The Christmas Vampire: A Short Story: Christmas Monsters

By Dean Shearer

Its Christmas Eve, all the family's here, and everything is merry and cheery and bright. 

While taking out the trash, Lewis spots a vampire on the roof, thirsty for blood. His family's blood. 

Will Lewis be able to stop the vampire and therefore save Christmas? Or will the vampire, in a word, wreck the halls?

Want to get in the Christmas spirit but also like vampires? Then this is just the story for you. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dean Shearer
• Release date: Dec 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201590376

Dean Shearer

Dean Shearer is the author of many fictitious works such as The Cat, The World is Magic, and the short stories series Selah, the Universe. He wishes there was more to say about himself (he likes studying religions and walking barefoot and reading and writing in multiple genres and reading and writing a lot) but there's just too much to say.

Book preview

The Christmas Vampire

The Christmas Vampire

A SHORT STORY

DEAN SHEARER

SHEARER SHORTS

One

Christmas Eve was finally here.

The stockings hung above the popping flames (unfilled for the time being). The tree stood mightily in the corner, the angel at the top sending hopeful star clusters down, down, down through the green sky, and on the carpet of sand of this hopeless desert lay the millions and millions of gifts of healing delivered by the angel.

And then, of course, were the wanderers, sitting in various spots around the living room, hungry and thirsty and waiting—waiting eagerly for tomorrow, when their hearts would be filled.

At least that’s how I saw it. To me, Christmas isn’t really a material holiday. Instead the materials—the gifts, the tree, the countdown till Christmas and so on—function as symbols to point our hearts to heaven, where the Savior of this world, heart full of tears, gropes for our return to where we belong.

A present being dropped into my lap woke me from my musings, and I looked up, expecting to find the gift dropper there—but I looked too high. I lowered my eyes now, down down down, until they came to rest on Abby Sue, Miss Diddily Doo, my brother's four-year-old child, my niece.

Her grin was so huge it nearly fell off the edges of her face, as she swayed back and forth eagerly, hands clasped together before her.

What? I