A Vampire’s “Bite” Before Christmas:
A FREE Vampire Christmas Poem
By Rusty Fischer, author of Vamplayers
Copyright © 2011 by Rusty Fischer
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Cover credit: Ivan Bliznetsov
Title “Revamp” credit: Pressly McQuiston via Twitter.com!
A Vampire’s “Bite” Before Christmas
‘Twas the night before Christmas,
And
all through the coven
The air felt as cold
As an Eskimo’s oven!
The coffins were open
The vampires milling;
As this was the night
For some Santa blood spilling!
The vampire’s basement
Looked haunted and dusty;
The floors were quite damp
The walls rather… musty.
The air it was filled
With maximum dread;
As just up the stairs
The vampires fled.
The living room looked
Like a warm greeting card;
As to welcome dear Santa
The vamps had tried hard!
A tree it stood shining
The lights they did glitter;
As the vamps shook their heads
And started to twitter.
It wasn’t their nature
To get bright and sparkly;
For vampires preferred
To celebrate… darkly.
If they did have a tree
(Which was rather quite rare)
The vamps lit it sparsely
With black balls and devil’s hair.
Their vampire leader
Smiled wider than most;
His hair black as tar
His skin white as toast.
His name it was Chauncey
His legend quite vast;
For even among vampires
He was quite the badass.
One vamp asked him, “Chauncey,
“Do you think Santa knows…
Of our plan to attack him
And suck dry his toes?”
Chauncey nodded quite gravely
And said with a sigh,
“This isn’t the first time
We’ve tried to drain the big guy.”
Chauncey thought with a smile
Of the last 10 decades;
And how they’d tried to trap Santa
And his trusty elf aides.
For Santa had one thing
The vamps sure did not;
A magical bloodstream
That just would not clot!
If only the vamps
Could tap Santa’s vein;
Over all the immortals
Their species would reign!
So every year
On the 25th of December;
Vamps all cross the world
Tried Santa to dismember!
And now hooves were tramping
Up on the vamps’ ceiling;
As dread in his veins
Chaunce was suddenly feeling!
For now it was time,
To drain the jolly old elf;
Or bring another year of shame
Upon Chauncey’s old self.
He readied the vamps
As he put them in their places;
With fangs sticking out
Of their pancake pale faces.
“I don’t know what Santa
Has stuck up his sleeve,”
Chauncey said to his minions
Who could no longer breathe.
“But whatever you do,
Take care of yourselves.
And don’t fall into the trap
Set by Santa’s bad elves!”
Each vamp had a corner
Each vamp had his space;
As the chimney hole spat up
All over the place!
The first crucifix fell
And scattered the lot;
As the vamps ran away
Before they could rot!
The elves quickly followed
As onto the floor;
They rolled one by one
As more followed more.
They each grabbed a cross
And stood side by side;
As across the floor
They started to stride.
Only Chauncey remained
His vamps having scattered;
He had barely noticed
For nothing else mattered…
Save slaying dear Santa
On this Christmas Eve;
For elves or no elves
Santa just couldn’t leave.
They elves they did battle
They put up a fight;
But Chauncey prevailed
On this holiday night.
He slayed them quite soundly
Each pint-sized little elf;
Until he was triumphant
(And quite proud of himself!)
But the war wasn’t over
It had only begun;
For Santa brought vengeance
And all kinds of fun!
He landed quite squarely
In the fireplace grate;
And said, “Sorry Chauncey;
It appears I’m too late…”
“… to save my dear elves
From your living dead charm;
But have no fear, Chauncey –
Santa’s here to do you harm!”
And old Santa meant it
That lively old elf;
He snuffed and he snorted
In spite of himself!
He ripped off his sleeves
And flexed massive biceps;
Old Chaunce stood his ground
Fangs glistening like forceps.
“I see you’ve been lifting
Your loyal reindeer.
You’re mad if you think
You fill me with fear!”
Old Santa did wink
And the rumbling it grew;
As eight giant reindeer
Down the chimney they flew!
The reindeer were vicious
As they gathered around;
And knocked poor old Chauncey
Straight onto the ground.
They stomped as they hungered
For some prime vampire pain;
As poor Chauncey tried fighting
Them off quite in vain.
And as each massive paw print
Seared into his skin;
Chauncey’s face fairly burst
In a maniacal grin.
He slashed at their ankles
With his ragged, rough claws;
As each tiny reindeer
Fell straight to its paws!
They scattered and scampered
Away from his wrath;
As straight toward Santa
The vamp set a path!
The fat man was turning
To make his escape;
When Chauncey came at him
And chomped on his nape!
But Santa was lively
Quite spritely and quick;
And poor Chauncey got
No more than a lick!
And onto the rooftop
Old Santa did spring;
As into the night
His voice it did ring.
“On Dancer, On Dasher
Don’t care if you’re bleeding;
Away from this hellhole
We need to be speeding!”
Old Chauncey was wounded
And felt to one knee;
Landing in front
Of that old Christmas tree.
And there, wrapped up nicely
In ribbons and bows;
Was a sight that warmed Chauncey
Straight down to his toes.
A vial, you see
Filled with gooey red stuff;
A sight that filled Chauncey
Fully of holiday guff!
It was from Santa, you see
A gift straight from the heart;
For it was with one pint of blood
The fat man did part.
He’d given old Chauncey
His fondest gift yet;
A tube of his blood
The freshest he’d get!
His wish had come true
Santa’s blood was all his;
He poured it all down
But it started to… fizz?
The vampire did choke
On Santa’s gag gift!
Just when his spirits
Had started to lift!
It wasn’t elf blood
In that little glass tube;
Old Chaunce had been had;
He felt like… a boob!
It was candy Santa’d left him
Under the tree;
And now the fat man
Did cackle with glee.
“It would be too easy,”
Santa called from his sleigh.
“If I gave you my blood;
Just tossed it away.”
And then Santa drove
Quite far out of sight;
As his sleigh disappeared
On this cold Christmas night.
And Chauncey retired
To his coffin downstairs;
For some much needed
Old bloody vampire repairs.
And he thought as he nestled
Quite snug in his coffin;
How next year old Santa
He’d better be offin!
About the Author:
Rusty Fischer
Rusty Fischer is a professional freelance writer who lives in sunny Florida with his beautiful wife, Martha. They enjoy riding bikes, long, leisurely walks on the beach, romantic dinners and zombie movies; with a few vampire movies thrown in for good measure!
(Well, Rusty does, anyway!)
Rusty is the author of several YA supernatural novels, including Zombies Don’t Cry (Medallion Press, 2011), Ushers, Inc. (Decadent Publishing, 2011), Detention of the Living Dead (Quake Books, 2012) and Vamplayers (Medallion Press, 2012).
Visit his blog, www.zombiesdontblog.blogspot.com, for news, reviews, cover leaks, writing and publishing advice, book excerpts and more!
And if you can’t wait for his next release, download his complete YA novel Vampires Drool! Zombies Rule! absolutely FREE at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/25988.