When the Zombie Walk came to Simon’s neighbourhood, it was like a wonderful dream. “At last, people who really GET me!” he thought. Sadly, in a few hours, it was all over. “I’m a nerd again… Just like the end of The Breakfast Club.” Simon sighed deeply and resumed crunching into the back of the mailman’s head.
Colin was both terrified and intrigued when he learned that the spirit of his dead sister had started a blog. “What horrors?”, he wondered. “What insights will be revealed from beyond the grave? What effect will that have on my own humanity… to peek behind the curtain.” Turns out it was mostly a bunch of photos of empty dinner plates.
Maybe he’s just old-fashioned… or maybe there was a little sublimated racism going on… but Professor Caleb just had a hard time swallowing his TA’s vehement assertion that she should be considered “multiracial” just because she’s a werewolf.
Martin looked from his father’s pitchfork to his father’s cold, dull eyes. His father’s mouth spoke. “So yousis sayin thut alls this carryin on with the ritualizin and suchforth is all abawt some octerpuss-faced god-critter what’s sleepin and is fixin ta wake up?” His father’s body bent, spit and wheezed a laugh. “Well shit son! Here’s I was ta thinkin ya wuz some sorta gay.” Martin forced a weak smile and turned his gaze back to the fire… And beyond that, to the carvings on the sacred rock… Those all-important symbols in that long forgotten language… The appeasements to the Ancient Almighty Beings… Soon? Yes. Soon. Soon the small people of this realm will see their piteous lives for what they are . The Breath of The Old Gods… The Cleansing Wind, will soon shake the trees. Fire shall be The Mother of All Eyes. The earth will split and the Great and Timeless Sleeper shall awake and bring forth His terrible lessons! Also… of course Martin was gay! I mean, jesus christ how could his father not see that? Like, seriously? He had a boyfriend who came to thanksgiving AND christmas. Gay. Obviously totally gay.
‘Honey, either your mother has made another one of her “surprise visits” or there is a hideous spectral hag, with dead eyes and a wide-mouthed grimace frozen on its face, crouching in the bedroom closet. He he he… Sorry, babe. I couldn’t resist… but seriously… there is something in the closet.’
So let me get this straight… you requested to be buried with this thing, and your son messed up and forgot, so now your restless spirit wanders the earth in an undying agonizing search for it? And this is a large brass broach in the shape of a ladybug? Nope. Haven’t seen it.