Ralph Bunnell unlocked the door of Bunnell's Toys and Games, muttering to himself about the weather, holiday shoppers, traffic congestion, the state of the economy, and the inept performance of the Chicago Bears on the previous evening. The grumbling stopped, however, as soon as he saw the discount tables at the front of his store—they hadn't been restocked. His son Sam, home from college for the winter break and working as a stock boy on the night shift—that had been his mother's idea—had let him down again.

"Sam!" he called, "It's a half hour until opening, and the tables aren't stocked. What have you been doing all night?"

Sam came out from the back room, carrying a pair of Bionic Bunnies.

"Hi Dad! Sorry, I'm a little behind. I thought you might want to put these up front instead of the Christmas Barbies."

Bionic Bunnies were the hottest toy of the season; all of the stores in the tri-state area had been sold out for months.

"Sam!" said Ralph, "Where did you get those?"

"I drove back to school to get them. We have a bunch of them there. I had no idea you needed some, or I'd have brought some home with me in the first place. They don't have the original packaging any more, but I doubt the customers will care."

"Heck no, they won't care! We can sell them like that! Why on earth did you have them at school?"

"Long story, Dad. It was part of a class project in robotics class. We're done with them, though. You can have them for free, batteries included. I was supposed to get rid of them anyway. But listen, it's really important that you only sell one per customer."

Ralph was sorry he had ever thought poorly of his son.

"Ah, creating demand by limiting supply, eh? You're taking after your old man after all! We'll put them up front! No one else has them; there'll be no problem at all getting twenty bucks over the list price for each of them. How many do you have?"

"A couple hundred, I think. I didn't count them. They're in the back."

"OK, you get the display set up and I'll get some more Bionic Bunnies from the stock room," Ralph said. He was already figuring out how much money he was going to make.

There was a stack of boxes in the back of the stock room. When Ralph opened a box, he was pleased to find that it was absolutely packed with Bionic Bunnies. Maybe that college-boy son of mine will amount something after all, he thought. He grabbed an armful and headed back to the front of the store, where Sam was hanging up a sign: Bunnell's is in the Bunny Business! Ralph was happy to see that customers were already lining up outside the store, using cell phones to spread the word.

"Son, when the store opens, I want you up front with the Bionic Bunnies. One per customer, just like you said, and keep an eye out for shoplifters."

The first fifty Bionic Bunnies sold out in twenty minutes. By then the crowd had grown to over a hundred.

"No problem, folks, I have more in the back," Ralph said. "Please stay in line, and I'll get Bunnies to as many of you as I can."

Ralph went back to the stockroom. He grabbed a few Bunnies to save for eBay, and tossed them into an empty box. He opened all the remaining boxes of Bunnies, to make them easier to grab when he needed to restock. Then he gathered up another armload of Bunnies to take to the front of the store.

Bunnell's didn't sell much besides Bunnies that morning, but at $40 each, all profit, Ralph didn't mind a bit. The crowd of shoppers was still growing, and becoming a bit frenzied, but as long as they saw that Bunnell's had a good supply of Bunnies, Ralph wouldn't have any problems. He spent the morning running back and forth to the stock room to keep Sam's display table well-stocked. There were empty boxes all over the stockroom, and some had fallen onto the floor. A few of the Bunnies had even managed to get turned on, and were hopping around the stockroom, purring softly and making cute facial expressions. Apparently the critters were absolutely irresistible to children. Ralph didn't see the attraction himself, but he sure didn't mind the money they were bringing in.

"When are you going to tell folks to stop getting in line?" Sam asked. "Aren't we running low on Bunnies?"

"Not yet," said Ralph. "There's still plenty back there. I'll try to get a count for you, though."

Sam looked puzzled, but didn't say anything.

Ralph went back to the stockroom for more Bunnies. He tried to get a count for Sam, but it was hard: Bunnies were hopping all over the stockroom, and piled high in boxes, so Ralph just grabbed another armload and carried them out front.

"I think we have at least a hundred Bunnies left, Sam," said Ralph.

Sam looked worried again. "But I already sold 300 of them." He suddenly had a panicked look in his eyes. "Dad, the Bunnies in the storeroom—are any of them turned on?"

"Oh, sure, a bunch of them. They're hopping all over the place back there."

"Oh, no," said Sam.

"What?" asked Ralph.

"Dad, you have to go back there and make sure they're all turned off!"

"Why?" asked Ralph.

"That was my class project, Dad. Bionic replication."

"You mean—"

"Yes, Dad. They're breeding."

"They're breeding!?"

"Shhhh, Dad, keep your voice down! But we have to get those Bunnies turned off!"

"I have a better idea. All we have to do is to get the word out that we have them in stock, and we'll sell thousands! One per customer, of course."

"No, Dad, you don't understand! Bionic replication isn't like what you think it is!" Sam grabbed his father's shoulders. "Trust me on this: You have to get them turned off!"

"If you insist." said Ralph, and headed back to the storeroom.

It was a shambles. Bunnies were hopping everywhere. They were all over the floor, overflowing out of boxes, up in the shelves, all of them purring softly, although some of the purrs didn't sound as cute as before. Ralph heard another kind of noise in the back. He looked behind the stacks of boxes, and was horrified to see several bunnies tearing into boxes of electronic toys. Already, several Chatty Cathy dolls had been disemboweled. A Bunny looked up at Ralph and purred, despite the wires hanging out of the corner of its mouth.

Ralph ran back to the front of the store.

"What did you do to these Bunnies? They're eating my reserve stock!" he yelled at Sam.

"That's not good," said Sam. "The Eaters are the third generation. How many are hopping around?"

"Dozens!"

"Oh, wow! I've never seen them multiply that quickly before."

"Before? Sam, I want to know what's going on, and I want to know right now."

"Their reproduction is exponential."

"In English, Sam."

"Dad, it's like I said. It was a project for my robotics course. I added a bunch of sustenance and reproduction subroutines to their firmware, and gave them some teeth. I got a B+. Should have been an A, but the professor said I hadn't paid enough attention to the cyber ethics."

"Ethics?"

"He said they didn't have any."

"Wait. Teeth?"

"Well, yeah, they reproduce by foraging for parts, disassembling what they need, and assembling copies of themselves, or at least the best copies they can make given the materials available."

Just then, the customers in the back of the store screamed and ran out the front. Ralph turned around in time to see a large and vicious mechanical wolverine chewing on an Erector Set.

"Sometimes the materials available don't lend themselves to making Bunnies," Sam said sheepishly.

"OK, folks, everything's under control," Ralph announced to the customers. He was making it up as he went along. "If you'll all exit the store quickly and calmly, we'll get this defective Wonderful Wolverine toy back into its cage, so we can return it to the manufacturer. I'll have plenty of Bionic Bunnies for you outside."

The gimmick worked; the store emptied. He went to the stockroom to get a broom handle.

In the stock room, bedlam reigned. Most of the reserve toy stock was gone. Rubbish was everywhere. Large bunnies were devouring small bunnies. Robotic eating machines had battered a hole in the wall and were streaming into the appliance store next door, where screams of terror could already be heard. Sam appeared at his side, looking at the carnage. "The fourth generation are the Killers," Sam whispered.

"That word you, used, son—exponential? What does it mean?"

Sam considered the question for a moment.

"It means it's too late."

Almost drunk with fatigue, I watched the security guard moving behind the glass doors. The bitter cold was relentless and I could see my breath disappearing in wisps of steam as I mouthed silent curses into my scarf, but he wasn't watching me. His eyes were on his wristwatch as he paced back and forth and I thought I could see a smug smile on his pinched, officious face. He looked just the type of man that would take a perverse delight in the discomfort and suffering of others. As if to confirm my line of thought, he reached behind a desk and raised a mug of steaming liquid to his lips. Again, that self satisfied smile played briefly on his features, and this time his eyes caught mine. I was right; he was enjoying his moment of power.

I turned away, disgusted. Sleety snow had been falling for a few hours now and my fingers and toes were numb, despite my heavy clothing. I glanced at the long line of people behind me. They were in obvious distress, too; but their faces looked oddly beautiful in the chill darkness. Dappled, sparkling light played across them from the Christmas lights strung along the Mall's facade, and they were still buzzing with the excitement of expectation, I knew. Despite the conditions, they were talking and laughing, looking forward to the coming day.

They hadn't been standing here as long as me, though. I had arrived here hours ago; determined to be first in line. Determined to be first inside when those doors opened, in a few minutes. Just a few minutes more, and the sale was on. Christmas Day was yesterday - 'tis the Season to nab bargains.

I slapped my gloved hands together, trying to get some feeling into my frozen fingers. The sleet was becoming proper snow now. Through the glass, in the warmth of the Mall, I could see store lights coming on and shutters being raised, and from behind me I could feel the anticipation beginning to build. The guard, however, made no move to open the main doors. Idly, I wondered if I could manage a swift, deadly karate chop to his neck as I ran past when the doors opened. Or I'd ram his nose into his brain. Or maybe, I could just grab his throat and squeeze...

“Hey, man. You thinkin' bad thoughts,” a voice said nearby. I turned round, and my heart sank even further. A tramp had sidled up behind me, and was peering at me intently from under a shapeless hat. It didn't cover the dripping mass of hair spilling over his shoulders. His hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of a long, filthy looking overcoat. I noticed the queue of people had moved back a little, nervous at the man's appearance.

“It ain't the season, man,” he said, his voice strangely soft and clear. “You got to be happy, this time of year,” he continued, and smiled. His thick beard parted in an amazingly white grin, full of perfect teeth. He kept staring at me, and, weirdly, I noticed how blue his eyes were; how alive they seemed. The Christmas lights seemed to dance within them.

Still, though - the man was just a tramp, and I couldn't move away from him or I'd lose my place in the queue. I folded my arms in front of me and looked away.

“I don't have any money. Please go away,” I said. If anything, the smile widened and became a grin.

“You don't have no money, what you standing here for, man?” He said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. I was at a loss. I looked around for some help, but everyone was pointedly looking in other directions.

“Uh... I don't carry cash. I'm sorry,” I said, squirming inside at how lame that sounded. Why did I feel the need to explain myself to him? I glanced at my watch, praying the Mall doors would open soon. Still a few minutes to go.

“That's okay, that's okay. I don't want your cash. I'm just spreading the message of the season about. You don't seem happy, my friend,” he said. I was struck again by how pleasant that voice was; how cultured it sounded - in fact, there was almost an aura about the man. I looked at him again, more closely this time. He didn't seem at all bothered by the cold. Despite his ragged clothing, he wasn't dirty, and his skin was had a light golden cast to it. Water trickled in rivulets down his face, and for a moment it reflected red from the lights. I shuddered; in that instant it looked almost like blood. Some familiar memory nagged at me.

“I'm not your friend...,” I began, but he continued as if I hadn't spoken.

“I'm always spreading the message,” he said, “especially at this time of year. It's disappointing, how few care to listen to it.” His accent was changing; now I couldn't place it at all. He sighed, tipping his head back to the dark sky, then spread his arms out, palms raised. He was wearing fingerless gloves, and I saw there were dark stains on both palms.

The smile never left his face. His pale blue eyes returned to mine, and an uneasy feeling came over me. Suddenly, I knew I recognised him - the hair, the beard, the eyes. The aura. This was a face I'd seen a hundred times or more. But it couldn't be, could it? Here, standing in the gathering snow in a shopping mall parking lot?

“Who are you?” I said, unable to believe what I was thinking. There seemed to be a glow surrounding the man now; more than I could account for from the Christmas lights all around us. Couldn't anyone else see this? He took a step closer to me.

“My friend - my brother. You know me, you've always known me, in your heart. Come to me... embrace me, and know everything you wish to know. Find peace, find happiness within me. All you need to do is embrace me.” He stood, waiting. Entranced, I felt a tear in my eye as I moved toward him.

There was a loud click behind me.

I turned toward the Mall. The guard was stepping back from the door, a large ring of keys in his hand. The tramp's arms were still open; beckoning me. Our eyes met.

My reverie snapped - what in the name of God had I been thinking? About to hug a stinking tramp, indeed. It must be the cold, I thought. Well, the Mall was about to open at last - it would be warm in there. I could sense the press of people behind me beginning to move, eager to get past me, trying get to the sale ahead of me. The doors began to open.

The beatific smile vanished as I put my hand onto the tramp's chest and pushed. He slipped and fell in the wet snow with a startled yelp.

“Jesus Christ, will you stop hassling me?” I shouted at him, as I began to run. Ahead, the mall was inviting, a cave of magic and glimmers. I could hear music playing. The scent of cinnamon and pine filled the air.

The crowd behind me didn't even notice the sprawled figure on the ground, as we moved toward the Holy Land.

The worst part was the smell. Cinnamon gum helped a bit, but nothing, not even Lysol, could defeat the smell that had invaded along with the legions of the dead.

As zombie apocalypses went, Wheatfield's had been pretty tame. There'd been some shouting and pitchfork waving at first (and it was amazing how many pitchforks people had been able to find on such short notice) but then time had moved on, and waving pitchforks didn't get the chores done. There'd been bread to bake, and mail to deliver, and Christmas presents didn't buy themselves.

All this was fine by Melvin””-he was all for people getting along””-but it did put a strain on the wallet. He now had twice as many relatives, and they all expected presents.

Thoughtful presents.

This had also been fine, until his late-aunt Milly had informed him that Wal-Mart gift cards were not considered thoughtful. Which was how he came to be in the mall on the day before Christmas, competing for gifts with the entire town, and the entire town's ancestors.

“I can't even remember what Aunt Milly liked,” he said, trying to navigate through the crowd of corpses without touching any of them.

“I think she collected novelty salt and pepper shakers,” said his wife, Janet. She held her out her purse and used it to shove at a particularly slow moving zombie. The zombie jumped-””losing a bit of scalp in the process-””and turned to glare at her over its shoulder.

“Oh! Sorry Mr. Henderson. Didn't see you there,” she said. The zombie humphed and looked away.

“Salt and pepper shakers?” asked Melvin. “What would a zombie do with salt and pepper shakers? They don't eat, do they? Other than brains, I mean.”

“You don't eat with novelty salt and pepper shakers,” said Janet. “You put them on things. For decoration.”

“Oh. I see,” said Melvin. He didn't.

“They should be in a cooking store. I think there's one around the corner.”

There was. There was also a line, though it was the kind of line Melvin usually associated with Disney roller coasters, not kitchen stores.

“You get a spot in line; I'll get the shakers,” Janet said. Then she was off, whacking a trail with her purse through the crowd and into the center of the store.

Melvin hurried to the back of the line, getting there just in time to be sandwiched between an older zombie and a soccer mom complete with screaming soccer kids. Both were already too close for comfort, but the flailing of small cleated feet behind him left him with little choice but to cozy up to the zombie. He stuck another strip of cinnamon gum into his mouth and waited.

A movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention, and he looked over to see that a small worm-thing had popped out from behind the zombie's ear. It wriggled happily at him, almost like it was waving hello.

It was the friendliest thing he'd seen all day. Melvin waved to it. The zombie saw him””-how good were zombie's peripheral vision?--and gave an uncertain wave back.

“Umm, I'm sorry,” it said. “Do I know you? I'm terrible with faces . . .”

“Oh, no. Um, I thought you were someone else.”

“Oh. Alright, then.” The zombie turned back to face the front of the line. The worm was gone.

Melvin sighed and turned his attention to the store window. Outside it, the American entrepreneurial spirit was in full swing. A kiosk had settled down in the middle of the walkway, its brightly colored sign announcing that it carried brain flavored ice cream, now available sugar free for the weight-conscious and diabetic dead. Beside it was a small t-shirt stand, with t-shirts for sale reading 'My dad went beyond the grave, and all he got me was this stupid t-shirt', and variations thereof. It had a disturbing number of customers. Melvin resigned himself to getting at least three of the shirts under the tree tomorrow

“I got it!” yelled a voice in his ear.

Melvin gave a startled jump, and turned to see Janet, who was holding a small box and beaming. Melvin looked at the box. It had a frolicking kitten on it. From its design, it was probably meant to be one of those pug-faced kittens that were ugly in a cute way. It had only gotten it half right.

“Are those the salt and pepper shakers?”

“Better! It's a ceramic kitten creamer.”

“Oh. Good.”

Janet nodded. “I couldn't remember what kinds of shakers she already had, so I went with something completely different. I hope she doesn't already have one.”

“I didn't see one when we were boxing up her stuff.”

“Yeah, but that was . . . when? About a month after the funeral, I think, so five years-””no, six. She died before Greg, and Greg died about the time Darren started second grade . . .” she trailed off, frowning.

“Don't worry-””if I'd seen it, I'd remember.” He would never have forgotten it. Not without therapy, at least.

“Oh. Good. So that leaves . . .” She pulled out a list and checked it. “Grandpa. We need something for Grandpa. He was always so hard to shop for. Maybe something blue--I think he used to like the color blue . . .”

Melvin relaxed, and let the words wash over him. Ahead of him, the worm reappeared with a wriggle. He smiled at it, and it wriggled a little faster in response.

It could be worse, he decided, looking at the bustle of people and corpses around him. It could be worse. Probably.

The date was December 21, 2014 just about two years after the world almost ended. Thomas thought that life might have been tidier if the world had come to a close; history would have been tied up with a neat bow and the reign of eternal paradise would be upon them. Instead it was just raining.

He parked the armoured van in the lot and after a quick scan of surroundings he allowed the kids to unbuckle their restraints. Tom Junior picked up his shotgun, gave it a check, then loaded it with buckshot. He was a chip off the old block. He handed Thomas' shell belt to him and fastened his own on. Thomas helped Cindy with her salt water gun. The salt water wouldn't really hurt the zombies that much, but it would give Thomas and Junior a chance to do serious damage with their weapons.

Junior stood guard while Thomas climbed out of the van and loaded his shotgun. He put it on the holster on his back. The new laws allowed for only a fifteen inch barrel. It made the gun a lot easier to manage. Cindy carried her gun in the ready position. It might not be deadly, but she was determined to soak any undead before her dad and big brother blew them away. Thomas didn't want to holster his gun, but the law was the law. You had to carry the gun, but you couldn't just shoot any zombie you saw; some belonged to people. Junior had his gun holstered by the time he came around the van, but he was still watching everybody with a suspicious eye. He was a good kid. They both were. It was really too bad about their mother, but that was the new world for you.

They walked up to the doors and pushed through in classic vee formation. Thomas let Cindy take point. There wasn't much chance of problems at the mall, but it was the Christmas rush and you never knew. The mall management had done a good job of of cleaning up. Most of the windows were gone between the stores and the mall, but any glass to the outside was triple reinforced. It didn't look as strong as steel bars, but Thomas had helped install the windows. No zombie horde was breaking through that glass.

They walked past the weapon shops and Thomas saw Cindy eying the bubble gum pink "Little Miss Shotgun" that was on display. When he saw her sneer, he knew he'd made the right choice. She was getting a full tactical gun in flat black. It was only a twenty gauge, but the black would go with everything. It held even more shells than his own gun. He knew Junior was going to be jealous, at least until he opened his package and found the sweet little .30 caliber sidearm. Nothing but the best for Thomas' kids.

The urban survival shops were packed with the newest gear, and Thomas would have loved to have stopped and checked them out. He saw Junior trying to catch a look too. He had promised Cindy a visit to Santa Claus and that's what she was getting. This was the last year she would be a kid, and it would take more than the end of the world to make Thomas disappoint his daughter. They reached the center court of the mall and Junior groaned when he saw the length of the line.

"We're going to be here forever."

"It's for your sister."

Junior looked at his sister and saw the wide eyes and grin. He shrugged and stood easy, letting his eyes wander through the crowd. Thomas could see him pick out the zombies and saw the same twitch toward the shotgun that he had stopped just seconds earlier in his own hand. But all the undead were properly restrained. They just shambled along burdened with their owner's packages, or stood mindlessly waiting for the next order. Zombies were actually a fairly pathetic way for the world to end. Anybody with the least bit of sense and a shotgun had survived. Heck, some had survived by just owning a shotgun.

Cindy was chattering with the girl ahead of them in line when she noticed Santa Claus. She had her gun up and pointing at the jolly elf before she realized that no one else was reacting. She lowered her gun and turned pink with embarrassment.

"What did you expect?" a boy standing near by said, "You didn't think any real person would put on that suit and let hordes of little kids sit on his knee, did you? Besides, zombies work for free. He's safe enough. Just breath through your mouth while you're talking to him."

Cindy's mouth turned down.

"It's sick," she said, "I don't want to get anywhere near a stinky old zombie."

"You're just a baby, what do you know?" The boy was obviously enjoying himself. I could see Junior's fingers twitching again.

"Can I shoot him, Dad?" Junior said, "I'll just wound him."

"I'm a real man," the boy shouted, "You can't shoot me."

"I don't know about the man part, sonny," Thomas said, "But shotguns work as well on obnoxious kids as they do on zombies. It's just more paper work."

The boy's lower lip trembled and for one wild second Thomas thought he was going to go for his gun. Then the boy turned his back on them.

"I don't want to see a Santa who's a rotten zombie," Cindy announced. She looked at Thomas and he nodded, so she stomped out of line while Thomas and Junior followed. Thomas followed her down to the food court and bought them all a burger and fries.

They were sitting around the plastic table when the kid from the line came up to them. He was followed by a big man in a suit and a custom shotgun.

"I hear you were threatening to shoot my son," the man said.

"I wasn't threatening anything," Thomas said, "Just pointing out that a shotgun works whatever you point it at."

"That sounds like a threat to me."

"No threat, just reality."

"Let me shoot him. Let me shoot him." The boy said. Junior rolled his eyes.

"What an idiot," Junior muttered.

The man in the suit frowned at Junior and swung his fist at him. Thomas caught his arm and stared at the big man. He heard the sound of a shotgun clearing its holster and hoped it wasn't Junior's.

The other man pulled his arm away from Thomas and staggered back. Thomas could see the kid holding his shotgun and trying to load a shell. Junior had dropped his burger and was reaching for his own gun when a stream of salt water struck the other boy in the eyes. He reached up to block the spray and Cindy kicked him where little girls have been kicking little boys since time began. Unfortunately for this little boy, Cindy was in the process of getting her black belt. He dropped without even a whimper and Cindy caught his shotgun before it hit the floor.

The man in the suit was either reaching for his cell phone or his shotgun when the aliens burned a hole in the roof of the mall, and coincidentally in the man in the suit. He too dropped without a whimper. Cindy shot the first bug as it dropped from the roof and Junior got the second one. They'd each killed another before Thomas' gun cleared his holster and he started shooting. Cindy emptied the shotgun and casually stripped the gun belt from the boy she had kicked. In seconds she had reloaded and joined the Christmas mob who were gleefully blowing aliens away with a wide range of weaponry.

The glow was back in Cindy's eyes, and Junior was grinning from ear to ear. He couldn't have been prouder. There was only one thing that bothered him.

"Why," Thomas asked as he reloaded his own gun, "Does the world always try to end when I'm at the mall?"

The dwarves had fallen on hard times again, and it was getting a little cold for sleeping on park benches, even with the extra layer of covering the Sunday paper provided. Doc was perusing the want ads in search of a job, while Sneezy blew his nose and rubbed his hands together. Doc always wondered how he did that at the same time. He decided he was probably better off not knowing.

“Here's an interesting one,” he said.

Happy came and read over his shoulder. “Hey, that does sound good. The local mall needs seven elves to help in Santa's workshop.”

“In case you folks hadn't noticed, dwarves are not elves,” Grumpy grumbled.

“I doubt seriously the kids know the difference,” Doc said. “Elves are short, dressed in green, and have pointy ears.”

“Well the first one we have covered, what about the other two?” Grumpy said.

Doc reached into his pocket, and pulled out some plastic ears left over from Halloween.

“No way!” said Grunpy.

“It says here the job pays $15/hour with meals included,” Happy read.

“And according to the weather report, we are due some sub-freezing weather, freezing rain and or hail, sleet, or snow tonight,” Sneezy added helpfully.

“OK, OK, give me a set of those ears. For that kind of cash I will make myself look like an idiot,” Grumpy agreed.

“So where are we going to get the green clothes?” Sneezy said, wiping his hands on his pants.

Grumpy looked at him in disgust. “No, that I won't do,” he said, gazing at the color of Sneezy's pants.

“I don't think it would get us hired either way,” Doc said. “I think we need to pay Goodwill a visit.”

The Goodwill store was crowded, it seems that business was unfortunately good this year. Doc asked about green cloths, and was pointed to a rack. “Pretty much all we have I am afraid,” a volunteer said.

Doc looked it over. The rack contained lime green leisure suits. “Not exactly Christmas colors, and way to big for us,” he pointed out.

“It's all we have at the moment,” the volunteer said, leaving out the 'beggars can't be choosers' part. “But they are cheap polyester. Just wash and dry them and they should shrink.”

The dwaves took the offered clothes back to the park, washed them in the creek, then set them over tree limbs to dry. Sure enough, in a couple of hours they had themselves miniature lime-green leisure suits.

“Decent fit,” Happy pronounced, trying his on.

“A little baggy in the rear,” Grumpy grumbled, but face it, he liked grumbling.

They showed up at the mall that afternoon, and the place was already bustling. They were directed to the personnel office, where they sat among other people who were 'temporarily' between jobs.

Their number was called, and they marched into the interviewer's office.

“Let's see, you are interviewing for the 'Santa's Helpers' positions I see.”

“Yes, but I noticed you are also hiring for maintenance people. We are handymen also,” Doc said.

“Oh really, can you be on call 24/7?” the interviewer asked, interested.

“If you can set up some cots for us we will be glad to be on premises the whole time,” Doc offered, “we don't take up much space you know.”

“Sounds good. Report to the dressing room. Your first task is to get 'Santa' ready for his grand appearance.”

They filed out of the office.

“I didn't hear any extra pay being mentioned for that extra work,” Grumpy said.

“One, I got us free room and board for the duration, and two, I wanted to get out of there before he noticed Sleepy was asleep, and Dopey had set fire to his trash can.”

“You have a point there,” Grumpy admitted, “so let's go find “Santa” and see what we have just gotten ourselves into.”

The troop wandered into the dressing rooms, Grumpy prodding Sleepy with his walking stick to keep him awake. The trip was uneventful save for Dopey setting off a number of anti-shoplifting alarms along the way. Apparently he liked collecting the security tags, they were shiny.

They found 'Santa', and he greeted them with a “Ho-ho-hiccup, Munchkins!”

“Dwarves actually,” Bashful said.

“Elves,” Doc quickly corrected.

“Willy the Wino?” Grumpy asked.

“Say what?” Doc inquired.

“Willy the Wino, I know that breath anywhere. Those rosy cheeks and nose are not due to cold air you know. So Willy, I wondered where you were. Doing the Santa gig I see?”

“Grumpy, my lad. Got tired of molesting squirrels have you?”

“I see you two know each other,” Sneezy said.

Santa finished donning his costume, complete with hidden hip flask, and they started off towards Santa's Worship, 'Santa' wobbly taking the lead. When they arrived there, 'Santa' sat heavily in his chair; Sleepy immediately went to sleep among the packages; and Dopey started playing with an electrical socket.

“OK, let's get this organized,” Doc said, “Sneezy, you look after 'Santa', Bashful, you lead the little girls to Santa, Dopey, you work with the boys, Happy, you work the parents in line, Grumpy, you handle complaints, and I'll take the pictures.”

The day was uneventful save for 'Santa' barfing over the side of his chair. Grumpy explained he wasn't feeling well, and the doctor thought it might be the plague, and the line cleared out quickly.

They made for the lunchroom for their first decent meal in a while, Doc wolfed down his food then started counting noses. He shouldn't have done that, he came up a few noses short, and immediately lost interest in his food.

“OK, where are Bashful, Happy, and Dopey?” he asked, alarmed.

“Uh-oh,” Grumpy said as he looked around for them.

Just then Bashful appeared in the doorway, and Doc beckoned to him. Bashful tried to hide behind a potted plant, but Grumpy grabbed his arm and marched him over.

“OK, where are they?” Doc asked.

“Well, the mall manager gave them a list, and the keys to the service room.”

“Uh-oh,” Doc and Grumpy said in unison.

“What was on the list?” Doc demanded.

“Er, some toilets were stopped up, there is a small leak in the sprinkler system, and a short in the fire alarm system.”

Grumpy uttered a string of very un-elf like words. “At least Willie isn't with them.”

“He's holding the ladder.”

“The ladder to WHAT?” Doc screamed.

“Well Dopey needed to get up into the ceiling...”

“Let's go. Lead us to him!”

They started out of the lunchroom, when Willie staggered past still in his Santa suit. “Which way to the loo?” he asked. Sneezy pointed, Willie ambled off.

At that point the fire alarm and sprinklers went off, and everybody except the dwarves made for the exit.

“I seem to remember stopped up toilets being on the list...” Sneezy reminded Doc, “you don't suppose?”

There was the sound of rushing water, and Willie came tearing out of the washroom minus the lower part of his costume. “GANG WAY,” he shouted, “Gremlins!”

Doc stood open-mouthed as the semi-clothed Santa rushed for the exit followed by a wall of water.

“Now there is something you don't see everyday,” Sneezy said.

“Or want to. What was seen cannot be unseen though,” Grumpy replied.

“Shouldn't we be wandering too?” Doc wondered, “I think Happy and Dopey can fend for themselves as far as I am concerned.”

“Just give me a moment,” Sneezy said, as he grabbed Santa's bag from the workshop, emptying all the cheap promo items out of it first.

They walked towards the door, there was an explosion overhead, and a cascade of water came down the escalators. Everybody who hadn't left yet corrected that decision.

“Any second now...” Grumpy said, just before the power went out, plunging the mall into darkness. He and Sneezy made off and there was the sound of breaking glass. Doc shrugged, and walked outside with Bashful.

A torrent of water was pouring out of the second story, and Happy and Dopey popped out, riding inner-tubes. “Whee!” shouted Happy.

Doc just shook his head. “Where did you find those?” he asked.

“In a storeroom, next to the fireworks.”

“Fireworks?” I think we better move a bit further off.

Grumpy and Sneezy came out rolling a rack of warm children sized coats. Doc noticed that Santa's bag was full also. “Successful foraging mission?” he asked.

A river sized stream of water came out the front doors, carrying a still sleeping Sleepy, as a huge fireworks display lit up the sky overhead. The dwarves decided a nearby forest would be the best place to view the show, and had just disappeared into it when the police and firetrucks showed up.

“All's well that ends well,” sighed Dopey.

“I will never understand how they fit so much 'stupid' into so small a package,” concluded Grumpy.

White-grey clouds of winter floated aimlessly above the crazed Christmas shoppers. Mary struggled along the icy pavement, dragging her delighted children, Maisy and Stewart on either side of her. The occasional odour of sweat and burning tobacco stung her nostrils as her legs carried her swiftly towards the Cascade’s Centre.
The sudden warmth stung her cold skin as they walked through the entrance. Maisy and Stewart’s eyes doubled in size as they gazed through the numerous shop windows, suffocated in offers only Christmas can bring. Mary swallowed her sigh as her arms were hauled from left to right.
A whistling wave of chill snaked down Mary’s spine as she stood in non-Christmas thoughts. She turned to find a man, draped in red standing behind her. He was a head taller than her and twice her width. His shadow clung to her as he grinned upon her children with crumbling teeth and startling black eyes. Mary struggled to pull Maisy and Stewart forward but they were gaping at the abstruse man. He was braiding his way through the bustling crowd, stopping every few seconds to gently tap a bystander on the shoulder. As he did so, Maisy noticed that the victims shivered slightly, closing their eyes momentarily.
Mary’s eyes briskly browsed the shelves compressed with toys and games. After dashing down particular aisles, she joined the chain of huffs and puffs, smiling slightly at the temporary opportunity to rest her increasingly aching ankles.
Maisy and Stewart were looking apprehensively out into the centre of the complex. The mysterious man was still awaiting passers-by, his wide fingers twitching excitedly. Maisy turned to find Stewart staring at her, and with a quick nod they escaped their mother’s grasp and ran out into the centre.
There were several piercing screams as the lights expired and the frenzied shoppers were immerged into darkness. There was a thunder of metal crashing to the ground and several more shrieks perforated the blackout, as they realised that they were all trapped inside. Maisy choked on her breath as her brother reached out for her hand. Individually, the shop doors were locked automatically, starting with the one Mary was in.
Maisy and Stewart heard Mary’s echoing shouts and thuds on the window, but did not take notice. They were staring instead, at the legion of people glaring out at the terrified shoppers. They could hear the stampede of heels hitting the floor, as legs began running in all directions. Yet still, the white glow of the radiating eyes entranced them into solitude. They were incapable of movement as the demon’s headed into the crowd. A quick shake of their heads and they were thrown back into reality, surrounded by floating glowing eyes and the yells of people trapped.
Maisy and Stewart felt as though they were drowning under copious amounts of petite illuminated lamps. Maisy, more valiant than her brother, heard the beating of Stewart’s heart upon his chest. The chunk of floor they were bound to felt as though it was rising and cementing their ankles. Maisy grabbed Stewart’s hand, now cloaked in sweat, thrust him to the ground and started crawling soundlessly.
The demon’s eyes blazed different colours in confusion. “Why are we after them? They are innocent ones!” hissed one voice from the shadows.
“They are a threat and they must perish”
The whispers fell upon their ears, slicing their thoughts as they headed towards the toilets. Their exploring hands fell upon darkness as they strained for the doors. When their fingertips hit the solid, they clambered inside.
Under the light of the toilets, Maisy could see Stewart’s pupils dilated in fear. Her thoughts and processes swam quickly around, mechanically. At the age of six, she hadn’t scrutinized horror movies yet, assuming of course, she was now part of one. The conjectures buttoned inside her mind were that of school teachers and bright colours of her favourite television programme. There was scratching at the door as the possessed attempted to glide inside. Fear was quickly tying a knot to her brain; she turned to Stewart, “Listen to me. We have to get out” Stewart nodded systematically. “As soon as that door opens, we have to crawl back outside. We’ll have to find a way to open the shops” Maisy was more cunning than other children her age. Suddenly, the demons found their way inside and the children sunk to the floor. Maisy grabbed a fistful of air in her lungs and as she crawled silently along, the air seeped through her teeth. Clothes stroked their skin as they passed demons. Maisy attempted looking left and right but the darkness was contagious, stinging every corner.
Maisy felt her left coat pocket lighten as the sweets she was carrying escaped. There was a tiny thud as the strawberry bon-bon’s hit the floor, rolling in all directions. There was a sharp blaze and a hissing noise as one of the demons fell to the floor. Its arms shaking rapidly as it began to scream. Sounds of the possessed ceased at curiosity of the crying demon. Its entire body was now encased in flames and Maisy gasped as she saw debris of a bon-bon fall off the demon.
Maisy laughed to herself as the comprehension flew through her brain. “What’s so funny?” Stewart whispered to her right, his voice quivering. Maisy was still laughing when a shout hit the darkness, knocking all air out of the atmosphere. “THEY KNOW!” they began chanting.
“RUN!” Maisy screamed and grabbed Stewart’s wrist and ran forward. She heard the rush of the following behind and ducked to the left, picking up speed. When she no longer heard the hissing, she stopped against a wall, panting. “Stewart, we need to find some sweets,”
“I don’t think now is the time,” Two years elder, she was shocked to hear the fear filling her ears as he spoke. “You don’t understand sweets kill those things. It burst into flames because one of my bon-bon’s touched it” She felt Stewart’s bewilderment upon her face. Her mind was working furiously, whispering suggestions quietly to the darkness. “There’s a sweet stall in the centre, we need to get there” she said desperately. “I can almost see in the dark now. Come on. Keep quiet and stay close”
They stopped every now and then as Maisy fiercely squinted her eyes, reading letters above shop doors. Stewart gasped loudly and Maisy spun around, fearing the worst. “What is it?” she demanded. “I found the sweets,” Stewart said comically. Maisy groped the sweet stall blindly, and when her fingers hit the paper bags, she picked up handfuls and passed some to Stewart. “Fill all of them up, there’s a lot of them out there” Stewart abided quietly and the soft thuds of sweets falling onto paper surrounded their ears. Maisy stopped every now and then to listen tentatively to the air. “Are you done?” she whispered.
“Yeah” Stewart answered anxiously. Maisy drew several deep breaths before shouting. Although scared, Stewart imitated until they were bordered again by white eyes.
The demon’s eyes were greedy as they advanced towards the children, and as soon as they were in close proximity, Maisy flung a handful of sweets, making sure they were directed at their eyes. Stewart followed in pursuit and one by one, demons collapsed to the floor, showering the corridors in bright flames. Maisy threw her body from left to right as demons headed towards her and Stewart. Stewart screamed, and Maisy flung to the left, throwing sweets into the eyes of the demon holding him. It was flung back against the wall, shrivelling underneath the hot blaze. For an eternity they stood there, mechanically grabbing and throwing sweets, until finally, the only one left was the grinning man. “You cannot defeat me” he whispered fiercely to them. He flew towards them and Maisy ducked, flinging the whole bag of sweets as he was overhead. He instantly dropped to the floor, and a blast of fumes and fire hit them. They hit the walls and the lights simultaneously ignited, springing the complex into life.
The possessed woke up, confusion warping their sweet covered faces. Maisy hugged Stewart tightly and headed back to their mother. The trapped people were running swiftly as Maisy and Stewart leisurely walked towards their mother, whose hair was knotted and her eyes twisted in panic. She sighed and cried as she saw her children, burnt and blackened walking towards her. She embraced them tightly, squeezing the smoke infested air out of their lungs. Grabbing their hands, and crying silently into her cheeks, she walked them out of the shopping centre, where a congregation of curious faces were waiting outside. There were cameras and television reporters propped outside. “No one has any idea of the happenings inside Cascade’s Centre today,” one reporter was saying to her microphone. “It was a holiday shopping apocalypse” Maisy whispered gently to her brother, who grinned in relief of their escape.