Typewriter with the name Mark Tufo on the piece of paper in it
By: Mark Tufo - 
T’was the night before Christmas, throughout the home-stead
Not a creature was stirring, not even the dead.
The entrails were flung at the wall without care,
In hopes that Eliza soon would be there.
The Talbots were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Pop-Tarts danced in their heads.
Tracy in her ’kerchief, and I in my Red Sox cap,
Had just cuddled up for a long winter’s nap;
When out on the lawn there arose such a noise,
I thought maybe someone was blowing up toys
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But the dead of the day, and eight ripped open reindeer,
There were old ones and slow ones, some lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be the sick.
More rapid than vultures her curses they came,
And she whistled, and screeched, and called them by name:
“Now, Pestilence! now, Plague! now, Death! and Famine!
On, Vomit! on War! on, Demise! and Contagion!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now attack away! attack away! Destroy one and all!”
As hard enemies that before the wild apocalypse bound,
When you meet with an obstacle, smash it to the ground,
So up to the front door the zombies a-flood,
With their mouths full of meat, and hands covered in blood.
And then, in a sinking, I heard from below me
The prancing and pawing of each little zombie.
As I pulled in my head, and was turning around,
Through the front door Eliza came in with no sound.
She was dressed all in black, from her head to the floor,
And her clothes were all tarnished with blood and thick gore.
A bundle of heads she had flung on her back,
She looked just like a murderer showing her pack.
Her skin like a corpse, all withered and fowl,
Her droll little mouth was drawn up in a growl.
The stump of a finger she held tight in her teeth,
And the stench of destruction circled her head like a wreath.
She had empty black eyes and a flat little belly,
That rumbled, when she ate, what looked like a handful of jelly.
She was crabby and angry, a right mean old bitch,
And I laughed when I saw her, in spite of that witch.
A wink of her eye and a twist of someone’s head,
Soon let me know I had everything to dread.
She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,
 She caved in the skulls; then wrenched their necks with a jerk,
And laying her finger aside of her nose,
She nodded, at me and I suddenly froze.
She sprang to her sleigh, to her team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the flight of a missile.
But I heard her exclaim, ere she drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-bite!”


By: Mark Tufo

Mark Tufo was born in Boston Massachusetts. He attended UMASS Amherst where he obtained a BA and later joined the US Marine Corp. He was stationed in Parris Island SC, Twenty Nine Palms CA and Kaneohe Bay Hawaii. After his tour he went into the Human Resources field with a worldwide financial institution and has gone back to college at CTU to complete his masters. 

His Zombie Fallout series is currently in development for a TV series.

He lives in Maine with his wife, three kids and two English bulldogs. Visit him at marktufo.com or http://www.facebook.com/pages/Mark-Tufo/133954330009843 for news on his upcoming installments of the Zombie Fallout series.

Mark tufo

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