‘T was the night before Christmas,

When all through the house

Not a creature was stirring

Except a small mouse

Now this was quite odd

As a matter of fact

It had been killed earlier

By a black and white cat

But out in the graveyard

Strange noises were heard

The undead were rising,

Fresh flesh they preferred

But the village was quiet

On this cold clear night

Nobody was there

To put up a fight

The undead were marching

As the people lay sleeping

Unaware of the threat

That was currently creeping

One of  the undead

Broke into a house

And accidentally trod

On the small zombie mouse

Inside of this home

The children were dreaming

If they awoke

They soon would be screaming

The zombie approached

Prepared for a snack

But the next thing he saw

Was inside of a sack

With a swish of a blade

The zombie head fell

This corpse now descending

Back into hell

But who held the blade

That flashed by so quick?

Enter our hero

The bearded St. Nick

After killing the zombie

He cleaned up the gore

The house was as tidy

As it had been before

St Nick sipped some sherry

Then ate a mince pie

Then left some wrapped presents

Before waving goodbye

He flicked off a crumb

From his suit made of red

Ready to continue

To fight the undead


In my last post (featuring World War Z) I mentioned that Max Brooks must take some credit for the current popularity of zombies. In this, my second instalment on Zombie Literature, I will focus on a series created by another person who deserves much credit for the zombie renaissance, Robert Kirkman.

The Walking Dead started out as a comic and now available as a comic, a TV series and also a series of books (at time of writing, only the first has been published; Rise of the Governor).

The Walking dead comic and TV series centre around Rick Grimes, a police officer who was shot in the line of duty and was in a coma at the time of the zombie epidemic, and a group of survivors he meets on his journey to find his wife and child. They are reunited early on in the story and the story becomes one of survival after this apocalyptic event.  There are additions to the group as they meet people along the way and also losses, not all due to zombies.

There has been a large cast of characters in the comics and if you need a hand keeping up with who’s who, then there is a Walking Dead survivor’s guide.

The novelisation is interesting as it doesn’t focus on any of the band of survivors but instead centres on one of the villains they meet, the Governor. I don’t want to go into too much detail as there are some interesting moments in here that will make you want to (re)read the Walking Dead storyline featuring the character.

There is also a twist in the book that I won’t mention but I would suggest you avoid places like wikipedia and other media sources if you want to be surprised but it is one of those books you will want to read again after discovering the twist…

What are your thoughts and opinions on this series?

World War Z

Posted: November 8, 2011 in Zombie Literature

This is going to be the first of a series of posts about Zombie Literature.

Today, I shall be discussing World War Z by Max Brooks. As some of you may know, I’m a big fan of audiobooks and it was the audiobook of World War Z that I devoured.

The book is a collection of interviews with people who lived through the zombie war and the audiobook features many famous voices  including Mark Hamill, Alan Alda, Henry Rollins, John Turturro and Max Brooks himself (as the interviewer) bringing these accounts to life

Their tales come from different countries and cultures with the stories following the narrative of the zombie war itself.

This is a very entertaining book and follows on from the Zombie Survival Guide.

There is also a film adaptation, part of which was filmed in Glasgow (although Glasgow was dressed to look like Philadelphia).

This book (and the zombie survival guide) could deservedly be credited with the rise of the zombie in recent years.

Have you read World War Z or Zombie survival guide? What are your opinions?

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


Posted: October 31, 2011 in Zombie short story
Tags: ,

Tom opened his eyes.

He saw nothing but darkness. He blinked.

Still darkness.

Tom waited for his eyes adjust to the lack of light but still nothing.

Where am I? Tom thought. He moved his arms but he wasn’t able to move them very far before they struck something solid.  He was in some kind of container. A sensory deprivation tank perhaps? No, thought Tom, they have water in them and he felt completely dry. But he was in some kind of container. He felt around him once again. He felt silky material on all sides. Then he realised where he was.

Inside a coffin. He pounded at the side then paused. He was hoping for some kind of response. The sound didn’t echo and then he pounded all sides of the coffin. He heard the same dull THUD as he thumped the sides.

The coffin had been buried.

Tom thought about the air situation but realised that he had no idea how much air was left and decided to concentrate his efforts to getting out.




Tom pounded at the sides but to no avail. Tom stopped for a moment then had an idea. He pulled at the lining material until he heard it tear. He felt behind it and felt the cold wood behind but this was not what he was looking for. Sliding his hand along the wood, he finally found what he was looking for; hinges. Tom then went to work pounding the area where the hinges were with the heel of his hands. He decided that if he was going to expire here, he would do it trying to escape.




After what seemed like many hours of pounding at the sides, Tom heard the change in the sound of the strikes, he was making progress. He ripped the material from the inside of the casket and wrapped them round his hands and continued. Shortly after he felt the wood split.

Tom continued pounding and pounding, occasionally pulling at the split in the wood, trying to prise it wider. Some dirt spilled in, making a rat-a-tat sound as it landed on the wooden base of the coffin. Tom had to work quickly to prevent himself from drowning in dirt. He positioned himself so that there was some space where he could shovel the dirt and as this area filled, Tom used his feet to pack the dirt and to give him leverage to squeeze out of the opening. He felt the material of his trousers tear as they caught on the splintered wood. Tom carried on tunnelling upwards, hoping that the surface wasn’t too far.

He found it easier to move the earth as he continued digging until, at last, his hand broke through the surface. Tom was about to give a whoop of joy when his mouth filled with mud. If he didn’t get his head above the surface soon he would suffocate. This thought drove him onwards and using every ounce of strength he broke the surface. Although it was night, what little light there was hurt his eyes. He closed them as he spat out the mud then pulled himself free from the grave.

Tom didn’t know how long he had been there but he knew he was hungry. It was an aching hunger, one that started from the gut but permeated through the body. Tom didn’t know how he knew but the hunger he had could only be satiated by one thing.

A human brain…

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.


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.


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.


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…

Undead diet

Posted: August 24, 2011 in zombiehaiku


The zombie spat out

A mouthful of sprinters brain

It was too runny