A Zombie Christmas Carol by Michael G. Thomas; Charles Dickens Page A

work she had to do, and how many hours she worked at a stretch, and how she meant to lie abed to-morrow morning for a good long rest; to-morrow being a holiday she passed at home. Also how she had seen a countess and a lord some days before, and how the lord “was much about as tall as Peter;” at which Peter pulled up his collars so high that you couldn’t have seen his head if you had been there. All this time the chestnuts and the jug went round and round; and by-and-bye they had a song, about a lost child travelling in the snow, from Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it very well indeed.
    There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a handsome family; they were not well dressed; their shoes were far from being water-proof; their clothes were scanty; and Peter might have known, and very likely did, the inside of a pawnbroker’s. But, they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another, and contented with the time; and when they faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit’s torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny Tim, until the last.
    A loud clattering came from outside, quickly by a loud banging on the door. Bob Cratchit looked in the direction and then back at his family. Miss Belinda made to move but he gestured for her to stay. He stood up and made his way to the door though he paused for a moment to check for anything suspicious. As he waited, a desperate banging came from a house further down the road. Mr Cratchit pushed open the door and stepped outside.
    “Mr Cratchit, something evil approaches, it is attacking every house, run!” cried a boy as he rushed past.
    “Evil?” he asked as he looked carefully down the street.
    He concentrated watching for movement. Then he spotted the vanguard of the horde as it made its slow, methodical progress through the city. A series of screams came from a house just a few streets away. He was about to turn away when he spotted a young woman being chased. A person in ragged clothing grabbed her and knocked her to the ground. Mr Cratchit had seen enough and turned inside the house.
    “Miss Belinda, the poker from the fire, quickly my child, have a care not to burn yourself!” he cried.
    The child was quick and in moments handed the still hot poker, wrapped in a wet cloth at one end to him.
    “Thank you, now lock the door behind me and do not open it unless you hear my voice, understood?” he said.
    The young girl nodded and stepped back, pushing the door behind her. With a satisfying clunk, he heard the bolt as it slid carefully into place. He turned and checked on the state of the young woman, she was still on the ground and fighting for her life.
    Rushing forward Scrooge reached the group and without hesitation, he struck the first in the chest. The blow was mighty and it sent the person stumbling backwards. As Mr Cratchit stepped forward to help the girl the man staggered forwards, him arms out in front, trying to grab him. With a deft movement he stepped to the man’s side and swung the poker into the man’s arm, it broke almost instantly with a sickening crunch.
    “Leave us!” shouted Mr Cratchit.
    It then simply turned towards him and that is when he finally saw the terrible face. It was the body of a man but the face of a corpse. The skin was pale white and the arms were scarred, and damaged.
    “Lord save us!” cried Mr Cratchit as he stabbed the poker into the creature’s chest.
    As it howled, Mr Cratchit bent down and grabbed the young woman, helped her up and then rushed back to his home.
    “Thank you, mister,” said the woman as she tried to keep running.
    As they reached the door, they both turned and looked back. The man was standing in the middle of the road with another dozen vile people not far behind. They watched in astonishment as he looked down at the metal spike in his chest and then looked back at Mr Cratchit. With a pathetic groaning, the thing started to