The Shuffling Dead Box-set

by Ian Woodhead

  His love of home-cooked food only ignited after his first stay-over at his Uncle Ken’s farmhouse. Gavin had never realised that food could taste so good until he sampled the delights of his aunty Dorothy’s steak pie, followed by blueberry crumble. Gavin’s mum had brought him up on the suspicious delights of tinned food and cheap meals from the local freezer shop.

  Gavin’s mouth underwent orgasmic glee as he stuffed it full of pie, chips and mushy peas. The meat in the pie tasted like lamb and chicken. There was never a shortage of fresh meat in their fridge. Tom always looked after his two oldest friends. Then again, the butcher owed him big time for fixing up Tom’s knackered old Land Rover, a few weeks ago. He’d put in a lot of time and effort into sorting out that motor. It was only fair that Gavin should have his pick of the occasional choice cut of meat along with the odd bird throw in for good measure.

  “This is incredible!” he shouted, looking towards the kitchen. “You really have surpassed yourself, lass. I’ll tell you what, what say I nip down to the village first thing in the morning and pick you up a new telly?”

  He wouldn’t go to that rip off Roger either. Tom told him the other day that creepy Clarence wanted to sell his for a reasonable price. Gavin then slowly put the spoon back on the plate, why the hell was he shouting into the twatting kitchen? For crying out loud, he’d just come out of there and unless the bitch had squeezed herself in the fridge, Sarah wasn’t in there.

  “Where the fuck was she?”

  Gavin left the table, intending to finish his meal once he’d found his woman. He could not scoff another gob-full until he’d resolved this twatting mystery. Could she have gone upstairs to the bog? Yeah, that made sense. The bitch was always running up and down the stairs with that bladder of hers.

  Sarah was always whining on about her waterworks, suggesting that these troubles had started until he’d married her, there had been no direct implication but he knew the bitch blamed him. Admittedly, his fist family had been a little over enthusiastic with her down below bits in the early days of their marriage. Even so, it wasn’t his fault that she’d been born with frail insides.

  Gavin stood at the foot of the stairs and heaved a frustrated sigh at the sight of the open toilet door directly above him. She couldn’t be in there. Sarah always shut and bolted the door whenever she paid a visit. Fuck knows why, considering there were only two of them in the twatting house. There had been talk of bringing in baby Ellis into the world but he soon knocked that idea out of her silly head.

  “Oh, come on, you silly bitch, where the fuck are you? This has now gone beyond annoying.”

  He then heard something hit the floor right above his head. Gavin laughed, “So that’s where you’ve been hiding!”

  . Gavin slowly climbed the stairs. “You are so going to regret fucking me off!” he shouted.

  It had been a while since her behaviour demanded the full works but this incident was too serious to ignore. After the fist family had finished their dance, their downstairs neighbour would then be called out to play. If the bitch was still capable of moving then he’d get her to make him up another dinner.

  He reached the top of the stairs and peered into the bathroom just to make sure, Gavin then padded across to the spare room and placed his ear against the door.

  “Sarah, come out right now and I promise that I’ll go easy on you.”

  Gavin stepped back, he had no intention of going easy on her but she wasn’t to know that. She’d do as he ordered though, of that he was sure of

  Something thudded against the door on the other side.

  “So, that’s your reply is it?” He pictured the woman crouched in the corner of the room, surrounded by a collection of small objects. She’d gone through a moment of madness only once since they’d been married. After a rather viscous episode with Gavin’s fist family, she’d run into the kitchen screaming her silly little head off. When he’d followed the hysterical bitch, she assaulted him with an assortment of flying kitchen utensils.

  Something else thudded against the door. Gavin folded his arms; the stupid bitch had chosen the wrong room to pull this damn fool stunt. She’d be shit out of luck for decent ammunition in there. Apart from his collection of bike mags, the only other items of significant quantity were her large collection of soft toys. He figured that was what he was hearing hitting the door.

  “This is your last warning, bitch.”

  Another noise than caught the man’s ear. This one came from right outside the house. Oh, fuck! Some twatter was inside his beloved garage! He’d recognize the distinctive sound of his creaking garage door anywhere.

  “I’ll deal with you in a minute.” He growled.

  Gavin raced into the main bedroom and gazed out of the window, he was just in time to see his wife emerge from the garage, stop then look up to the window. She saw him and waved.

  He backed away from the window. “What the fuck is going on here?” Gavin grabbed the baseball ball that he kept beside his bed and crept towards the spare bedroom. He raised the bat above his head then slowly counted to three.

  Once he’d reached his desired number, the man raised his foot and slammed his boot against the handle. The door swung open and a silent cloud of black and grey feathers flew through the doorway and engulfed the shrieking man.

  Gavin staggered back, he dropped the bat and fell against the wall. Dozens of tiny pointed beaks belonging to some of Seeton’s missing bird population drilled into the man’s exposed skin surface, transforming his flesh into something that resembled tenderized beef steak.

  The man’s cries abruptly ceased when a sparrow flew into his open mouth and lodged itself deep in his throat.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Alison had been through way too much weird shit today to be fazed by this short-arsed bastard. Some psycho butcher threatening with a tiny cleaver didn’t even get into her top ten.

  “You should have stayed away, Dean, you and your plague.”

  “You ain’t making sense, Tom. Look, move out of my way and let us through. I’m in no mood for games.”

  “This is no game!” screamed the butcher. “You’ve killed our village with your filthy disease.”

  Alison couldn’t take this anymore, what the fuck was up with these people? She ran towards the idiot, screaming at the top of her voice. Alison had dropped the bat in the alley but its absence didn’t make a difference, Tom must have dismissed her as some inconsequential teenage nobody. His eyes turned to saucers, he about turned and ran back up the stairs.

  “Fucking coward,” she grinned.

  “Jesus, he could have stuck that in your head!”

  Alison shook her head, “Who him? The action man of Seeton? Give over. Our Sarah told me all about him, he talks big but he’s just a big pudding.”

  She watched the man scurry back towards the window.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed. For all Tom’s cowardice, it wouldn’t take him long to figure that he could just finish them both off by standing at the top of his stairs and fling his knives at them. She just hoped that he hadn’t thought of that one yet. Alison gazed up the stone steps; he’d yet to make a reappearance. Alison jumped when Dean tapped her on the shoulder.

  When she spun around, he pressed the cricket bat into her hands.

  “Now we can go.” He said.

  Alison kissed his grinning face and raced up the steps, just aching for that butcher to attempt another confrontation. They both reached the top without seeing him.

  “Where’s he gone?”

  Dean shrugged. “Who cares, look we have to get to my dad’s house. I need to get this stopped.”

  Alison leaned against the back wall and blinked, wait, what he said just then about you bringing this to Seeton. Are you telling me that all this madness is your fault?”

  The man shook his head. “Of course it isn’t my fault. I worked on the project but I didn’t release the fucking stuff.” The man started to cry. “Do you think I wanted this to f
ucking happen? Jesus, you have no fucking idea what stress I’m under here. Millions, maybe billions of people are going through torture because of what I’ve helped to create.” Dean ran up to her and grabbed both her hands. “I can stop this from spreading, maybe even reverse it but I sure as fuck can’t do it in here.”

  She didn’t know what to believe anymore. Then Alison took one look at that agonized expression and saw that he believed what he was saying. Even if there was just one grain of truth in his words, Alison realised that she had no other choice, she had to help him.

  “Where does your dad live?”

  The look of relief on the strange man’s face was tangible. Did he honestly think that she’d abandon him? It’s not as if she had anywhere else to go.

  Dean took her hand in his and pulled Alison towards the door that she guessed would lead to the shop.

  “What about Tom?” she asked. “He’ll be waiting for us and this time that nutter would have his metal friends with him.”

  “I used to have a mate called Gavin back in the old days. Always starting fights he was. Have a guess where Tom was when stuff kicked off.”

  Alison shrugged, not sure where he was going with this.”

  Dean smiled. “He hid under tables or behind a wall.” Dean grabbed the door handle; he then stared at the girl. “I’ll bet you a tenner that the yellow bozo hasn’t changed. He’s all mouth. He always has been”

  Alison sighed and followed him into the back of the shop. She hoped he was right about him not changing. Dean was betting both their lives on it. He stopped before the closed door, tapped the cricket bat with one hand; then grabbed the handle with the other one.

  “You were the one who called him a big pudding,” he whispered. “If he hasn’t run off, bop him one.”

  Alison grinned. “Bet on it.”

  “Are you ready?”

  Dean pulled the door open and rushed through, Alison followed close behind, she had no intention of losing him in the darkness.

  “I can’t see shit.” She muttered.

  “Christ on a bike, he’s boarded up the shop. No wonder it’s dark in here.”

  Alison looked over the man’s shoulder and star glimpses of starlight leaking through the gaps in the boards. “What’s he done that for?”

  “Hush,” he hissed. “I think I can hear him.”

  Her eyes were slowly getting used to the dark room. She found that the stairs had led them directly to the preparation area behind the counter. She put her hand out and felt another wooden door frame next to this one. She guessed that the other door either led to the butcher’s meat freezers or to his living room. Could he be hiding in there? Alison hoped so; she wanted to get out of this spooky shop as quickly as possible without bumping into him again.

  The customer’s view of the butchers shop formed in her mind. Her mum used to bring Alison in here every Saturday. She remembered gazing in fascination at the butcher’s assorted collection of silver instruments hung up at the back of the shop. She turned and walked forward two paces. The butcher always hung the largest knife at the end. To the eyes of a seven year old, that knife was huge, more like a weapon that a medieval knight would use to cut down his enemies.

  She raised her arm and moved closer to the back wall until her hand made contact with the cold tiles. It didn’t take her propping fingers long to encounter the razor sharp steel blade.

  “Bingo!” she whispered. Alison laid the bat down on the wooden block beside her and gently lifted the knife down. If that butcher was still in the shop then he may have second thoughts of tying anything stupid when he saw a mental teenager brandishing a big knife.

  Alison turned around; her thoughts of finding another knife for Dean left her when she spotted a larger, moving shadow on the other side of the counter.

  “Look out!” she cried. Alison picked up the bat and slammed it down. The counter shattered, spraying shards of glass across the shop. She rushed back to Dean and saw the butcher crawling on all fours towards the door. He glanced back, squealed and threw himself towards the door. Alison guessed that Tom had just spotted the knife.

  “Get the fuck away from the door!” shouted Dean.

  “Just you wait until I tell the others,” he shouted, reaching for the door handle. “Anne was right about you. The others will sort you out. See if they don’t. Who’s going to pay for a new counter top, that’s what I’d like to know.”

  Dean ran towards the man. Tom cried out and pulled open the door. Alison watched in horror as the butcher ran straight into somebody stood right outside the shop. The figure’s arms wrapped around the shrieking butcher and its head dived down and bit into Tom’s face.

  The figure then dragged the limb body out into the street, Alison gasped and the starlight illuminated its distorted features. “Oh, Jesus, that’s the old woman from the general store.”

  Dean nodded, “Mrs. Chatsworth.”

  They both crept up to the open door. Alison raised the knife; she intended to shove the business end straight through her eye.

  Dean grabbed her arm. “Don’t.” he whispered. “It’s not her fault.”

  The scientist released her arm and slowly edged around the doorframe, onto the pavement. She followed him, keeping well away from the dead butcher’s body and the old woman hung over him. Alison’s stomach rolled over as the ghoul bent down and fastened her mouth around Tom’s. They looked like a grotesque pair of lovers. The old woman then pulled her head back, between her clenched teeth, was the butcher’s tongue.

  She turned away and followed Dean away from the shop.

  “This is almost over. My dad’s house is at the top of the hill, it’s only a minute from here.” Dean turned his head and looked back, “She’ll be back to normal, Alison. As well as everyone else who’s been infected.”

  Alison hoped to Christ he knew what he was doing, she thought they’d been bloody lucky to last this long. Their luck wouldn’t last forever. She glanced around, thankful that the street was devoid of people, living or dead. She hoped it would stay that way.

  “Here we go,” he announced, opening the gate.

  No lights shone from the windows. Alison took that as a sign that their luck was still holding out. She had no wish to bump into Dean’s old man or, for that matter, any other villager. That teacher had bound to have found other locals by now. Fuck knows what poisonous lies that bastard must have spread. Thinking back to what the butcher had said, said guessed that he’d found at least somebody.

  The scientist unlocked the front door and ushered Alison into the dark house.

  “Dean, where’s the bathroom?”

  He directed her to the foot of the stairs. “It’s the first door at the top of the stairs.”

  She gave the man a kiss on the cheek and raced up the steps. She so needed to clean the gunk off her hands and face. The irony of her desire was not lost on her. She’d spent the last couple of years not giving a shit about her body and then, all of a sudden, she meets a man who she actually fancies and all of a sudden she wants to freshen up. Alison entered the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

  “Jesus, did I really think that? Come on, lass. Get a grip. We’re in the middle of Armageddon and you’re getting all hormonal?” Alison turned on the hot tap and splashed water over her face. “You are one weird woman. You know that, don’t you?”

  She sighed and left the bathroom wondering when this madness would be over. Alison peered over the banister, trying to catch sight of Dean; then she jerked her head towards the open window at the end of the landing and gasped. Oh crap, there were people in the garden. Alison ran to the window and gazed down the sneering face of the fat gangster stared back at her. He grinned and waved.

  Alison ran back to the top of the stairs, “Dean! Where are you?” There was no reply. She saw the front door was still closed. “What are they playing at?” She laughed bitterly, it’s not like they could get away. Alison raced down the stairs, refusing to give up so easily, there must be a back
door.

  Before she reached the bottom of the stairs, a shadow reached out from behind the coat hooks and grabbed Alison’s slender neck. The ugly face of one of the gangster’s lackey’s peered out from behind a parka.

  “Boo.” He said.

  The man dragged her down the remaining steps, put his thick arm around Alison and pushed her through a door and into the living room. The other lackey had Dean in an arm-lock.

  Stood beside the fireplace were an old man and a middle-aged woman. Alison recognised the woman; she used to teach at the primary school. The woman glared at Alison.

  “Come on, dad,” shouted Dean, “Tell this dickhead to get off me.”

  The scientist screamed when the man holding him, tightened his grip.

  The old man shook his head. “You’ve brought this on yourself, son. You should have stayed in London.”

  Alison watched the witch nod her head, smiling. She grabbed the old man’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “Hello, Alison. It’s been a while.”

  She twisted her head and saw the fat gangster had walked in. The teacher stood behind him.

  Alison screamed and spat at the pair of them. The gangster just shook his head; he wiped her saliva off his face then walked between the pair of them.

  “Jacob, take them both outside and get rid of them. Be subtle about it please, no gunshots.”

  She watched the lackey holding Dean, grin, then he pushed Dean past her and out of the house. The one holding her followed. She tried to struggle but it was useless, he just picked Alison up and carried her out into the night.

  “Get the fuck off me.” She growled. “I’ve been infected; one scratch from me is all it will take.”

  She then saw Dean, look at her, she thought he was going to tell her that he loved her; instead he just grinned and winked. He then brought his heal down on the big man’s foot. The gangsters howled in agony and let Dean go.