The Christmas Corpse By McKenzie Frey

Thirty-six shriveled legs shake under bony ribcages, antlers, and leather harnesses, complete with bells jingling. Black eyes sink into depressed sockets and puffs of breath seep past crystal snot, hanging from chins and noses. Pelt patches have flaked away after bitter wind exposure leaving pussfilled skin-blisters. Dents and scratches dimple and shred fading red and gold paint on a wooden sled and a broken ski causes the wagon to bow left and slightly forward. A boot steps from the sleigh to the roof. Black heels lumber through deep snow, dragging him to the chimney mouth. On the stairs inside the house, a Chinese Crested, Fifi, trembles and tucks her wispy tail between her back legs. Every night throughout the past year, shes poo-ed on the bathroom rug. A rotten, grey hand reaches from beneath a white cuff on a red sleeve for her speckled brown and pink body. Lipless jowls expose a set of decaying teeth. They pierce her throat; mutilate her vocal cords. Fifi thrashes, but he masticates her core, tearing strings of intestine and guzzling blood from oozing organs. She stills and he tosses Fifi back on the step where he found her. A wet scarlet trail flows down the steps from where she rests. Unable to cry out, she gasps her last breath. Bloody footsteps and a ragged breath climb to the second floor landing and continue toward a pink fracture of lighta cracked door. Waking to gargles and raspy breath, Lorraines eyes snap open. Uncertain whether shes dreaming, she absorbs a pallid beard tangled with blood and flesh. His teeth, crimson-stained, and his black irises bulge from yellow eyeballs. The creature slobbers, dribbling on Lorraines pink comforter. She whimpers and buries herself beneath her blankets, sobbing, Hail, Mary, full of grace Since Shelbys October birthday, Lorraine has pouted and whined about receiving new toys. Shelby tried to share her gifts with Lorraine, but Lorraine refused her elder sisters offers, screaming that she wanted her own new toys.

Hearing her sisters prayer, Shelby rubs her eyes and reaches for her glasses on the nightstand. A red velvet figure looms over Lorraine. Silent and wide-eyed, Shelby watches grey, decomposing hands stretch out and snatch her sister, blankets and all. Lorraines screams are muffled by thick covers, but her blonde crown is exposed. Unable to move and too afraid to yell for help, Shelby watches her sisters lime-colored socks writhe beneath the pink comforter. A crunch, like one biting a carrot, erupts through the room. Lorraines legs fall limp. Shelby squeezes her eyes shut and burrows under her pillow. After a few moments, she peeks to see if hes still there. Shes alone. At the foot of her bed a note says, Be good S. Downstairs, three green and red stockings dangle over the hearth. No toys or candy fill the soles. An eight-foot tree dressed with peppermint candy canes, strings of popcorn, and crowned with a star, stands silent against the wall. Twinkling lights shroud the branches and bounce about the walls of the dark room, but the skirt beneath lies bare. A plate of frosted sugar cookies and a glass of milk rests untouched on a coffee table. The thank-you letter the children wrote sits beside the snack, unread. The only sound within the house comes from the squish and squelch of Santa forcing Lorraines body up the chimney. When he reaches the roof, hell toss the naughty corpse in his bag with all the rest, and settle in his sleigh. He wont be full until morning.