The big man traveled through the snow.
His beard was drenched in red.
Two glazed eyes stared with lifelessness,
And cold skin, pale and dead.
A scarlet suit, now torn and frayed,
Fat belly ripped apart.
Intestines hung, yet he still walked
Without a beating heart.
They followed him – short, dressed in green.
Trudged slowly as they moaned.
An army that desired flesh
And stripped it to the bone.
A month ago a poor blonde lad
Lay very sick in bed.
He never mastered dentistry
In two days he was dead.
The morgue attendant was the first
To learn the truth, too late.
For when the elf came back to life
He saw meat and he ate.
He found old friends who thought him dead.
They suffered from his bite
They died and changed; no thoughts, deranged
A terrifying sight.
Fatalities grew rapidly
Before they were aware
The dead attacked; the elves fought back
But poorly they did fare.
The big man fought. It was too late.
North Pole was overrun.
He boarded up his office doors
And stocked himself with guns.
The elves broke through, chaos ensued
The undead won the fight
The killed the reindeer, one by one
Then traveled in the night.
The happy days of bringing toys
Were sadly at their end.
For Santa Claus did not expect
The rising of the dead.