True Lice: A Zombie Parody

Pink – ‘U and Ur Hand’ original video…

Thank you, Justin!” I remember to say, retrieving the clockwork hand, while he rolls up the little doormat and tucks it under one arm. Although I’m not sure I fancy another stroll through the hen-house, mingling with the monitor lizards again straight away – Higham Dry Junior might have to wait until I’ve at least had a lie down and several Sloe Gin Slings before getting his toy back. “How can I repay you?”

“Oh…” He pauses and looks thoughtful, and it occurs to me that making open cavalier offers to the rickshaw pilot might be unwise. “I like your little clockwork thing…”

“What?” I was right.

How stupid am I? I can’t give him the clockwork hand!

“Yes, with the little sparkly light,” he says. “I saw you pointing it at aircraft carrier. Flash-flash. Good for signalling.”

“Oh…” Relief bursts inside me. Fortunately, my bladder and everything else in there is empty. “The Trevor Baylis torch! Yes, of course…”

I pull it out of my pocket and pass it to him. He gives it an experimental twirl and a click on-and-off, looking very pleased.

“This good for busy air-traffic,” he says. “I make special sequence for ‘Get out of way, Stupid!’ But not tell anyone else what it is…”

“Phew,” I say, holding up the clockwork hand. “For a moment, I thought you meant this…”

“Oh, really?” His eyebrows go up. “Well, if you insist…”

And he snatches it from my grasp, and runs out of the front door.

“You get back here, Justin Time!” I yell angrily.

“And don’t forget, your friend promised to cook me dinner as well!” he calls over his shoulder. “Goat curry!”

Damn, damn, damn! And as I hurry after him, I hear an engine start.

Oh no – the Trevor Baylis torch was attached to my keys!

I tumble down the impressive stone steps, as my poor little Pizza Heaven scooter races away down the drive.

“No!” I shout, struggling back upright and spitting out gravel. Already, I’m getting flashbacks of musical push-along cart, and Old MacDonald Had A Farm. “No, no, no!”

“Has he gone?” Frankenminky asks, appearing in the doorway. “I didn’t even get his number…”

Something nudges me sharply in the behind.

Old MacDonald had a goat

“Baaahhh,” bleats the billy goat, giving me the drunken eye.

“Right,” I say. “I’ve ridden camels, clams, donkeys and doormats today!”

I grab the goat by the curly horns, and lean forward to whisper in its bearded ear.

“We are going to follow that scooter,” I tell it. “And in exchange, you will not become my housemate’s special, Goat à la Soggy Cheerios!”

I just remember to lift my feet off the ground, as the indignant billy goat bolts. We skid at the end of the driveway, and give chase down the main road.

How could I have been so stupid?! I should have learned by now that he isn’t to be trusted!

Justin must know we are on his tail, because he takes a short-cut through the park on the way into town. A park full of Saturday morning strollers, duck-feeders, and unwary fairground visitors…

Oh no – so many innocent bystanders…

My billy goat pounds after him untiringly, stopping only to divest a small child of its ice-cream.

The scooter, meanwhile, has become stuck on the Merry-Go-Round between a Cinderella pumpkin carriage and a fibreglass rocket, and Justin finds himself giving rides to children who pull on his whiskers and insist on calling him Ali Baba.

“Stop!” I shout, once my goat has polished off a ball of candyfloss and a blue raspberry Slurpie.

“Haha!” Justin cries, finally managing to kick the scooter free of the ride, and vanishing into the mirror maze.

We clatter after him, like the proverbial bull into a china shop. A china shop full of incredibly sticky children, and the occasional excitable puppy.

“I know you are in here, Justin!” I shout at my many distorted reflections. I already know what my goat is thinking – it’s thinking that maybe that last Guinness was one too many. “I can smell the two-stroke oil! Give back the clockwork hand! That was given to me to look after!”

“Can I pat your horsey?” asks a little girl with Elastoplast covering one lens of her glasses.

“My Dad says your pizzas are always cold,” adds her brother informatively, who is wearing a striped jersey with his spectacles, in a typically mean parental act of inferring that their child resembles Waldo.

“Well,” I say, while the billy goat receives his scratch around the ears magnanimously. “You tell your Dad that when his tips turn out to be legal tender in this country, maybe his pizzas will magically turn up on time.”

“Just in time?” says the little boy.

“Where?!” I look all around, but only see more reflections. “Where’s Justin Time?”

“Who?” asks the little girl.

“Creepy man, evil laugh, riding a motor scooter.” I struggle for descriptions that match First Grade interpretation. “Ali Baba!

Both the children point, to a gap in the mirrors that only small (and possibly bifocally-enhanced) eyes would notice.

I see a flash of Pizza Heaven top-box whizzing past.

“Tell your Dad the next pizza is free,” I say, and spur my steed to follow. “With onion rings!”

We gallop out of the maze, in time to see Justin and the scooter mount the Helter-Skelter, going up the spiralling slide the wrong way…

I race to the gate, but the attendant blocks my path and tells me my goat isn’t tall enough.

“No!” I scream, as Justin reaches the top, revs the tiny engine, and opens the throttle.

The Pizza Heaven scooter flies through the air, high above the funfair.

The billy goat butts the attendant out of the way, and we dash for the steps…

In slow motion, I watch the poor little work scooter falling, falling – the poor children beneath running, scattering, as fast as their slippery socks will allow…

We’ll never reach the top before it…

The scooter lands smack in the middle of the bouncy castle, which nearly folds up double. And then springs back up, catapulting Justin Time far over the treetops beyond, and out of sight.

“Jump!” I shout at the billy goat. “He mustn’t get away!”

But instead, my billy goat merely joins the queue at the top of the steps, to slide down the Helter-Skelter the more usual way.

“Oh my God, you are such a pussy!” I grumble, once we reach the bottom.

The goat takes no notice, but rewards itself with a bag of popcorn from a passing Disney princess.

“Never mind,” says the princess’s big sister, as she starts to cry. “Look up in the sky – at the lovely rainbow…”

I look up too, and pretty soon I’m crying as well.

Horseback/motorcycle chase scene from ‘True Lies’ – Enjoy 🙂

More mindless mayhem: The Zombie Adventures of Sarah Bellum

Also available for all other devices, and online reading, on Smashwords


Transmogrifiers: A Zombie Parody

Nat King Cole – ‘When I Fall in Love’ original…

“Quite a nice patio ornament,” says Crispin, mildly.

That’s if you make it as far as the new body,” says Higham Dry Senior’s voice, from within the impressive exoskeleton of finest Swiss watchmaker’s armour. “Without becoming tapas!”

Only one of his arms armoured in the incomplete suit, he gives a yank on the captive tentacle, overbalancing the zombie Queen, and upsetting Beneficience’s careful dried floral display around my still-inert housemate.

Crispin’s cousin loses her tether, tosses aside the olive branch, and seizes a large knife from the altar, advancing on her restrained husband, Luke.

Is it too late to agree to mediation and couples therapy?” Luke suggests, as she raises the knife.

No!” I shout, and am dumbfounded, as Crispin echoes my cry.

Both of us dive to Luke’s salvation, with differing agendas.

Murderer!” I shout.

Not without the formal ceremony!” Crispin hollers.

While Crispin wrestles with his cousin for possession of the knife, I thrust the burning torch at the attendant with the clockwork hand, before he can intervene again. He dodges to the far side of the altar, causing me to collide with the body of Miss Air-Head, as I struggle to reach him.

Give that back!” I squeal at him, digging into Whatsername‘s ribcage with my elbow as I flail forwards. “It was given to me to look after!”

A hiccup beneath me almost goes unnoticed.

Sarah…” says my housemate. “What’s going on? Where’s Carvery?”

Oh, God – not now!

Get down, get down!” I hiss at her, pulling her clear of the plinth. “Sshhh! They want to use your body as a zombie Queen Squidmorph host! They mustn’t know you’re awake!”

That queen over there?” She points over my shoulder.

No, no – that’s Homer. Remember? He just wants to be a prom queen,” I reassure her. “That one, over the other side. Being dragged around by her tentacle, by the big angry cyborg. Long story.”

Why is there a goat and a donkey watching?” she asks. “And who is that man with his head under the rug? Where is Carvery?”

I really don’t know which of those questions I’d rather answer least.

I have to get the clockwork hand back, and try to get us home!” I whisper, hurriedly. “Ace is here somewhere…” Oh, yes. I spot him surreptitiously attempting to untie Luke from the wooden cross – while Crispin and Beneficience fight over his potential as a sacrifice – kicking out at any attendant zombies who interfere. “The man under the rug is…”

I have a brainwave, and hurry over to Justin Time. He is pinned to the floor by the booted feet of two of Higham Dry’s bounty hunters upon his driving cape and still at gunpoint by the Naval officer, resolutely hiding his head under the small mat.

I lift up one corner, and he screams.

Justin,” I greet him. “Can you summon the rickshaw?”

My wife smash all of them up already!” he rages. “I am grounded!”

But I’ve seen rugs, captive on the aircraft-carrier outside…” I begin. “Is that your wife General Lissima’s boat? The big Naval ship? Could we get away from here on just a flying carpet?”

You should be so lucky!” Justin scoffs. “You never sneak one past her! Believe me, every day I have tried! Sometimes four, no, six times a day!”

Lady Glandula is using her attendants as ammunition, seizing the poor helpless zombies by the legs and battering them against Higham Dry Senior’s armoured hull. He deflects them effortlessly, scattering spare parts. My housemate screams as a dusty skull rolls over her foot.

Perhaps you should be the one thinking about mediation and counselling?” Higham Dry’s robotic voice chuckles, as he gives her tentacle a whip-crack, causing her to drop the enormous urn she had been poised to throw.

The gods and I do not see eye-to-eye!” she spits.

Shouldn’t have declared war on him while you were alive, then, should you?” Higham Dry replies, winding her tentacle around a pillar to deliver a body-blow. “You wouldn’t have had to run away to Egypt in the first place. Or had the most important Incantations taken away from you.”

Atum took everything!” she roars, and the pillar crumbles as she contracts the tentacle, breaking free. “To the bottom of the ocean! Everything that was mine! My country! My culture! My business! My empire!”

I can see where Crispin gets his monopoly fixation from,” Ace’s voice joins us.

Ace!” I gasp. “Where’s Luke?”

Said he was going to sort out his marriage.” Ace looks dubious. “I hope that means he’s got a bigger knife than she does.”

I look across at the altar. Crispin and Beneficience are still tussling with the sacrificial tools. Having disarmed one another several times already, they are now down to the hooks and the leather belt-roll, in a stroppy Tug O’War that I can clearly see harks back to their childhood as merely playful cousins.

Of Luke, there is no sign.

I need to get the clockwork hand back,” I say. “I think it might be able to stop them…”

I have a better idea,” says Justin Time’s Naval officer guard. We look up in surprise, and she pulls off her dark peaked cap. Before I can react, she has twitched the little leather-bound diary out of my hand. “How about you all wait here with Higham Dry Senior’s men, and I’ll get the clockwork hand back?”

General Lissima!” I cry out. No!

I told you,” Justin Time groans into his comfort-rug, as his wife runs off with the precious diary, grinning. “I try to sneak one past her many times! She always one sucker ahead!”

Over by the pedestal, Crispin and Beneficience knock the remainder of the floral display off the altar, and roll around inelegantly on the floor.

Mine!” shrieks Beneficience, currently on top, with Crispin compressed beneath her suffocating bosom.

Yield!” Crispin manages to blurt out, before his head disappears again under an enormous polka-dot corsage.

Play nicely, kids,” Ace remarks, a statement which does something else weird to my ovaries. “Should we do something?”

Oh, yes, I’m thinking – but it’s probably not appropriate right now.

I wouldn’t even know whose side we’re on at the present moment,” I admit.

The one where none of us ends up with more alien squid tentacle butt plugs than we started out with,” Ace reminds me.

I glance up at the three bounty hunters guarding us, wishing I knew what their weaknesses are…

“‘When I fall in love, it will be for ever…’”

The tussle at the foot of the pedestal becomes a frozen tableau.

“‘Or I’ll never fall in love…’”

Beneficience raises her head uncertainly.

Gaylord?” she snaps. “Is that you?”

Homer, ever vigilant for a song and dance number, hurries to the foot of the steps leading up the pedestal, and gestures upward with his pom-poms.

At the top, his bow-tie and cuffs straightened, a single dead rose from the altar clutched between his hands, Luke is singing to the rafters.

Ooh, that lovely!” Higham Dry Senior the cyborg approves, windmilling an unfortunate zombie attendant in each hand like a nunchaku expert. “It take a hard woman to reject a man with great big lungs like those!”

Crispin struggles free from beneath his plus-sized cousin, and looks wildly at the vacant altar and suspended wooden cross of torture.

Nooo!” he cries, pitifully. “The ceremony – all ruined!”

No!” screams Lady Glandula, now using her tentacle to defend against Higham Dry’s attack. “Make him stop!”

Yesss,” hisses another voice, and I look in its direction to see Mrs. Time, General Cutthroat Liss, clockwork hand in her grasp and stripping the flesh from the zombie still hanging onto it with her own tentacle.

The gray skin and connective tissue slides off the bones easily, like a well-cooked spare rib.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to watch Man v. Lunch again…

I’ll go after the General and the clockwork hand,” says Ace, close to my ear. “You stay here with Whatserface and find a way to distract the bounty hunters.”

How?” I demand, looking at my useless companions.

Justin Time with his head still stubbornly under the pointless rug. My housemate Shithead, huddling up between the drunk billy goat and the albino donkey. And an even less helpful Carvery Slaughter – turned to stone. My heart sinks.

I don’t think you can retrieve DNA samples from stone… what a waste…

Oh, Gaylord…” says Beneficience, a tear in her eye and clasping her breast, as Luke sings on. “Can you forgive me?”

The panels in the great wooden pyramid start to creak, and slide apart, allowing bright shafts of sunlight through. Slowly, the structure retracts into the deck of the giant barge.

You’ll think of something,” Ace assures me.

I give up. What do Higham Dry’s bounty hunters really want…?

As a last resort, I snatch the rug from Justin Time’s head, and spin it away across the deck as he scrabbles to retain it.

Justin Time is escaping!” I yell. “Trying to steal that doormat! Stop him!”

It works – the three bounty hunters launch themselves after the errant rickshaw pilot, and pin him to the floor. Ace dashes off in the other direction.

It’s nothing!” Justin Time protests, struggling. “A trinket! A souvenir! Nothing special! Not prototype, or anything important like that!”

The last of the panels is now flush with the deck, and my housemate squints up into the daylight.

Oh, no,” she moans vaguely. “It’s going to rain.”

Pop Quim, hopscotch!” says Higham Dry, throwing another unlucky zombie, javelin-style, at Lady Glandula. “If a man sing up a storm, who remember to bring umbrella?”

Nooo!” she shouts. “Make him stop singing!

I look up at the sky, into a gathering funnel of gunmetal-gray cloud. The Great Barge, usually as steady as a rock, begins to quiver.

Not bad, lovely boy…” I echo. My voice is barely audible, even to my own ears. “Louder…”

‘Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen’ trailer – Enjoy 🙂

Read on for more mindless mayhem – see below…

The Zombie Adventures of Sarah Bellum

More mindless mayhem: The Zombie Adventures of Sarah Bellum

Also available for all other devices, and online reading, on Smashwords

Iron Mandible: A Zombie Parody

Iron Maiden vs. Bon Marley – Exodus/Revelations mash-up…

Ace and Carvery are the first to respond to Higham Dry Senior’s call for assistance, untangling him from the bounty hunters and dusting him down. Beneficience Vassally Dry wrings her hands and cries in between beating Luke on the cross, and Crispin just looks embarrassed, like a seven-year-old caught playing in his father’s shed.

What did I miss?” demands Higham Dry, straightening his robes and coughing like a chimney-sweep. “Is the old trout awake yet? Ah, Justin Time, still alive, I see. We will have to do something about that as well.”

Mercy!” yells Justin Time, throwing himself prone onto the floor. The billy goat, who had been loitering nonchalantly behind him, bleats in panic, and dives beyond a pillar.

Grandpappy,” says Crispin, clearing his throat bravely. “You know it has to be done.”

Pooh!” grouches the old man, and beats his hacking chest a few times. A clockwork cuckoo appears from his breast pocket and squeaks out a chime, along with a few centuries’ worth of dust. “Nobody care anymore, my boy! They all either drunk or blowing stuff up! No place in the world for fancy women now! The only thing they good for the curing, is of being teetotal and pacifist!”

Hear, hear!” Luke and Justin burble, in unison.

Ouuuch,” Homer agrees sadly, looking down at the remains of his prom dress.

But, Grandpappy,” Crispin continues, while Higham Dry Senior hobbles over to inspect the body of my housemate, Twatface, displayed on the wooden altar. “If a reconciliation could be made and the undead curse lifted, there would be no more fighting. Just good trade routes for business.”

You live in rose-tinted goldfish-bowl, Crispin.” Higham Dry prods my housemate’s body with his carved bone walking-stick. “All work and no play make a dull criminal record! Why you so loyal to your mother? Let her rest in pieces like the others! Make your own new friends and playthings. No room in the world for dead old hoarders and their fancy-schmancy loot. I told you when you little, growing boy need to eat more fish and seafood. Grow your own braiiinsss.”

The elderly zombie puffs his way over to me, nodding more approvingly – or perhaps just arthritically.

You still looking for your first time, young lady?” he enquires, his eyes bright with insinuation. “Don’t waste it waiting for young Crispin. He only interested in unsound medical advice.”

And he pats my arm, reassuringly. For a second I imagine the clockwork hand has responded to his touch – but as I look down at it – still glowing, and still nothing.

I will prove or disprove those theories, Grandpappy,” says Crispin, obstinately. “But not by harbouring fear of the unknown. Only the brave succeed!”

Harrumph,” says Higham Dry Senior, unconvinced. “Only succeed in catching all diseases known to mankind – and discovering new ways to die, not even tested out on Justin Time yet…”

Mercy!” Justin Time chews on the planks beneath him, sobbing.

Crispin gestures to the attendant zombies, who pull levers on either side of the tall pedestal. The upper part splits vertically, and opens.

As the wooden panels retreat into the pedestal, there above us, in all her frozen black onyx stony glory, is the dreaded Lady Glandula de Bartholine – Crispin and Homer’s mother.

Still beautiful – but now, still more evil.

Do you know what?” Ace remarks. “I don’t think I fancy it a second time.”

I agree, she looking quite dusty now!” Higham Dry cackles, and points to my housemate on the altar below. “No wonder she looking for a new body to park her fat old tentacle in.”

What?” Carvery demands. “She’s planning on moving in there? No fucking way!”

Oh, you didn’t know? She been hanging on to this one for a long time. It waaaay past its Use By date,” Higham Dry nods. “Hermit Squidmorphs don’t usually live so long in one body, but she pick up this old Dry family carcass from the tombs of Ancient Egypt. They famous for hanging onto afterlife indefinitely. I think her Incantations run out though. There were some missing already, when this body discovered. Without all of the spells, eventually the Shades of the Dead run you to ground and you neither live forever nor pass into the Field of Reeds. That means heaven, for all you heathen breathers.”

Ace,” says Carvery. “I told you, you did a zombie Queen with one up the spout already.”

Get used to the idea,” Ace tells him, indicating Miss Fuckwit’s currently-vacant body on the altar. “You’re up next.”

Crispin said she was a Siren!” I gasp. “Not a Squidmorph!”

Higham Dry shrugs.

Same difference.” He waggles his hand back and forth, ponderously. “They start out small and pink with little hooks – then grow big and ugly with suckers… beautiful singing voices. Make your nose bleed.” He sighs and looks misty-eyed for a moment – or it could just be the cataracts. “Of course, no-one ever survive encounter with Sirens in the old days to describe the tentacles. Crispin probably tell you that already. He probably not tell you about the Squidmorph part, in case you the only spare body handy when you get back here. His mother very fussy, but any port in a storm… Pretty soon she get too big for human host anyway. Have to start looking for next size up.”

I can’t believe it. First Crispin thinks my virginity is a likely cure for zombification – and now it sounds like his Plan B was to turn me over to his own mother, as a potential evil Squidmorph host! Maybe even both!

My stomach lurches horribly. I don’t even know where to begin, with all that’s wrong with this picture…

Prompted by Crispin, one of the attendant zombies in the backless red leather chaps approaches me, and with one deft twist, unclips the bejewelled clockwork hand from my arm.

No!” I shout, as he marches away with it, towards the altar. “That was given to me to look after!”

No!” shouts Beneficience Vassally Dry. “Sacrifice first!”

Ooh…” Higham Dry Senior leans over, suddenly distracted, to peer intently at my cleavage. “You find finest Swiss watchmaker! He make all of old man’s innards, you know!”

Excuse me?” I reply, startled.

I look down, to see the Swiss watchmaker’s armour, shrunk to the size of a gold charm, still suspended on the enchanted necklace around my neck.

Why did I waste that magic earlier?

See?” he says excitedly, prodding the articulated charm on the golden chain. “No stopcock! That where Mr. Whizz goes!”

The zombie pyramid attendant has already opened the gemstones on the clockwork hand, and a green illuminated fog is bathing the body of my housemate, rolling heavily down the sides of the wooden altar, and out across the floor of the pyramid.

Pity it not the real thing,” says Higham Dry Senior, sighing like an old cellar door. “It be like upgrading the old man from wooden spoon to Moulinex…”

But it is the real thing,” I reply.

High above us, on top of the pedestal, the surface of the statue of Lady Glandula is starting to swirl again, with those fractal oil-slick patterns – as she gradually emerges from her stony slumber…

Wow, my eyesight really bad today,” says Higham Dry, squinting closer at my bosom. “Either that, or it much further away than it looks.”

It’s cursed,” I sob, and reach into the nearby wheelbarrow for a splinter of Sister Jaundice’s cello-bow, waving it around to illustrate, trailing a shred of catgut. “It’s been shrunk by an enchantment. So I could carry it more easily.”

Ohhh,” he nods. “What did you wish for?”

Something suitable to wear,” I admit, wretchedly.

Maybe you just need repeat same wish,” he suggests. “Magic still in clothes. Only circumstances to which suited now different.”

I look down at the stupid muddy Audrey Slapbum at Tiffany’s style silk dress, which used to be a neon Lycra Wonder Woman outfit and some impractical underwear, before I put it on earlier.

Either way, I’m already on a losing fashion streak today.

I wish I wasn’t pretending to be something I’m not,” I grumble, without thinking.

The shard of cello-bow flashes green in my hand, and I drop it in shock. It burned me!

It continues to burn, until nothing but a tiny strip of black charcoal remains.

A split second later, the Swiss watchmaker’s armour clatters heavily to the floor, and a small innocuous rug flops apologetically on top of it, where previously there had been a tapestry clutch-purse.

I immediately check my lower regions, expecting a draft and an itchy pink thong – but instead, all I find myself wearing are my old jeans, and my Pizza Heaven delivery-girl work fleece.

What the Hell?

Clever girl,” Higham Dry Senior approves, as the bounty hunters recover the armour from the floor. “Look very suitable. Now, boys, put him together the right way up this time…”

By my feet, Justin Time grabs the small rug, and buries his head underneath it. Something bounces off my toecap from within, and I pick it up.

The little leather-bound diary – the missing Incantations!

Really, Crispin,” that imperious female voice echoes down on our ears, from atop the pedestal. “Is this still the best you could do? It all looks very sordid…”

With new replacement parts, Mother,” Crispin replies, reproachfully. “Guaranteed virginal – or at least, surgically virginal. Some might even be magically-inclined.”

Lady Glandula quirks an eyebrow, but otherwise gives nothing away. The steps are still emerging from the pedestal, and the attendant zombies hurry to flank her path.

What is the alternative?” she enquires, and her icy gaze visits me briefly as she descends. “The scrawny fast-food delivery girl?”

I was still seeking your approval for myself, there, Mother,” Crispin reminds her.

You know these things aren’t that simple, Crispin,” she says. “I can’t just hop into any old body and hope it lasts. It’s like a traditional wedding. Or a Broadway musical. There has to be an understudy on standby – in the event of the worst case scenario…”

What if there was an alternative?” I butt in, breathlessly.

Everyone turns to look at me. I feel like the rotisserie chicken that has decided to stand up for itself, one plucking and basting later than usual. The only sound is the clanking of the bounty hunters, as they try to assemble the legs on the suit of armour, chivvied along by Higham Dry.

An alternative to the alternative?” Lady Glandula muses. “I cannot imagine what you might have to trade.”

How about keeping the body that you’ve already got?” I hold up the little leather-bound diary. “With all of the Incantations you’ll ever need. For ever.”

She stares at the little book, but again, her sly poker-face takes over.

My dear, if there’s one thing I learned from marrying Crispin’s father, it’s that you can never trust a man to write absolutely everything down,” she smirks, a little smugly. “I imagine there is no more in that diary than I haven’t already found out for myself.”

I’ll exchange it for the clockwork hand,” I suggest, taking a chance on her bluff. “And my housemate – er… Frankenminky. Someone has to pay their half of the rent. Otherwise – I’ll burn it, and you’ll never know.”

Snatching a torch from its bracket, I hold the little diary over the flame, singeing the knitted cuff of my fleece.

Do you really believe,” she begins, as the sinister tentacle emerges out of the darkness and uncoils almost lazily towards me. “That you have any powers over what I choose…?”

Mother!” I hear Crispin’s shocked voice protesting. “No! Not the understudy!”

As the suckers in front of my face threaten to blot out the view permanently, a metallic clanggg stops the tentacle’s advance abruptly.

You were saying?” a strangely mechanical version of Higham Dry Senior’s voice interrupts.

My terrified vision swivels along the gleaming golden arm that has intercepted the Queen’s extraneous limb, to meet an armoured faceplate, with glowing red slits for eyes.

You are too late, old man,” Lady Glandula laughs, while trying ineffectually to extricate her tentacle from his iron grip. “In a fresh body, I will be ten times stronger than your cheap old clockwork sarcophagus-suit!”

Over my dead body,” Carvery remarks, and giving me one last regretful glance, levels the shotgun with its final cartridge…

At my housemate!

Lady Glandula cries out an indignant warning, and the attendant zombie with the clockwork hand whirls around, raising it defensively.

The hardening – the blackness – the freezing of stone…

Where Carvery had been standing, is now a Carvery Slaughter statue in black onyx – black onyx shotgun poised to fire.

Original ‘Iron Man’ trailer, with Robert Downey Jr – Enjoy 🙂

More mindless mayhem… See below…

The Zombie Adventures of Sarah Bellum

More mindless mayhem: The Zombie Adventures of Sarah Bellum

Also available for all other devices, and online reading, on Smashwords