Terrifying Tales of Terror #2 – Bad day for Brains

October 26, 2010

I shambled into the living room where my wife laid waiting on the blood soaked coach.

“Brains?” Joleta asked hopefully.

I could only shake my head. “Bad day for Braiiiiins.”

“Awwwww” Joleta whined before dragging her torso over to the lounge chair and curling up into a ball.

Damn if there hasn’t been a lot of bad days for brains since Joleta done got had her legs sheared off by that so called “zombie hunter” fella with his damn axes and road flares and whatnot. Before HE showed up…. back in the good old days, me and Joleta had been a brain hunting force! We was smashing and eating so many brains that we could almost function at a normal human level… well normal for the residents of ‘Jumpin’ Jimmy’s Trailer Park and Barrel Dump’ before “the big spill” anyway.

We were what the humans considered the worst kind of zombie, FAST zombies.

Heck, old Joleta once used to use those long, sexy, still attached to her legs to chase down a jogger I swear to god. You shoulda seen the look on the face of that feller. All screamin and whatnot. Good brains too. They were just the right amount of squish in em.

My name is Digger Dan. People call me that cause I used to do most of the digging in the barrel dumping section of the trailer park. In return I would get a small stipend and a real good deal on my lot for my Trailer.

We didn’t have one of them fancy double-wides, we had what they call a One and a halfer. My brother Choppin Jim modificated it up by cutting a shed in half and affixin it all up on the side. All we had to do was put carpet remnants on every surface inside and we had ourselves a genuine rumpus room.

Me and Joleta used to rumpus up a storm in that room. Never did make no babby though. Probably cause of me being too much of a man or somethin.

Anyway, when I first poked a hole in them special drug company barrels and done turned into a zombie, I was happy as hell. I could kill anyone and I was damn hard to kill my own self. Then I poured some of that stuff on Joleta and she wasn’t quite so happy, but I didn’t eat none of her brains so she can just shut the hell up about it.

Those first few months were like a shang-grid-lock of brain eatin fun. We did our first double brain hunt with Mark and Gladys Martin from next door.  They used to let their damn dog crap right in front of our shed. (a different shed than our rumpus room shed but also carpet remnanted up the wazoo for class and practicality)

I waited until dark then I walked over and picked their damn dog right up over my head and threw him right in their damn window. They were not happy about that course of events I can tell you. Then big Mark comes out with a baseball bat like he’s tough. I showed him what tough was when I let him hit me right in the head then I kept on a comin.

Whack! Whack! He kept swingin and I kept comin. “You dealin with a zombie now fool!” is what I would have said had my jaw been in place. He about peed himself when I finally put my cold dead hands on him, snapped my jaw back into place and put a chompin on his forehead like you wouldn’t believe.

I was about incisor deep in his brain pan when Joleta comes flyin out of nowhere to jump up off the hood of our old Camaro about seven feet up in the air swear to god and right through the broken front window to tackle the screaming Gladys.  I looked up just to watch her bite off that screaming biatches ear so she could suck the brains out slowly.

It were great.

We did stuff like that like a bunch a times. We charged through a hail of bullets to eat Sheriff Reggie and Deputy Dave. We ate a priests brains. He was all throwing holy water at us and waving his cross while we were all like “Say it don’t spray it god dude, give us some brains.”

Thems were some good times.

Then that damned “zombie hunter” showed up. It weren’t long after we had eaten up the whole Waffle King restaurant breakfast rush during Super Sausage week and I had had me my first brains with syrup on them… (not as good as you would think) when we first saw him.

We knew he was a strange bird because he wasn’t runnin away or screamin or nothin. He was a big muscley fella who just kept pulling all these different weapons out of the trunk of his Black ’75 Nova.   What a sweet ass car that was.  The only one that had me a little worried was the big ass flamethrower he had pulled out of the trunk but just as he got it out, Joleta was on him like sticky thangs on somethin that is very receptive to those aforementioned sticky thangs.

When I got there I thought Joleta had done had the battle already won when that feller did some sort of rolling flippy thing I never did see before. Well, it knocked poor Joleta up into the air and as she was flipping back over he chopped both of poor Joleta’s legs off mid-thigh with one big swing of this huge double headed axe he had pulled out from the underneath his car.   How cool is that shit?  Between the car and the weapons and the coat and the fighting moves, this dude was a total bad ass! I decided that the honorable thing to do at that point would be to throw a handful of sand in his eyes, pick up the screamin part of Joleta and skiddadle the hell out of there. So I did and we’ve been laying low ever since.

The thing is, the longer we go without brains, the slower we get which totally sucks ass. I didn’t realize just how many brains Joleta was bringin in. Now she’s just a useless, legless slow zombie. That’s why she can’t have any brains. You see, it’s always a bad day for brains for Joleta. I need the brains. That hunter ain’t going to quit. I jus know that he is out there lookin for us. For me. I need to keep my speed up as much as I can.

When that feller shows up I got a little surprise. A little bit of that juice that came from the drug company barrels. The stuff that made me and Joleta great.

I’m fixin to get myself a new partner… one with a badass car.


Terrifying tales of terror! Chamber 1- Poor Dead Steve’s Hand

October 12, 2010

It’s Halloween time so I am going to terrify you with the first of my “Terrifying Tales of Terror”!  Why not?

Chamber 1:  Poor Dead Steve’s Hand

Janet was trapped in the kitchen, as the twisted severed hand scrabbled and clawed towards her across her fabulous faux Linoleum floor.

As the gnarled and clawed fingers struggled to find purchase on the smooth surface in order to reach her, Janet couldn’t help but flash a bit of an annoyance toward dead her poor dead Steve for questioning her taste in wanting ruby, purple, and gold flakes and brave, bold swirls on a subtle mauve background.  That bastard had wanted “regular linoleum” as if some backwater linoleum pattern designer could hope to match her sense of style!

Poor dead Steve’s severed hand had now adopted a flip-flopping motion in a vain attempt to gain some momentum across the recently waxed expanse… splattering blood with each flop.  Just Great!  Now the splatter has gotten on the previously unstained hardwood cabinets (not her choice, she had wanted that classy tattooed leather cover) and all the way up to her beloved “Rooster Buddies” tea-towel.  It’s not like those go on sale everyday down at the Roosters N’ Such at the mall.

Shaking off her fury and terror, Janet realized that there was no way out of the kitchen that didn’t involve getting close to the surprisingly spry disembodied hand.  Janet was starting to feel a tinge of regret for butchering poor, not dead yet, Steve, burying him in the garden then having that ritualistic orgy involving a witch-doctor, a witch-nurse, a warlock, two Druids, a Baptist, and a curious schoolmarm on top of his freshly buried corpse.

Sure, like most things that start on Facebook, it seemed like a good idea at the time, but in retrospect…  I mean, just look at this kitchen now!  Even in his unholy and unnatural bid for vengeance from beyond the grave, Steve was a slob.

Steve’s hand flopped forward once again.  Eight to fourteen more flips and it would be all over for Janet.  Or would it?  Janet shook her head and rolled her eyes at her own foolishness.  What was she scared of exactly?  It was just a hand.  She was a whole person with access to large bowls with lids on them.

“HA!” she yelled at the struggling hand as she grabbed a container from the cupboard.  She hoped that the famous “Burp-Ware” guarantee that it will “seal in ANYTHING” included animated bits of the undead but figured that if it didn’t, she could take it back to K-Mart for a refund and pick up that sweet bright pink blender she saw in the paper.

CLAMP.  Oh hell.  It had reached her ankle.  No matter, she was in control of herself now.  It was surprisingly strong as it  began to pinch her calf when she plucked it off using some Rooster festooned bar-be-cue tongs.  Victory!  She held it up to her face and taunted the squirming hand..  “You think you can scare me Steve?”  The hand flipped her off.  “Well I’m glad you’re dead!” she screamed and cackled. She began dancing and bobbing the hand in front of her face.  “Ohhh… I’m such a scary haaaaand.  ooooooooo – DAMN!”  The last part was cut off as Steve’s hand had flicked her right in the nose hard enough to really sting.

“All Right!  Into the container with you!” Janet sneered.  Slam-pop-seal-burp and that was that.  Janet could bury the nasty hand back in the Garden and maybe get together a zombie hand banishment spell orgy together via twitter.  (what else is twitter good for?)

It wasn’t until she heard the squishy footstep and smelled the rotten, putrid stench of too much Axe body spray (also death) coming from behind her that Janet thought about the rest of dead Steve’s body. She had only cut off the one hand so the rest should be mostly intact.

CLAMP.


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