Kilroy Was Here

🎅 Mall Santa Zombie Story: A Twisted Tale of Resurrection and Horror

The second coming was nigh.

This Mall Santa zombie story follows Father Marcus Burtt, a former priest who becomes obsessed with orchestrating the second coming through experimental resurrection. Blending religious zealotry with dark science, the tale introduces Sister Margaret, a zombified dog named Lazarus, and a mall performer named Bruce—whose transformation into a flesh-eating Santa turns Christmas into chaos. Set in a rural American church and culminating in a horrific mall attack, the narrative explores misguided faith, unethical experimentation, and the deadly consequences of tampering with life and death.

One night, in a period of prayer and humble supplication, God had appeared to Father Marcus Burtt to tell him that he would bring about the second coming. Father Burtt didn’t question the edict, and promptly left the order so that he might travel the world, seeking followers and the means to bring about the coming of the Lord. It was his purpose, he knew, and he attacked it with the same single-minded focus that he had valued throughout his life.

However, Burtt was a man of God, not of science, so his means and capabilities were limited to the earthly wisdom of others. In his travels, he acquired certain treasures and artifacts, as well as followers like wayward disciples. In Haiti, he spent a great deal of money to obtain an elixir that was rumored to bring the dead to life. While a physical body was required for the substance to work,

Burtt reasoned that a sample of DNA, coupled with a physical host, could still work when paired with the grace of God. In Egypt, Burtt spent a great deal of his own time and his follower’s money, but was able to locate what was claimed to have been the garment that Jesus wore when he wept blood in the garden of Gethsemane. This would give him the latent DNA that he required.

Eventually, the church settled in a small rural area of the United States, with the blessing of the Vatican. It was, of course, required that he donate heavily to the mother church in order to be allowed to do so, but the financial blessings provided by the growing body of believers bought not only the legitimacy of the Pope’s blessing, but also a measure of protection from close inspection by the Holy See.

Father Burtt’s now-large church was able to continue its research. Given the size, Burtt also held regular services and a Sunday school, more to keep the appearances than to actually reach the lost. While he understood the importance of his daily work with the Parish, it was his Godly mandate that drove him daily; he would rise early, if he slept at all, and experimented in the decaying basement of the aged building. He would kill a test animal- whatever stray he could catch that day- and see if the concoction would revive it.

At first, there would be no reaction. As he fine-tuned the mixture, he could revive the dead flesh for moments at a time, and then minutes; the ‘life’ that was forced into them wasn’t pleasant, but was a harrowing experience with howls of pain and instinctive efforts to escape the terror of impending death.

It was a dog, late one night, which came back. At first, it was like the others. The sorry creature yelped in pain and fear, but it didn’t die. After a few panicked moments, it laid still and panted with fluttering eyelids. Then, tentatively, it lifted a heavy head and licked Father Burtt’s hand.

Burtt was overjoyed at his success, unaware it was the first chapter of a Mall Santa zombie story no one would believe. “I’ll call you… Lazarus.” Burtt returned the weakened dog to the relative comfort of its cage and tore up the stairs with a passionate joy. He was surprised by the bright daylight streaming through the stained glass windows, having worked through the night in the windowless basement laboratory, but had to share the joy.

Despite his vows- or perhaps, he would joke, BECAUSE of them- he had enjoyed a very passionate and very sexual love affair with one of his followers, the newly ordained Sister Margaret. It was she that he would tell first. She would be in Sunday school by now, and he hurried down the hallway to her room.

“Margaret, I di-” he began, bursting into the room. She froze, seemingly unsure of what he would think. A young child stood in front of her, gripping the desk with white knuckles. He was crying, and his pants were around his ankles, showing his red and bleeding rear end. In Margaret’s hand was a thick riding crop, and the rest of the class was crying silently. Burtt, however, was unmoved. “Sorry,” he said. “I see you’re busy. Please see me when you’re done.” He then turned on his heel and closed the door behind him.

Burtt was in his study reviewing church personnel records when Margaret knocked and entered with his permission.

“What you saw…” she began.

“I don’t care- your class,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand. She relaxed visibly. “Margaret, I did it. It worked.”

Her eyes opened wide with surprise. “You mean, you brought one back?”

“Yes! A dog. I named it Lazarus,” he smiled.

“Clever.”

“Yeah. I’m thinking about the host now; what about him?” He handed her a dossier, one that they had been secretly compiling over the last several months. She looked over the file with a careful eye.

“No, not Mitchell. He’s sickly, it wouldn’t work.”

“Good point,” he said. “This one?” as he handed her another.

She considered the file before her. Slowly, she smiled. “Bruce… perfect. He’s healthy and strong- he’ll do.”

Starting that night, Bruce’s communion was altered with a careful slight-of-hand. His blood of Christ was more than mere wine, but the essence of the DNA that he had purchased, mixed with the Haitian concoction. If he noticed the difference, he didn’t say anything, instead trusting his ecclesiastical leadership. Burtt didn’t know how the mixture would affect living tissue, and gradually built up its strength over the next several weeks. The disturbing transformation had begun, quietly setting the stage for the now-infamous Mall Santa zombie story.

Margaret was helping Burtt in the lab, while he mixed another dose of the life-giving elixir. He nearly dropped the glass beaker when he heard a passionate growl and a brief bark, followed by a shout of pain from Margaret. He whipped around to see that Lazarus was crouched, ready to strike, while Margaret backed away while clutching her bleeding forearm.

“That son of a bitch bit me!” She shouted, oblivious to the unintentional pun that brought an inappropriate smile to Burtt’s face. “Don’t just stand there, fuckin’ do something!” cried the nun.

Burtt rushed forward as Lazarus lunged- high, for her neck. He failed to reach her as Burtt grabbed a rusted length of pipe from the floor and caught him across the neck, knocking him to the ground. Lazarus was stopped by gravity alone, not by pain. He sprung to his feet, and with frothy jaws and bloodshot eyes, he lunged again, this time towards Burtt.

Burtt brought the pipe down again, hearing the spine crack with the force of his blow- Lazarus was slowed, but not stopped, as he struggled towards the priest with a single minded focus. Burtt brought the pipe to bear again, hearing bone shatter, but bringing only the same effect as before. It wasn’t until he forced the pipe into the dog’s skull that it finally stopped; several more blows left its head only as a bloodied pulp.

Margaret watched in shock, crying soundlessly. He shook her, forcing her eyes to respond. “Where’s Bruce?” he demanded.

“I… I don’t know.” He stared at her, as if willing the answer into her. “Wait! It’s almost Christmas- he’s Santa at the mall. He’d be there.”

“Shit,” Burtt said, simply. “Let’s go.”

The mall was seasonably festive and bright, with children running and begging for last minute toys. Everything seemed peaceful, if not busy, as they pushed through the crowd towards the mall’s center. Through the mass of excited children, they saw Bruce, wearing the same red and white costume that he had for so many years.

While he seemed to be having difficulty staying upright, the crowd was unknowingly witnessing the climax of a Mall Santa zombie story in real time. The young girl in his lap was reading off of an unusually long list. He would nod occasionally, and belt out an impassioned “ho ho ho”, before resuming the fight against sleep and gravity.

“He doesn’t look good,” said Margaret.

“No, he doesn’t,” Burtt agreed. It was nearly prophetic; a moment later, Bruce fell hard to the floor, bringing the young girl screaming down with him. There were screams from the crowd as they pressed forward to see what had happened. Burtt and Margaret jumped onto a tall, flat planter in order to see what was happening while avoiding the press of bodies. Bruce was still, and the little girl was crying while trying to free herself from his weight.

Her parents rushed through the maze of people in order to reach the break in the metal fence, but they failed to reach her in time. Bruce’s head snapped up with a renewed vigor; he grabbed the screaming little girl by the leg and pulled her to his face before taking a large bite from her calf. Enthusiastically, he chewed the stringy meat as the screams from the crowd reached a new pitch, the volume drowning out the girl’s screams. Bruce jumped up and the parents recovered the frightened child, holding her close as the father tried to stop the gushing wound.

Bruce, however, was not distracted by the crowd as he lunged for the nearest person. Failing to catch the man that he grabbed for, he instead caught a woman that was with him, and pulled her close, much like the young girl. Instead of protecting the woman, the man ran as Bruce’s unnaturally strong arms pulled her over the fence and into his arms. He bit, and consumed, most of her face as she screamed and as the crowd rushed in each direction.

This had the unintentional consequence of delaying the security officers that rushed to the scene, leaving Bruce time to consume most of her face and neck. She was no longer struggling nor screaming.

The mall security officers were supposed to be unarmed, but it was common knowledge that some carried weapons. One of the men leveled his pistol and called to the macabre Santa from a relatively safe distance. “Let her go, you freak!” Bruce didn’t react, instead continuing to happily munch on her soft flesh. “I said, let her go!” He repeated. Again, Bruce ignored the order.

The sound of the gunfire was shattering, echoing off the store windows and further panicking the remaining crowd. The round caught Bruce in the chest, knocking him back a few inches and splattering blood and thick matter over the overturned Santa chair. “What the…?” the guard swore under his breath.

He squeezed the trigger again, firing a round through Bruce’s stomach. The bullet’s exit carried with it traces of viscera, but neither wound actually bled. A final shot caught Bruce in the forehead, forcing his eyes upwards and dropping him to the ground.

Burtt and Margaret left with the crowd, pushing past crying kids and sickened adults. His research, he realized, had only just begun—this Mall Santa zombie story was merely the beginning; obviously, he had failed the Lord, and vowed to better test his next successful resurrection. On the way home, they passed the time discussing the next human subject, but he did so to humor her more than anything. He had already decided- the next host would be Margaret. And so, the twisted Mall Santa zombie story would begin again—with a new host and a darker plan.

Before this Mall Santa zombie story ever took shape, another legend of dark deals and consequences echoed in the Delta…
🎸 Read about Robert Johnson’s fateful crossroads deal.

Further Reading & Resources

📖 Voodoo: The Living Dead Religion of Modern Haiti | Ancient Origins
📰 Zombie | Definition, History, & Facts | Britannica