Twelve Days of Christmas Horror Read online

  It was always such utter shite.

  This pair, though, had seemed a nice pair. He had looked desperate, and she had looked in a lot of pain. And they had both appeared exhausted.

  The innkeeper had a stable, so he figured he may as well do the kind thing.

  Even though there was no recognised holiday, it still somehow felt like it was the right time of year to be nice.

  He returned to the inns. Opened the grand doors that led to lines of smaller doors where his guests lay asleep.

  He paused.

  Sniffed.

  There was an odd aroma. Something hanging on the air.

  That’s when he heard it.

  Something strange.

  Like a rustling. And a chattering. Teeth clattering together. Like someone was cold.

  “Who’s there?” he grunted.

  He saw it. In the shadows toward the far corner of rooms. A silhouette. Hunched over. A shoulder sagging low beneath the other. It staggered forward a few steps. It was like a man, fused with an animal, and the innkeeper strained to see its face.

  “Who is it?”

  Still nothing.

  The innkeeper stepped forward. Squinting. Eager to see who was causing such a raucous at this time of night.

  “You one of Herod’s men? I saw you all running around with your swords having some kind of problem with babies…”

  The man staggered forward a little further. It moved like it was possessed or injured—or both.

  It did not look like one of Herod’s men. They were armed and organised. This looked like something feral. Unleashed.

  “Get out of here, you hear me? Get out of here!”

  Half of its face emerged into the light.

  The innkeeper recoiled.

  He had seen many horrors in his time—women stoned to death for adultery, children sacrificed for their god… but he had not seen something look so intensely evil.

  Its eyes were glowering red.

  Its skin fell off its cheek bones.

  And its gangrenous teeth oozed red.

  “I ain’t playing around, boy, you need to–”

  It charged forward. With a snarl that was more suited to a demented hyena, it pushed its legs, the knees of which pointed away from one another, and surged forward, top heavy, as if it was always falling.

  The innkeeper turned to run.

  And he felt it.

  A twinge in his neck.

  Something warm trickling down his chest.

  He looked down.

  It was blood.

  His blood.

  He fell onto his front and felt himself paralysed as it pulled his spine from his back and discarded it like bones of a cooked chicken.

  He couldn’t move. His body was immobile. He could only lay there and wait as the creature devoured his body.

  Eventually, he died.

  Following his death, it took only seconds for his eyes to open, for him rediscover his legs, and use his impaled body to search out the residents of the inn.

  The inn that was completely full.

  3

  Joseph clumped mounds of straw together to create a makeshift pillow beneath her head. What else could he do?

  She was moaning more now. Harder. Her cries were elongated; she wasn’t just sobbing but groaning with pain.

  What if…. he thought. What if I lose her?

  It was tough not to know anyone who hadn’t lost a loved one to childbirth. Almost every man he had ever carpeted with, almost every man he had ever drunk with, had ever been related to, had somehow known of or been involved with a woman who had died in the process of giving their husband a child.

  What if he lost her?

  He couldn’t bear the thought.

  He hadn’t even considered the possibility until now. He had been so focussed on getting her to Bethlehem, getting her to safety, getting her here quickly and alive, that he hadn’t stopped to think... what then?

  Now the issue of her mortality was all that filled his mind, bullying his thoughts with images he didn’t wish to see.

  But he couldn’t dwell on it. Couldn’t let it be the focus of his rumination.

  Or that would be a certain way to lose her.

  He had to keep his focus. So long as he did everything he could, he would give her the best chance. Letting his anxiety control him would be a sure way to see his fears come true.

  Despite knowing this, it was a lot easier telling it to himself than it was to carry it out.

  “Mary, it’s okay,” he said. “I’m here.”

  He placed a hand on her head. It left his hand sticky with her perspiration.

  She was crying harder now, weeping and cursing and starting to scream.

  Even the horses were shooting him looks.

  “Sod off,” he told them.

  Then he noticed. Around one of the horses. A blanket, perhaps where a saddle had been.

  He leapt forward, grabbed it, then brought it down to Mary and placed it gently beneath her head.

  The horse didn’t object. In fact, Joseph had a strange feeling that it somehow understood.

  He moved down Mary’s body, keeping her hand in his, and lifted the base of her dress, which had become discoloured under the strain of dirt and fluids.

  There was a lot of blood. Seeping into the straw.

  There was a little faeces too.

  But the blood… Was there too much of it? Was she losing it too quickly?

  She sniffed and cried more.

  She was in so much pain he could barely look at her.

  He squeezed her hand. A way to let her know he was there.

  “I’m here, Mary, I’m here,” he told her, though it didn’t seem to register.

  “Please… Make it stop… Make it stop…”

  Oh, what he’d give to make it stop.

  What he’d give to go back nine months and tell the Angel Gabriel to shove it.

  But he couldn’t.

  This was happening.

  And no amount of terror or remorse would change that.

  He had to take charge.

  He had to guide her through it, even though he did not understand what was happening.

  “I need you to push, Mary, I need you to–”

  His voice caught as the sight overcame him.

  He could just about see it.

  Beneath the blood and the urine and the other fluids Joseph could not and did not wish to decipher… a small mound of hair. Covered in thick gunk.

  The top of the child’s head.

  4

  The Three Wise Men had done as they were asked.

  They’d followed the star.

  They’d arrived at the inn.

  And now, here they were, waiting for the innkeeper to answer their knocks. Yet, however much they persevered, there was no answer to their persistence.

  “Perhaps it was false information?”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Just keep knocking.”

  “He will answer soon.”

  So knock they did.

  Knock, knock, knock, until…

  Until…

  What was that?

  That noise?

  The odour that accompanied it?

  They each looked to one another. Exchanging looks of peculiar intrigue. A frown and an eyebrow raise and a stuck out bottom lip.

  It was like a noisy field of cattle. Like a horde of ravenous animals. Like a commotion in the market square that they couldn’t see.

  It grew louder.

  Snarls and growls and chomping and commotion and…

  And screams.

  Screams?

  Why were there screams?

  They each put a hand on their swords. Readied themselves. Looked to one another.

  They prepared themselves to barge open the door, but they needn’t. They applied a bit of pressure, which forced a small crack, that quickly grew into a door fully ajar.

  They stood still. Shocked. Dismayed. Appalled.

&
nbsp; Unable to understand.

  It was chaos.

  Beyond chaos.

  It was carnage. Reckless outrage. Bloody mayhem. Limbs painted the walls, blood marked the gutters, and shrieks created the ambience of the inn.

  A few steps away a man lay dead with another man sat over them, holding what looked like intestines in its hand, unravelling them like they were untangling string.

  The feral man paused. Sniffed. Looked up.

  Met the eyes of the wise men.

  And it charged at them.

  It dove upon The First Wise Man, took him to the floor, and sunk its teeth into his neck.

  The other two struck their swords into it, one in its back and one up the base of its skull.

  It fell limply to the side.

  But the damage had already done.

  The First Wise Man seemed still for a moment, then it looked up. Its eyes flickered yellow, then red. Veins stretched across his face and his fingers curled up into a claw.

  “Are you okay?”

  He dropped his murr in shock as his friend, who had dropped his frankincense, leapt to his feet and launched itself onto his former comrade, landing his teeth into his neck.

  He ripped the skin from his bones and chewed through it like it was a tough bit of turkey. He tore open his chest and pulled aside his rib cage to grab his heart. He smeared it over his face and fed upon his gullet.

  It looked up at the final wise man.

  As did every other one of them.

  His body stiffened, then he backed away.

  The final wise man could do nothing but run.

  Run as they gave chase.

  With them trailing behind, he turned the corner around the side of the inn.

  Toward the stables.

  5

  “He’s crowning,” Joseph told her, hoping these would be words of comfort, speaking with a calm voice he hoped would sooth her. “He’s crowning, I see him.”

  They were not words of comfort, nor did they calm or sooth her.

  She screamed more, louder and harder—and, hidden poorly among those screams, was weeping. Desperate despair at the wish that this ordeal could be over, and that she could survive it.

  Joseph wasn’t sure how much she knew about what was happening, but he was sure that she knew just as well as he did what was at stake.

  Yet, right then, neither of them cared. It was bad, Joseph knew that, and he was sure Mary knew that, but they didn’t care—all they were concerned about were the three lives battling for survival in the stable.

  “You can do this,” Joseph told her, though it was background noise buried behind the wails; but he kept telling her, nevertheless.

  “I believe in you. You can do this.”

  Her teeth ground, and an elongated snarl came between the cracks.

  “Keep pushing.”

  The blood was dripping over a layer of blood that had already soaked into the straw. He had no idea whether she was doing well. He had no concept of whether this was normal. And he was completely terrified, running purely on fading adrenaline.

  But she could not see that.

  He had to strong.

  Had to be the man she needed him to be.

  “Keep pushing, you’re doing great, you’re–”

  Something caught his attention.

  A distant scream hidden behind Mary’s screams.

  He didn’t quite register what it was or why it caught his attention. Not at first, anyway. But, as he strained, and listened closer…

  Help, please help!

  Someone in distress.

  Joseph couldn’t care less. They would have to sort their own problems out; he had his own ordeal he was suffering through. The woman he loved was his priority.

  “That’s it, Mary, that’s it, you’re–”

  But the distant shout was one of many. It was quickly drowned out by a wave of snarls and groans and moans, which were moving from the distance to the not-so-distant.

  What was happening?

  Heavy footsteps ran around the stable.

  Joseph sprang to his feet, standing between the entrance and his wife, ready to protect her from whoever, or whatever, approached.

  The door sprung open, and he clenched his fists. He was a carpenter, not a fighter. He had never thrown a punch in his life. He had no idea how to beat up an opponent.

  But, should he need to, he was damn well about to learn.

  A man burst in. Wearing what appeared to be a crown, though any jewels or sparkling silver that may have adorned it had since been decorated in splashes of red. He wore robes, which were also doused with what Joseph realised was blood.

  The man halted.

  Looked to Joseph. To Mary. To Joseph.

  He didn’t look like he was about to attack. In fact, his face looked horrified. He was shaking. Completely taken by fear.

  “What do you want?” Joseph asked.

  “Is this her… the virgin mother…”

  Joseph looked to Mary, whose hand reached out for his. He supposed that was accurate.

  “Who are you?” Joseph asked.

  “Please, I mean you no harm, I–”

  A scream interrupted his explanation, far closer this time, followed by more growls, louder, and a smell of putrid rotting.

  “What is happening?” Joseph asked.

  “I don’t—I don’t know… I came here with two others, we came to bring Him gifts, and, well… We were attacked.”

  “Attacked? By whom?”

  “The—the innkeeper.”

  “The innkeeper? Not possible. He was a nice fellow. A little impatient, yes, but he let us stay here to have the baby. He would not attack–”

  “No, you don’t understand, it wasn’t him.”

  “What? But you just said it was the innkeeper.”

  “It was, but it wasn’t, you see–”

  The walls of the stable shook under a sudden pounding that Joseph somehow realised was a body landing on its roof.

  A scream followed, then nothing. As if the body was from a man full of agony, then that agony had abruptly ended. Seconds later, scuffles and scampering pounded across the roof.

  The Wise Man looked to the door.

  The door he had left open.

  “What is happening?” asked Joseph.

  The Wise Man shut the door, but not before one of them barged their way in.

  6

  The Wise Man recognised him instantly.

  He had travelled here with this man for weeks, after all. He would recognise his own comrade, the one who had kept him company on their journey.

  Except, he wasn’t the same.

  His eyes had changed colour. His teeth had too. And he sniffed.

  Sniffed, then looked to the woman.

  The Wise Man saw it.

  A pool of blood beneath the woman’s crotch.

  His former friend kept sniffing.

  If they could smell it, how long would it be until they all came?

  The creature wasted no more time. It lurched itself forward.

  The woman’s husband did nothing. He did not put up a fight. He didn’t even run. He stared at it, paralysed by confusion, crippled by terror. The Wise Man feared that the man would let his wife and child die because he hadn’t the instinct to act.

  The Wise Man took it upon himself to dive forward and throw his arms around the thing’s waist, taking it to the floor.

  He mounted it. Legs either side of its hips. His hand holding down its forehead as its limp arms clambered for him, its teeth always chattering.

  He looked for a weapon.

  “Pass me that!” he demanded, pointing at the makeshift crib.

  “What?” said that timid father-to-be.

  “The troth! Pass me it!”

  “But it’s for the baby!”

  “Are you kidding me right now?”

  The man seemed to come to his senses, and he dragged the troth over.

  “Now lift it up,” The Wise Man inst
ructed, and the timid man did as he was told.

  The Wise Man moved the creature’s head to beneath the foot of the troth.

  “Now drop it,” he instructed.

  “What? But I can’t–”

  The Wise Man didn’t wait any longer. He grabbed hold of the troth himself and pulled it downwards.

  It landed on the creature’s head which, as if its skull was far feebler than a normal man’s, shattered into a mess of blood, brain and bone.

  The Wise Man sat back, panted, and took a moment of respite.

  Then he turned to the timid man, who stood there, gawping at what had just happened.

  “What’s your name?”

  The timid man said nothing.

  “I said, what is your name?”

  “J—Joseph.”

  “Well, Joseph, you may not realise, but shit has kicked off out there. I need you to get a grip. I need you to be ready to fight for your wife, for your child. You understand me?”

  Joseph nodded, though he didn’t appear to be aware of doing so.

  His wife made a noise, and he rushed back over to her. He sat between the woman’s legs, where The Wise Man saw half a baby’s head sticking out.

  The Wise Man looked away. It wasn’t for him to see.

  The woman was making a hell of a noise, though.

  But The Wise Man had a feeling that the noise wasn’t the issue.

  She was still bleeding. More and more of it was coming out and settling in the straw, just gathering new blood over old blood.

  If one of them could smell it, then…

  A large clatter shook the stable.

  Then another.

  And another.

  It took minutes until they were surrounded from all sides, the woman’s screaming drowned out by the banging as the groans and moans grew into a grand crescendo.

  Joseph seemed to look to The Wise Man, as if seeking guidance, as if needing a way out of this.

  “Looks like we’re not alone,” said The Wise Man, and he stood, readying himself for war.

  7

  Joseph gaped as The Wise Man seemed to stand, looking around, searching for something.

  How the guy was being so cool, Joseph did not know.