of those old time religious people experiencing deliverance.

The noise of the borrowing was like a soily symphony to his ears, he began to sway back and forth to its earthy rhythm. If he had had a tambourine he surely would have played it, and if he had had a plate for change he surely would have passed it. This moment was truly transcendent. For a brief time all the negativity of the season seemed to melt away. It did not last, it could not last.

He looked around to see if anybody would see this little happening. Luckily, he was alone. Not only was he glad no one was around to see him jumping around like an idiot as he perceived he was doing, this was a very personal experience to him and he wanted to keep it that way. In its own way this was the most enjoyable experience he had had in a long time...then just like that it ended. Just like that the soil song stopped.

Noooo. This was how things were going lately; all winter, longer than that if he was to be honest about it. Everything that gave him pleasure in his life disappeared all too soon. Shadows had fallen on his fun just like they always did.

Now, his dance was over. He was down on his knees listening at the hole;, listening...waiting...anticipating what the truth was. He was desperate to hear even the slightest rumbling.

C’mon, little guy, don’t desert me. I need you now. He was on his knees talking to a hole. He knew that if his wife could see him now she would be absolutely convinced that leaving him was the right decision. I always knew he’d go off his nut.

That’s what she would say and it would have been appropriate had he been talking to a squirrel, but he knew he wasn’t. He was talking to a groundhog, and he wasn’t sure that groundhogs even ate nuts. He didn’t care, she could go chase her rainbows as far as he was concerned. Rick could chase them right along with her.

Everything stood still for him now in an eerie silence. The only thing that mattered to him was getting that groundhog out of that damned hole. Groundhogs had to come out, didn’t they? Were obligated to do so, weren’t they?

‘‘C’mon out, little guy. He launched an echoing call down the hole. It’s time for you to come face your destiny and help me with mine."

There was no noise forthcoming and his patience had always wanted to be at a rapid pace. Now, it was even more easily tested than usual. He needed this winter to end sooner than later; it could come on out any time it wanted to.

It was now official...he had lost the damned thing.

He peered into the hole. He saw nothing. All his pained bellowing into the emptiness had brought nothing. He knew this to be a metaphor for what he had been doing his whole life: screaming into the void and getting no results. He had been ignored, dismissed, spindled and mutilated by rodents, humans and lesser beings for far too long. He had had enough it. He would have no more; not this time...not again.

Come on out, it’s time. Tom’s lips were right up against the whole as he screamed. Having said what he had to, once again he peered into the hole; he saw nothing, at least not at first, then he saw an eye. Something was responding to him at last, something was responding to him. In the moment he was overcome with joy.

For a moment as he stared into the deep beckoning blackness of the hole there was a moment of stillness. At first it was complete and total stillness. That was when he truly knew it had him; the blackness, the shadow as it were, had him, as it always had.

In this moment, he was more profoundly in its grips.

In a moment of clarity, he knew he had lost all chance of ever being let loose again. For a second, a piece of the eternal black that encompassed him turned to grey in the early morning stillness. The grey turned back to black as the stillness became less whole. The stillness of his mind was the first to go. It wouldn’t be long before he began dancing again, no more than a fragment of a second, but in his mind that scrap of memory stretched the expanse of eternity. For that fragment his life was pictures, pictures of the last winter, a season ever long.

First he saw his wife; the face he had always loved and always received love from. The face had changed, its warmth had been touched by winter’s cold caress. It was the face of disappointed indifference. The look he’d often seen mixed with curiosity as she wondered about other rainbows. How could he have missed that look? It seemed so obvious in the bleakness of the expense. Synapse by synapse, pixel by pixel, the picture of his wife morphed into one of his business partner, her beautiful green eyes overtaken by the blue eyes of a ruthless fiscal predator. Her once loving smile became his condescending sneer. How could he have ever trusted that prick, and even called him friend?

Oh, well, I guess it doesn’t matter now, he thought. I had to learn the hard way, doesn’t everybody? They had both betrayed him and they were both gone. They belonged to the remnants of the winter. They were no longer for him, all he had left were the shadows and his destiny. The stillness was completely over, the maniac dance began to build again.

The soil song began again. It was faster this time. The beast could only be described as furious. It was official, the thing was coming out. The whole winter issue would be decided upon at last. In his exuberance he continued to look down the hole as he saw the eye charging at him at rapid pace. Soon he could no longer see the eye. He saw teeth. He tried to pull away from the hole. His footing was not solid on the dewy ground. He slipped further toward the burrow. He felt pain; he felt great pain!!!

A torrent of blood shot from his eye. He was no longer able to see it, but a mass of teeth, fur and fury had emerged from the hole and continued to attack him. One gnashing gash after another, he felt a rodent wrath. He could feel the blood leaving him in warm spurts; leaving cold spots within his shaking body, writhing body. When will this winter end? he bellowed. Those words would be the last he would ever say; for him winter was no longer on offer. As with everything else, a crowd gathered around the dead body at a respectful distance that somehow still managed to be disrespectful.

Hey, look, a groundhog is crawling across his face, announced a voice from the crowd.

But can’t they see what happened? The thought echoed through Tom’s lifeless brain as his body twitched, until it stopped a few moments later. But his thought wouldn’t