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Thursday, 30 September 2010


The music thumped and the strobe lighting was in full swing, making the entire club look like a pschedelic black and white stop go animation.

Isaac Barlow was in the mood to party, and this seemed like just the place to be. The sun was shining outside, the windows were bricked up inside and out, creating total darkness for them all. The DJ, was in full swing tonight, not feeling the effect of the previous two nights full moons, he was sweating profusely but didn't let it stop the beats from flowing.

"Come on newbie. Let's get a drink. We got some celebrating to do!" Gorel slapped Isaac on the back. "I'm buying I guess, you've only been risen a couple of hours but I know you're good for it." He added.

Gorel was Isaac's sire, the man who both turned him and welcomed him as he clawed his way to the surface once the sun had gone down. Goral and Isaac were now linked and bonded in a way that mortals could not ever hope to understand. A physical and psychic connection was made and it could only be severed in death. . . a second death at least.

"What will it be my young ward. Pick your poison and let the good times roll, but be careful, don't fill up for come sundown I hear there will be a big party down by the beach. Surf and turf if you know what I mean." Gorel laughed, flashing the bartender a blood covered $20.

"Um.. I don't know. . . I mean . . all smells so good." Isaac stammered, his eyes surveying the inverted bodies hung against the wall behind the bar.

"Well let me choose for you." Gorel answered him. "We'll take a two double shots of the blonde there. Green t-shirt second from the right." He added, noticing that there was a slightly skinnier looking blonde at the other end, the house brand . . . in other words a junkie, her blood tainted but good enough for mixers.

Zombie 101

We are now taught about zombie's in classrooms, our instructional videos are no longer awkwardly made sex education tapes but step by step guides to Zombie survival, showing us how to first identify a zombie and then how to dispose of one. We are taught that running is no longer an option; they move too quickly, their hunger to ravenous to ever stop chasing. Once they get the stench of live meat in the brain they are a juggernaut.

Once we get into High School, our field trips are no longer to the zoo or the aquarium but to the battle grounds, night time excursions to cemeteries, armed with whatever weapon we had chosen to be trained with, knifes, slingshots, guns or nightsticks, it is all effective in its own way.

Dissections are no longer performed in Biology labs, but rather practiced executions. Large trucks turn up once a month for us all, each person gets one chemically subdued zombie and we are given 3 minutes to kill them. Not just stop them, but kill them, so we have to think fast. Even when drugged they are quicker and stronger than most of us.

The key is to get them on the ground first. A bullet or projectile is best, a slingshot if you have steady enough aim, anything that can be used from distance and easily carried around in real life. Once you have them down its just a matter of power. Cutting through the leathery flesh and bone of the dead is harder than it looks on television.

Then again, that is just how life goes after the apocalypse. The dead rise and you have to learn how to take care of yourselves. We all know people who died, we have all met and killed a lot of those same people. For some reason they seem to like the taste of family member best.

Thursday, 23 September 2010

Fear and the Funny Guy

Rachel Guinness should never have confessed her fear to him. To relinquish that much control to a man you meet while drunk in a bar is never a good thing.


"Clowns, I am shit scared of clowns, creepy motherfuckers" She had slurred, the room already spinning, her vision not quite double but getting there.

" That's a normal fear." He had said handing her another drink, flashing her a smile, that charming debonair smile.


Now here she was, it was snowing outside, the winter arriving late and angry this year. Rachel ran, her head down, legs pumping, bare feet burning from the frozen ground. Her break left thick clouds hanging on the air making like look like a steam train was making its way through the public gardens. Behind her, Rachel could hear his footsteps pounding the ground. That cackling laugh ringing in her ears. It was dark, the snow was falling, Rachel's hair fell into her face further blinding her, yet she refused to slow her pace. The ground underfoot finally felt softer, she had left the concrete sidewalk and entered the gardens themselves.


"Make yourself comfortable" He had said breaking their embrace. They were standing in the bedroom of his trendy, expensively furnished apartment.

"Don't be long." Rachel had giggled at him, kicking off her shoes and unbuttoning her tight jeans before he had even turned to walk away.

"Oh I won't, I've got a surprise for you." He winked at her and disappeared into the bathroom.

Rachel had slipped out of her clothes, and into his bed sheets, the buzz from the alcohol had subsided enough to make her conscious of her actions.


"Come on baby. Come give me a kiss." He screamed as he followed in hot pursuit. His feet made slapping noises on the pavement, but were soon muffled by the frozen grass.

He's right behind me Rachel told herself, ignoring the burning stitch in her side. She was still wearing nothing but her underwear, her nipples were so hard that they hurt, pressing against the material of her bra.


"What's taking you so long?" She had called to him after five minutes of waiting and self arousal. "Are you ok?" She had gotten out of bed and walked towards the door when it opened suddenly and he jumped into the room.

Rachel had screamed, she had fallen over she remembered that, because she was on the floor when he reached to grab her for the firs time, that smile spread across his face once again.

Luckily the door had been unlocked and she ran out, out of the apartment, out of the building and into the night.


Rachel ran into the maze without really even thinking about it. She had played there often enough growing up to know its twists and turns like the back of her own hand. Even in her blind panic she knew her way. Behind her his laugh had become a growl.

She reached the centre of the maze and stopped. Where to go from here? The bandstand was the obvious choice, but left her with no place to turn. Instead she chose to crawl on all fours beneath the steps, sliding on her belly across the frozen ground in order to get completely hidden.

She lay waiting, holding her breath, her heart thundering in her chest like a wild bull at the rodeo waiting for the gate to open and let it loose.

The moon cast en eerie light onto everything, it was snowing harder now, and Rachel couldn't help but shiver against the cold.

She didn't hear him coming, or even see him until he was standing in the centre of the maze. His face painted white, his nose red and round, lips painted across his face in a large red smile - although to Rachel it looked more like a grimace -. His clothes were too big for him, his shoes absurdly large, as was the flower that stood from the breast pocket of his luminous yellow shirt. He was panting, breathing hard, resting his hands on his knees, only letting go to straighten the blue curly wig and bowler hat which kept slipping from his head if he leant too far forward.

He didn't know where she was, and she held her breath, forcing herself to ignore the agony in her chest and the numbness in her legs that was slowly spreading up towards her torso.

"Bitch." He screamed at the night air, following up with a horrifically comical laugh. He scratched at he side of his head just beneath the wig with his right and, and it was then that Rachel saw the blade, glinting in the moonlight like a diamond.

Leave, please leave She wished, closing her eyes for a moment, only to open them suddenly, certain that he would have seen her. He didn't, but he didn't leave either. He sat down for a while on the steps, he smoked a cigarette, he took a piss and then left, holding the wig and bowler hand in his hands as he walked away his head down staring at the ground.

Rachel waited, not wanting to move before she was certain that he was gone, she was so tired, she couldn't fight it any longer and eventually fell asleep.

The next morning after her near naked body had been discovered by a group of school children enjoying a cold Sunday morning, there were many rumors about what had happened to her, but nothing could ever be thought of that explained the large red smile that had been pained across her face nor the large fake flower that had been laid across her chest.

Can't Build Love

April 21st 2010

Then restaurant was lovely, everything that I had hoped it would be. The atmosphere elegant, the music perfect even for a hopeless romantic suck as myself. The staff were courteous and friendly. Every request was greeted by a smile, every sentence finished with a sir. I am not usually one to enjoy such ceremony, I find the very thought of servants a frightening one, but tonight it was perfect, just what the doctor ordered shall we say.

We arrived together, and she looked stunning, the dress I had bought her hugged her figure perfectly. I could see almost every head in the restaurant turn at stare at us as we walked in. . . and well....let's face it they weren't looking at me.

Sitting across from her at the dinner table I felt utterly calm and at peace, her beautiful face and the flowing raven black locks that tumbled from it with a natural wave held my mind captivated. Her green eyes held mine and we talked, we actually talked for the first time. It was out first real date that is true, but I feel like we have known each other for so long already, I guess that's what happens when you are friends first.

The necklace I had given her sparkled under the chandelier lighting, the base of the crucifix just disappearing between her cleavage, pushed up by the dress to an enticing level.

She looked for want of a better word, perfect.

As the night wore on, the lights were dimmed, candles were lit at each table and the live music began, a violinistand a female singer who soft melodious tones filled everyone's mind like a fine wine, it was almost hypnotic.

We ate our deserts with my left and her right hand together on top of the table, our gazes never breaking, not for one moment. We were both lost, the intensity of our love beginning to blossom, we could both feel it . When . . .

At first it was barely noticeable, it looked more like a stain on the front of her dress, but slowly it spread. More appeared, even the one along her hair line began to leak, at first it was a clear fluid, the sealant wearing off, Just seepage I told myself in an attempt to stave off the panic. Not her, please, I can't lose her too,

The blood soon began to flow, bubbling to the surface at first like a the result of a nasty cat scratch, but I knew from experience that was the beginning of the end.

I called for the cheque, paid and left swiftly, carrying her most of the way back to the car to preserve her as best as possible. Experiment 746 had been another failure, but it was too late to get back to the cemetery tonight, plus I was in no mood for digging.

She is now in the tub, an ice bath, maybe there is still time for me to get lucky with her tonight. Tomorrow I'll have to take her apart, I should be able to re-use some bits, but I just don't know where I will find another set of eyes like that, not that fresh at least. Oh well, back to the drawing board.

Just need to attach the electrodes to the new brain and set 747 to charge and then I will go check on my love.

Wednesday, 22 September 2010

Trick or Treat

They say that the appeal of a yuletide game of soccer was sufficiently powerful enough to halt the First World War, with British and German troops putting their rifles to one side, to spring from their trenches for a kick about one Christmas morn. I had never believed it myself. Not completely, they must always have been more to it than that.

That was until October 31st 2010, about 6 months after it had happened, since the dead had risen and claimed a place on earth, happy to share it with those of us who survived, yet equally happy to sink their rotten teeth into out flesh for a snack whenever the mood seemed to suit them. Yet every year, dating back to 2010, some twenty five years ago now the war between us all would end. The craving for free candy and a night of escapism overpowering their thirst for the flesh, so when you’re doorbell rings this year don’t fear what you might see when you open the door. Trick or Treat!

One man stands alone

“Eight…Nine…Ten.” He’s out, the referee waved his hands in their air, his shirt caked in blood, his brow soaked with sweat. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, the winner by way of knockout in the 38th round, the undefeated Martin ‘Zombie Slayer’ Peacock.” With this said the ref raised Martins hands above his head and turned him around full circle, allowing everyone in attendance that chance to show their appreciation.

Martin soaked it up. His breathing was heavy, his lungs burnt and his legs had turned to lead, but he remained standing, soaking it up for as long as he could, after all, someone had to give them all hope.

It had been a big crowd, easily 100 000 people crammed into the stadium to watch him fight. Since the plague had hit fighting had become the most popular sport in America. Possibly the world, nobody knew much about that anymore. Travel had been suspended. Nobody dared venture out much further than the boundaries of their own town, and even then it was during the day time for the most part.

“You really put on a show out there tonight kid” Lloyd Bartlett his manager spoke. “You feeling good?” He asked with genuine concern. Lloyd had been his agent before the plague, back then he had been a writer, well aspiring at least.

“I’m good. They’re getting tougher, more aggressive.’ Martin answered him, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. He sat naked in the locker room, waiting for the blood to dry. There was nothing worse than trying to wash the zombie blood off before it had hardened, it seemed to react with the water, burning the skin it was attached to.

“Doc said the same thing the other day. The disease isn’t done with ;’em yet. It keeps changing, that’s why they haven’t found a cure. Hey if you want out just say the word buddy, I mean your 75 – 0 it’s a good run.” Lloyd stood back and looked at his friend, his body muscular, his face tired. “ You’re not getting any younger man.”

“I can’t walk away Lloyd, those people out there need something to hold onto. How many of us are left, that must have been nearly the entire state out there tonight. I can’t just walk away from that.” Martin rose to his feet. “Someone has to keep fighting these things, and Lord knows we can’t do it out there.” He pointed out of the now heavily barred window. It was overcast, the sky grey, but there was enough sun forcing its way through to keep them all hidden away until the true sunset.

“Ok buddy, whatever you want. I tell you what, how about we arrange a couple of weaklings for you. Throw a couple of hand picks your way. I know there’s a few in the lab, look wild as a puma with its tail in a bear trap but soft as a schoolgirl on the inside.” Lloyd offered, thinking up a solution.

“Lab rats? You think they would notice?” Martin asked,

“It wouldn’t matter. You’re still out there kicking zombie ass around the ring, they’ll love it. Everyone would understand you taking a couple of easy fights. Leave it to me, I’ll talk to the joint chiefs and see what we can arrange for you. Go get cleaned up, I’ve got your back.” Lloyd said, patting his friend on the shoulder as he walked away, careful to pick a spot that wasn’t crusted over by the blood of the undead.

A few weeks went by, three fights were set up, the attendances at record lows, not due to the staged opposition, no nobody noticed that, but because of a spate of killings that had occurred, bodies discovered within their own homes, necks snapped. The full details hadn’t been released yet, not that there was a press around anymore to release anything too. The army had moved quickly and instilled a curfew, escorting people to the stadium for fights and back home again. There were a couple of zombies spotted loitering but they seemed to be ‘ transitionals’ The virus not fully in control of their body, rendering them useless. The basic motor functions were left and so they would wander the world until the virus claimed them and the seemingly endless hunger for living flesh consumed them.

“Hey champ, listen I’ve got a proposition for you.” Major Tom Harding spoke as he strode into the locker room. “You really get the crowd going, get them baying for blood. You’re a fucking gladiator man. So how about we stop fucking around and mix things up a bit.” The Major spoke, his military uniform was pristine despite the fact that he had just fired on a group of three zombies who had been feasting on a young runaway over by in the park. The creases in this trousers looked sharp enough to cut you it you felt them.

“No, he’s not doing it. Don’t even listen to ‘em Marty, they’ve all gone fucking mad. Its craziness. You leave him . . . “ Lloyd strode into the room shouting his mouth, obviously continuing a conversation that the Major had already considered closed. He put a definite end to it by firing a round into Lloyds head, piercing his skull right between the eyes. His body fell to the floor limply, twitched slightly as the last few impulses were processed by the brain.

“Listen up champ, here is how things are gonna go.” The Major continued, turning his attention back to Martin as if nothing had happened. “You have become something of a symbol around here.” He spoke

“Lloyd, you k..killed Lloyd” Martin stammered in disbelief.

“Yeah Yeah, get over it. Listen to me now because your choice at the end will be what I suggest or what he got, because what I am going to tell you can’t leave this room if you’re not on board.” The Majors voice changed, it wasn’t a threat but a warning of how serious things were about to become. As if they weren’t already.

“Then I guess I am all ears Major.” Martin spoke, staring at the military man with the cold eyes of a man who has nothing left to loose.

“You have no doubt heard of the new murders that have happened. Well, they weren’t at the hands of any zombies. It was something else… something new.” He began “And we need to something to keep peoples spirits up, if you understand what I’m saying.” He looked at Martin raising his eyebrows.

“The virus has mutated again hasn’t it?” Martin jumped in, he felt uncomfortable all of a sudden with his nudity and rose, quickly slipping into a bathrobe. He didn’t really feel any better.
“No, this is something else,”

“And you want me to fight it, put on a display like a .. . what was it. Gladiator.” Martin jumped in, seeing the direction the conversation was taking.

“Yes.” I mean listen to them out there.”Chanting your name, they love you, you have given them all some hope, something to look forward to. It’s only a matter of time before we find the cure.” He began, but Martin cut him off, raising a taped hand.

“I’ll do it. Put the brainless beast in front of me and I’ll knock him down. The world has changed but at the end of the day it’s still just a case of last man standing wins the race.” He added, not sure where the line came from. Probably a movie he had watched back when the televisions were still broadcasting.

“There’s something you need to know before you go out there.” The major began.

“You mean it’s out there now?” Martin fired back. That thing that killed those little kids is out there in that ring?” He stared down at the Major his eyes burning with an intensity usually only seen on the battlefield.

“Yes, but the bodies . . .” He started, but Martin had turned and fled down the tunnel, ready to make his stand, to make the stand for all of them. “The bodies were drain of blood.” The Major finished his sentence talking to himself and the lifeless body that lay on the floor beside him.

Tuesday, 21 September 2010

Cell Mate

“You’re gonna like your new cell Billy boy.” Sneered the guard as he led the handcuffed prisoner along the corridor, ignoring the shouts and cheers of the other inmates as they made their walk.

Billy Darnmouth stopped walking, turning suddenly to face the guard who had spoken to him, delivering a swift head butt which shattered the guards nose and released a shower of blood that covered the prisoners face in a warm mist.

“Fuck you! you fucking cunt” He screamed, his eyes wild with the fires of insanity. He wiped the blood from his face and licked his hands clean. The other guards grabbed him, throwing him to the floor under a barrage of fists and nightsticks. “Fuck pigs, come on you cunts” He screamed, laughing as they rained their blows down on him.

“Stop Stop this right now.” The warden called as he came running into the corridor, leaving the safety of his office. His presence resulted in even more cheers, especially as he pulled the bloodied man to his feet. “Leave him be, just get this waste of life to his cell, and out of my sight.” The warden stared at Billy, who did nothing but smile back at him, even blowing a kiss as they hauled him away. The split above his left eye leaving a broken trail of blood behind like a dark Hansel and Grettel.

“Enough. This wing is on lock down until further notice. Enjoy yourselves maybe you’ll remember who is in charge around here.” The warden bellowed at the raucous inmates, who piped down almost immediately.

The warden turned and watched his five toughest officers leading the Prisons most violent and uncontrollable man down a darkened corridor towards the back of the prison, to the cells that were held aside for emergency situations. Now it was his turn to smile.

“Gonna take me out back hey, Fuckers, yeah come on then, fuck me, I’ll snap ‘em off and shove ‘em up your own assholes. Fucking cunts” Billy continued to scream, fighting against the five men and almost coming up trumps on several occasions. Even a few repeated blows to the back of his already injured head failed to slow him down.

“Oh Billy boy, you think so little of us. You were told weeks ago we were looking to move you. It just so happens your new cell mate just arrived today.” The guard whose nose had been broken spoke, his voice painfully nasal as if he were filled with cold. The other guards laughed amongst themselves at a seemingly private joke.

Billy laughed along with them, enjoying the ride of his life. “Fuckers” He spoke, almost giggling he seemed so happy.

“Here we go Bill, enjoy yourself now.” The injured guard spoke. The door to the cell was open, there was a figure lying on the bed, the bottom bunk. He looked at the door as it opened.

“Gentlemen.” He spoke with a real British accent.

Billy turned to look at him, turned back to the guards, a look of puzzlement on his face. “This faggot. Ooooh I’m so fucking scared, I think I’m actually growing a cunt I so afraid of this man. Please don’t leave me here.” He smiled, his words broken off as the guard whose nose had finally finished bleeding dealt out his own head butt. It sent Billy tumbling backwards into the call, his cackling laughter echoed around the otherwise deserted corridor like the mad hatter in wonderland.

Turning to face his new cell mate Billy simply stood and looked at him, smiling the whole time, scratching his testicles with an exaggerated motion. His bald head and thick goatee swung slightly from side to side. “Allo chum.” He said with a fake British accent of his own. “Come of that bed and I’ll fucking kill you. Stay there and well, I’m gonna fucking kill ya, but I won’t fuck ya first how about that. … Chum” He spoke adding the accent to the last word.

“Good night.” The mans said, turning his back to his new friend. “Full moon tonight you know.” He added almost as an afterthought.

Billy remained standing, dancing on the balls of his feet, rubbing his hands together, the smile never leaving his face, his cheeks cramped from the pain he was so happy.

Not long after sunset the guards returned to the cell, standing quietly waiting for something.

When the screams finally came, none of them moved, although all took a step back when the first howl came. The snarling animal growls followed soon after, along with very effeminate screams as Billy had his flesh ripped apart, and when silence finally descended there was a wet smacking sound the took its turn to echo around the cells.

When the officers retrieved the body in the morning, there as very little left, Billy’s chest had been ripped open, his organ devoured, the few bits that weren’t swallowed in the skirmish had been plastered against the walls. The British man was curled up in the corner naked as the day he was born, his body covered in blood, his lips pulled back in a snarl.

“Sedate him and put him back in the isolation cell before anyone realises he was gone.” The warden spoke coldly, stating the facts as if it were nothing. “And burn what’s left of him.” He added walking away. The next full moon wasn’t for another month; he had a lot of phone calls to make if he wanted to arrange another transfer in time.

An Educaton

The riot reached the dorm rooms not long after sunset around 21.00. While it was warm out, there was still a noticeable chill in the air. Despite their combined intelligence the group of 25 students who had taken over the campus three days earlier crashed through the entrance doors, throwing a trash can through the outer glass doors without even slowing their momentum.

It had all began when the body of Rosalinda Bentley had been discovered in the football stadium, her throat had been snapped, her body drained of blood.

The campus police had alerted the local authorities who claimed that it matched the same m/o as a number of other cases they were working. A serial killer who somehow managed to drain the bodies of blood without ever spilling a drop, or leaving behind a clue other than two small puncture wounds in the neck.

The football team hadn't taken the news well, the head cheerleader murdered the night before the big game. They had taken matters into their own hands as a strange, hypnotic power took hold of them. They were driven forward by Boyd Henson. Boyd was new in school having transferred midway through the spring semester. He was quiet, but strong, his pale skin and dark eyes gave him a very romantic look and he was soon the focal point of female attention. People listened to him, and now they followed him, doing his bidding as he stood back, his arms crossed with a smile on his face.

They stormed the dorm room, heading straight for room 93C. Nobody had told them this, it had simply formed in their minds as a collective idea.

Boyd watched as they ascended the stairs, their bodies moving as one large mass, his own thoughts controlling each of their actions. Behind him the auditorium was ablaze, an orange inferno that had lit up the evening like an artificial sunrise. The dancing flames created long shadows of the figures rasied high and proud on the football pitch adjacent. Sturdy, yet roughly fashioned crossed made from the football posts, bleachers and all manner of school property had been erected and slowly filled by the mob, raising each new capture one at a time. Chanting in deep monotonic drones Nex Illis Quisnam Exspectata Is None of them knew what it meant, it had once again just come to them.

Harding Walliams, the unlucky occupant of 93C had heard the commotion, but remained focused on his studies, he was helpless to resist when they came flooding into his room like a Nazis raiding for Jews during the war. Now there he hung, his naked body exposed to the air, his genitals covered in blood from the cross that had been carved into his flesh just above them. His arms were stretched out and nailed into place, then bound at the wrist, his legs the same, nails driven through his shins just above the ankle and then bound just above this. It was cold, yet the inferno to his left battled hard to warm up the air. All around him fellow students screamed and moaned. He saw men and women, students and teachers all crucified alongside him, similarly naked, all the men similarly marked, while the women had a cross carved into each breast. Blood flowed freely, turning the football pitch into a muddy, shimmering sea of black, glistening in the night air. All 27 crosses had been arranged in a near perfect circle, and in the centre stood the group, minus Boyd Henson, who having had his fun yet again, had already left the scene. With his battered old leather case under his arm he left town immediately walking for a while, enjoyng the night air and the rejuvinated feeling of youth that was coursing through his long dead veins. The emergency services not even noticing him as he sped past on their way to reports of a fire on the university campus.

Monday, 20 September 2010

Office Hours

It all started with a sneeze; an innocuous bodily function. Nobody thought anything of it, by the end of the day the entire office was sneezing, but it was winter. We always managed to think up something to tell ourselves to make it all seem so innocent.

Walter Simpson was the first to fall, he stood up behind his computer and simply fell down, stiff as a board. Soon Tariq Al Ekorhi and Frances Dix followed suit, one spluttering into his coffee before collapsing on the keyboard, the other simply ran down, like a clockwork toy, she went limp in her chair without even so much as a whimper.

None of us knew what was happening, but the trend continued, moving from desk island to desk island, and like dominos they all fell.

I stood alone, surrounded by the bodies of my former colleagues, unsure if I should be scared or relieved that I was alive. Should I run or stay calm and call the police.

I heard a crashing sound outside, the sound of large amounts of metal travelling at high speeds coming to a series of sudden halts. The world was dying one person at a time, and there was nothing that we could do to stop it.

There was a noise behind me. I spun around, thinking that someone else had survived. It was dark out suddenly, I hadn’t noticed how quickly the time had passed. It was almost 16.00. They had been dead for almost six hours now.


They weren’t dead anymore. The sound I had heard was not a survivor but the clumsy sounds of the dead rising. Paul Hooper stared at me, his eyes dead, lips snarling, saliva dripping from his overweight jowls like a junk yard dog ready to attack.

Now, it has been two days, I have cornered myself in the corner of the office, blocking myself in with filing cabinets and desks. Luckily, I guess I would still call it that, they all seemed to be incapable of thought, their minds dead, the only thing driving them was the hunger for living flesh. My left hand shook terribly as hunger and thirst wracked my body, the stapler I was holding rattled, giving sound to my fear.

What hadn’t I used the corner with the water fountain and vending machine I asked myself constantly.

Outside the world was dead, no cars moved, not planes flew, smoke billowed from the fires that were raging untended in almost every building I could see from your office on the fifteenth floor.
The only company I had was the computer screen, and even that had started to do nothing other than blink at me. Repeating the same two phrases over and over again.


I spent most of my time willing myself to start sneezing, I prayed for a cold, but I had never been sick in my life, and in the end I knew there was nothing for it but to move the desks to one side and allow them to end my life.

I hope I taste good I thought as I moved the filing cabinet and stood with my arms spread wide, ready to embrace them when they came.

Friday, 17 September 2010

My Best Friends Wedding

Jose stood there, behind the plate glass window of the ATM vestibule, never in his life so thankful for the security glass that sealed those looking to withdraw funds away from the street and prying eyes. It was night out now, but the city was oddly quiet. The street lamps were on, but their ghostly orange glow was the only thing around, there were no car headlights lighting up the streets as they travelled along, the neon signs of the various casino’s and bars that were the main stay of the city were all silenced; they were as dead as the population of the city itself.

There was another crashing thud as the zombie once again charged head first into the glass wall. Its transparent surface was now greasy and smeared with the things scalp, which was now hanging loose on the top of the zombie’s head like a badly fastened toupee, the skull clearly visible each time to large skin flap moved.

Jose had only come to the city for two days, his bachelor weekend before his impending marriage the following Saturday. Yet now his entire group of stags were dead, his best friend, and best man Miguel Feraro was now standing before him, his body decomposing by the minute, his flesh now green and slimy like a sculpted piece of wet snot. His arms hung uselessly down at his sides, his legs the last appendage of be working. Behind him, Jose could see hoards more of the undead all wandering around, some were heading this way; others seemed to have their radar’s set on other survivors. Jose had witnessed several grabbed or discovered cowering beneath cars or simply curled up in a shop doorway, he had seen what happened to them, and that was why he knew what he had to do.

He snapped his credit card and without waiting for Miguel to finally force his way through the glass, he sliced his own throat, his American Express Gold card disappearing, changing the same color his bank account was after a night of heavy gambling.

Teachers Pet

The night air was crisp and cool against him, his breath clouded his vision momentarily each time he exhaled, but it never broke his gave on her, Kimberly Jennings.

A gust of wind rattled the leaves of the tree he was sheltering under, using the shadows and to further hide what the natural dark of night couldn’t. Balanced carefully on the balls of his feet his every move was well thought out and calculated. The asphalt roof of the garage hadn’t looked in too good condition the last time he was here in daylight, and so he took no chances.

It was a Sunday night, and he had been no idea of how long he had been crouched in the same position. Long enough to watch Kimberly working away on her computer, chatting on the internet with friends, along with the extra bonus of seeing her undress before and redress after her shower. The water droplets glistening on her slender toned body. He had felt the arousal building in his trousers long before her naked body stood before him. The way her hair spilled over her shoulders and seemed to dance in the air every time she moved was enough for him. Just one quick look into her hazel eyes was sufficient to send him to heaven in a heartbeat.

It was getting close to midnight now, and Kimberly was on her stomach atop her double bed, she was wearing a soft pink night shirt which in her current position came not much lower than the top of her thighs, just before the curve of her perfectly rounded rear began. Her legs were bent at the knee and cross at the ankles. She was watching an old horror film from the seventies, or possibly one of those new remakes that were designed to look old. He didn’t care; he didn’t care of watching movies. Real life was much more entertaining.

Not long after the he heard the church bells sound the beginning of the new day and a gentle rain had started to fall did he make his move. Kimberly was asleep; her body still, her breathing deep and slow . . . peaceful.

Carefully maneuvering the window (which he had rigged to open from the outside on his previous visit) he opened it just enough to let himself get in without allowing the night breeze and nocturnal sounds to disrupt his sleeping beauty.

Her bedroom was spacious, the floor covered with a thick carpet which played to his advantage by swallowing the sound of his footsteps. He stood at the end of the bed, the television was still on, although the movie she had been watching was over, the menu screen of the DVD cast its glow, backlighting his form as if he were a character escaped from the movie itself. His breathing was shallow; he was excited, his body sweating slightly beneath his clothes. He reached out and caressed the curves her body made beneath the covers. She moaned in her sleep, not a sound of pleasure more simply a moan. She stretched and rolled onto her side.

He knew time was limited and so he got to work. He went straight to the wardrobe, opened the doors and began to rummage through her closet, it was filled with all your standard high school clothing, the cupboard was full, but it didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. He pulled out the skirt and held it up to the light emitted by the TV. It was a plaid skirt, the one she had been wearing the first time he saw her, he draped it over the back of her desk chair, and followed it up by laying a white button up shirt on top. He returned to the window and reached into the bag he brought with him. Carefully he placed the underwear on top of the clothes he had already selected. The bra was red and lacy, and would easily be seen through the white shirt, and the matching colored thong would – or so he hoped – be glimpsed under the skirt at some point.

Suddenly he heard a noise, someone was moving in the hallway outside. He froze, his heart thundering in his chest. He heard another door click further down the hallway; this was followed shortly after by the flushing of a toilet and the steps being retraced. Once silence had taken its grip of the house once more he fished in his pocket for the note he had written. It gave Kimberly careful instructions on how to dress, what perfume to use and also where to sit in class the next day, along with the guarantee of an A grade on the paper due that week if she did everything to his liking.

Before he left he took a chance and bent down to sniff her hair, his nose hovering a mere fraction above her head. The aroma of her and the shampoo she had used that evening made his head swim, but he had to pull himself away for he still had papers to grade before the morning.

Thursday, 16 September 2010

She's a Hottie

He watched her sashay her way along the corridor, peering out from within his cubicle to follow her shapely hips and slender legs as they walked away. She was the dream of pretty much the entire floor, Hell the entire company as far as he knew. Gemma Margotson, had started as a temp a few months before, delivering the mail, helping out with copying and posting the daily and weekly reviews. She worked for the company in as a whole, but seemed to spend most of her time on the 14th floor amongst the copywriters, people such as Callum Regis.

He had fallen for her the moment he first saw her, and was biding his time, waiting to make his move. She was everything he wasn’t; she was gorgeous with a figure to die for, fresh out of college and young enough to be his daughter. Her chestnut hair and green eyes alone turned most of the men in the floor to jelly, without even need to notice her clothing, which although always professional was sexy in the extreme.

He just knew that today was the day he would make his move, he could feel it, smell it in their air mingling with her perfume, He drank it in and let it swoon around inside his head. He smiled and went back to work. It was 15.27, sunset was in less than 4 hours, the first night of the full moon. Oh yes, today he would have her, and she would be delicious.

Wednesday, 15 September 2010

A safe place?

They were crowded in like sheep being led to the slaughter. Kelly Furnac and her partner Lindsay Keown had been enjoying a nice romantic evening together and were just about to head to the bedroom when it happened. At first they thought it was a riot - in itself a worrying thought given the upper class neighbourhood they lived in. - but they soon learnt otherwise.

The shattering of glass could be hear all around them.

"I never knew zombies could climb up walls like that." Lindsay whispered.

"Other than in movies we never new they existed until tonight." The older man from Apartment 14c answered. He was wearing a bathrobe and socks.

"Shhh They'll hear us." Whipmered Mercedes Dunwick, her blonde hair was plastered to her scalp with sweat.

It was hot in the elevator, and with nearly 25 people cramming into the small space nobody even gave thought to the weight limit.

Thursday, 9 September 2010

The New Born

“Ok, the head is crowning. You’re doing a great job.” The doctor spoke, his glasses misting up slightly as the temperature rose in the cramped room.

The mother screamed, her head thrown back so far her crown was resting on the pillow, her mouth was open her teeth bared, eyes rolled back into her head revealing only the white of the eyeball itself. Sweat streamed from her naked body and veins erupted beneath her skin, appearing from nowhere and tracing their invisible path for everyone in attendance to see.

“Keep going, push, come on….bear down.” The doctor spoke his quiet instructions, still rather unsettled by the strange surroundings chosen for the labour to take place in; a small crypt like building on the edge of town. It has once part of a much larger estate, whose owners had a dark history filled with violence and bloodshed. They had moved on years before and slowly everything fell to ruin. Everything apart from this one small building at the rear of the property it would now seem.

“You’re doing great baby.” Her husband spoke, as he kissed her on the forehead. She calmed down almost instantly and returned his affection with a passionate embrace which saw him reaching up and squeezing her exposed breasts in the process.

“I can see the head. Come on, one more big push and you’re baby will be here Ms Constantine” The doctor leant forward and placed his hands on the head as it emerged. It was only then, feeling the soon to be newborn baby that he realized how cold the mother was. However, before he could offer her a blanket it all happened and the baby arrived followed by a wave of thick congealed blood and a placenta so badly shriveled that It looked like a used teabag freshly pulled from the pot.

For a few moments there was silence, apart from the splattering sound of the large clots falling to the floor from between the mothers legs which were still spread wide.

“It’s a boy.” The doctor said cradling the child in his arms waiting for it to cry. The blood covering it was already crusted over ad dried to a hard finish, the babies eyes were sealed shut with a scab like covering that the doctor quickly remove. He breathed a sigh of relief when the baby finally began to lament its birth. “Congratulations. He looked perfect.” He said rising to his feet, smiling from ear to ear, as he prepared for the best part of this job, handing the newborn child over to the parents. “Do you have a blanket for him?” He asked

“Wait a minute. He’s alive?” The father asked quizzically as if expecting the worst. The mother exchanged a rather worried and confused look with her husband.

“No, it can’t be.” She stuttered, her eyes wide in disbelief.

The doctor stood confused, holding the child in offering to its parents who seemed to say the least disappointed by the tiny humans living body. He had heard many strange things said as the emotions rolled through but disappointment at life was new.

“It’s fine Sascha” An old voice spoke from the corner of the room. An old man stepped forward, his face as pale of a porcelain doll, his features sharp and waxy like a manikin brought to life, only one that has lead a hard life, its face and body no doubt aged and damaged by time. “Take the beast to your breast and the change will begin.” The old main made a shadow gesture bringing an imaginary baby to his mans bosom. He was dressed in ragged clothes, a suit as old as he looked the doctor would have guessed. His hair was thin and purely white clinging to his scalp with a desperate fervor.

“Yes Papa” The woman answered.

The father stepped forward and snatched the child from the doctor, pulling a disgusted face as he touched the infant’s skin. “Thank you doctor, you may go now.” He snarled, baring his teeth like a dog as she walked away.

“I must check the baby first. Please, give him to me; let me check everything then I will leave you alone for a while to enjoy this special time.” He took a step towards the new parents and was grabbed roughly from behind by strong hands, their grips a strong as their skin was cold.

“I don’t think you understand us Doctor. You purpose here is served, we have no further use for you.” The old man spoke slowly, he walked around to stand in between the couple and the medicine man, his body fragile but his movements assured.

Over the old man’s shoulder the doctor saw the mother take the child, wincing as if in pain when she touched the warm pink skin. She took the babe to her breast and it began to drink greedily. Abject horror took a hold of the doctor when he saw not milk begin to spill from the edge of the mouth but blood. The babe began to struggle as the copper taste hit its palate, but soon this slowed as did his heart rate, his skin paled and took on the same waxy complexion as the rest of the family. Before long it lapped greedily at his mother’s sustenance, and a smile on the mothers face as she watched her dead babe drink was the last thing the doctor saw before the old man struck, snapping his neck, twisting the doctor’s head almost 180 degrees before burying his fangs into the veins to toast the arrival of his first grandchild, and the first true baby vampire to be born since man drove them from the earth centuries before.

Thursday, 2 September 2010

Back of the Class

"Bucky Thompson sit up and pay attention. I'm tired of having to warn you. Once more and you can leave my classroom, and then where will you be come exam week." The shrill authoritative of Ms French shot through the classroom, and in turn caused all the other students to turn around and stare at him. Bucky Thompson, the weird kid who they all avoided as much as possible, even the teachers. They all knew that there was something different about him, something dangerous.

"Yes Ms French" He mumbled in acknowledgement feeling his face flush with heat as the class echoed with the giggles of his peers.

"Would you care to enlighten us with your thoughts of what George Orwell was trying to say about society in Animal Farm?" She asked, her voice patronizing.

"Um...." He paused, faltered.

The giggles became laughs, a few fingers were pointed in his direction, and even more comments whispered.

"Class, that's enough. NOW!" Ms French turned the focus away from the student and back to the lesson, but the damage was already done.

Bucky felt his skin continue to warm, the flush radiating out from his face into his whole body. He tensed and felt the hairs sprout over his torso, he felt his muscles tighten and swell, his head dropped on his shoulders and the bones of his skull were crushed and reshaped to form the snarling snout of the predatory beast he was.

Despite their screams, and frantic attempts at flight, Bucky took his time and ate Ms French first, before turning his attention to the rest of the class.

The Deli Counter: Even zombies have standards.

Vernon had never eaten anything from a deli counter before, he had grown up spoilt and rich, cared for by nannies and staff rather than loving parents. Yet here he was, in the middle of a regular supermarket, and seeing as how the young man behind the counter had fought so hard to stay alive during the change, eating his brains now seemed like the only respectable thing to do.

Wednesday, 1 September 2010

For Lois. (It was a long time coming but I wrote it)

Jackson Van Hiel lay in his bed, staring the ceiling, listening the machines gently whirring and beeping away, recording every vital sign he had and relaying it directly to the nurses station at the end of the hall.

Suddenly, there was silence. Jackson turned his had and saw the monitors were blank, his heartbeat gone, blood pressure gone. It struck him as odd. Footsteps came pounding along the corridor. Someone stood by his bed, cold hands grabbing at his face turning it back to the ceiling. His world went black.

I'm dying. He thought, and then suddenly he was back in the room. Only not quite, everything was faint, translucent. He stood from the bed and look down on himself. His gown removed, his pale chest being hastily shaved to make way for the mini depth charges that were about to be launched.

"We have come for you" A deep voice grumbled from behind him. He spun around and in the door stood the reaper. Only it wasn't the hooded fellow of folklore, but rather a bear.

The shaggy beast stood in the doorway, the long claws of his rear legs drug into the linoleum flooring, while his front paws were folded over each other, he was leaning forward resting on the handle of a giant sledgehammer, the head of which rested on the floor before him.

"Will you follow or must you be lead?" The beast asked, its brown eyes flared with subdued rage, his breaths heavy and smelled of decay.

"Who are you?" Jackson stammered, as he took a step backwards, passing through the bed.

"I wouldn't so that if I were you." A high pitched voice wept from beside him.

Jackson jumped and moved backwards even further, and in an instant the bear snatched the hammer and raised it over his shoulder striding into the room.

"Stand still man, for God's sake" The voice wept, now almost uncontrollably. Jackson looked and saw a crocodile, its eyes red and swollen from the blood tears that fell from them. "He means it. Just stay still and listen to him, you can decide your own fate." The crocodile pleaded, its face one of exquisite pain and sorrow.

"Who are you?" Jackson asked, turning in disbelief towards the wailing reptile.

"No!!!!!" It called out, screaming with fright that could be nothing buy genuine.

It was too late, the bear raised the hammer even higher and swung it with all of its grizzly strength. The head whistled through the air and collided with Jackson's ankles, shattering the bones and forcing them out of the skin the other side. He collapsed to the floor clutching his broken right foot.

"You should have stayed still. Oh you should have stayed still" The crocodile wailed, as the bear raised his hammer once again and brought it crushing down on the other ankle, shattering it and leaving it flat against the floor.

Jackson sat bolt upright, the pain immense, while all around him doctors and nurses were scrambling around to bring him back from the peaceful sleep that had taken him.

Without saying another word, the bear grabbed him by the head, claws sinking into his skull, one popping his eyeball. The lumbering animal turned and walked out of the door, dragging the crippled soul behind him, leaving the crocodile in the centre of the room wailing like a widow whose last child has passed, leaving her all alone in the world.

The Interrogation

“I’ve seen your record; you got a long list of felonies after your name.” The office slapped the three inch thick paper file onto the table. It rattled around the interrogation room like a gunshot.”Tell me something” He sneered, leaning in so close to his suspect that his spit speckled the man’s glasses. “Are you just fucking stupid, or do you want to get caught? I just can’t decide which one it is.” He stood back off again, moving to one side he resumed his pacing up and down. Overhead the long fluorescent light bulb flickered.

“It’s alright.” His partner spoke. She had been quiet up until now. “It’s a tough world out there, now more than ever, it’s only natural that certain urges will come over you. We understand” She spoke softly to him. His mind was confused, she understands me. Johnny thought to himself. Behind him the first officer let out a loud TSK sound of disapproval.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Johnny stammered his voice was wavering; sweat poured from his face and stung his eyes. He was full of energy, legs bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.
Powerful hands clamped down on his shoulder as the first office snarled in his ears. “Come on you little bitch. Tell me. Tell me what you like to do with those little girls. Come on. You’re such a big man, talk to me. Let me know what you like about them so fucking much. Hey . . . Bitch.” He spat the last word directly into Johnny’s face, their heads so close together their eyelashes almost collided every time they blinked. The cop had one hand around his neck and the other holding him by the front of the shirt.

“Just tell us, come on, this is your chance to explain yourself to us, we won’t judge you.” The nice one, the women whispered into his left ear. It was her turn to walk around now while he remained held in the vice like grip.

“I’m sorry.” Johnny cracked, his mind exploding as the tears began to roll. “I couldn’t help it, I love them.” He stuttered, trying to speak to the distraught waves of emotion that were flooding through him. Fear of punishment forgotten.

“You’re sick. You think that makes you a man, a tough guy. What you would do if I brought a little kid in here right now hey?” The male office released his grip pushing Johnny with such force the chair he was tied to slid backwards on the concrete floor of the room. “Why not pick on women, hey or are they too much for you to handle you little faggot.” The office snarled slamming his fist into the wall.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry” Johnny driveled, “I’ll be good, I promise, I won’t let them go again, I’ll feed on them all. Drain ‘em dry.” He begged, snot ran freely from his nose and mixed with the tears that covered his cheeks pooling together on the floor in a semi congealed mass.
“It’s too late for that now Johnny” The women whispered in his ears.

“Yep.” The male answered, smiling as he stared down at Johnny’s bound form.”It’s a staking for you at sunrise.” He said as they left, slamming the door behind them leaving Johnny alone, the light went out as their footsteps echoed down the corridor.


Garth had grown up fascinated by vampires, from the slayer through to Lestat and the very count himself. Garth just could never get enough of them. He drank it in with a thirst that was unrivalled, through his teen and young adult years. As he aged his passion never died.

Sadly however, Garth did, and now his thirst had changed, and as he drained the last of his relatives and left their bodies piled in the living room he realized that now, he, much like his passion would never die.


When it happened, it was as simple as a cloud passing over the sun; a slight line of darkness that passed over the world forever changing it. It was a Thursday afternoon, around 14.30 in the middle of July. I was at the beach with my family and some of our friends, simply celebrating the summer, beer, barbeque and games. Then it happened.

People fell like stones, a gust of wind blew us all to the ground and when we awake it had all changed.

Not for me, I was one of the lucky ones, or are we unlucky now?

For when I woke my thirst was for the cold beer in the cooler beside me, the hot summer sun having pulled as much liquid from me as it could during the seemingly global nap time. The others however awoke with a different thirst altogether. A hunger, a craving for human flesh, and when the sun went down that summer day, it was a different meat entirely that was sizzling on the barbeque.

Under The Stairs

It was dark, the walls were close, Gemma could feel them if she stretched her arms out, but in the darkness she was lost. Tears stung her face, and her arm was throbbing beneath the sleeve of her shirt. She clutched it to her chest tightly, trying to stifle the tears that were stinging her eyes and streaking her cheeks. The left hand side of her face burned from the impact which occurred just before the lights went out. She didn’t really remember much of what had happened.
She sat on the balls of her feet, breathing in rapid shallow gasps, trying not to the let the ideas of beasts lurking in the abyss that surrounded her get into her head. She could hear footsteps, pacing up and down, and further sounds of a struggle. Raised voices, something shattered against the floor, and then again. The shouting stopped. She heard a dull heavy thud as something else fell, only this didn’t break, it was too heavy.

Suddenly her world was filled with light, the door ripped open. She closed her eyes and squinted, “I’m sorry Daddy, I won’t ever put cartoons on again.” She stuttered the words through tears and gasped breaths, suddenly aware of how badly she missed the darkness.