Gruesomely Grimm Zombie Tales

by Wilhelm Grimm, Jakob Grimm

  “Benny,” the old scientist sighed, “I’m not sure I like where things are heading.”

  Benny wasn’t easily put off and badgered the man, intent on getting to the root of what was bothering someone who rarely showed emotion. Finally, the man relented and took Benny to the part of the lab normally restricted to interns.

  “Benny,” the old man lifted the cover from a cage of lab rats, “the serum we’ve developed has gone beyond our expectations…these rats were dead.

  Inside the cage, three rodents crept along with little to no coordination. Benny watched in amazement as the scientist dropped a live rat into the cage. It scurried to a corner, but before long, the three had converged and were tearing into the live one. Eventually, they seemed to lose interest and walk away. Slowly, the newly dead rat rose to its feet and began to stumble about the cage.

  “If we release this to anybody, we’re all dead. The world will fall into…” the old scientist’s voice faded.

  “So destroy the shit!” Benny said.

  “I don’t know where my colleague has hidden his notes,” the old man sighed, “and I have no idea how much he has already produced.”

  “There must be something,” Benny insisted.

  “Look, I’m gonna try to enact the sterilization sequence.” The old man stood, looking far less brave than his voice sounded. “You and your friends need to get out. Fall back to the emergency shelter up in the woods. If things go badly, we’ll need minds like yours to undo all this chaos.

  “From up there you should be able to keep a watch on this complex. If the red emergency lights come on, you’ll know it went bad. It’ll be up to you to turn this around.”

  Benny rounded up his fellow interns and filled them in as they drove up to the evacuation shelter. Each day, they watched the facility nestled in the valley below. Nothing seemed to change for almost two weeks. One night, while Benny was watching, all the emergency lights came on. By morning some of the security staff could be seen staggering away from the complex. He went in and told the others.

  “So, because of one crazy scientist, the world is doomed?” one of the interns snapped.

  “Dude,” Benny said, “we’re scientists.”

  “Oh yeah,” the other intern said. “Still…if I ever lay my hands on either one of those old bastards, I’ll kill ‘em.”

  Within weeks, the world was overrun by zombies. The twelve interns continued to live out in the mountains in the emergency shelter in the hills above the secret government lab. They had plenty of wildlife to hunt and kill, so eating wasn’t a problem. Benny was the best cook of the bunch, so he stayed in the shelter while the others went out and hunted game.

  All the time alone eventually had Benny tinkering in the primative lab in the rear of the shelter. He’d seen enough of what his mentors had been working on to have a minimal understanding. He kept his projects secret since his former classmates now seemed to want nothing to do with science.

  One day, while he was working, he dosed a dead rat and was amazed to see it begin twitching and eventually rise. He crushed its head with a hammer and was delighted to discover that destroying the brain seemed to work when it came to putting the undead rat down for good. Being a good scientist, he repeated the experiment over the next few days on different animals like rabbits, raccoons, and a vole. Each time, he used his hammer to crush the skull and destroy the brain. Eureka! he thought. He knew how to put down the undead.

  Then, one day, his mentor staggered up to the shelter. It was clear he’d been dead for years. His blue-grey skin was almost as thin as paper and every vein seemed to stand out from the blood turning black in them. What was worse, the old man had been torn open and most of his guts ripped out. What remained had long since shriveled and dried.

  “You’ll be the last thing I need to prove my thesis. But…if my fellows see you, they’ll kill you on sight. I mean, not only are you a scientist…but a zombie as well.”

  Benny led the zombie version of his mentor into the shelter and back to the lab. Once there, he managed to shackle the abomination. He did his best to clean the body of dirt, dried blood, and an unpleasant assortment of vermin that had taken up residence on and in the animated corpse.

  Benny became more curious during his cleaning and ran a few quick experiments. He tried to feed his old mentor from some of the savory stew he’d made, but the creature showed no interest. He offered it beverages of all sorts, but still no interest. However, when he walked in with scraps and the innards of the hares he’d been preparing for the evening meal, the zombie began to tug at his bindings.

  Benny handed over the bloody bits and watched as the creature that had once been his mentor stuffed the bits in its mouth. It was similar to watching a gumball machine. The pieces would tumble out the hole in the zombie’s gut. Chewed, but mostly intact.

  “I don’t want to put you down,” Benny said, “but my fellows will not be okay with this. Still, this is a scientific find that I can’t resist. And the chance to experiment and observe is too great.”

  A plan began to form. A part of him was hesitant, but a small sacrifice was sometimes needed when attempting to bring about the greater good.

  That evening his comrades returned from the hunt. As usual, they laid out their various kills for Benny to gut, clean, and put aside for the next day’s meals. Sitting around the table, the regular small talk ensued. Each told about his hunt, not one seemed interested enough to ask Benny about his day.

  Well, he thought, I know a bit more than you, my friends.

  The next day, while the others were out, Benny went to the wild garden out back. A snip and a clip here and there gave him the ingredients he would require. He set about his task in the kitchen, hoping that all would go according to plan.

  His tray of cookies came out of the oven moments before the first of his companions returned. He offered a cookie, hoping he didn’t seem too anxious. As usual, his culinary treat was accepted without so much as a thanks. Benny watched the man wolf it down.

  “Man, I’m really sleepy,” the fellow said a moment later. “I’m gonna catch a nap. Get me up for dinner.”

  Benny assured him that he would. Then, one by one, each of the others returned and the scene was repeated more or less the same. Within the hour, the others were sleeping peacefully in their bunks. Benny went to work securing each one. He strapped one to a gurney and wheeled him into the lab.

  He let the zombie have his way with the first subject. He was fascinated at how it went for the soft, stretchy skin of the abdomen. Unfortunately, the effects of the drugged cookie wore off early in the process and there was a lot of carrying on by his former fellow intern who seemed to show no interest in science.

  One by one he wheeled in the others. Some he only allowed to be nipped on the hand, others the foot. It did not seem to matter where the bite was given, each one transformed into one of those creatures. In one case, he let a half-dozen get ahold of one of his comrades. All that remained was the head. And still the eyes opened after a spell and began looking around. Before long, all of his former shelter mates had been converted to the walking dead.

  Thus he began the second phase of his experiment. He opened the skull on one and began taking out sections of the brain. Each was examined and compared to slides of what he knew healthy tissue looked like. (That’s because he saved one of his fellows and removed his brain, dividing it into its known sections.) During this process, he found the exact location that must be destroyed to deactivate the corpse: the cerebellum and the vagus of the cranial nerve.

  Day and night he worked. Knowing how to put the creatures down was one thing, but Benny wanted to reverse the process.

  One day, a few survivors arrived at the shelter. A soldier, a young woman, and an old hag. Benny told them they were welcome. He said they could do as they pleased as long as they didn’t disturb his research. When they asked what it was he was doing, he explained in the simplest way he could that he was trying to find a cure.
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  For weeks and months, things were fine. Benny was so engrossed in his work that he never really spoke to the others. He was diligent about cleaning up before departing from his lab and never left it unlocked. He was fairly certain that if the people saw, they wouldn’t understand and might try to hurt him. (He’d seen enough movies to know how misunderstood the scientist always was by others in a group.)

  Life went on at the emergency shelter for several years without incident. In time, Benny almost forgot that there were others. Of course, he eventually slip-ped. Nobody is perfect. Right? He left the door to his lab unlocked. The old hag peeked in, unable to win out over her busybody nature. What she saw was beyond description. Bodies in various state of dissection, a couple that were no more than a brainstem atop their necks. And then there was the smell. She had no idea how a stench so ripe didn’t trickle out to the rest of the building. However, it did explain the foul odor outside somedays when the wind blew from the south, or if you ventured back by the large vent that jutted from the ground about a half a mile away in the woods.

  The hag ran to the young woman first, but she didn’t seem to care. In fact, she scolded the hag for nosing around where she didn’t belong. The hag tried to emphasize how creepy Benny was and how he never ever spoke to them.

  “We’ve been here seven years,” the hag explained. “Has he said so much as a word to you?”

  “Nope,” the young woman said as she continued to brush her hair, wishing she had some pink nail polish for her toes.

  “Well, you’d think he could’ve at least said something,” the hag persisted. “Let’s be serious here. You’re what the young men call hot, so why hasn’t he even tried to talk to you?”

  “Maybe he’s gay?” The young woman shrugged.

  “What are the odds that the only two men you have managed to encounter in the apocolaypse are both gay?” the hag scoffed.

  You see, the soldier was gay. That they both knew as a fact. He was a product of the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy that had been enacted by the Italian military. Of course, now that there was no longer an actual army, Giovanni told everybody. Even if it was only two people, he felt incredibly liberated.

  As for the young woman, she could care less. She’d been frigid for as long as she could recall and, while she was easy on the eyes—even in a make-up free, post-apocalyptic world—she had absolutely no sex drive.

  The old hag was extremely frustrated. The scientist was doing some pretty shady stuff, and the others needed to be concerned about it. She would be sure to sleep with one eye open.

  Inside the lab, Benny was actually making some real progress. “I am certain I can do this,” he said as he peered through a microscope. “After seven years…sev-en long years.” He glanced up at the three subjects that were intact enough to be brought back. “I just hope you’ll understand why I did what I did. I know you all gave up on science.”

  Meanwhile, the old hag finally got the soldier, Giovanni, to listen. The scientist was dangerous and the key to proving it was inside the lab. He followed, but his heart wasn’t truly in it. Standing behind the hag as she picked the lock on the door, they both heard Benny chuckling to himself.

  “What sort of lowlife is that guy?” the old hag hissed. “Who knows what sort of godless tricks he’s up to! Nobody could be surrounded by that much death-and-gore and laugh about it.

  “Maybe he’s used to it,” Giovanni whispered back. “I mean, I saw some crazy stuff in the battlefield.”

  The old hag couldn’t stand it. Something had to be done about this monster. Taking a deep breath, she threw open the door and burst into the room. “Ah-ha!” she croaked.

  Benny jumped and stumbled into the waiting arms of the zombie he was about to inject with the cure. Zombies don’t care about cures. This one bit into Benny’s throat. Blood gushed, and he let out a gurgled scream. The hypodermic filled with a dose of the cure landed on the floor and was broken underfoot.

  Unfortunately for the hag, she tripped over a box on the floor. She fell and hit her head, losing consciousness. Giovanni had seen enough, he closed the door in a hurry. As the hag opened her eyes, the zombie formerly known as Benny was just burying his face in her wrinkly stomach. The old hag was trapped in a room with the zombie of the only person who would ever develop a cure, and she died a cruel death.

  10

  Hooligans of the Apocalypse

  Based on:

  Das Lumpengesindel

  A young man in his twenties travelled with a woman of about the same age. They were out scavenging for food in the countryside together. After dispatching a few zombies still lurking in the area, the young man said to his companion, “That house on the hill is ripe for the pickin’. None of the windows are broken. We should go up there and sack the place before somebody else comes along and beats us to it.”

  “Oh yes,” said the young woman. “I bet there’s lots of goodies for us to share.”

  So they climbed the hill, and because of the hot sun blazing overhead, they stayed all day. Now it’s hard to say if it was because they were enjoying the relatively undisturbed privacy that allowed them to get a little frisky without being overheard or disturbed, but they didn’t take to the idea of walking home until it was late in the day. The young man found a rickshaw cart in the garage and rigged it to a bicycle.

  When he was finished, the young woman said, “It looks like your legs are in for their second workout of the day.”

  “Don’t make me laugh,” said the young man. “I’d sooner walk home. I’m willing to sit back in the cart, but pedal the bike?–oh no! Nothing doing.”

  As they were arguing, a middle-aged woman came along. “You thieves!” she wailed. “Who let you into my house? Who said you could eat my food and steal my belongings?” She shrugged out of her pack and drew her machete. “Just wait! I’ll make you pay for this!”

  With that she lunged at the young man, slashing the air where he’d just been standing before he leaped back and away. The young man wasn’t a slouch as a fighter, nor was he above hitting a woman who came at him with a blade. He fought back, and with a sharp right cross, he laid the woman out. She begged not to be killed, and he agreed as long as the middle-aged woman would pedal the bicycle he’d attached to the cart.

  Grabbing their stuff, as well as what they’d looted from the middle-aged woman’s house, the young couple was ready to return to their fortified compound. The young man got a few kicks out of yelling for the middle-aged woman to pedal faster.

  “Move it, lady,” he barked. “Zombies walk faster than that big ass of yours is pedaling.”

  When they’d gone a little way, they passed a pair of emaciated looking zombies who raised their arms and moaned. The young man saw a chance for a bit more fun. He ordered the woman to stop and he piled out of the cart. A moment later he returned, placing the sack containing the two heads on the floor, careful to ensure the top was cinched and that they wouldn’t possibly roll out near his feet or the young woman’s.

  At dusk, they came to what had once been a roadside inn. It had been walled off and offered a safe place to stay for the night. Nobody liked the idea of travelling in the darkness, and besides, the middle-aged woman’s legs were almost unable to go on they had gotten so weak and rubbery. They decided to stop. At first nobody came to the gate when they pounded on it. Then, the man living there said he had no place for them to sleep, and hemmed and hawed about taking them in. He didn’t particularly like the looks of the young man. There was something about the eyes and his crooked smile that didn’t set right. But the young man was a good talker. He promised to give over a generous share of the goods he’d scavenged. Also, he promised to let the guy have the middle-aged woman since he couldn’t possibly use them both—if you get my meaning.

  “You’ll be getting laid every day on the regular, brother,” the young man said with a wink.

  With that, the old man let them in. He whipped up a re-heated pot of squirrel stew and passed arou
nd a bottle of his homemade wine. It was actually quite a party.

  In the gray of dawn, when the old man was still snoring heavily, the young man woke the young woman. While she was getting dressed, he’d put one of the heads he’d collected in the cold hearth where last night’s fire had burned. Since he’d cut the head off cleanly at the neck, the eyes still moved around and the mouth still opened and closed. Then, he hung the second still animated head from the shower-curtain rod in the bath-room.

  Afterwards, the couple gobbled down the last of the squirrel stew and stuffed the half-finished bottle of homemade wine in their pouch. No harm, no foul, they thought when they ducked out and snuck away.

  The middle-aged woman, who had faked falling asleep so that the smelly old man wouldn’t try to run up in her, heard the couple leave. She eased out from her spot where she’d curled up in the corner and crept outside. There was a stream out back and a canoe tied to a small dock. The stream was running back in the direction of her little house in the middle of nowhere so she climbed in, cast off, and paddled away.

  A few hours later, the old man dragged himself out of bed. He went into the bathroom to clean up in the basin and rinse the taste of last night’s drinking from his mouth. When he saw the zombie’s head hanging from the shower curtain rod, he stumbled back in fright and banged his head on the doorjamb. He felt the bump with a grimace; then cut the line holding the head, walked out to his front porch, and crushed it with a hammer.

  Next, he decided to get the day’s fire going to take the chill off of his old bones. He leaned into the hearth to stack some kindling when he saw the second head. He jerked back, again smacking his noggin, this time on the edge of the hearth.

  “Everything has it in for my head this morning,” he said as he stood up rubbing his skull. He stepped back and tripped over the empty pot that had contained his squirrel stew and landed on his tookus. “Ouch!” he bellowed.