Archive for the ‘Dave The Zombie’ Category

Dave the zombie was tidying some papers in his home. Most of the items were bills, but amongst the envelopes was a handwritten note on quality paper. Dave looked at the date on the postmark and saw that it had been here for a few weeks. He opened it by sliding his finger along the edge. He then stuck his finger back onto his hand with a staple gun.

The envelope contained an invitation to a Halloween party. Dave the zombie looked at the calendar and realised that Halloween was today. He looked at the time that the party started. He only had a few hours to try to come up with a costume.
He looked up the numbers of some local costume shops from the phonebook but they had told him that they had either run out of costumes or only had a few remaining. Dave the zombie was NOT going to a party dressed as an estate agent or high court judge. There was no option; he would have to create his own costume.
After wasting a few hours trying to come up with an idea, he decided to go for  an old classic. He found an old sheet, cut out some holes for the eyes and set off to the party.
Dave the zombie enjoyed the party but would have enjoyed it more if people hadn’t kept stepping on his sheet and revealing the non-ghost beneath. He also had to remove the sheet as he bobbed for apples which he found especially tricky as his teeth kept getting stuck in the bobbing fruit. He was declared the winner after his fellow finalist took a funny turn after she bobbed for what she thought was an apple but turned out to be Dave the zombie’s right eyeball.
The time had come to announce the winner of the best costume.
In third place was a girl who had made her face pure white, added some fangs and a trickle of blood. Dave the zombie wasn’t impressed, far from looking like a sinister vampire, she looked like someone who required a bib when eating.
In second place was someone who had painted their face green and had a fake bolt in their neck. Dave the zombie was surprised to find out he was supposed to be Frankenstein’s monster, he had thought he was a seasick crewman from a haunted ship.
But now was the time to announce the big winner. Although it had been a last-minute creation, Dave the zombie was sure that his ghost costume would win.
“And the winner is…”
“Dave, the caped zombie”
WHAT!!! thought Dave the zombie. I’m a GHOST, isn’t that obvious?
The host approached Dave the zombie to hand him his prize. Dave the zombie could contain himself no longer. He chomped down on the host’s brain and stormed out.

NOTE: This story first appeared on my Simon’s (a)musing blog

Dave the zombie carefully held his fallen eyeball and pulled out a ragged cloth that had once been white but was stained with colours from off white to blood-red. He placed the eyeball in the cloth and went to work to clean in.

“Cough”

Dave the zombie tried to ignore the sound but it was repeated again, this time louder and with the added sound of phlegm.

“Cough cough cough”

Dave the zombie needed to escape the hacking sounds and stepped outside the building. After the stuffiness inside, the air felt fresher than usual Dave the Zombie took a few cleansing breaths.

“Cough”

The owner of the excess phlegm had stepped outside and was now pulling out a cigarette from a battered looking packet. The cigarette was partly crumpled but the man attempted to straighten it out before placing it to his lips. A battered red lighter, the kind that were sold “two for a pound” in markets, appeared with the skill of a practiced conjurer and soon the man was inhaling the smoke while the tip shone brightly.

Dave the Zombie returned to the waiting room which was quieter now that the cough was absent.

“Cough”

This time the cough emanated from Dave the Zombie. He made the effort not to cough again and in time, he felt the desire to cough leave him although the taste of nicotine lingered on his taste buds. The smoker never returned.

Dave the Zombie waited patiently with the other patients when he heard a sharp CRACK! and felt a pain in his right ankle.

“Waghhhhhhhhhhhh” screamed the child who had just driven a heavy wooden toy car into Dave the Zombie’s leg. Then without a moment’s hesitation, the small child started playing with Dave the Zombie’s leg. The child tugged at it and pulled it this way and that until it came free, separated at the knee. The child ran away with the dismembered leg before Dave the Zombie could make a sound of complaint.

“Graaaaaaghhhhh,” he said meaning “can someone pass me a walking stick.”

Dave the Zombie found a makeshift walking stick from a broken hat stand and got to his foot and went off in search of the child who had stolen his leg.

It took a few minutes before Dave the Zombie found the child playing in an empty examination room.

Dave the Zombie returned to the waiting room with leg back where it belonged, albeit facing the wrong way and was strapped with the hat stand and medical tape. He sat back down into the suddenly quieter waiting room.

And waited…

Dave stepped up to the door and waited. The door was an automatic door but these doors did not register Dave the Zombie (see here for an example of Dave the Zombie’s problems with automatic doors). After a few minutes, the door opened and Dave the Zombie managed to squeeze past the person leaving the building.

He walked towards the reception area. He reached into his pocket for his appointment card. It was not in the best of condition and Dave the Zombie noticed that his finger that had been sellotaped to his hand had now become stuck on the card. He managed to peel it off but not without removing a slice of the appointment card which also rendered the Sellotape useless. He carefully put the discarded digit in his shirt pocket and stepped up to the reception area.

There was a sheet of clear Perspex that separated the receptionists from the patients. There were three of them, all involved in some activity that didn’t look important but prevented them from acknowledging the presence of anyone on the other side of the glass. Dave the Zombie leaned towards a part of the area where the Perspex was slatted, to be opened to allow the receptionist to speak to the patient. Before he could attract the attention of the closest receptionist, his left eye detached itself from the piece of blu-tac that was keeping it in place and fell through the slats before landing with a plop into a mug of what looked like tea. The receptionist closest to the mug absently reached to the mug and was about to take a sip but when confronted by the milky eyeball looking up from the brown liquid, she decided to scream instead and for good measure she fainted too. The mug clattered to the floor and one of the other receptionists raced over to help her fallen comrade. As she checked the condition of her colleague, her knee squashed the eyeball that had rolled out of the now broken mug. The receptionist called the third receptionist over and then stood up and glanced at Dave the Zombie. He handed over his appointment card and the receptionist directed him to the waiting area.

“Ggggrrrrrraahhhhh ergggghhhhhhh brrrrrrrggggg” said Dave the Zombie, meaning “Can I have my eyeball back please.”

The receptionist looked to where Dave the Zombie was pointing and picked up the squashed eyeball. He popped it in the pocket that contained his finger. Dave the Zombie sat down beside the other patients and waited…and waited…and waited

TO BE CONTINUED

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Picture created using Zombiebooth for iPhone

Dave the zombie picked up the phone and dialled the automated ticket line for his local cinema complex.

“If you have a cineflicks account, please press 1 or press 2 for our film times” said the annoyingly chirpy automated voice that sounded almost completely unlike an American accent but was equally obviously trying to be one.

Dave the zombie pressed 1 on his phone pad.

“Please key in your security PIN now.” Dave the zombie did as he was instructed. “Thank you, you payment will be processed after you have selected your film” said the voice with a hint of smugness to it knowing that it would soon be taking a payment from the caller. “Please state he name of the film you wish to see”

“grrraaaa…” started Dave BEEP said the phone then went silent “aggghhhhh laaaaaagggg riiiiiiffff” continued Dave the zombie.

“You have selected “Clichéd Love Story” your ticket will be available from the ticket booth at your selected cinema”. The voice then went silent and the line went dead.

Dave the zombie had a puzzled look on his face. That was not the film he wanted to see. He punched the numbers into the keypad once again.

After a few minutes, Dave the zombie had TWO tickets for “Clichéd Love Story”. He started to punch in the numbers once more but gave up after his finger snapped in two midway through dialing. Dave the zombie looked around for the sellotape but found an empty roll. He was going to buy some more from the supermarket but that was another story. He placed the severed finger onto the stump and then tore of a small strip of newspaper and wrapped it around the detached digit and looped an elastic band around it to hold it firmly in place. As Dave lowered his arm, he heard a small THUNK as the finger fell from the tube. He picked up his finger, looked at it for a moment, then put it in a glass dish that had bits of brac-a-brac in it. “Agghhhhhh” said Dave the zombie and noticed that a drawing pin was embedded into the finger. Odd, he thought, that he could feel the pain of the pin in his finger even though the finger was no longer attached to his hand. He had to pull the drawing pin out with his teeth, two of which fell out in the attempt.

Dave the zombie arrived at the cinema, he made several attempts to get in. Automatic doors had taken a severe dislike to him and his right foot had ended up outside the cinema doors. Fortunately, a gangly youth kicked the foot in and Dave the zombie hobbled over to where the severed limb came to a stop. It was at the popcorn kiosk. Dave the zombie felt obliged to buy a bucket of popcorn and a small tub of ice cream and walked away considerably poorer than he was a moment ago.

Dave the zombie picked up the two tickets and made his way to the auditorium that was showing the film. The room was already dark when Dave the zombie stepped through the doors and he thought he was in the wrong cinema as the screen was filled with machine gun totting gangsters firing round after round at each other. It turned out to be an advertisement for sanitary towels.

Then the film began. Dave the zombie found himself being sucked into the film’s, albeit simplistic, narrative. But then a new character introduced themselves into the storyline.

“Hey” said a male voice from the row in front of where Dave the zombie was sitting “isn’t that what’s her name from that show?”

“Yeah, I think you’re right” screeched the voice of his viewing companion. At first Dave the Zombie thought it was a woman but the aroma that wafted to his nostrils confirmed that it was no woman in her right mind. “She used to date thingy but is now dating whatshisface from that cop show.”

“Oh, yeah. Did you see last week’s episode, the way the killer killed the victims was totally gross” he continued.

The conversation continued in this vein for several minutes leaving Dave the zombie clueless as to whether the  main character in the film was the ex girlfriend of a former politician or a murdering harlot who had taken to kill philanderers who had failed to rise to the occasion.

To make matters worse, Dave the zombie had spilled his popcorn when the man leaped from his seat as he screamed that the extra third from the right in the scene set in a lift was, in fact, the film’s director.

No popcorn and a couple of  annoying film buffs in front of him, Dave the zombie felt that he had no choice. Two loud CRUNCHes were followed by a GLOOPing sound as Dave the zombie used the small spoon that came with the small tub of ice-cream to eat something more to Dave the zombie’s taste. The brain tasted particularly yummy and Dave the zombie pondered that perhaps it was because it had been used so infrequently.

Dave the zombie was a bit annoyed after his experiences at the supermarket  and thought he would visit the bank to get his account sorted.

He stepped towards the automatic door at the entrance of the bank.

THWAKK!

Dave the zombie walked straight into it. The glass doors had failed to open and now had a Dave the zombie shaped splat on it. The putrid green glistened slightly in the sunlight but the doors remained firmly closed. Dave the zombie looked for a manual override but he had just started peering around the entrance when the doors suddenly opened to let out a customer. Dave the zombie rushed in.

CRUNKK!

Dave the zombie was no longer as quick on his feet as he once was and now he had to manage with one less as the door closed, leaving his left foot outside. Dave the zombie looked at the queue. Only one bank position was open and the person being served was a little old lady who had decided that this would be the day in which she would bring her coin jars to the bank and make a deposit. Rather than wait for her to finish and subsequently leave, opening the door for Dave the zombie to retrieve his foot, he decided to join the queue.

Dave the zombie was unsure as to whether the passing of time was any less relative now he was undead, but it did seem like an eternity before he was finally served.

“gragghhh wraaaaghhh fraghhhhh waggggghhhh” he said meaning I seem to have a problem with my bank card.

Dave the zombie passed his card to the bank teller who swiped the card and asked Dave the zombie to input his PIN.

Dave pressed the keypad but as he hit the third number his finger gave a loud crack as it snapped in half. Dave the zombie wrenched it free and poked the keypad with it before working to reattach it to his hand. Not having any sellotape with him, Dave the zombie took out a piece of gum, chewed on it for a few moments before removing it and using it to stick hand and finger together. Three teeth came out during the process.

“I’m afraid there is a problem with your card” said the teller.

“spphassss srhhsssss ishhhsgsss” replied Dave the zombie meaning I know, that’s what I’ve just told you.

The bank teller picked up the telephone that was part of her work station and called for the manager.

Dave the zombie stepped aside as he waited for the manager to appear. During that time he worked the teeth free from the gum and pushed them back into his mouth. He was wondering if he had replaced them in the correct places when the manager walked towards him.

“If you would care to walk this way, I will see what we can do to solve your problem.”

Dave the zombie followed the manager, hopping into an interview room and sat down on the chair provided.

“I’m afraid that the card you tried to use belongs to someone who is now deceased” said the manager.

“grapppphhhhh srrrsrssaaggghh” said Dave the zombie, meaning that’s right.

“You can’t go around using a deceased person’s card” said the bank manager in what he hoped was a calming tone.

“buggghhhh ccrrrrrggggghhd bbbbbbelllllggg mrrrrrrgghgh” said Dave the zombie meaning but the card belongs to me.

“I’m afraid all the funds in that account are frozen until the will has been sorted out.

“burrrgghhhhg wrrrrrghhhhhhhttt wrrrrrrrghghghghl” meaning but I didn’t write a will.

“That’s not, if you’ll pardon me for saying, my problem, I cannot give you any money from this account.”

“Buuuuurrrrrrhghhg mrgghhhhgghh mmmmmmoooogghhhhhnnnnggghh” said Dave the zombie, meaning but it’s MY money.

“Now, if that’s all, please can you leave? If you want to access the money in this account, you will need proof of ID.”

Dave the zombie handed the bank manager a piece of paper.

“But this is a death certificate.”

Dave rolled his eyeballs but as they were milky white, the look of sarcasm was lost on the bank manager.

The bank manager stood up and tried to get Dave the zombie to do likewise. Dave stumbled, as he was no longer a balanced biped and slipped against the desk. A pen and chain fell onto the floor causing the manager to fall as he was attempting to leave the room. Dave the zombie could contain his frustration no longer. He feasted on the bank managers brain, fished out his wallet and removed the cash and then carefully counted it before writing a cheque for the exact amount and left.

He managed to get out of the bank without too much difficulty and hopped to where his foot lay.

Dave the zombie reasoned that a dog must have passed by while he was inside the bank and pondered to himself if the old superstition worked in reverse. Was his luck about to change for the better?

Dave the zombie walked up to the chain of shopping trolleys. He noticed that they were all chained together. He fumbled about in his coat pocket for the pound coin that would be needed to release the trolley. His fingers closed around a soft cylindrical object. He removed it at found himself eye-to-eye with his eye. It was milky and covered in pocket lint; Dave rubbed it against his jacket sleeve and replaced it in its socket, blinking the last few bits of fluff from his eye. He found the required coin and placed it into the trolley and pulled. Nothing happened. He pulled again, this time the trolley separated from the others but so too had Dave’s left hand. The hand was still holding the trolley and with a grunt, Dave reattached it to his arm.

He pushed the trolley into the store. Since becoming one of the undead, Dave’s tastes in food had changed dramatically. Gone were the spicy foods and foods rich with garlic and herbs and in their place were bland ready meals. Dave wasn’t sure if he needed food or if he just ate out of habit. He grabbed several pre-packaged stick-in-the-microwave meals and headed to the checkout.

This is where the trouble started…

Dave put all the items on the conveyor belt and brought out his credit card to pay for the items. He keyed in his number. And waited. And waited some more. Nothing happened for a few moments. The cashier looked up at Dave suspiciously.

“Do you have any other form of payment? The machine doesn’t like your card.”

Dave rummaged in his wallet. The cashier caught a wiff of Dave’s rotting flesh and her hand slipped to the emergency button and pressed it.

A security guard came over.

“Is everything alright?” he asked the cashier.

“His card didn’t work in the machine and he smells funny” said the cashier trying not to breath any of the awful stench emanating from Dave.

“Could you come with me sir” said the guard and took hold of Dave’s arm. He was most surprised when the rest of Dave didn’t come with it.

“Urghhhhh Ugg Urghhhhh Urghhhhh arrrr” said Dave meaning “Do you mind, but that’s my arm you have just ripped off”.

The guard gestured with the severed limb in a follow me gesture.

Dave left the groceries and followed the security guard.

Dave was taken to a small room and told to wait there. The guard left the severed limb in the room with Dave and left to search for the store manager. When he had gone, Dave reattached his arm using some sticky tape that was in a tape dispenser on the desk that was in the room.

After a few minutes the door opened and a middle-aged balding, slightly overweight man entered the room. He walked to the other side of the desk and sat down. Dave couldn’t tell if it was the milkyness of his eyes but the man appeared to be entirely gray.

“Good day to you sir” he sneered with a rather nasal voice.

“Urrrrrrgh” replied Dave.

“Can you tell me where you got the card that you tried to pay with?”

“Ug, Urrrrrgg hggggrph, arrrrrggggh” said Dave meaning”it was given to me by my bank”.

“That’s all well and good” said the manager completely ignoring Dave “but this card belongs to someone who is now deceased” he said with a smirk. “It’s your bad luck that whatever scumbag stole this card and sold it to you didn’t do his homework” he said, a smile on his face. He was in full bad cop mode. He wanted to gloat and get Dave to confess before the real police arrived. “Tell me who sold this card to you or I’ll let the police know you weren’t being…co-operative”.

“Urrr hrrrrrst grrrrrraffffggg” said Dave, more than a little agitated.

“Don’t give me that” snarled the manager “you come into my store and try to pay using some poor dead bloke’s card, what kind of scumbag are you?” he prodded Dave with his finger, it made a hole in Dave’s chest.

Dave had decided that he’d had enough.

“Mmmmmmmm” he said, meaning “that store manager’s brain tasted much better than microwavable macaroni”.