The final topping on the sundae of misery was Levi’s death. Just days after Halloween, a disgruntled worker who had been fired had come back into the office. He had been turned into a zombie, likely voluntarily, and wanted to inflict the disease onto the people who were involved in his firing. Levi worked in human resources and was a natural target. He had been working in his cubicle when the ex-coworker bit him on the back of the neck.
Heather could have just kicked Levi out of the house like many other spouses had done to their zombie husbands and wives. Perhaps she didn’t have the energy. Tension between them was still high, and divorce seemed inevitable.
So when Heather woke up early Christmas morning, it felt just like any other night. They hadn’t decorated the house or bought presents this year. They didn’t even have a tree.
As the clock ticked, by every minute that Heather stared up at the ceiling, she thought about the past year. Through all of it, Levi had been her rock and supporter. She had been depressed, it affected her work, and she got fired from her job. Levi took on a second job to get them by and hadn’t pressured her to go back to work.
Even after his death, Levi continued to be supportive. As badly as she had treated him, here he was making supper for her every night, keeping the house clean, and generally taking the entire burden off of her. The only thing that was different about Levi now was that he was a zombie, but he was still the man that she had always loved.
She got out of bed and got dressed. At the department store that stayed open all night, she bought a tree, lights and ornaments, a ham, and a brand new stereo for Levi’s car. Quietly as to avoid waking him up, she decorated the tree, wrapped the presents, and put them under the tree. She put together a meal ready to pop in the oven.
As the sun started to rise, she made cinnamon rolls from scratch and started coffee. Levi was awakened by the wonderful smells and stared in astonishment at the tree. Heather walked into the living room where he was standing and handed him a freshly iced, warm cinnamon roll and a cup of coffee, then gave him a huge hug.
“Merry Christmas my love.”
(back to TOC)
****
Easter at Church
Easter was upon us. It was typical early springtime weather in Michigan: dreary, cold, the clouds threatened snow but none fell, and the wind was brisk.
I wasn’t looking forward to spending the holiday with my family. I was the black sheep of the family, the godless heathen. They never said it aloud, but I knew that was their thoughts of me. My mother was in church every Sunday, accompanied by my stepfather, and followed by my sister and her perfect family of four. They attended bible school and bible camp and supported the church any way they could.
My mother did call me, “your father’s daughter.” My dad died when I was a toddler. My memories of him are very vague. For a widow, my mother was very bitter. She talked ill of him and “his type” any time I tried to bring him up. Therefore, I knew very little about him.
I think Mother felt betrayed when I finally went on my first date in high school. Oh, it’s not like she didn’t want me to date. She was trying to hook me up with boys from church all the time. She was just caught off guard by the person who came to pick me up that evening. It definitely threw my stepfather for a loop. All of his rehearsed lines were lost when it wasn’t Billy from church at the door. Neither was it Mike from down the street, or even one of those “rude” boys from school (what my mother called any teenager she didn’t know).
No, when Melissa knocked at the door, my mother looked behind her expecting to see two boys, for a good wholesome double date. “I’m sorry,” said my mother, “Susan is getting ready to go out on a date.”
“I know, Mrs. Sheldon,” my girlfriend replied. “That’s why I’m here to pick her up.”
My mother forgot about Melissa standing there, summoned my father, and together they lectured me on their requirement that the boy I’m dating must be the one to pick me up. “Don’t you understand?” I said. “Melissa is my date.”
I didn’t get to go out that night. Eventually, I had male friends pick me up from church when possible, and then drop me off at my girlfriend’s house. I moved out the day after I graduated high school, then went to college as far away as I could.
Eventually, I had to come back home. That April, my mother had a heart attack and ended up in intensive care. She recovered just in time for Easter, and I was of course expected to attend church and Christmas dinner with them.
In my borrowed dress, I followed them into the church and slid into the pew. They gossiped with other parishioners, and I gave my polite greetings when introduced. Meanwhile, I looked around.
Over in the back corner sat a gorgeous woman with dishwater blond hair and eyes so blue I could see them across the church. She must have felt me staring, because she looked in my direction and waved. I sheepishly waved back. She smiled largely before putting her hands back in her lap. At that point, I noticed something... off. Her hand was missing some skin, and her lips seemed worn somehow. That’s when I realized she was a zombie.
I should have been put off, in a church of all places, but instead I was intrigued. During the sermon, my eyes kept wandering over to her, and she kept meeting my gaze. When the pastor preached about Jesus rising from the grave, I looked over to her, and she gave a wink. I was in love.
After the sermon, everyone filed out into the lobby and continued with their conversations and gossip. As soon as I had decided to break away and find the woman, I felt a tap on my shoulder. She smiled that big, wonderful smile again and said, “Hello, my name is Clarissa.”
I extended my hand and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sue.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” she replied. “Excuse the cliché, but what is a girl like you doing in a place like this?”
I blushed in spite of myself. “Do I look that out of my element?” She nodded. “What about you. You seem to be.. alone here.”
“Why don’t we go for a walk?” she suggested. I followed her outside, and we strolled around the manicured lawn. “I never used to go to church unless my family dragged me along. And then the accident happened.”
She pulled up her sleeve. Whereas the rest of her looked healthy, here the skin was dark and greenish. A long, slim wound slashed up the length of her forearm. It still seeped blood and puss. She had obviously tried to take her own life. A gasp escaped my lips before I could stop myself.
“It looks pretty gruesome, sorry. Usually I cover it up, but I leave it open on Sundays to remind myself.” She looked down at the ground, obviously ashamed. “I succeeded. But Pastor Brown saved me, in multiple ways. He gave me a chance at another life. He gave me faith.”
We walked in silence for a couple minutes. “Many days, it’s still hard. It’s very lonely. Most of the congregation is averse to talking to me. It was nice to see a new, friendly face, especially when it’s as lovely as yours.” She stopped, and we stood face to face. Her eyes were so entrancing. I wondered if they were as beautiful a blue before she died. “Will you come back next week?”
“That depends,” I said. “Can I sit with you?”
“Of course!” she said with a delighted laugh in her voice.
“Perhaps we could go out to dinner sometime before then?” I heard the words come out of my mouth before I thought them. That was good, because otherwise I would have been too intimidated to have said them.
“You mean as a date?” she asked. I blushed again, but before I could reply, she said, “Because that’s the only way I’ll accept.”
Then she kissed me, and her kiss was so soft and sweet. It was a quick kiss, but I was dazed by it. “I should get back to my family,” I stuttered. “Tomorrow night?”
“Sounds wonderful,” she said. “I’ll come pick you up.”
(back to TOC)
****
Switching Sides
Jennifer was the most accomplished zombie killer in the force. She had never lost a tea
mmate, and her kills were quick and clean. Therefore, she was sent in on the most dangerous missions, since the captain knew she would get the job done.
That night was supposed to be an easy one. “It’s just a small group of zombies living in this foreclosed property on the edge of town. The bank is trying to resell the house, but they won’t leave.”
She took a couple rookies that needed the experience, and they loaded up in the Hummer. They pulled up to the house just as the sun started to set.
As usual, they gave no warning and swarmed out of the car as soon as it was in park. One hunter went to the front door to stand guard, while the other circled the outside watching the windows. Jennifer went to the back door and kicked it in.
She was used to the zombies waiting to pounce on her as soon as she entered, but the house seemed calm. Her mind screamed, “Trap!” and she was on alert.
Instead, an unseen voice called from the other room, “Wait! Let’s talk.”
“Who are you? This place is infected with zombies, you need to get out while you can,” Jennifer called back.
“Not possible,” the voice said reasonably. “I am a zombie.”
“Bullshit,” she said. “Zombies can’t talk.”
“How do you know? Have you ever tried talking to one?”
“No need.”
“Just listen,” he pleaded. “We’ve done no harm. We’ve hurt no one. We just want to be left alone.”
“This isn’t your house.” Jennifer caught herself starting to relax, and pulled her gun back upright.
“Yes it is. I’ve never missed a single payment, not even after I died. The bank takes my money, but doesn’t apply it to my account. There’s no reason for them to kick me out of my house.”
“Sure there is. Zombies aren’t citizens, they can’t own property.”
“I was a citizen when I died. Why should that be different now? Listen, Jennifer-”
“How do you know my name?” she demanded.
A man stepped out into the middle of the living room with his arms raised in surrender. “It’s me, Kent, your fiancé.”
How had she not noticed the address, not recognized the house? She was in the zone and wasn’t even aware of her surroundings. Now she saw. Her picture sat on the coffee table. She had bought the tablecloth sitting on the kitchen table. An unused bread maker, an early wedding present, sat unused on the counter.
“Not possible. You died. You were killed by a zombie.”
“No,” he said. “I was killed by a zombie hunter. Frank. His stray bullet hit me when he was firing at my friend Jake. Jake bit me so that I could live on.”
Ugh, Frank. He was the most reckless of the group and had lost the most team members to both zombies and accidents.
“Why did you leave me?” she asked.
“I didn’t,” he said. “I’ve been here all along, waiting for you to come back. You got so caught up in your vengeance that you forgot about me.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, lowering her gun.
He held his arms out for an embrace, and she ran to him. “I’m so sorry,” she said again. “I won’t ever leave you again.”
(back to TOC)
****
Slave
His steel blue eyes were full of tears, but his face remained composed. As much as he tried to hide it, I could tell he was touched.
I hate to brag, but if it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t even be alive. Or still undead, I guess that would be a better way to put it.
It all started when I moved into this godforsaken city. When my job was looking for volunteers to relocate, I was excited to get away from the town I had grown up in. It was time for a new start.
My girlfriend of three years had just broken up with me for the guy who used to be the captain of the football team. She said she was looking for someone more manly. I can’t say I blame her. I tried too hard to be the man she wanted me to be: going to the gym every morning, following football, all the things I was supposed to do. But every time my eyes lingered a little too long over the nice ass of our waiter when I took her out on a date, or any time I “accidentally” bumped into the tall, lean clerk who I bought all my Dockers from at Macy’s, she knew.
Leaving me was probably the best thing she had done for me. Alas, in this town where so many people had known me since I played Little League baseball, finding a man was going to be near impossible.
I was an office lackey in the accounting department of a security firm that had done well for itself. They were opening up locations all over the United States, including a new office in Milwaukee. Since I’d never been good with money, I got the cheapest apartment I could in West Allis.
That was just the start of my naive, poorly thought out decisions. I wasn’t used to a big city that might have a bad part of town. I didn’t realize the dangers of cutting costs. And I didn’t realize the type of people that were also renting the cheapest apartments in town.
The trouble started mere hours after I had moved in. As my microwave dinner was cooking, raised voices started to creep through my floorboards and shag carpet. A male and female’s voice drifted up from the apartment below me. At first I thought it was a couple having an argument. I had been in enough of those with my girlfriend, I could handle listening to someone else do it for once.
Then I heard banging against the walls. Oh god, are they fighting? I wondered. Should I call the cops? I decided to listen to determine for sure.
“What do you do all day?” shouted the male voice.
“I ask you to do one simple thing,” screamed the female, “and you can’t even get that right!”
“You should be grateful,” the male chimed in, “if it weren’t for us, the best you could hope for is to be in one of those homes!”
At that point, I realized it wasn’t a fight between a couple. Who were they talking to? Was it a child? At what point should I intervene? They quieted down not long after that, but not before I had heard enough to make me wonder if I had done the right thing by doing nothing.
The next day, I looked at their door as I walked down the stairs. I don’t know what I had expected to see. It was just a door, I could tell nothing about the inhabitants behind it. I went to work, which was just a half day orientation for all the new employees.
When I got home at noon, I walked up the stairs behind a wonderfully sexy man. He was tall and thin with a thick head of messy stark white hair, and I thoroughly enjoyed the view from the rear.
My heart dropped when he stopped at the door a floor directly below mine. Please don’t tell me this is the asshole I heard shouting last night, I thought.
I swallowed hard and said, “Oh hi. I’m Mark, you’re new neighbor.” I pointed up.
“Nice to meet you,” he said in a quiet but lovely voice. Then before I could ask his name, he disappeared behind the door. There was no way that voice matched the one I had heard through these thin walls. I felt a little better about that.
I spent the rest of the afternoon considering what his situation could be. Perhaps he was a college student whose parents visited when he asked for money. That would explain the argument. I settled myself with that, content that the apartment below me would be silent that evening.
In fact, I didn’t hear anything that evening, but then again, I wasn’t home. I went out in search of furnishings and a gym. The next night, I hit the gym after work, then checked out the seedy neighborhood bar. The night after that, I visited a nightclub in another part of town instead.
The next day was a Saturday, and I was out of microwave dinners. I nearly jumped out of my skin from excitement when I spotted a tall man with bright white hair down the cereal aisle. “Hey neighbor,” I said with a smile.
When he turned to me, I finally got to look at his face. He had an exotic look to him, with high cheekbones and those gorgeous steel blue eyes. I thought that’s what the elves of fantasy novels must look like. “Hello,” he said back with a nervous smile.
That was wh
en I noticed he didn’t look well. He was young, but the circles around his eyes were dark, like he had permanent black eyes. His cheekbones were so pronounced because his cheeks were sunken. He looked dead.
And then it hit me. He was a zombie.
The most gorgeous zombie I had ever seen. I was taken by his beauty before, but in that realization, I fell in love. “What’s your name?” I asked.
“Samson,” he replied.
I followed him around the store, and we did our shopping together. His cart was full of wholesome foods, like fruits, vegetables, and meats. Mine was full of soda, ramen noodles, and pot pies. “Wow, you must cook a great meal,” I said.
“I’d like to think so,” he replied, “but my roommates think my cooking... could use some improvement.”
After I checked out, I waited for him so we could walk out to our cars together. Instead, he filled a backpack with his purchases and left the cart behind. When he started to walk down the street, I offered him a ride.
I walked with him up the stairs and stopped at his door. “Let me know the next time you need groceries,” I said. “I can give you a ride.”
“Samson, get your ass in here!” shouted a woman loud enough to make him drop his backpack. I heard a jar break as it landed.
I picked up the bag, but he snatched it from me and whispered, “I’ve got to go,” before slamming the door shut behind him.
Soon, the yelling started again. “What the fuck is this shit? How am I supposed to eat this?” the man shouted. A crash sounded somewhere around the kitchen area, like a plate hitting a wall. Then another crash, like another plate was thrown but hit something softer.
Brains for the Zombie Soul (a parody) Page 9
