Disclaimer: Resident Evil is the Property of Capcom. Santa Mouse was wrttien by Michael Brown.

"Once there was a little mouse, who didn't have a name…" Marguerite read. It was a Christmas tradition; she'd picked up the silly little book when Lucas wasn't even walking, and she'd read it to her kids every Christmas. Didn't matter that Lucas and Zoe, or even Eveline were too old for the little cardboard-cutout book. "He lived alone in this great big house, this mouse; the only mouse in the whole wide house."

Jack was handling the cooking, literally just 'watch the meat, if you see smoke take it out of the oven, and if you don't, don't touch anything'. Maybe he could handle that. Usually she trusted him in the kitchen as much as he trusted her in the basement with his tools. But it was Christmas, and she had to read.

Her children were all here, as was Mia. Lucas was barely paying attention, glancing between Evie and Marguerite with a faraway look on his face. The boy was thinking; probably how he'd rather be out in his barn, playing around with junk, rather than here with his family. Zoe was close, Evie said, and Evie knew her sister's little schemes and petty jealousies. Close enough to hear at least. And Evie was sitting on her lap. Mia was almost as much trouble as Zoe was. She probably was a bad influence on Evie.

But Evie wanted Marguerite to read the book. And that made her happy.

The Mouse wasn't a like Mia, Zoe, or even Lucas who was better behaved but still apathetic. When the Mouse realized no one gave Santa a gift, he decided to give his best piece of cheese to the man. The mouse was good. Mia shuddered when she heard gift, and Marguerite closed the book got up from the chair. She was about to ask Mia what was wrong when Evie smiled and asked what happened next.

That cooled her rage. Evie loved gifts. She was such a sweet girl. Toys, books, people. She was always so happy, and she gave back to the family, unlike certain ingrates. And she gave them all a gift. And she gave Marguerite an extra special gift that a certain Grinch wanted for herself. Marguerite stamped on the floor and repeated "My goodness, no one gives a gift to Santa Claus!"

Zoe was in the crawlspace again. Evie had told her. Somehow, she always managed to slip past their fingers, no matter how well they thought they had her. She was slippery, like a rotten old banana with a greasy black peel. She was always making trouble for them; where had they gone wrong? God damn ingrate.

Maybe part of the reason Evie wasn't sitting on her lap was because the book itself was in bad condition; the pictures were in rough shape. The cardboard it was printed on was swollen and warped by dampness, and the last few pages were just black. Marguerite knew the story by heart though.

Santa Claus was so impressed by the Mouse's gift that he offered to make the Mouse his little sidekick; making the mouse his little mirror image. Evie perked up at that, looking curious. The illustration was gone, but Marguerite could picture the mouse donning each tiny boot.

There was a creak down the Hallway, and then Jack shouted something sarcastic. Marguerite leapt from the chair and left the living room, screaming. She past her husband, walking slowly down the hall slowly, and saw a pale shape disappear down the corner. "Zoe, this is a family tradition! You better get your ass back here or God help me…"

She took in a deep breath. No, no, no. Zoe was trying to get her riled up, trying to ruin it for everyone. She turned and walked back to the hallway. Jack had already returned to the kitchen, staring at the oven with a purposeful grimace.

Flies buzzed around the tree. They lost a lot of decorations in the storm, and never replaced the tinsel, so they had to improvise. Red and green. The offal could've been used for supper, but wrapping it around the tree worked out.

She got back to her chair and picked the book back up. Something slapped against the window. Marguerite stood to her feet and turned, if it was Zoe... She calmed when it she saw the teeth. It was one of Evie's pets. They were congregating outside the window. They wanted to hear the story too. She sat back down and wrapped it up; the Mouse was to help Santa, and so, on Christmas, along with the milk and cookies, you should leave a piece of cheese for Santa Mouse.

"We should do that!" Evie said. Mia glanced to the side.

Marguerite didn't like making Eveline sad, but it already was Christmas. And besides, they didn't have cheese. Evie seemed to take it well.

"Rats eat meat." Lucas offered. "And we do have some leftovers."

"Mouse, not a rat!" Evie said, looking agitated with Lucas. That was important. Mice and rats weren't the same.

"Was just sayin'" Lucas said, in a tone Marguerite didn't quite like.

She took in a deep breath. Smelled something delicious. "Hey Jack?!"

"Yeah?" He asked, standing in the doorway.

"Is supper done?"

"I dunno. You said not to…"

"You did good, Jack." She said, brushing past him. She opened the oven. Her mouth watered. "Dinner's ready!"

Lucas and Evie got to the table right quick. Mia dragged slowly, warily behind them. Marguerite could tell this was an argument that was going to brew between them. She was so goddamn picky. Nothing Marguerite ever cooked was good enough for her. At least Lucas usually minded his manners and cleaned his plate, even if she could tell he was almost as picky. He dug in this time, though.

Jack wasn't much of a cook, but he was a great butcher. Knew the best cuts of meat on any animal. Mr. Dawson, their guest who Zoe tried to recruit against them, wasn't cut out to be a member of the family. But… the waste not, want not…

Of course there was a blow-up. Mia had to start the argument. It was most of the way through supper, and it ended with a knife in Lucas and Jack dragging her back to her room. She had to make a scene, of course she did. Marguerite sighed as she stood alone in the kitchen, clearing the plates.

"Dinner was good." Evie said. "And I liked the story."

Marguerite smiled. Hearing that made it all worthwhile.

"Do you know anymore?" She asked, smiling.

She returned to the living room and sat down, Evie in her lap. There were a lot of Christmas stories. Of course, she hadn't memorized Dickens, but she had the broad strokes down, and the major lines. Evie was hooked the moment she started with "Marley was dead, dead as a doornail.". Marguerite liked the story, too. It was about changing people for the better. They could use some of that here. Of course, with Evie here, that didn't quite matter.

God bless us, every one.

Author's Note: I like juxtaposing what should be warm fuzzy memories against ridiculous horror, and REVII offers that in spades.