by L A Taylor
back, lost her balance and tripped over the other backpack. Charmaine should’ve helped but decided to leave, running as fast as she could in the direction of the car. Her plan was to find some help before the situation got out of hand. Charmaine heard Claire shouting out but her legs and brain wouldn’t work together on this. The petrified woman’s feet kept on going in the opposite direction
like she’d no control over them.
Claire tried returning to her feet but her left ankle had twisted
during the fall. She now ended up squarely on her backside in the
boggy, wet grass, as the madman clambered over the log, gaining
on her. She’d hoped this was the owner of the land, wanting to see
her off his property, but this thing in front of her didn’t appear to be
talking; it just groaned and slobbered insect-filled drool. “Fuck off and leave me alone. What have I ever done to you?
We’re very sorry if we stepped onto private property, mate.”
Claire’s hands, legs, and jeans were now soaked through with the
filth from the ground as she desperately did a crab-like walk to
escape the stranger. “But I swear, if you let me go I’ll never come
back here again.” As she spoke these words her voice became like
that of a frightened, lost child.
She did what all scared people normally did and cried, as the
stranger closed in. She kicked out at the beast, trying to knock it
over, but it was no use. Suddenly, it dived on her. She stretched out
her arms to stop the monster from landing on her body but couldn’t
avoid the torrent of underground insects spilling out of the recently
opened escape route on the zombie’s face. They dropped onto her
face and wriggled down her nostrils, forcing Claire to open her
mouth and gulp down anything landing inside it. This, and breathing in the stale, toxic fumes became a major problem for her. Now, becoming hysterical, she shook her head violently to release most of the maggots, but couldn’t avoid some of the mud stained, writhing, small critters from slipping beyond her tonsils and down
into her stomach.
The zombie wasn’t heavy as half of its insides had disintegrated,
but somehow Claire couldn’t find the power to push it away. It
ripped bony fingers down the side of her face, leaving behind a
large, deep, infected scratch as blood seeped through the stinging
wound. The smell from the red liquid excited the hunter and it
thrashed around, causing Claire’s arms to slowly give way. Her
eyes remained fixed onto the evil being closing in for the kill. Her
pupils captured images of the grotesque attack. Her face became a
picture of fear.
Claire let out an echoing scream. The zombie sank cannibalistic
teeth into her neck, and with a quick snap, the creature ripped away
a chunk of flesh. Blood gushed out, spraying onto the monster’s
face. The zombie tasted the sweet, dark-red liquid and liked it. It’d
yearned for this taste since being reborn into the world. This, along
with the desire for human flesh and brain tissue was all its kind
required to make them stronger, more deadly.
One bite wasn’t going to be enough for this starving beast so it
ripped at Claire’s neck again. Her eyes remained wide open when
she died. The zombie bit into her shoulder this time before growling
like a wild animal. After a few seconds sniffed the air then moved
away from the slaughtered, blood-soaked, fresh corpse. Charmaine stopped running and was now in two minds - was
she going to help her cousin or keep on looking for help, hoping
Claire was going to be okay? Sweat dripped off her as her eyes
constantly searched the forest for any sign of movement. “Claire, Claire. Are you okay? Please answer me?” These words belted out of her mouth for the next few minutes
but received no reply. Charmaine feared the worst, thinking
something had happened to her cousin. Tears rolled down her face
as thoughts of Claire screaming for help sent her on a huge guilt
trip. Panic crept in, and Charmaine now knew she was in danger if
she remained in the forest.
All the shouting had attracted the attention of the zombie and it
zoned in on the woman’s location. Viewable bloodstains and
chunks of flesh were still trapped between the creature’s teeth as it
staggered. Charmaine saw the zombie following the path she’d
taken but didn’t budge an inch. The sight reminded her of
Frankenstein’s monster. The zombie walked and talked just like the
mad scientist’s creation.
Was this somebody’s creation? she wondered.
It closed in even more. This time she ran as fast as her legs
would let her and without looking back finally reached the vehicle. Within twenty minutes of leaving the car this woman had
witnessed a psychotic lunatic attack her cousin and now she was
desperate to escape the thing with the rotten face.
Charmaine fumbled around in her pockets, searching for the car
keys. “Shit, fucking shit. Where are they?” she screamed. Her memory had been affected by what was going on and she
was scared, shaking and sweating from fear. The fumbling ceased as
the keys were spotted still in the ignition. Charmaine tried the
handle on the driver’s side and it opened. Fortunately, the cousins
had been so eager to leave the vehicle after a disturbed night that
they’d forgotten to lock up.
She leapt into the seat, shut the door, locked it and turned the
key, but the car still wouldn’t start. Again and again she tried, but
still nothing. This was not the news she’d hoped for but at least she
felt safer inside the car. She decided to wait and see if somebody
would pass by to save her from this madness.
There must be farm workers around these parts. Perhaps my knight in
shining armour will appear on a tractor and save me from this madman,
she thought.
It wasn’t romantic, but was the best offer she might get today.
She prayed for someone to rescue her.
Each window had been checked. There was no sign of
movement anywhere, but as a precaution all doors were locked.
Charmaine leaned over the passenger seat to look in the glove
compartment. The frightened woman searched for anything that
could be used as a weapon in case the weirdo attacked her. She heard a shuffling sound coming from outside the vehicle
and hoped it was a rabbit or another small animal.
That strange man couldn’t be this close already. I’m pretty certain he
wasn’t around a few moments ago, she thought.
Charmaine remained with her head down for another couple of
minutes but was frightened that the sound of her racing heartbeat
would give her location away.
The shuffling sound faded. Charmaine slowly lifted her head to
peer through the driver’s side window, but to her horror, staring
back at her was a revolting, rotting image of a being, with what was
left of a face pressed against the glass. Saliva drooled from the
mouth. Birds, or maybe insects had tried dislodging the eye hidden
behind the piece of rotting skin, but it somehow remained intact. Charmaine bounced up and down in the seat, fear for her life
overtaking other emotions. Again and again she screamed, just like
her cousin had don
e only a short while earlier. She could easily
escape out of another door but couldn’t do it. The zombie had her
trapped in some kind of trance, reducing her to a scared girl that’d
frozen just by looking into its crazed eyes. The screaming
aggravated the zombie so it briskly swung a hand toward the
window. Glass particles scattered over Charmaine’s face and body
as an insect filled palm clenched her hair, gripping with an almighty
force. With hands covering her face, the tearful, scratched woman
screamed even louder than before. Fingers slapped at the creature’s
arm. It was a desperate attempt to gain freedom, but it was no use,
the thing wouldn’t let go.
Suddenly, the hand released the hair, and Charmaine did
something that was probably going to be done back to her. She bit
deep into the beast’s colourless hand, drawing lifeless blood. She
thought this would work but it angered the monster even more. Not
only was she left with a rotten, maggot taste on her tongue, just like
her cousin, but the crazy attacker was now snatching at her hair
again, gripping even tighter than before. The arm retreated through
the window, dragging Charmaine’s hair with it. There were sharp points of glass still intact around the edges of the hole but even though the monster was cutting its own limb to shreds, it wasn’t letting go of this vociferous human. Charmaine now saw the jagged pieces of glass from an uncomfortable position, aware that she was about to endure terrible pain. As the monster pulled Charmaine’s head through the broken window her right eye punctured on a piece of bloody glass. Dark liquid seeped out, sticking to her cheek. She tried screaming again but nothing came out this time. All she
could do was grit her teeth as glass tore away her facial flesh. Charmaine’s body was sliced to pieces as the creature eventually
tossed her onto the ground. The blood spluttered, draining out of
her torn carcass. It was a miracle she was still breathing, but she
would rather be dead than think about what was to happen next. She lay on the grass, too weak to move after losing so much
blood. Her eye wound still seeped dark juice as it blackened one
side of her face. Thin lines of crimson water streamed down the
shredded patches of her body before dripping onto the green,
carpet-like surface, changing it to red.
The zombie picked up a shattered piece of glass and stood next
to Charmaine’s head. All she could do now was pray for a miracle
to happen, or for a quick execution, as there was no way she wanted
this to go on any longer.
Her mouth filled with blood like a well full of water. It didn’t
matter how many times she spat the liquid out, the gash in her
throat would produce more.
The zombie studied its catch, satisfied with what it’d done. It
then knelt down, almost touching Charmaine’s head with its distorted knees. She tried wriggling her body to escape, her undamaged eye catching the evilness in the monster’s features as the razor sharp weapon was raised. Suddenly, without warning, it came crashing down, spearing into her head. The zombie pushed
the glass until all of it was embedded.
The grass became a river of blood. The life fluid streamed from
her body, but the flow finally stopped after a few more seconds.
EIGHT
Mary Smythe was busy with the daily chores around her house so wasn’t to know what was happening in her garden at this time. The soil covering the grave of Vincent’s dead mother was shifting, developing a hole big enough to push fingers out of the ground. A shady, grotesque looking figure tried releasing itself from the burial place that’d been its home for the last six months. This creature was no angel.
The garden had a twelve foot high fence around it so the only way the neighbours could see this thing rise would be if they were looking out of their bedroom windows; they weren’t. The fencing to the right had an escape route caused by the constant scratching and biting by the next-door neighbour’s dog, Bruno, who liked to bury bones in Vincent’s garden.
Bruno was there at this moment, busy shifting the earth to plant another bone, but the dog stopped as it became aware of this strange, macabre character rolling onto the grass. The animal shuffled along to investigate, sniffing around the emerging figure. It didn’t appear to be frightened by the monster’s appearance. The corpse climbed to its feet, gawping at the dog. The animal’s head turned to one side as the monster pointed an index finger at it. A friendly, whining sound spilled from the mutt as it closed in even more. The creature widened its insect infested mouth and tried speaking to the animal, but no proper words were heard. This startled the zombie. “Brrrrrrr,” it moaned.
A large array of creepy crawlies fell onto the grass, forming piles when the monster moved. The animal sniffed the recently fallen, scattering insects, but made no attempt to bark, or alert its owner to the intruder lurking in the garden. The dog’s behaviour was weird. Bruno would always acknowledge a stranger’s presence to its owner and sometimes went as far as showing fangs to them, but not this time. The animal definitely identified the creature as still being human. It looked beyond the body mutilation to see the old lady who’d fed it scraps from her kitchen.
The monster bent down, presumably to stroke the dog, so, with tail wagging in an excited fashion, the Doberman sat, ready for the dead woman’s hand to touch its fur. It panted and whimpered in an increasingly pleasurable way, but was Bruno going to taste those oven-baked biscuits again?
Both sets of eyes connected as the zombie’s hand touched the animal’s neck. Bruno was in for a major shock as the zombie’s bony fingers tightened rapidly around its throat. There was no reaction, no retaliation, and no biting to come from the animal. Even whilst choking, Bruno never thought that this innocent, frail old lady would hurt it on purpose. The zombie’s hand squeezed tighter as Bruno’s eyes remained focused. The dog seemed to be hypnotized. It wasn’t because it mistook this thing as being Vincent’s mother it was because the pet was under a spell that it wasn’t able to escape from.
A breathless squeal escaped from the animal’s mouth. The poor dog’s tongue rolled out to its maximum length while its eyes clouded over for the last time. Bruno let out one final breath. The dog’s eyeballs rotated backwards, turning white before its body collapsed in a heap.
The zombie stared at the animal for a few seconds as flashbacks from the past cluttered up its vision. It wasn’t just Bruno who remembered something, but the desire to feed sucked up the good memories, replacing them with horrible, cruel, new thoughts. The evil side was here again. This beast had to, needed to taste flesh, and that’s what it was going to do.
The animal’s head was lifted. The monster tore flesh and fur from the neck, but after a quick chew spat the pieces out again. Its facial expression indicated that maybe animal meat wasn’t the best of choices to fulfil its desires. For this hunger to stop yearning, a human had to die very soon.
The zombie turned, facing the house, but did it actually know where it was? Or was it just instinct?
Inside the house, Mary had finished tidying up and was sitting watching Trisha on the television. It was one of her favourite programs so all daily activities would come to a halt as soon as it was on. It would take something major to happen before she left her seat at this time.
The zombie sluggishly walked to the edge of the garden. It noticed the tool Vincent had left lying on the ground, the rainrusted blade on the Stanley-knife still showing. Fascinated, the creature reached down and picked it up, turning it around in its scrawny, right hand. As it did so, a sadistic, twisted smile was produced. It made its way to the house where it found the door unlocked. It was very easy to open, as the catch was broken. The mother-in
-law brushed against the door handle, released the catch and slowly entered the kitchen. Its eyes constantly scanned everything in the room, but after a few seconds, the redness around the pupils glowed bright with rage. The zombie wasn’t happy at the décor surrounding the newly designed kitchen. This was proof that the female way of thinking was still there, somewhere. Suddenly, the creature’s eyes stopped scanning, locking onto the door separating the kitchen from the living room. The zombie moved toward it.
Mary was none the wiser to what was happening in the next room, but that changed when she heard something fall from one of the shelves. Was this the something major that would distract her attention away from her favourite show? Mary rose from her seat, heading for the door, but as she reached it, the door was thrown open, knocking her downwards onto the living room carpet. The zombie barged its way in. Mary managed to gain an upright position rather quickly for someone of around sixty years of age and made room between herself and the creature.
The zombie raised its right arm to attack but had that look of pure sadness again. It sensed a connection between itself and the human but again, something inside the regenerated brain ordered the zombie to kill. It was infected with some kind of kill anything and everything virus. It had one motive, massacre before being put back into the ground.
Mary saw the Stanley-knife being waved in the air as she stared glumly at the mystery person. The staring lasted about thirty seconds, but neither of them budged an inch.
She now noticed the gruesome figure’s eyes switching their attention from her to the television screen. The zombie acted like it was annoyed over something it was watching. Underneath the flaking, stinking mass of filth that covered the zombie’s face and body were small reminders that Mary too recognised this figure.
“Maaaaaaaaaaaaa,” the beast groaned.
It couldn’t be Vincent’s mother, could it? she thought, as the zombie repeated the slobbering, spoken word.
“Mary. Is that what you’re trying to say?”
The rotting corpse shrugged its shoulders and sighed. It then eyed up the room, moved over to a shelf, grabbed the pad and pen that was on it, and wrote down some words. Mary seemed baffled, but waited for the final outcome. The pad was held out to her. “Oh, right. He is, isn’t he?” she said, after reading what the zombie wrote.