The Fungal Eve

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the town,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a clown.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.

Santa's sleigh soared through the cold winter air,
Delivering gifts with meticulous care.
But little did he know, a peril awaited,
A horror unseen, a nightmare fated.

In the North Pole, where joy should abound,
A fungus grew silently, infecting the ground.
Cordyceps, it whispered, a name so arcane,
A parasite deadly, driving creatures insane.

As Santa descended, his joy turned to dread,
The cordyceps spread from his hat to his sled.
In the workshop, elves writhed in torment,
Their once-cheerful faces now twisted and spent.

The reindeer, once lively, succumbed to the spores,
Their eyes vacant, minds lost to the fungal wars.
Santa himself, the bearer of glee,
Became a vessel for the cordyceps' decree.

Down the chimneys, he went with a dreadful intent,
Leaving not gifts, but a nightmare descent.
In homes worldwide, joy turned to despair,
As cordyceps spread, claiming all in its snare.

Towns turned desolate, devoid of all life,
A world once festive, now plagued with strife.
Zombified masses roamed streets in the cold,
A chilling tale of a holiday gone old.

The survivors huddled in fear and dismay,
In a world now consumed by the fungal affray.
No joy, no laughter, just the echoes of dread,
As Santa's unwitting gift spread the plague he'd bred.

And so, each Christmas, a reminder of fright,
Of the night Santa fell to the cordyceps blight.
A cautionary tale to those who celebrate,
Beware the gifts that may seal your fate.