The Undead That Saved Christmas Vol. 2 by ed. Lyle Perez-Tinics

arms hanging by his sides as if they had been dislocated. He feet were turned inwards at an awkward angle.
    “He's very unwell today,” Harry said as the man shambled closer with his creepy gait. Doctor Shelborne didn't reply, so Harry continued rambling. “We know... we know nothing can be done, but I guess we just want to be sure there's no,” he choked on the word, “pain.”
    As Doctor Shelborne came up the path, Harry stood back from the door to make room for him to enter. He had yet to utter a single word.
    “He's in the sitting room,” Harry said, as the doctor stepped in. “He insisted on...”
    Doctor Shelborne launched himself at Harry, pinning him up against the wall.
    “What the...” It was as if the doctor was trying to bite him.
    On instinct, Harry locked his elbow into place and planted his palm against Doctor Shelborne's forehead, holding him back. He was snarling. Spittle and blood was flying from between his gnashing teeth as he tried to maneuver around Harry's hold.
    Harry's elbow quaked. His muscles were straining. His other arm was braced against the man’s throat, turning the horrible snarls to even more horrible gurgles. There was an inhuman strength in the man. It was as if he was being driven by some savage instinct that made him insensitive to pain. Everything around him ceased to exist, except for that one goal. And now, that goal was Harry.
    There was no give. Harry put so much into keeping the man off him that he had nothing left in reserve to actually gain ground. Doctor Shelborne kicked and thrashed, like a steam engine on a one way track.
    Harry couldn't hold him back any longer. His arms were aching; his shoulder blades felt like they had melded into the wall. His elbow buckled. Those teeth clashed, just inches from his cheek.
    His muscles jerked, running on empty. He turned his face and actually felt the doctor’s lip brush his ear. So this was it? This was his number? Being eaten alive by the village doctor in his own hallway... now that was a death worthy of inscription on his tombstone.
    The man’s foul slaver dribbled onto his temple and carved a slimy track down his face until it dripped onto his collar bone. Harry gritted his teeth, groaning under the strain. He closed his eyes and was about to give in when the force was suddenly gone.
    His arms felt as light as air with the abrupt freedom. He heard the door slam and he opened his eyes to see Catherine standing before it, wielding a heavy rolling pin, clotted with ingredients of mince pie and doctor. Harry's jaw dropped in surprise.
    Catherine shrugged. “I've only just had the carpet shampooed.” She had barely even broken a sweat.

    * * *

    In between watching Tiny Mickey, they watched through the windows as the whole world went crazy. One by one the singers who had set up vigil on their doorstep the night before, reanimated and shambled off. They saw Mr. Prior The Bald Butcher, stagger up from the town. The street lights had come on, and they shone on his shiny pate. As he passed their gate, his missus blundered past him on the other side. Neither of them paid any attention to each other. It was as if they were perfect strangers.
    They were all the same. There were no lights behind their eyes. They just lurched along with no apparent purpose other than to find someone uninfected, and attack. They came and went, and came again. In four hours Mr. Prior The Bald Butcher passed six times, Old Mrs. Crawford From Next Door, four, The School Mistress Miss Brigsby, five. Young Stacey Smith came on the scene later on, probably reanimating later than the others.
    “There's obviously some part of their brains still human,” Harry observed in a whisper. “See how Old Mrs. Crawford From Next Door keeps stopping to kneel by her shed, like how she would every evening to call the cat for dinner.”
    “Like how Mr. Prior The Bald Butcher had the orders ready for collection,” Catherine added.
    “And the carolers.”
    “And Doctor