Eerie Christmas: Eerie Christmas, #1

By Black Hare Press

Dive into the shadows of the holiday season with this chilling Christmas anthology. Unearth the mysteries of this fateful night, where unspeakable horrors and monstrous apparitions may emerge from every festively adorned rooftop.

 

Brace yourself for a collection of bone-chilling Yuletide tales that have never seen the light before. This Christmas, prepare for an unforgettable journey into the heart of terror

The Carolers by A.L. King
Christmas Hack by Alice Lam
Last Christmas by C.L. Williams
A Carol by Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
Flashing Christmas Lights by Charlotte O'Farrell
Christmas Forest by Cindar Harrell
Advent by Cindy O'Quinn
Merry Christmas, Mummy by D.M. Burdett
Adeste Fideles by David Bowmore
The Fire Before Christmas by Dawn DeBraal
O Christmas Tree by Derek Dunn
Coming to Town by Eddie D. Moore
Next Christmas Eve by G. Allen Wilbanks
One Santa, Two Santas by Gabriella Balcom
A Very Naughty Boy by Hari Navarro
It's That Time of Year by Helen Power
Have Yourself A Happy Little Deathwish by J.B. Wocoski
Deep in the Grotto by Jason Holden
A Bequest to the December Saint by Jefferson Retallack
The Wish by Joel R. Hunt
No Comfort and Joy by Kelly A. Harmon
Ghoul Crematorium by Mark Mackey
Sins of the Snow by Matthew M. Montelione
North Pole by Michael Balletti
A Thoughtful Gift by Michael D. Davis
I'll be Home by N.M. Brown
Bloody Red Tinsel by Neen Cohen
The Tree of Souls by Nerisha Kemraj
Silent Night by Nicole Little
The Perfect Gift by Paula R.C. Readman
Sins & Needles by Peter J. Foote
Foreword by Raven Corinn Carluk
Rudolph the Avenger by S. Gepp
Eat the Damn Candy Cane by Sam M. Phillips
All I Haunt for Christmas by Shawn M. Klimek
The Greatest Gift of All by Shelly Jarvis
Weihnachten by Stephen Herczeg
Going For the Gold by Stuart Conover
Holly Day's Last Christmas by Sue Marie St. Lee
The Lies We Tell Ourselves by Terri A. Arnold
Dear Santa by Terry Miller
Beelzebub by Umair Mirxa
The Good List by Wondra Vanian
Just Another Dead Dolly by Zoey Xolton

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Hare Press
• Release date: Nov 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9798223803669

Book preview

Eerie Christmas 1

Various Authors

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Black Hare Press

Eerie Christmas title is Copyright © 2019 Black Hare Press

First published in Australia in November 2019 by Black Hare Press

The authors of the individual stories retain the copyright of the works featured in this anthology

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this production may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

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Cover design by Dawn Burdett

Formatting by Ben Thomas

Editing by D. Kershaw

Also available from

Black Hare Press

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EERIE CHRISTMAS 1

EERIE CHRISTMAS 2

EERIE CHRISTMAS 3

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Contents

1.Foreword

1. Raven Corinn Carluk

2.Flashing Plastic Lights

2. By Charlotte O’Farrell

3.Eat the Damn Candy Cane

3. By Sam M. Phillips

4.Merry Christmas, Mummy

4. By D.M. Burdett

5.Silent Night

5. By Nicole Little

6.The Perfect Gift

6. By Paula R.C. Readman

7.Adeste Fideles

7. By David Bowmore

8.The Carollers

8. By A.L. King

9.Advent

9. By Cindy O’Quinn

10.The Tree of Souls

10. By Nerisha Kemraj

11.A Bequest to the December Saint

11. By Jefferson Retallack

12.O’ Christmas Tree

12. By Derek Dunn

13.All I Haunt for Christmas

13. By Shawn M. Klimek

14.Beelzebub

14. By Umair Mirxa

15.Next Christmas Eve

15. By G. Allen Wilbanks

16.Christmas Forest

16. By Cindar Harrell

17.One Santa, Two Santas

17. By Gabriella Balcom

18.Weihnachten

18. By Stephen Herczeg

19.Christmas Hack

19. By Alice Lam

20.The Wish

20. By Joel R. Hunt

21.Coming to Town

21. By Eddie D. Moore

22.Going for the Gold

22. By Stuart Conover

23.Deep in the Grotto

23. By Jason Holden

24.A Thoughtful Gift

24. By Michael D. Davis

25.The Fire Before Christmas

25. By Dawn DeBraal

26.Holly Jolly’s Last Christmas

26. By Sue Marie St. Lee

27.A Very Naughty Boy

27. Hari Navarro

28.A Carol

28. By Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer

29.I’ll Be Home

29. By N.M. Brown

30.It’s That Time of Year

30. By Helen Power

31.Dear Santa

31. By Terry Miller

32.Last Christmas

32. By C.L. Williams

33.No Comfort and Joy

33. By Kelly A. Harmon

34.The Good List

34. By Wondra Vanian

35.The Lies We Tell Ourselves

35. By Terri A. Arnold

36.Bloody Red Tinsel

36. By Neen Cohen

37.Have Yourself a Merry Little Deathwish

37. By J.B. Wocoski

38.Sins of the Snow

38. By Matthew M. Montelione

39.Sins & Needles

39. By Peter J. Foote

40.North Pole Calling

40. By Michael Balletti

41.Rudolph the Avenger

41. By S. Gepp

42.The Greatest Gift of All

42. By Shelly Jarvis

43.Just Another Dead Dolly

43. By Zoey Xolton

44.Author Biographies

45.Acknowledgements

There is snow on the ground,

And the valleys are cold,

And a midnight profound

Blackly squats o’er the wold;

But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of feastings

unhallow’d and old.

There is death in the clouds,

There is fear in the night,

For the dead in their shrouds

Hail the sun’s turning flight,

And chant wild in the woods as they dance round a

Yule-altar fungous and white.

To no gale of earth’s kind

Sways the forest of oak,

Where the sick boughs entwin’d

By mad mistletoes choke,

For these pow’rs are the pow’rs of the dark, from the

graves of the lost Druid-folk.

And mayst thou to such deeds

Be an abbot and priest,

Singing cannibal greeds

At each devil-wrought feast,

And to all the incredulous world shewing dimly

the sign of the beast.

—Yule Horror, H.P. Lovecraft, 1926

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Foreword

Raven Corinn Carluk

Everyone knows what Christmas means: holiday cheer, friends and family, feasting on treats, exchanging gifts, and all the cheery decorations.

But the following stories all pull back that veneer to reveal the dark underlying truth. Children beg for toys from a complete stranger. Entire groves of trees are murdered, their corpses draped in gaudy trappings, angels impaled upon their tops. Gluttony excused, overlooked, and actively encouraged. Facades pasted on to talk to the intolerable members of the family, simply counting the minutes until time to leave.

These authors want to remind you: the brighter the lights, the deeper the shadows.

Darkest holiday wishes,

Raven Corinn Carluk

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Flashing Plastic Lights

By Charlotte O’Farrell

William always wanted what I had, only better. He’d been like it since we were kids.

Growing up in the same small town, our different circumstances were only too clear. William’s family was rich compared to mine, and he wanted to prove that fact constantly. If I got a bike, he’d turn up the next week with a bigger one that cost twice as much. He’d arrive at school in designer clothes and ask me where I got mine, smirking as I tried to avoid telling him they were from a secondhand shop.

I thought this trait of his would get better as he got older, but he only got more competitive. I tried to distance myself from him but that was hard in such a small, isolated place. He moved to the city after a few years, and frankly, I was glad to be rid of him. Nothing about this supposed friendship was fulfilling to me, and he was never there to celebrate my achievements or commiserate when times were hard.

I married Mary, my school years’ sweetheart. I qualified as a phlebotomist and settled into a stable, mostly happy life. We lived in a quiet cul-de-sac in a modest two bedroom house. We tried for kids, but it didn’t happen for us.

Years slipped by like someone sliding downwards in a hot, steamy bath. Once a year, we’d decorate the outside of the house for Christmas. We went all out—we just liked it that way—and our little display started to get attention. We added a waving, light-up Santa to the roof one year. The next we doubled the number of fairy lights and gave Santa a light-up sleigh and set of reindeer. Our garden became an overwhelming feast for the eyes, full of flashing lights and primary colours. The electricity bills were eye-watering, but it made people happy.

Mary and I started to look forward to it. As more people came to see our light show, we started taking charity collections for the local hospice. Kids began calling our house the Christmas house all year round, which made me oddly proud. We took out sweets and hot drinks for the assembled crowds. Those dark December nights in a scarf and heavy-duty coat were among the happiest of my life.

Our neighbours across the cul-de-sac never complained, but when I saw the For Sale sign outside their house, I’ll admit I got a bit nervous. What if their replacements complained about the lights, the noise, the people?

The neighbours moved out in early November. As soon as I saw the flashy new car parked behind the van outside on moving-in day, I got a sick feeling in my stomach. The house was significantly larger than ours, and only a select few people could afford a property like that.

William grinned like a child on Christmas morning when he leaped out of his car and saw me.

Ted! he shouted, swaggering towards me with his arms outstretched as if we were long-lost old friends. Self-awareness was never William’s strong point, so maybe he actually thought we were.

I tried not to look devastated and dutifully answered his probing questions, masquerading as small talk.

Of course, I’ll still be commuting to the city on the regular, he said airily. They gave me a huge pay-rise when I said I was thinking of leaving. They were so desperate to keep me, they agreed to let me do most of my work from home! They said they couldn’t replace talent like mine. Anyway, Ted, what do you do nowadays?

I’m a phlebotomist, I replied, my voice sounding hoarse. I mimed drawing blood out of an arm. I work at the hospital.

Ah! Pay well, does it?

All the old resentment, long buried, came swirling back like a tornado. Luckily, I was saved by the sound of the delivery man knocking on my own house’s door, balancing a huge box between his arms and on his knee.

Got to go, William, I said, already walking across to my side of the street. Latest Christmas decoration delivery’s here!

A strange look passed across William’s face when I said this, but he soon recovered and forced his usual film star, plastered-on smile.

We’ll catch up later then! Got lots of expensive furniture to move in and I don’t trust the removal team to do it without me watching.

I succeeded in avoiding William for the next few days. If we ever bumped into each other, I would quickly make an excuse—work, family obligation—and hurry away. But there was only so long I could keep it up. I spent my evenings gloomily looking at property websites, fantasising about packing it all in and moving to New Zealand instead. For all I knew, William would probably follow us there.

Mary tried to distract me by focusing on the Christmas decorations. Every time I got back from work, she’d tell me excitedly about the latest deliveries, the new baubles and tinsel.

As mid-November approached, we put up the beginnings of the display. Slowly, the whole thing began to take shape. It was magnificent; by far the most ambitious one we’d done so far. The fun of spending quality time with Mary took my mind off our irritating new neighbour. I found myself laughing again, enjoying all our little in-jokes as we put the finishing touches to our annual masterpiece.

Santa and his bigger-than-mansize sleigh were the last to go up. I stood on the roof, fiddling with the wiring, until movement over at William’s house caught my eye.

He was standing in the road, hands on hips, loudly directing a group of three workers as they assembled a basic scaffolding across the front of his house.

That same familiar feeling of rage started to bubble in my guts.

William! I shouted from the roof. He turned to me, shit-eating grin there already, pretending he hadn’t seen me. What’s going on?

Oh, this stuff? I know a guy from the city whose company does outdoor Christmas displays. They do all the best hotels. Trust me—they’re the greatest! Anyway, he owed me a favour so I thought I might bring a bit of festive cheer to this old town.

I felt my nails digging into my palm, hand clasped around the wires. My legs felt unstable.

William gestured to my house.

I see you like Christmas yourself! Well, nothing like a bit of friendly competition, is there?

He laughed and went back to ordering the workers around.

Somehow, I managed to make it down from the roof and back into my house before vomiting. Mary tried to console me but there was nothing she could do.

I didn’t work on the display for a week. I took time off work and spent each day by the window, watching the construction of William’s Christmas display. Its magnificence was unquestionable. No way I could ever compete with that. He’d won—again.

By the third day of my absence from work, I knew what I had to do. And it had nothing to do with any petty fantasies about sabotaging his lights so he looked stupid on launch night. No, he’d declared war, and that was what he was going to get.

The crowds in the cul-de-sac were the biggest ever that year. They were swelled slightly by the large amounts of emergency service personnel, and both local and national TV crews—but hey, they all count!

It wasn’t William’s gaudy, paint-by-numbers corporate display they were all looking at. It was ours. They were pointing at Santa’s sleigh, hands over their mouths. Some were recording on their phones as the police tried in vain to keep them back from the scene.

I went quietly, of course. Let them slap the handcuffs on me and read me my rights without complaint. I hummed some of my favourite Christmas carols as they ran through it all. The hardest part was Mary, sobbing furiously next to me. She kept repeating what have you done? and dissolving into a howling mess. It was irritating. I’d finally managed to get our display next-level attention, and this was how she thanked me.

As they led me away from the house, there was so much shouting. Press screaming questions, popping their camera flash at me. One or two angry people telling me that I was scum. None of it worried me. I carried on humming festive tunes as they hurried me to the car. I was pleased to see every eye on me at that moment. William was there, on full display as it were, but for once, everyone turned to me rather than him.

I got one final glance at my masterpiece as they bundled me into the back of the police car. William’s dead body was dressed in a Santa hat, squashed into the sleigh, kept upright by the Christmas tree I’d forced up his anus until the tip poked out of his mouth—that took some doing, let me tell you. I’d wrapped an entire line of fairy lights around his neck tightly, and amazingly, they still seemed to be flashing.

I looked at my former friend’s dead face, for once not in control, for once shocked and helpless. Merry Christmas, dickhead.

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Eat the Damn Candy Cane

By Sam M. Phillips

The blood-slick street is the only home I know now, the cases of spent shells glowing hot like Christmas lights. If you add in the dirty white snow and the baleful green light thrown off by the popping flares, it’s positively festive.

I love war. It has so many gifts to give. And for someone like me, popping in and out of dimensions, it’s a fun and safe environment. Not like these poor souls. I try to make it nice for them, but they fear me. Really, my gift is one of release and you would think they’d thank me.

See here? This one? The one with the grenade? He’s about to be shot, and then I come in, take the pain away, take his life and give him someone far more valuable in return.

They always scream when they see me, and I’m sure it’s rather confusing. You get used to the idea of the Grim Reaper wearing his black cloak. Well, damn it, he’s gone and I’m here, and I need the gig, so shut up. And no, I can’t take the damn red suit off just so you’re not confused.

Yes, I’m Santa Claus, but that doesn’t mean I can’t moonlight as Death too. I have a lot of elves back home who need feeding, and yes, I know I should have thought about that before I knocked up Mrs Claus about a thousand times. I didn’t know she has recessive elf genes, and I wasn’t paying much attention for the first few hundred.

Now I’m stuck doing this, but it could be worse, and I’ve actually come to like it, especially when I get to hover over a battlefield; so much less waiting than normal. It’s like a feast, a big festive feast, and I can eat as much as I like because I’m already fat.

The dead get something out of it too. It’s not a one-way street, I mean, look at life, it’s dirty and painful and just awful. I remember; I was once a normal mortal too, until that gypsy lady tricked me into eating her pie, damn her…

But now the dead get a permanent vacation from the struggle of life and even a chance at something much, much more. Most of them don’t believe me. You hold out the candy cane of hope and they think it’s a trick. They expect the white light at the end of the tunnel, or a long lost relative, or an angel, not some creepy, fat fuck with a candy cane, but it is how it is.

They take the candy cane, or they don’t, and they wind up where they wind up, but it’s all better than this Hell-on-Earth.

The tracer bullets smack down the road and catch a group of soldiers running in the open. I swoop down in my sleigh and they freak out, not knowing they’re already dead. I shouldn’t shout out Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas, but I can’t help but fuck with them.

I stuff them in my bag of tricks; there’s too many to go through the whole spiel with here. I’ll take them home and put on the DVD of the induction video.

Then they can eat the damn candy cane or they can fuck off.

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Merry Christmas, Mummy

By D.M. Burdett

I know my mummy loves me, but she is so very sad.

This year I’ll give a special gift, she can share with Dad.

I hope it makes her happy, so it fills her face with glee;

To wake up on Christmas morning and unwrap little me.

I just can’t stop my giggles as I crawl under the pine.

Behind all of the other gifts, I’ll be the last she’ll find.

I sit right at the back, a large bow upon my knee,

Snuggled under flashing lights that dangle from the tree.

I’ll be her favourite present; the best surprise of all!

This year has been so hard on her, since I died last fall.

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Silent Night

By Nicole Little

C arol! Where are the candy canes?

Right next to the sugarplums, dear, Carol Claus replied wearily as she arranged shortbread on a decorative tray. Where they always are, she muttered under her breath.

When will these cookies be finished? Santa barked, grabbing a gingerbread man and biting its head off.

Carol sighed in resignation, watching as her husband swept golden crumbs from his red shirt onto her clean countertop. Nick, they’ll be done when they’re done. I have four dozen sugar cookies in the oven. I’ve just made the royal icing. It will take a while to decorate them if you want them to be perfect. Maybe if I had some help?

He grunted and stomped across the industrial kitchen, his winter boots leaving a trail of dirty water and small clumps of snow on the floor in his wake. I can’t spare any of the elves right now. You know that babe! There’s only 2 days ’til Christmas! He slammed the door behind him.

Carol took a deep breath and brushed a lock of flaxen hair out of her eyes, a smudge of flour now decorating her forehead. It was going to be another long sleepless night.

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Carol’s least favourite day of the year had arrived: Christmas Eve. The entire Pole was in a frenzy. The bickering amongst the elves was incessant and she’d already broken up several fights that morning. She’d acquired a nasty burn around 4am—a baking related incident that required a large bandage. Her fingers were riddled with paper cuts from non-stop gift wrapping, and a