Scary Holiday Tales to Make You Scream Read online

  Scary! Holidays To Make You Scream

  Various

  Scary! Holidays To Make You Scream

  Copyright © 2007 Various

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in Canada by Double Dragon eBooks, a division of Double Dragon Publishing Inc. of Markham Ontario, Canada.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from Double Dragon Publishing Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Double Dragon eBooks

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  Cover art by Deron Douglas

  www.derondouglas.com

  ISBN-10: 1-55404-074-4

  ISBN-13: 978-1-55404-074-2

  First Edition November 20, 2007

  Also Available as a Large Type Paperback

  Now Available as paperback and hard cover

  A Celebration of Cover Art: 2001 to 2006

  Five Years of Cover Art

  [Companion calendars also available]

  www.double-dragon-ebooks.com

  SCARY! Holiday

  Tales To Make You Scream

  Edited by Paul Melniczek

  Introductions by John Edward Lawson

  Contents

  CHRISTMAS HORRORS

  All I Wanted For Christmas - L.J. Blount

  An Ideal Family Holiday - John Edward Lawson

  Slay Bells - Simon Wood

  The Santa of Sector 24-G - Scott Christian Carr

  Nightmare on 34th Street - Paul Kane

  Far-Off Things - Quentin S. Crisp

  Night of the Party - Mark West

  Green Grow'th the Holly, So Doth the Ivy - G.W. Thomas

  Docking Bay Three - Megan Powell

  HALLOWEEN HORRORS

  The Gruesome Harvester - Brutal Dreamer

  Halloween, Gypsies, and Dogs - JD Pearce

  The Boblin - Michael A. Arnzen

  Real Monsters - Bob L. Morgan

  VALENTINE HORRORS

  Killing Cupid - Shawn P. Madison

  A Valentine's Day Kiss - Sandy De Luca

  FOURTH OF JULY HORRORS

  Chicken - Elizabeth R. Peake

  ASH WEDNESDAY

  Ash Wednesday - HORNS

  LABOR DAY HORRORS

  Camper's Legend - Nicole Thomas

  THANKSGIVING DAY HORRORS

  Gobble, Gobble, Oxen Free - Kurt Newton

  Emma SRED, the Sleepy Head - Jeremy Carr

  Bitter Bird - John Grover

  EASTER DAY HORRORS

  Forsaken - Jason Brannon

  MAY DAY HORRORS

  Firestar of the May Queen - Susanne S. Brydenbaugh

  VETERAN'S DAY HORRORS

  Locked & Loaded - Steven L. Shrewsbury

  ST. ANDREWS DAY HORRORS

  Night of the Saltire - Alex Severin

  MISCELLANEOUS HORRORS

  The Boy Who Fell To Earth - Hertzan Chimera

  Holiday- Sarah Crabtree

  Happy Lemur Day - Marc Sanchez

  Baboshka - Kailleaugh Andersson

  CHRISTMAS HORROR TALES

  In contemporary society Christmas is thought of as the celebration of Jesus Christ's birth. It is a merry time for Christians to celebrate and spend time with their loved ones. Largely this is a creation of the Victorian era, popularized during the 1860s. The origins of this holiday, though, are of quite a different nature. The true history of Christmas goes back well over four thousand years.

  The ancient Mesopotamians called their New Year Zagmuk, a twelve day festival marking the battle between light and darkness. The god Marduk entered mortal combat with the chaotic forces of darkness to prevent winter from taking over. To achieve this end their king was to be sacrificed yearly in order to fight at Marduk's side. The Mesopotamians, however, had no interest in losing a king each year. The solution was to select a "Mock King" from among the criminal population. He was given all the privileges of royalty but died at the festival's end.

  Not only do the twelve days of Christmas stem from these traditions, but strangely the theme of having the impoverished and enslaved switch roles with the upper class became a centerpiece of most winter solstice holidays along the Mediterranean and throughout Europe.

  A case in point is the Babylonian and Persian holiday of Sacaea, wherein slaves ruled over their masters. The Roman holiday of Saturnalia, celebrated from the middle of December through mid-January, also gave similar power to slaves at the masters' expense and the peasants took control of Rome. Later, Europeans would celebrate Christmas in a raucous, Mardi-Gras manner. During the drunkenness locals would appoint a "lord of misrule" and obey his commands, then besiege the homes of the wealthy taking their best food and wine. If the rich refused the mob there was often trouble.

  Still other variations of the holiday focused less on class struggle and more on the titanic battle between gods and devils. For example, the Greeks held a celebration similar in nature to Sacaea and Zagmuk, during which they assisted Kronos in his combat against the Titans, who were led by Zeus. For Scandinavians the battle between the forces of light and dark were even more serious. On the thirty-fifth day after the disappearance of the sun scouts would be sent to the mountains to look for signs of its return. It is understandable that after such a long period of darkness massive festivals were held, in the form of Yuletide, from which we derive the Yule log. Evergreen and mistletoe boughs were considered excellent weapons against the spirits that ran amok during the short days of winter.

  In the early days of Christianity the religion was struggling to establish itself against the popular Roman gods, and the Mithraism of the Persians. Mithra-unstoppable god of the sun-figured prominently in both of these religions; he was an infant god born from rock, born on December 25th. While it is not ever stated in the Bible, Julius I, Bishop of Rome, decreed in 350 AD December 25th the official observance of Christ's birth. This seems somewhat suspect considering that shepherds wouldn't be herding during winter. Regardless, this policy allowed converts to continue their traditional celebrations, allowing Christianity even greater appeal.

  Other features taken from the Roman Saturnalia are garlands, visiting family and friends, large feasts, decorating trees with lit candles, and everybody's favorite: gift giving. Sinterclass, Saint Nick, Father Christmas, and Santa Claus are all variations on the Bishop of Myra, Saint Nicholas. Having died in 340 AD, he was renowned for his charity, especially to children. Italy has La Befana, a beneficent witch clad in black who delivers gifts to children on January 6, and Scandinavian countries have an elf that delivers goodies. In Switzerland the Christ Child actually appears and gives gifts to children directly! And, for those naughty children, some of these gift-bearing entities have dark sidekicks who will steal children or beat them severely with a rod.

  Despite the fact that the general public is no longer able to terrorize the gentry, and some children live under threat of being tormented by supernatural creatures, Christmas remains the most anticipated holiday in most Christian lands.

  -John Edward Lawson

  ...all I wanted for Christmas was to Die

  By L.J. Blount

  Outside fluffy flakes of snow tumb
led lightly to the ground. The white blanket it laid was pure and untouched. A wave of lights reflected upon the fresh virgin snow. A rainbow of orange, green, red, and blue. Gold and silver garlands snaked up light poles. Decorative candy canes hung stretched across a quiet street in rows of red and white. The snow, it continued to fall, floating delicately among the lights and decorations, and the sounds of Christmas carols could be heard faintly amidst the glory.

  ***

  Zak Tran sat up in bed in a cold sweat. The pain in his abdomen was unbearable. He held his breath as the sharpness increased. It was a twisting pain, the kind that gnaws on you as if you are being eaten alive. Zak crawled out of bed, stopped to double over before making his way to the bathroom as quickly as he could. By the time he reached the toilet, he had vomit trickling from between his lips, with some finding its way onto his nightshirt.

  He hung over the toilet for several minutes, making sure his stomach was empty before he would rinse his mouth to extinguish the taste. Grabbing the half-full bottle of mouthwash, he stopped to examine himself. Blood-shot eyes, dark bags hanging beneath them. He was unattractive in his opinion already; the added baggage only made him homelier. He smiled - his teeth bore specks of vomit that had clung to the enamel. He frowned and took a mouth full of mouthwash - before reaching his toothbrush he noticed the string of puke that soiled his coffin-blue shirt. His frown grew deeper as he brushed his teeth and changed out of his nightshirt.

  He stared again at his sunken face, hollowed eyes staring back at him. He couldn't remember the last time he felt good, or the last time he was happy. This was his gift two Christmases ago, his diagnosis of cancer. It wasn't until it was in stage four before they discovered it. A little known cancer of the T-Cells. He didn't concern himself with the specifics, only that he was given a few months to live. That was two years ago.

  Zak made his way back to his bed, in slow arduous steps. Plopped down on his bed, not bothering to right himself or make himself comfortable. There was no need, he wasn't going to sleep again that night.

  ***

  Zak watched Dr. Gibbons with a doubtful eye.

  "Looks like you're gonna kick out another Christmas, Mr. Tran."

  Zak ignored the doctor and finished buttoning his shirt. Another Christmas to celebrate my pain, Zak thought as he twisted the last button into place. He grimaced - be it ever so slightly, it was enough to draw the good doctor's attention.

  "Are your hands giving you discomfort?"

  Zak sighed as he sat. Always the same bullshit, "Does this hurt, or that. Tell me about the pain you're feeling." But they never yielded him any relief. "Yeah doc, but nothing like the pain in my abdomen." He replied.

  Dr. Gibbons gave a thoughtful nod. The same he did every visit. Zak looked off to keep himself from getting angry.

  "You know," Dr. Gibbons began, "I can't give you anything for the pain in your abdomen. I can give you a prescription for an anti-inflammatory that might help your hands."

  Zak watched the smile on the doctor's face spread again. It was like a viral infection moving rapidly across his vapid face. His nose crinkled and his eyes drew in tight. "You know they upset my stomach, just like the pain meds."

  He smirked as Dr. Gibbons stopped his scribbling and looked off as if in thought. "That's right," he said in a disappointed fashion.

  Zak grabbed his coat and reached for the door when Dr. Gibbons repeated his original observation. "Looks like you're gonna kick out another Christmas, Mr. Tran."

  How un-doctor like, Zak thought as he turned to give Dr. Gibbons a flash of a grin.

  He left the office without making his usual follow-up appointment. They would call him with a time and date, every two months like clockwork he was in Dr. Gibbons' office having his lymph nodes poked and pushed on. His blood drawn, of which he never received any reports. And finally, the chest X-ray, which made very little sense to him, since his cancer was eating him away in his abdomen.

  It didn't matter, because at that moment in time Zak Tran decided he was never going back to see Dr. Gibbons or any other oncologist for that matter. To Hell with it, he thought. All I want is something to ease the pain.

  It was then that he noticed it. Had it been there every day for the past two years? Had he been so preoccupied being pissed off that the sign he rested his back on held the key to relieving his misery? There on the bus stop bench, the one he had traveled to and from Dr. Gibbons' office for nearly three years now, was an advertisement for pain relief. Not an ordinary sign for pain relief, like you might find for aspirin. This was a special pain reliever, home remedy and guaranteed to take your pain away or ten-times your money back.

  He thought it a gimmick at first, but then convinced himself he had nothing to loose. Zak jotted the address down, with every intention of visiting "Juanna's Remedies," on Baker Street today.

  ***

  He made it as far as Baker Street before the pain got the better of him. Zak sat down and propped himself up against a trash dumpster. The pain was terrible, much worse than yesterday. Perhaps the worst it had ever been. He thought for a moment, between agonizing shocks. Perhaps I'll die here now, finally. His grunts were coming quicker and louder as he leaned up against the dumpster. The people that did happen by Baker Street ignored him or made it a point to avoid him.

  He was not alone, however - a voice called to him, one he likened to an angel. He looked up and he saw her, an elderly woman. Her wrinkled faced showed a life that must have been hard, and like his, lived far to long. Her eyes though, they were lively and showed much concern. He stared at her a moment longer, watching her aged lines with his stare before she spoke to him.

  "Do you need some help young man?"

  Zak tried to force a smile to be polite, but all he could do was grimace. "I-I am in..." He could squeeze no more out.

  "Pain dear. I can see that. There is nothing more obvious than the pain that is eating up your insides."

  "Juanna..." Zak slumped deeper into the rubbish he sat atop.

  "Oh, she's not going to be able to calm your pain young man. She's all talk and new age. You need some real down home remedies."

  Zak looked up queerly at the old woman that held out a bottle in her trembling hand. "Take it," she said.

  He did as she said, but couldn't extend his arm too far. Each time it left his cramping abdomen, the pain would increase causing him to draw his hand back.

  "Here," the old woman knelt beside him, "allow me." The old woman held Zak's head in her arm and gently poured the contents of the bottle into his open and willing mouth. Zak watched her as she stood, and about the time she had straightened herself up as much as she could, the pain was gone.

  He sat for a moment, basking in the wonderment of the miracle. He stood, brushed the debris off his pants and began to thank the old woman. "Ma'am, I don't know how..."

  "Hush now." She said, holding up an arthritic hand to halt his continuing. "You just be thankful and praise Jahobe tonight before you sleep."

  "Jahobe?"

  The old woman shook her head. "It is where that there cure came from. Jahobe is great and wonderful. Here, you take one more just in case the pain returns."

  Zak took the small bottle from the woman's hand and thanked her again. She waved a hand as if to shoo him, be he a pest or something and carried on about her business. Zak watched the old woman as she slowly walked down the sidewalk.

  ***

  The apartment was unusually warm that night. Comforting, Zak thought. He hadn't any pain and the chills that usually shook him were gone as well. Everything seemed that much more pleasant, even the stale dusty air was a pleasure for him to inhale, of which he did often and deeply.

  He made himself comfortable in his bed, a warm smile filled his face as he thought a good night's sleep for once.

  Thoughts of the old lady crept into his mind. He remembered her telling him to thank Jahobe before he slept. His recollection was fleeting, however, as he basked in the painless evening. It was the
first such evening in nearly three years. "Yeah, I'll make another Christmas." He said aloud, answering Dr. Gibbons' observation.

  He lay down, head on pillow, body straight, not leaning towards the edge, readied for a quick run to the bathroom. Instead, he sank into his goose down pillow and his mattress ready for a relaxing night's sleep. His warm smile faded as he slipped into a deep sleep.

  ***

  A light mist rolled in as Zak exited the building. The parking lot was darker than usual and he noted that three of the four lights were out. The only working light that remained was the one he parked under. Lucky, he thought, as he made his way through the darkness.

  It was uncanny, the sound of his shoes as he made his way over the asphalt. They made a clamoring that suggested there were a hundred of him marching through the parking lot in cadence. He looked around and noted no one else. He knew he was the last one out of the ward, having shut down the building and setting the alarm before he left. Still, it was unnerving. He approached his lightning yellow Lancer and deactivated the alarm. His car shimmered in the mist, like frost beneath a luminous moon.

  He didn't notice them until he opened the door. The small creatures that danced at the rear of his car. He looked closer at them, two, no three as they bounced around like circus clowns. He moved from the door, leaving it ajar as he did. He wanted a better look. He moved slowly so as not to scare them off, then he realized that it was he who should be frightened. He took a step back, keeping an eye on the small, black balls of fur. Each looked up at him, one at a time in some kind of sick rhythm as the stopped their antics. He couldn't see their eyes. They were sewn shut with a fleshy-like substance. Their months were the same grotesque display.