No Zombies Allowed

by Lisa McCourt Hollar

  It had all began with his relative, Dr. Frankenstein and that nasty little whore he’d shacked up with. The woman was a gold digger, only after his fortune. By the time Frankenstein had woken up to what the harlot was doing, half the family fortune was gone. Heirlooms belonging to the Frankenstein clan for centuries had been stolen and sold to finance her spending habits.

  The trollup had promptly been thrown out on her ass. The harlot though was not done with Victor Von Frankenstein. She fancied herself an author and wrote a book depicting his experiments in the castle. She marketed it as fiction but that damn woman nearly destroyed him with her lies, the worst the fictional creation of the Frankenstein Monster.

  It was true the doctor had been working on a way to reverse death, but he had been far from successful and when that woman wrote her book, the town went on a witch hunt. There had been a series of grave robberies and they believed Victor was responsible for them. In fact he was, but it was all in the name of science. Greatness was not achieved without taking some risk. In this case, risk brought persecution. Doctor Frankenstein was driven out of town and the castle set on fire.

  Several years later, changing his name, Victor’s son returned. Restoring the castle to its original glory, Dr. Jeckle opened up shop, offering his services as a psychiatrist. Unfortunately a change in name did not vacate the curse befallen the family at the hands of the witch, Mary Shelley. His new experiment, one to eliminate the darker side of his test subjects, failed with disastrous results. The castle was abandoned again, this time sitting empty until Frank came across the deed in his mother’s files.

  Shelley Stein, (ironic when he thought of it,) had always been a bit eccentric, but once he found the deed and read the diary of one of his ancestors, he realized he had the chance to restore the family name. He didn’t believe in the curse anyway. Sure, he had been unlucky all his life, barely graduating medical school and always being a step behind his friends in success, but that was about to change.

  Or about to get worse if he couldn’t find Henry. How far could a recently, reanimated corpse go, Frank wondered. That question was answered as soon as he reached the ground floor and found the main doors ripped out of their frame. Moving along the mountainside a dark figure could be seen making its way towards the town.

  “Of course, I left the damn moat down,” Frank sighed, turning to pack his bags.

  The Birth Of Politics

  by Lisa McCourt Hollar

  Stubby looked out the window of the castle and wiped the sweat from his brow. He had hoped the traps he’d set on the road up the mountain would slow the mob down, but he could see the flames from their torches were drawing even closer to the fortress They would be here within the hour, perhaps even sooner. He wondered how they’d managed to get past Spot.

  “Damn dragon had probably rolled out the welcome mat for them. I should have gone with the watch goat spell,” Stubby mumbled. Dragging his club foot behind him, the hunchback hobbled into his lab and glared at the monstrosity causing his predicament. He had heard of his brother’s success in Transylvania of bringing back a man from death and had thought to take it one step further. After all, bringing someone back from death wasn’t amazing. Hell, Jesus had done it multiple times, at least according to the priest who kept coming around trying to get money out of him. As far as he knew no one except the Almighty had ever created life. The problem was he didn’t know how to do it with just dirt, but with a little practice he was sure he could figure it out.

  His first experiments with life created a toad. It wasn’t the desired outcome since toads were reputed to cause warts, still he was sufficiently satisfied. To make sure it wasn’t a fluke and he was on the right path, he made another. No one told him amphibians could switch sex so when he saw them bumpin’ uglies he figured they were making the best of an awkward situation.

  “Hell,” Stubby mused, “if I could get anyone in the village to look my way I wouldn’t care who it was, it would be better than lefty here.” Glaring at his deformed left hand he said, “You aren’t all that after all.” Then he looked at his right hand and said, “I don’t know what you’re laughing at, you aren’t all that either.” To which his right hand slapped his face and he had to apologize.

  The castle was filled with little toads hopping all over the place and before he could get them contained they had escaped out a window. Next thing he knew they were down the mountain and spreading warts throughout the village. There was talk of a lynch mob at the time but then the village idiot started talking about rain and building a boat and that distracted the villagers for a while.

  Stubby began his next experiment, producing a woman, but he quickly dismantled her. If all women were like this one he would stick with lefty and righty. They at least didn’t tell him he was a failure and a disappointment and righty was a pretty damn good chef. This woman couldn’t even boil water and tried to blame him for it, then threatened to have her mother move in with them, which he hadn’t even known was possible since he’d created her from dirt, amoeba and a little water. Before she was done with her tirade there was a knock at the door and the most unappealing woman ever stood on the other side. It was the warts on her face that made him suspicious of her origins and when she caught a fly with her tongue he knew she was one of the mutated frog’s offspring. Getting rid of her had been a little tricky, but when righty pulled out a recipe for toad stew she beat a path down the mountainside; he hadn’t seen a wart from her since.

  This brought him to his latest experiment. He’d considered it a success at first and named his creation Paul. The man, for that’s what it resembled, was relatively good looking and well versed but soon it became apparent something was wrong. He’d used a bit of reptile DNA, not a lot, but apparently it was too much. The man spoke with a forked tongue. Even worse, when Stubby was having a lover’s quarrel with lefty, the creature had opened the door and went into the village where he pulled up a discarded soap box and gave a speech, informing the village they were in need of a new leader. His speech so passionate, the villagers immediately strung up the former mayor and named Paul their new leader.

  Soon Paul began wooing all the village maidens and even a few of the hags. When he got caught with his hands in Mrs. Field’s cookie jar the village decided they’d had enough. They sent a pigeon to Transylvania, requesting Dr. Frank’s services in reviving the former mayor.

  It would have worked out fine if not for the damn toads. The mayor had been buried near the swamp and the effin’ toads had laid their eggs inside his corpse. They started hatching while he was dedicating the boat the idiot had built. Toads everywhere, spewing from the mayors mouth. Then his cursed mother-in-law showed up, harping at the mayor. Paul chose that moment to step up on the soap box and give a passionate plea be kind to the toads, after all they hadn’t asked to be created. This reminded them that Stubby was the one behind their birth. Next thing he knew they were heading up the mountainside, led by Mr. Fields. Paul managed to get there to warn him, but as would become the norm with all of Paul’s forked tongued offspring, it was too little, too late.

  The moral of the story: Paul a Ticians have snake DNA and can’t keep their hands out of the cookie jar. Elect the wrong one and you’ll find a lynch mob at your back door.

  Death Goes On Strike

  “Death, what are you doing?”

  Death looked up at the figure standing over him, a smile playing around his thin, boney lips. “Uh, fishing. At least that’s what it used to be called when you put a worm on a hook and threw it into the water. Since I haven’t had any fish bite lately, I think it might actually be called loitering, but I like the term fishing so I’m going to go with it.”

  Khronos sighed, “I mean why are you fishing instead of doing your job?”

  “Oh that. I’m on strike.”

  “You’re Death. You can’t go on strike. You know what happens when you don’t do your job.”

  “Zombies.”

  “That about covers it
. I’m not happy when zombies come busting down my door and try to eat my brains.”

  “Hmmm,” Death said, reeling in the fishing line, inspecting his bait and then casting it back out, “not my problem.”

  “IT MOST CERTAINLY IS!” Khronos paused, trying to calm himself. It wasn’t becoming of a god to lose control. After a moment, he continued on, calmer. “It most certainly is your problem. I have zombies knocking down my door because you aren’t doing your job. Now you’re on probation. I would think you would find it in your best interest to tow the line.”

  “You know where I live,” Death said, “You’ve been there. You have met HER. I can’t take it anymore.”

  “Then move out.”

  “I can’t, not on what you and the Death Council pay me. So until I get a raise, I will not be collecting any more souls.”

  “You can be replaced,” Khronos said.

  “Oh no, not that! Anything but that!” Death fell on the ground, cowering at the feet of the god of time. Then he started laughing. “Please, do. I would like to see who you find to do this job?”

  “Giltinė has expressed interest in having her job back.”

  “Giltinė. You have got to be kidding me. She was old when I took over. She must be farting dust by now.”

  “She has a certain style. That poison tongue of hers was always a big hit with the council and we never had zombies running around when she was collecting for us.”

  “No? How about those seven years she was trapped in a coffin? Did people just show up at Purgatory and turn in their souls? Oh wait…you called it leprosy back then.”

  “Zombies and lepers are not the same.”

  “No, but no one wants to touch either one.”

  “Get back to work,” Khronos pleaded.

  “Give. Me. A. Raise.”

  “You know the money isn’t there Grim. We have Xeracles working in pest control. Budget cuts have forced even the highest paid demi gods to take cuts in pay.”

  “I’m not asking for much, only enough to move out of my mom’s place. Do you know she has started dating? I don’t think I can stand much more of the sounds coming from her room.”

  “She’s dating. Since when?”

  “Hey wait,” Death said, detecting a bit of jealousy in his boss’s voice. “You don’t have a thing for my mother do you? You know she turns men into stone, right?”

  “Of course not. Umm, how long has she been dating?”

  “Three months.”

  “Who is she seeing?” Khronos winced at the mild squeak in his voice.

  “Poseidon this week. Who knows who she might be interested in next week. Could be you…if you play your cards right.”

  “What do you mean if I play my cards right?”

  “I know there has to be some extra money lying around someplace. You give me a raise, I go back to work and you take my mother out to eat at that new cannibal restaurant. It’s a win win for everyone.”

  “Well, Xeracles has been getting lax on the pest control. There are rodents running around unchecked on Mount Olympus. I might be able to justify another cut in pay.”

  “I want better health coverage too.”

  “How about if we reduce your out of pocket?”

  “We’re getting there. Give me a drug card and we might be able to end this strike.”

  “Done,” Khronos said, producing a contract for Death to sign.

  “Great,” Grim said. “This strike is over.”

  “Death,” Khronos asked, believing he had sold his soul to the Reaper, “did I just pay to date your mother?”

  “Yes you did.”

  “You don’t find anything wrong with this?”

  Grim shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Oh, okay. Oh Grim?”

  “Yes?”

  “Start with my office when clearing out the zombies.”

  “Of course.”

  ***

  Later that night…

  “It’s all over the news, you went back to work,” Medusa said, patting her son’s shoulders.

  “Really,” Grim said, “what are they saying?”

  “That you struck some kind of deal with the Death Council and all the zombies have been taken care of. Xeracles is a little miffed.”

  “I imagine, having to take a cut in pay.”

  “They fired him,” Medusa said, surprised her son didn’t know. They said they couldn’t afford to pay for death and pest control both so they are combining the jobs.”

  “What do you mean, combining,” Grim asked.

  “Soul collecting and rodent patrol are done by one entity now.”

  “No! That is not what I agreed to!”

  “Didn’t you read the small print in your contract? What am I always telling you? Read the small print. You never listen to me.”

  Death cringed as his mother began to rant about his inability to do anything right. Okay, so he would have to take care of rats too. And cochroaches. Death shuddered. Cochroaches were even harder to kill than zombies. Speaking of things that were hard to kill…

  “I swear, I don’t know what you would do without me,” Medusa ranted.

  “I can think of a few things.” Death looked at the clock and smiled. “By the way, you have a date tonight. Wear something hideous.”

  The Neighborhood

  Hugh woke to the sound of fireworks. Though the explosives were muffled inside his coffin it still startled him, bringing him from his dreams of young, nubile women with sweet blood into a world exploding around him. Briefly, before he came out of the fog of sleep, he was back in the war that nearly killed him. It was the nurse tending to his injuries who did the trick, deciding he had lost too much blood to survive. She said he was too good looking to rot in the ground.

  Climbing from his coffin, he saw it was dusk. Somewhere he smelled a bar-b-q and the scent of rotting flesh burning. This was probably his newest neighbors. He couldn’t imagine who else would be bar-b-q-ing but the zombies. Strange, he thought they liked their brains raw.

  Dusting the dirt and cobwebs from his face, Hugh went outside to check on the festivities. He waved to the Steins, who had ventured out of the house to watch the fireworks. It was a funny little hunchback by the name of Igor who was putting on the show, entertaining the young ghouls. One of the more attractive of the spirits floated over to talk to Hugh.

  “Beautiful night, don’t you think,” she said, hovering in front of him so he would have to walk through her if he didn’t stop to talk.

  Hugh looked up at the sky, which was clouded over with dark clouds, the threat of a storm hanging over them. It was beautiful and Hugh said as much, stepping to the right and going around her. He didn’t think it would be right to walk through the spirit, which seemed rather rude. The ghoul floated to the side, blocking his escape.

  “Why do you always avoid me Hugh?”

  “I not avoiding you,” Hugh lied, “I’m in a hurry, I have dinner plans with some friends.”

  “Would one of these friends be Nora?” Hugh could hear the jealousy in her voice.

  “We’ve been through this,” Hugh sighed, “there is nothing between the two of us. You are a ghoul, I am a vampire. What kind of a life would we have together?”

  “It would have been nice if you’d considered of that before you drank nearly all my blood. You couldn’t have just turned me? “

  “I’m sorry,” Hugh said, wondering how many times they were going to have this conversation. She had been a young college student when he’d met her. He hadn’t intended to drink as much as he had and in all honesty he thought she’d be alright. Otherwise he wouldn’t have left her the way he did. Her spirit, having died as a result of paranormal interference, was unable to rest. To make matters worse, she’d developed a crush on him, a sort of a Stockholm syndrome for the undead.

  “Well sorry isn’t going to make everything alright again, now is it,” she screeched at him, catching the attention of a wraith down the road, who answered her ba
ck with an ear splitting shriek that could wake the dead. Feeling the earth rumble, Hugh shook his head, wondering why holidays always had to be chaotic. The ghoul looked towards the cemetery where corpses in various state of decomposition were digging their way out of the ground and squealed in delight. “Grandma,” she yelled, “look at you! You haven’t aged a bit!”

  Taking the opportunity to slip past her, Hugh nodded again at Frank and his wife. This one had been around for only a few days and her skin wasn’t rotting as much as the last one. He thought that Frank seemed to have improved his process of reanimation and would have to make sure to compliment him later; maybe in a few days, if she hadn’t lost any body parts.

  Down the road he heard a commotion and chuckled to see that George Black had been overzealous with the lighting fluid and had caught his arm on fire. His wife was batting at him with a towel and his daughter Missy appeared mortified. It couldn’t be easy having a zombie for a father, especially when you were still alive. Hugh tried not to breathe in too deeply as he passed by. She was the right age, where the blood hadn’t yet been spoiled by puberty. Hugh wasn’t one to drink from a child and he was pretty sure George wouldn’t be happy about it either. No sense in getting the neighbors after you.

  “Out of the way,” someone shouted . Hugh barely made it out of Charlie’s way before the Creeper came barreling through with a fire hose, dousing George with it and drenching his wife as well. Hugh noticed how her shirt, a patriotic red, white and blue with an American flag, clung to her and wondered if she wouldn’t be too opposed to sharing a little blood every now and then. They wouldn’t need to tell George about it.

  “Have a nice dinner,” Charlie said, turning towards Hugh and waving, before turning his attention to a young were wolf drooling over George’s bar-b-q, a plate in her hand.

  Igor set off another round of fireworks, which seemed to please the crowd of carcasses stumbling from the graveyard. The Ghoul and her grandmother both applauded and Hugh smiled, content to know his sacrifice years ago had helped lead to this great day. It was a different world than it had been back then.