bunch of supernatural creatures had gathered around all with the same mission to help her. Each of us had received a similar psychic email from the Goddess. My first impression was that she was a nice lady, but for the biggest hope the human race has ever had, she was a bit dim. I mean, honestly, who falls asleep in a forest? (Although, it gives the phrase "sawing logs" a whole new meaning.) Anyway, after getting to know Holly Andrews a bit, I realized she wasn't dense, just overwhelmed. I can relate to her, and that. I'm overwhelmed on a daily basis. However, I try to make jokes and keep things light. Life is enough to beat you down all by itself. Keep a smile and a sarcastic comment close by, and it can make things just a bit better.
I really do hate not being able to get out much, but I understand the rules of our society. For the most part, humans don't want to know that we various supernatural critters exist, and we hide from them to keep it that way. My friend Holly will change all of that. I can't tell you more about it now, but one day, you'll see. She is going to create a whole new world for us all, human and other. I have my own part in this new world, and I am really proud of it. But I digress; that's not what this story is about. No, that's a tale for another time. Instead, I'm going to tell you more about my pals and me.
So, one of our favorite pastimes, other than scaring people at the cemeteries, is clubbing. We hit every zombie-friendly club in town. I love to dance. Mostly, I love watching people smile and laugh when they see me dancing. I'm no Fred Astaire or MC Hammer, but my dancing brings joy to most everyone who watches. Well, until a piece of me flies off and hits someone. It happens more often than you'd think and definitely more than I care to admit, but I've been reanimated for almost a decade now. Hardly anything on me is fresh these days, except my sarcasm. Don't wrinkle your nose up at me like that. I take daily showers and use a special deodorant. I don't reek. I may drop chunks of rotting flesh now and then, but I smell damn good doing it.
So, one day the horde and I were at this club called Coyotes, just dancing and having fun, when my finger flew off me and into this icy blonde bitch's drink. Hey, it was AC/DC playing. One must dance "Balls to the Wall" for Angus and his crew. Anyway, she was repulsed, understandably so. Decomposing fingers and strawberry daiquiris don't exactly go together. I must ask you, though, who the hell orders a frozen daiquiri at a night club? A restaurant/bar, sure, but a nightclub? Tacky! She turned out to be the owner's girlfriend. We were banned for life, or until he "switched broads." His words, not mine. If the look she'd shot him meant anything, I had a feeling our banning would be lifted soon.
We went looking for a new place to hang, and I heard from a guy, who heard from a werewolf, that this place called Martin's was a cool bar to chill at. The horde and I shambled on over there and were surprised when a wave of calm rolled over us as we entered. I whistled in surprise, "Hey, how about that?"
"What?" Face asked, confused.
"Someone here is an expath. That calm you feel is coming from them. Must keep bar fights to a minimum. Smart move on the owner's part."
"Thank you." A tall man with green hair, eyebrows, lashes, goatee, and even a slight greenish hue to his skin grinned at me.
"I take it you're the owner."
"Griffin Martin. Nice to meet you."
"Bob."
"Pleasure. Feel free to check out the jukebox and the menu." He gave me a wink and headed back behind the bar.
"He seems like a nice fella," Face said as he scanned a menu he'd lifted from one of the many booths lining the walls.
"Yeah. I think I'm going to ? oh, my Goddess!"
"What? What's wrong, man?"
"Absolutely nothing, Face. Everything is right. Do you see what he has over by the jukebox?"
"The videogame?"
"Videogame? Nay, my friend, that's not just any game. That, my dearest zombie brother, is an original Donkey Kong in mint condition."
"Bob, you're drooling." Face handed me a napkin, and I swiped the corner of my mouth. Sure enough, there was a string of drool cascading down my face. Hey, don't judge me, it was an original Donkey Kong, and it was cherry! I mean, come on! What can I say? I wasn't exactly Mr. Popularity before I was impaled on a pair of gardening shears. Videogames, and the conventions associated with them, made up the bulk of my social life.
"She's a beaut, isn't she?" This came, rather reverently, from Griffin.
"She's out-of-this-world amazing. Where did you get one in such great condition?"
"I have a friend who gets first dibs after all the gamer cons."
"Keep that friend! May I?" I felt a bit odd asking. I mean it was in a public area, so it was pretty obvious that it was there to be played. But she was so mint that I was nervous to set putrefied fingers on her without his okay.
"Go ahead." His smile widened to a grin, and he chuckled as I approached the game.
After giving her a few loving strokes and whispering to her how pretty she was, I drew a couple quarters from my jeans pocket and instinctively smiled at the clink of each coin entering the machine. When the sinister music blared to life and the princess was captured and dragged up the ladder, I readied myself for battle against the barrel-tossing simian. After some time, I realized I had gathered quite a crowd around me. People were hanging out and cheering when I would rescue the princess, just to have her carried away to the next level. They'd boo when the large pixilated ape would snatch her from my grasp, and I found myself having more fun than I had in a long time. Until a skag of ghouls came in.
Skag is the term they use for themselves when they're in a group. We prefer horde, as skag just sounds sleazy. Ghouls are people who have died and were also raised through magic, the differences being zombies have free will while ghouls are chained to the witch who raised them. Zombies retain their full souls, while ghouls only retain the memories of being human. Their link to their necromancer is what keeps them from becoming mindless machines of destruction. Most of the time, the one who brought them back allows them to run willy-nilly, calling them occasionally just to keep them in line. They really aren't that much different from us. However, if their witch calls, the ghoul must answer. Failure to do so results in their immediate forever death, lucky bastards.
Ghouls are also a bit more flesh hungry than we are. A nice serving of calf's brains can last us zombies for a few days. Ghouls need to eat at least half their weight in flesh every day. They'd prefer eating living human flesh, but they've adapted to raw animal meat in order to survive. If you come upon a filthy alley and see no signs of rats, it's a good bet a ghoul lives nearby.
So, there I was, playing an epic game of Donkey Kong, when these damn ghouls came in and started taunting me. Griffin upped the calm--I could feel it--but I didn't think the ghouls could. They were near snarling when they approached me. Face and the guys got closer to me in case I needed them.
"Boys! Play nice," Griffin cautioned.
"I've no beef with the ghouls," I said and turned back to my game. One of the ghouls dropped his gigantic rotting hand on my jump button and sneered at me.
"Whoopsie. Sorry, little zombie. Time to run away home." It took every fiber of my being not to toss out the first punch. I give myself big points for that.
"Whoopsie? Seriously? You're going with that? Should I push you down on the playground, or just pull your pigtails in response?" Ok, so I lose punch-free points for the sarcasm, but seriously, whoopsie?
"Bitch, you have no clue who you just messed with."
"A cheap, mannerless ghoul who really ought to run home to his witchy mistress before he meets his true death at my hands?" I knew I was verbally beating my chest in the same manner Donkey Kong just had been, but I was pissed the guy ruined my game. I had been close to the kill screen when that damned ghoul cost me my last life. Also, I was out of quarters. I picked up and removed his hand from the console, and in retaliation, he smashed it with his fist, effectively ruining the game forever. I gasped and turned to Griffin. He looked like someone had shot his dog.
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br /> "Listen, you putrid monster--"
"Pot meet kettle. At least I bathe." I pulled my nose off and put it in my pocket to the crowd's cheers. "Much better."
"I will tear you limb from limb, you worthless creature!" the ghoul screeched. Then, he lunged at me. The next thing I knew, the rotting flesh of his fist met the decomposing meat of my face and his punch ripped a ligament in my cheek, causing my face to droop on the right side where he hit me. I must have looked like a stroke victim. I hauled my own fist back and broke off his nose. At the same time, I kicked him in the shinbone. Sure, it wasn't exactly gentlemanly, but neither was screwing with another man's game. He grabbed his injured shin and started hissing as he hopped up and down on his good leg.
I looked around the bar and saw that the ghouls and my horde were battling it out while Griffin kept shouting at us all to stop. He tried to calm us all down using his ability to push emotions onto others, but the ghouls' rage blocked his efforts. It seemed as though their feeble, disintegrating brains couldn't process all the information. It did have the advantage of making us zombies more effective fighters, as we felt calmer and were able to think more clearly.
The big oaf came back at me, attempting to cold-cock me when I was looking elsewhere. I can't complain; I guess one cheap shot deserves another. I saw his fist heading
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