T's Stuff: The 12 Terrors of Christmas by Claudette Melanson

The
12 Terrors of Christmas

by
Claudette Melanson

Genre:
Horror Short Stories

Award-winning
author Claudette Melanson offers eleven new and original stories to
make your skin crawl at any time of the year. This horror anthology
also includes an original short by Amazon International Best-Selling
Author, Lynn Lamb, titled "Bring Me Flesh and Bring Me Wine."
A special bonus story is also included by Melanson, "Mislead,"
previously published only on the Halloweenpalooza blog. Grab a cup of
cocoa and make sure the windows and doors are locked tight as you
settle in by the fire to enjoy these tales of terror, but be
warned...locks have never succeeded at keeping Santa from gaining
entry. If you enjoy a slice of horror with your holiday cheer, this
collection of Christmas horror shorts will satisfy all your dark
cravings during the holidays...and beyond.

Terror
One:

Who
is Santa really? Does something sinister lurk beneath the red suit
and apple-cheeked visage? More importantly, what does Santa want for
Christmas?

Terror
Two:

It
is said that every wish bears a cost...even a wish of good intent.
What do Detective Talbot and his son, Mallory, stand to lose when the
pair seek to right a wrong on Christmas Eve?

Terror
Three:

Christmas
can be a time for great joy...but also for heart-wrenching regret.
Can the magic of Christmas Eve turn back the clock before time runs
out for Morana and her family?

Terror
Four:

Snow
falls white and clean, seeming to purify the small town of Moon,
Pennsylvania, but the woods behind Vaughn's home have taken on a
sinister cast. The snow keeps falling in record-breaking depths, but
does evil lay hidden beneath its seemingly-innocent luster?

Terror
Five:

As
his elves scurry to fill the toy orders for the busy season, unknown
terror creeps toward the workshop intent on releasing an evil meant
to cancel Santa's yearly deliveries forever.

Terror
Six:

A
well-meaning elf casts a spell which could inadvertently reveal the
dark truth about Santa's workshop and its inhabitants. The world's
children may end up paying a terrifying price, proving that the path
of good intention oftentimes does indeed lead to hell.

Terror
Seven:

A
scary twist on a classic Christmas poem

Terror
Eight:

Santa's
sleigh plummets to the ground, tearing all hope of a merry Christmas
to bits and pieces. Will the elves be able to employ enough magic to
stitch together some sort of solution? Or will their efforts only
deliver greater horror and loss?

Terror
Nine:

Trinette
is preparing to celebrate her first Christmas in love. Her boyfriend
says he found the perfect gift for her, but beneath the shiny red
paper and ribbon lies a secret he's kept hidden during all the months
of their courtship...

Terror
Ten:

The
world's population explosion means business is booming at Santa's
workshop, with the need to expand making a difficult excavation below
the permafrost necessary. But the elves should use caution lest they
dig up an evil best left buried.

Terror
Eleven:

A
special holiday treat for Maura DeLuca fans! Riptide ended on a happy
note, but how did Maura's extended family celebrate Christmas? Could
it be that the holiday didn't quite play out the way the vampires
planned?

Terror
Twelve:

It's
a dangerous time to call oneself a non-believer. Those who scoff at
Santa's existence are melting all over the world. But could the
benevolent head elf turn out to be the murderer?

Vampires,
ghosts, demons, elves, werewolves, serial killers and a rampaging
Krampus are just a few of the monsters creeping amongst the pages
of The
12 Terrors of Christmas.
Are you brave enough to venture inside to experience the flip side of
the typical Hallmark-themed Christmas?

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to Goodreads

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Excerpt 2:

Excerpt 2

The date was December 1st, twenty-two long, boring days before school let out for Christmas break, and it was snowing like hell. I’d never admit it to anyone, but I was slightly creeped out by the murderous details in the story I’d just been listening to. For some reason, watching little Lamia creep off into the woods alone disturbed me even further. I yanked the red-and-white Beats earbuds—an early present from my dad, who was equally proud of my Audible habit—from my ears only to find myself surrounded by the eerie soundlessness which always seemed to accompany a heavy snowfall. I felt like all the normal noises had been sucked away from the air around me, completely.

All I could hear as I continued toward the spot where Lamia had disappeared was the soft groan of my boots sinking into the thick carpet of icy fluff beneath me. “Hey, Kid!” I called out, but she ran on as if she hadn’t heard me, the snow muffling my voice as it had all other sound in our little corner of the world. She hadn’t turned her head in response or even slowed the pace of her run a tick. When I reached the line of trees, I hesitated. Must’ve been the dread the story I’d been listening to had inspired, I told myself, but I was angry in the space it took my heart to pump out another beat.

“Shit, really?” I mumbled under my breath. “That kid’s not even old enough to go to school, and she ran in there like she was the one born with the nuts… Awwww, to hell with it.” I slid the backpack from my shoulder so that I could enter the woods as unhindered as possible and dove in. I’d never admit I did so with my eyes closed.

As the squeak of the snow under my feet became the only sound—I’d lovingly packed my precious earbuds into a special pocket reserved only for them—echoing softly off the damp-dark tree trunks, I tried to brush off that tickle of fear which had begun to climb each individual vertebrae in my back like a lizard inching along a palm frond. After all, I’d always wished to see something scary, gone in search of ghosts on more than one occasion. Always hoped to find some kind of proof to turn all those journal entries into truth. So many of the early settlers had written accounts of seeing or hearing things that didn’t belong in the realm of the living. How could so many of them have been wrong? But as much as I’d searched the woods ringing the whole of Whispering Woods Drive, and even the deserted, burnt-out shell of the Henderson place which stood waiting for the insurance money to come through so they could rebuild, I’d never seen a whisper of vapor, never heard so much as a whisper that couldn’t be explained away by the logical or mundane thing which had made the sound. Of course, everyone in Moon had seemed to stop writing about ghosts, abruptly, in 1890. Our history teacher had told us this happened because that had been the real beginning of scientific advancement, bringing about all the means to discover those logical explanations I mentioned previously to explain away all the strange things they couldn’t before. The end of superstition giving way to the birth of rationale. Still, I’d always hoped…

It was the weird smell which stopped me in my tracks. Earthy…savory…familiar. My mother burned sage incense often in our home; it was one of her favorite scents. It had irked me for years because I’d just known she was chasing all the ghosts away with the smoke even though several people on the internet were of the opinion you could only use a sage smudging stick to cleanse a house. I’d seen where one person commented on Yahoo Answers that three or four incense sticks bound together could be used in place of one, so I’d tried to console myself with the fact my mother only burned one at a time.

Before I laid eyes on her, I heard her. It was really bizarre to hear a child chanting…like something out of a ChildrenoftheCorn-esque horror movie.

"Air, fire, water, earth. Cleanse, dismiss, dispel." She repeated the prayer over and over, and I must’ve listened to it twenty times before I calmed enough to peek out from behind the large tree trunk I’d been resting my back against. Lamia held an actual smudge stick… I’d seen enough of them on the internet and my favorite shows to know what one looked like.

“You little bitch…” I growled under my breath. No wonder I’d never seen so much as a parlor trick performed by a poltergeist. Between Lamia and my sage-burning mother, no self-respecting ghost would come within a mile of Whispering Woods Drive. But what had Lamia seen or heard that would prompt a four-year-old to ghostbust the woods surrounding her home?

Claudette
Melanson writes dark fantasy, horror and children’s books in
Kitchener, Ontario with seven bun babies at her side: Tegan, Pepper,
Butters, Beckett, Sansa, Daenerys & Caramel. She graduated from
Indiana University of Pennsylvania with a BA in English, BS in
English Education and an MA in Literature. Harboring a deep
admiration of vampires since the age of five left her with the desire
to eventually become one, and now fuels the creation of her favorite
paranormal characters. She hopes to one day work full time as an
author, since there are many, many stories playing out inside her
head.

In
her very scant spare time, she enjoys watching Japanese Anime and
reading vampire stories...along with other genres of great fiction,
as well as riding every roller coaster she encounters in both her
hometown and away at signings. An advocate for good health and
ketogenic eating, her favorite foods are bulletproof coffee,
cashew-flour crust pizza and treats made with xylitol and almond,
coconut or cashew flours.

Future
dreams include a cabin boasting a roaring fire, isolated inside a
snow-filled wood in the Yukon—the perfect writing spot—and the
completion of dozens of future novels and stories. A Rabbit Rescue
fanatic and loving bunmom, she also hopes to help rescues all over
the world save many innocent lives.

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