Amanda HockingAmanda's Blog
Eric J’s Scary True Story
Today’s guest blog is one of my personal favorites because it’s about me. Just kidding. It’s not really about me, but I am in it, and it is a true story. It comes from my roommate and platonic lifemate Eric J. Goldman as he regales you with the tale of how an angry ghost trapped us.
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The night was dark, almost as dark as my soul. (Not really, but I wanted a good opening line….the night was probably about 1/3 as my dark as my soul.) Some friends and I (including the fabulous Amanda Hocking, whose blog you’re currently visiting) were going to see the non-hit film White Noise starring Michael Keaton, because for some reason we thought it looked REALLY good. After leaving the theater, we found out that it was actually REALLY bad, but it gave us an idea.
You see, at the time we were a quite rambunctious set of adolescents, and we were meddling with the supernatural via Ouija board. The thrill of this was starting to die down for us, even though a few questionable events had occurred; but those were all mostly pushed aside as someone being a douche, and trying to scare us. However, seeing this horrible film gave us the wonderful idea of adding a tape recorder to a Ouija session. In the film, Micheal Keaton uses some high-tech recording devices to capture messages of spirits, and….that’s all I remember. I think he got some message that he was supposed to tell someone something, and I recall a very horrible CGI shadow ghost in a parking garage at the end, but that’s not important. The point is, he records things.
A few nights after seeing the movie Amanda, myself, and our friend Fifi regrouped to my then bedroom. We shut the door, plopped down on the bed, and got the board and the tape recorder ready. We were asking the normal questions, in the normal awkward way you do when you’re playing with the dead with a Parker Brothers game board:
“Hi. Uh……is there anyone here?”
The holdy-movey deal (I’m not sure what the actual term is for the device that you hold, but I’m pretty sure it’s something like “holdy-movey deal” and if it’s not, well, you get the point anyway.) (Ed. Note: It’s called a planchette) moved over to YES.
“Hooray! What’s your name, pal?”
The “piece” moved to some random letters, pretty quickly, and stopped. Unlike Shawn Spencer, I don’t happen to have a photographic memory, so I don’t exactly recall what was spelled out….let’s just say it was P-W-E-U-X or something. Use your imagination.
“Nice to meet you, Pweux. Is there anything you’d like to say to us?”
Finally, things started to get interesting. The holdy-movey deal was moving at record holdy-movey speed, and it spelled out the words “Open” and then “Door.” We were all surprised by this, but being the geniuses we are we decided it wasn’t necessary to leave my room and stop at that point. We did take a break though, and we played the tape back.
The playback consisted mostly of static and witty banter in the background (from me of course) but then the tape got quiet, and then really loud. We listened closer and it sounded like someone shouting “GET OUT!” It sounded like an even mumblier version of Ted Levine, with an even deeper voice, if that’s possible. At that point, we had had enough, and decided to go do something else that was worthy of our time. I got up to escort the two lovely ladies out, and my door wouldn’t open. At all. I could turn the handle, but the door itself wouldn’t move…and my bedroom door did not have a lock on it.
There was no reason at all that we could think of for my door to be stuck. At the time that my door was stuck, I believe it was around 11:00 PM. We were all screaming, and then I realized that my parents were right across the hall, and had to get up for work the next day. Instead of screaming to them and asking for help, I made everyone be quiet, because I didn’t want to get in trouble. I’m a pretty good kid….I risk death so my parents can get a good night’s rest.
I won’t bore you with all of the fuzzy details of the rest of the evening….let’s just say, Amanda isn’t very nice to you when you’re scared for your life. She turns off lights, pokes you, hides and jumps out at you, and laughs at you when you pee in a cup because you can’t leave your room to go to the bathroom. To be fair, Fifi also isn’t very nice in that situation. I am though. I’m angelic.
Finally, after about 5 minutes of being locked in my room (just kidding, it was more like 5 hours) we shouted for help. It took me five hours to realize that I don’t like being trapped in a room. My parents got up, tried to open the door, and it wouldn’t budge. They finally resorted to screwing off the door handle, and that somehow made the door open-able. I’m not a doorsmith, I don’t know how doors work.
Anyway, that’s my not-so-thrilling account of what happened to us one night. It was horribly frightening, but to this day I still want to Ouija it up occasionally. Know why? Because being scared is fun, and having fun is fun. I hope you all have a wonderful and spooky Halloween, and I hope you pick up a copy of Hollowland coming out this month by the woman who likes to terrorize people. Is it scary? I don’t know, I haven’t read it yet….but I know that Amanda wrote it, so it’ll definitely be fun*.
*Full Disclosure- This is a biased review. I do enjoy Amanda’s books, but when she makes money, sometimes she buys me candy bars, or things of that sort. I also enjoy this.
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That story is factual, but I’d like to clarify a few things –
1. White Noise wasn’t that bad of a movie. I mean, the first 3/4 were really good. Then the horrible CGI shadows came in and ruined everything the way CGI always ruins everything.
2. Eric didn’t do justice to how completely terrifying it was having mumbley Ted Levine yelling at us over the tape recorder. It was really, really scary.
3. The windows outside Eric’s window also had this super bizarre frost growing over them. It didn’t start until after we played with the Ouija, but it was very creepy.
4. While sitting in Eric’s bed, we could feel the ghost breathing on us. I know what you’re thinking – it was a draft. But I spent 5 hours locked in that room trying to figure out where the draft came from, and as far as I can tell, it came from a ghost sitting 3 inches from my face.
5. Eric has read Hollowland. And he loved it.
Zombiepalooza Giveaway of Hollowland!
As you may or may not know, my latest novel Hollowland is the inspiration for Zombiepalooza because Hollowland is about zombies.
“This is the way the world ends; not with a bang or a whimper, but with zombies breaking down the back door.”
Nineteen-year-old Remy King is on a mission to get across the wasteland left of America, and nothing will stand in her way – not violent marauders, a spoiled rock star, or an army of flesh-eating zombies.
Hollowland came out last week, and so far, it’s gotten really great reviews. Including one from Firefly Loft:
- “The action is non-stop. It starts on the first page and really doesn’t let up at all, but not to the point where you get burnt out on it. And FINALLY we have a female lead that can do things for herself! Remy is strong and courageous and does things her way to survive. There is some romance, but it’s not like all the other romances in supernatural stories where the girl ends up not being able to do anything alone. It was SO refreshing.” (To read the whole review, click: here.)
I’m giving away a signed paperback of Hollowland! This giveaway follows the same rules as the other Zombiepalooza giveaways.
1. To enter to win, comment on the blog that is offering the giveaway you’d like, leaving an email address to contact you in case you win.
2. The giveaway runs from the day that blog is posted until October 28th at midnight. On October 29th, winners will be chosen by random.org and contacted. They have 72 hours to reply before the prize defaults to the runner-up.
3. Only one entry per giveaway. (But you can enter as many different Zombiepalooza giveaways as you want.)
4. US only. Sorry to our international friends. đ
Manje Kò Moun Island
Today’s bit of horror comes from J. A. Titus, author of The Kindness of Strangers, based on a dream. Sounds like it was a pretty scary dream…
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I rubbed my eyes, but it didnât seem to make things any clearer. Stupid contact lenses! I knew I shouldnât have left them in before I dragged my hapless, drunk ass to bed. Rolling over onto my side, I propped myself up and grabbed a bottle of Clear Eye saline from the nightstand. As I pinched the clear plastic bottle, releasing those little tiny droplets of saline solution, I cried out in pain. I may be a man, but salt water on dry eyes hurts like hell! The way it makes my eyes water, I still end up looking like some kind of crying pansy.
I lay down and scolded myself for having gone out last night and gotten plastered, when I specifically told myself I wouldnât. Alcohol and I just donât mix, but I never seem to learn my lesson. When good old Jack comes a-calling, Iâve got a shot glass ready in hand. Not that Iâm some kind of alcoholic or whatever; I appreciate the fine taste of any smooth spirit; who doesnât?
The clock ticked in my ear, making it nearly impossible to get back to sleep. So much crap going through my head right now, no wonder it drove me to the bar downstairs. What else could get thrown in my way to bring me down?
I lost my job, a job Iâve had since I was fifteen years old. Not that it was great money, but in an economy like this any job is a good job now-a-days, even if it was being a desk jockey to a bald-headed midget with a seniority complex.
Then my dog, Barney, died. Had the damn thing since I was twenty and he wasnât even mine to begin with. Stupid Carolyn, my ex, dumped me and him on the same day. I felt too bad for the damn mutt to give him away. He wasnât all that bad now that I think of it, aside from his constant smelly gas, snaggle-toothed grin, and whip-rod tail, he was more reliable than most girlfriends Iâve had since âitâs not you, itâs meâ Carolyn.
The latest floozy, Gwendolyn, up and dumped me this past Tuesday. This one used the line, âIâm leaving you for Frank the butcher; at least he really knows how to handle his meatâ. Yeah â that one hurt below the belt.
Then to top it all off, I got a phone call from my older sister telling me our mother is being sent to a nursing home because no one wants to take her in and help her. Shoot, Iâd take her in if I could fit her in this peanut-sized, barely fits a bed, apartment. Sheâs my mom, after all.
But nah, nothing else seemed to want to work out right for me. Iâm pretty confident thatâs why I decided to drown my sorrows, even if I donât quite remember all the details from last night. Iâm still alive. Iâm still breathing. Thereâs no nasty-ass, drunk chick asleep next to me, so I obviously made it out of the bar ok. Oh 7 and 7, why have you abandoned me so?
I close my eyes, feeling the typical throbbing hangover headache approaching, still thinking of what the hell I did through the night, when I hear something shuffle in the hallway beside my door. I sit up and see some kind of white folded paper slipped under the door. What the�
I look at the clock and, though still slightly fuzzy from my over-worn contacts, I make out the numbers 6:50. Who in tar-nation would be slipping papers under my door at nearly 7 a.m?
With a sigh, I get out of bed and muster the few steps it takes to reach the door where the white paper is. As I bent to pick it up, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirrored closet doors and groan at my stomach. No wonder Gwendolyn left me for Frank, the butcher.
I grab the paper and trudge over to my bed, plop on my lumpy mattress, and slide my finger along the clear tape sealing it.
âDear Mr. Rudd,â it began, âyou have won an all expense paid, 14 days and 13 nights, trip to Manje Kò Moun Island, a province of Haiti.â
I thought to myself, Manje Kò Moun Island? When did I sign up for that?
Intrigued, I continued reading. âThere are no fees or requirements from you. Bring this letter to our travel agency immediately to claim your ticket. Congratulations and thank you for participating in our raffle, signed; World Mouth Travel.â
World Mouth TravelâŚ, never heard of it. I sat there, numb, re-reading the letter hoping to find more clues. Did I really win a trip or was this some kind of scam? Was it some kind of trick to make me go out of my comfort zone? Or to end up on some kind of prank show where Iâd become the butt of somebodyâs cruel joke?
I crumbled the paper into a ball and tossed it across the room. Why would I waste my time? Iâve never even heard of that island, and if it were so great, donât you think itâd be blasted in all the papers and news? Iâve heard of the Bahamas, Iâve heard of Hawaii obviously, but a vacation in Haiti? Well a province of Haiti? Sounded odd.
I lay down again, debating whether I was going to give in to my curiosity.
I tossed and turned, closed my eyes, and stretched out. I couldnât get comfortable. The idea of winning this prize, this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, kept nagging me. The crumbled ball lying on the floor beckoned me, literally seemed to scream my name. Derrick ⌠Derrick âŚDerrick. It called.
I slammed my fist against the bed and cried out, âWhat!?â Then immediately felt embarrassed for answering. My neighbors were probably going to think I was crazy.
Finally I gave in. The temptation was just too much. All expense paid, it said, 14 days and 13 nights, it said. What idiot wouldnât want to give it a shot, even if it was some part of one of those timeshare scams?
I glanced at the clock again and it blinked 7:20. Thatâs it, only 7:20? Why is it that when you want time to go faster, it always goes slower; and then when you want it to go slower, it always speeds up? I turned onto my stomach and stuffed my face into my pillow, hoping the lack of oxygen would help me get back to sleep. Iâm sure itâs not the safest way to pass out, but when youâre this excited, you have to go with extreme measures.
Luckily it worked. I soon passed out and had the weirdest dream. Iâm sure the last remaining remnants of alcohol and the extreme excitement had a lot to do with it, but this dream was downright scary.
I dreamt I was running, running barefoot in the woods. My feet were sore and bleeding from the rough terrain but it didnât matter. Whatever chased me was drawing closer and closer. No matter how fast I ran I felt its hot breath on the nape of my neck. I didnât dare turn around and face the horror. Instead I continued running. My heart thundered in my ears, and sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes. I wanted to cry out, but I had no voice. It felt like my throat had been slashed and my trachea and vocal cords whipped back and forth against my open, exposed flesh. Opening my mouth to breathe only sent me into convulsions, blood spewing everywhere. The creature sniffed the air and roared, signally the hunt. I twisted to the left, turned to the right, trying to throw off my hunter, but it didnât matter. My lungs ached for fresh air, but I couldnât breathe, all I could taste was my own rich, salty blood. Then, not a moment later, another creature just like the first, caught up to the left of me. It mashed it mangled jaws together and its bubbling flesh dripped from its face. The smell alone was putrid and quickly filled my senses; I felt like vomiting. The creatures snarled and growled behind me, as two others quickly caught up. One bit my leg ripping tendons from the bone. I cried out in pain and tried desperately to pull away, but then soon another was thrashing at my face, shredding whatever skin I had left.
Rinnnnnng ⌠my alarm trilled loudly, finally breaking me from my horrible dream. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them wide, almost afraid that Iâd find the creatures in my own apartment. When the memory of the dream finally dulled, I sat up and rubbed a Charlie horse from my leg. I jumped from my bed, quickly dressed and tried to put the dream behind me. The clock blinked 9:30, and I knew exactly what I was going to do. I brushed my teeth, combed my hair and picked up the crumbled white paper.
World Mouth Travel was located about a block from my apartment, so it was a quick walk. When I finally reached the glass door, I paused to catch my breath. Right in the front window was a large poster with a beautiful picture of a volcano island. Two stunningly tanned young woman, dressed in grass shirts and seashell tops, fanned their arms, delicately pointing to a bold printed sign that said; Manje Ko Moun Island ⌠take all your cares away.
It was beautiful, this poster. There were a bright assortment of flowers in almost every color of the rainbow and luscious, green palm trees almost touching the golden, sunny sky. There were delicate white birds, like doves, floating listlessly in the clouds and soft, furry animals scattered throughout the pictured field. I couldnât help by sigh out, âincredible!â If thatâs what I really won and thatâs where Iâm really headed, I couldnât contain my excitement. I burst through the glass door, flushed and panting, and slammed my prize letter on top of smooth marble counter.
âIâm here! Iâm here!â I called, but there was no response. âHello?â
I could hear a giggle somewhere beyond a pink cubicle wall, and felt my heart slowly sink. Did I really just come down here? What if this really is a joke? My hangover headache returned, and my eyes began to water from the dull pain.
I waited, five, maybe ten, minutes more and decided if no one came out, I was going to leave and tuck my tail behind me. I shifted my attention to a pile of brochures on the end of the counter and noticed a small sign, written in pencil, just above them, that said to ring the bell for service. Bell? What Bell?
As if magically, a large old-fashioned brass bell appeared by my arm. I stepped back surprised, having not seen it before, and eyed it cautiously. How could I have missed such a large, gaudy thing? I shook my head, convincing myself I was just so excited I must have missed it, and pushed down on the top of the bell.
Ting ⌠ting ⌠ting. The sound reverberated along the walls of the small store, bounced along the glass windows and echoed in my ears.
âJust a minute!â a voice giggled from beyond the pink wall again.
I tapped my finger along the marble countertop and kept myself occupied by pulling at loose fringe along my shirt sleeve.
âIâm so sorry for keeping you.â A small voice stated from behind the tall counter. âI had to finish a phone call. Thank you for being so patient.â
I peered over the counter, but couldnât see anyone. I heard some metallic movement from behind the wall, along with a few grunts and soft mumbling. Just then, out of nowhere, a womanâs head popped up.
She gave me a wide smile and seemed to laugh at my surprise, âDonât worry â youâre not the only one that makes that face when they first see me.â
I backed away and cocked my head to the side, unsure of how to respond. âIâm here to claim my prize.â I stated. I stepped forward and slipped the crumbled paper with my prize letter onto the counter in front of her.
She raised her eyebrows at me and then continued reading. Her short arms propped up on the counter. I noticed â as I watched her read the words on the paper â she was very short.
âWhen did you receive this, Mr. Rudd?â she asked, her blue shadowed eyes stared intently.
âUm, it was stuffed under my door this morning.â I replied.
She sucked in her bottom lip and seemed to bite down slightly. âI see,â she began. âGive me just a moment while I look up your account.â
She disappeared below the counter and I could hear her typing in something into a computer. âAha- found it. Give me a minute while I print your ticket, Mr. Rudd.â
âUh, sure.â I stood on my tip-toes and peered over the counter once again. In front of me, where she had once been, I could see the top of a metal step stool. As I watched, suddenly a hand appeared and reached up to the step stool. I backed away, surprised once more. Was she some kind of midget or something?
Two tickets and a hand slid across the counter, in Adams Family âItâ style. Then the top of the womanâs head bobbed and I could finally see her once again. I smiled nervously; this was definitely an odd experience.
âAnd here you are.â She stated, sliding the tickets towards me. âOne ticket for your flight and the other for your stay.â
âI wonât need a ticket to come back home?â I canât say Iâve traveled like this before, so I wasnât sure if a ticket home was needed.
She smiled another one of her wide smiles, âNope. Just one ticket will take care of everything. You never know, you might like it there so much you may decide to stay.â
I shook my head. âI doubt that.â
Then it dawned on me, âUm, I forgot to ask, what raffle was this for? I donât remember buying any raffle tickets recently.â
She gave me a puzzled look, âRaffle? Oh yes, Iâm sorry, it slipped my mind. The raffle was from a contest we held a few months back.â
That didnât answer my question. âIs this one of those timeshare scams, cough-cough, I mean, timeshare demonstrations?â
She giggled, âMr. Rudd, of course not! Enjoy your trip and make sure you pack a lot of bug spray; you donât want to get eaten alive out there.â
I looked at my tickets and I slapped them against my palm; they were valid as of tomorrow, which meant I could pack today and head to the airport in the morning. âIâm going on vacation, Iâm going on vacation!â I chanted as I ran home.
The next morning, stocked with my duffle bag full of clothes and toiletries, I hailed a cab to the airport and eagerly got in line to board the plane. The flight was pleasant enough. I didnât have any traumatic experiences (like seeing a gremlin attacking the wings or engines) and the weather outside was perfect for flying. The buzz around the plane was all about this same trip I had won. There were several couples and a few singles, all eagerly babbling about where they were going to go and what they were told there was to do on the island. I was seated beside an elderly woman who clicked her false teeth as she chatted away excitedly about everything she had heard.
âThey have the most amazing swimming pool. Itâs all spa-like and has this waterfall built in.â she told me. âThen I was told that each room has a personal staff included to provide everything our little hearts desire. Isnât that amazing?â
âMmhmm.â I agreed, nodding.
âAnd the best part of it all is itâs free! Itâs all free.â
âMmhmm.â
âNow, dear, where are you from originally?â she asked me, clicking her teeth.
âWest side.â
âNever heard of it. Iâm from Alpine, which is about an hour drive from Detroit. Are you from Michigan?â
I shook my head.
âOh. Then how did you win? Did you mail in your raffle or something?â
I shook my head again.
âI see, well nevertheless, this is quite the opportunity, I have to say it was so unexpected. I couldnât even remember entering the contest, but it couldnât have happened at a better time.â
âOh?â
âWell you see, my husband just passed away and I was forced to retire shortly after, so I didnât have much left to really live for, you know?â
âNo grandkids or anything?â I asked. Something seemed off about this trip, my gut feeling was starting to kick in once again.
She shook her head, âNope. No kids either. Just me and my old cat, Frances.â
âDo you think this is some kind of timeshare scam or something?â I asked her, trying to see if she had an off feeling like I had.
âWell now, Iâm not sure. They donât usually last this long, but you never know with new marketing now-a-days. Things have changed so much in my lifetime; Iâm not surprised if it was.â She thought for a moment, âBut think about it, usually those timeshare things only last one day and the rest of the time, youâre there to enjoy yourself and really embrace the culture. Whatâs twenty-four hours of your time, and I doubt itâll be a whole day affair, to have another thirteen days worth of fun and adventure? All for free!â
I nodded, âYouâve got a point there.â
The pilot announced we would be descending shortly to Manje ko Moun Island. The buzz within the surrounding seats went from a low hub to a dull roar. Everyone was excited. Everyone couldnât wait. The young honeymooners in the front, the second grade school teacher across the row and even the old lady beside me all bounced in their seats, clapping their hands, chanting, âWeâre on vacation, weâre on vacation!â
I laughed, trying to submerge my feelings of impending doom, and silently thanked myself for not having drowned in alcohol the night before. Even if I subconsciously wanted to.
The plane landed on a beautiful tarmac surrounded by lush green palm trees and gorgeous flowers. Just like the poster, I breathed in awe. We deplaned and grabbed our luggage, then were warmly greeted by two beautifully tanned girls. Just as the poster, as well, they wore grass skirts and sea shell tops. I could hear the old lady with the clicking teeth gush about how lovely everything looked, smelled and felt. I grinned, thinking she reminded me of my mother in better days. Always excited and flustered about something.
âTake your luggage and place it on the cart by the gate; our staff will gladly take them to your assigned rooms while you go on the tour of the island.â One of the beautifully tanned girls replied. Her seashells were blue, while the other girlsâ seashells were yellow.
âCome follow us.â The yellow-seashell girl replied, curling her finger towards her, as she stood by the gate.
The crowd obliged, dumping their luggage onto the cart hitched to a small scooter and lined up beside the two beautifully tanned girls. I trailed behind them, not wanting to fully join them almost in reservation of what this tour would involve. The gate before us was cast iron and looked extremely heavy. The thick strands of green ivy that covered it hid behind whatever secrets this place seemed to have. For a destination island, it was awfully quiet and it made me increasingly uneasy.
The yellow-shelled girl lifted the handle to the gate and pulled it open, revealing a long, dark tunnel. A light could be seen at the very end and the sound of birds and crickets chirped, echoing along the metallic walls. âJust follow this hallway to the very end, and youâll see the hotel before you. A gentleman will be waiting to assist you once you get there. As it is quite dark, please donât crowd and take your time. Your dream vacation will begin here.â
The two girls exchanged sly glances and smiled back at the buzzing crowd. We were herded into this tunnel with the gate closed behind us. Voices bounced along the walls from everyone talking and spilled out into the woods in front of us. There was no hotel and there was no one waiting at the end.
Questions began to arise, âWhat is this, some kind of joke?â asked the honeymooners.
âWhere is the hotel? Did we miss a turn or door or something?â asked the second grade teacher.
âWhere are we?â asked my chatty, elderly neighbor.
A slight chill went up my spine as I realize something very important. My dream. This is just like my dream. I spun around back towards the opening of the tunnel and ran back to the gate, but the girls had left already. I banged my open hands against the rails and called out, âHello? Hello, is anyone there?â But there was no response.
I gulped and shivered as the high pitched shriek from the woods echoed along the tunnel reaching my ears. Screams pierced the air surrounding me and the sounds of a bloody attack told me to stay. I could hear flesh being ripped from bone and the gurgling of blood as it gushed from their victimsâ throats. A howl and sound of lips smacking told me the attack wasnât yet over. Some of them had run, had tried to escape only to be hunted down and devoured. Piece by piece, they were torn apart.
If I moved, I was sure one of them would hear me. Every little breath echoed. I twisted around slowly, praying none of those creatures would notice me and tried to slip my arm through one of the rails. I just needed to reach that handle, to lift it and escape. I reached and reached, but couldnât grasp it. Or if I was able to grasp it, I couldnât lift it.
I heard a grunting noise from outside of the tunnel, and I froze. The creature sniffed the air and headed right towards me. I didnât dare breathe or make a sound. I was stuck, there was no escape.
I turned slowly, my back against the gate rails, and faced the creature. I didnât even have a chance to scream âŚ
The Deceased
Today’s guest post comes from Alex at A Teenage Book Lover….
Hello everybody! My friend Amanda asked me if I would like to do a post for her Zombiepalooza event and how could I resist? I started thinking about what I should do, and when I saw that she said we could write a piece of flash fiction, I thought what better way to celebrate Zombiepalooza than to write a short story about zombies? So I started writing on my iPod. Little did I know that I would become addicted to this story, barely able to stop writing it. So I plan on turning it into a novel called THE DECEASED, but for now, I leave you with this excerptâŚ
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At this point, I couldn’t distinguish the sound of the wind and the moaning of the Deceased. The storm had moved in fast and I hadn’t had time to find a better sanctuary than this tool shed in the suburbs of Detroit. But there really was no sanctuary now, so it didn’t really matter.
As I sat there, trying to control my breathing, not because I was worried about them hearing me, but because I didn’t want them to smell me, I tried to think of a way this could’ve happened. I still couldn’t figure it out.
The Deceased started showing up only about a week ago. The first account of their existence was when three of them attacked a village in some irrelevant South American country. I recalled my eelings of horror as I sat in front of my television, listening to a translator and watching a group of small, dark women retell the terrorizing experience they had had just the night before.
After that, nobody knew what to do. The world went crazy. People were killing other people whenever they had the chance. If the people they murdered were alive or dead did not matter to them. And from what I can tell, I am one of the few human beings in existence. And I plan to keep it that way.
Since I couldnât recall having a second of sleep, I rested my head against the wall of the shed and closed my eyes. I canât believe how fast I fall asleep. Itâs funny, before this all happened, I could never fall asleep during a storm. Now, it was the only time I could.
My rest was interrupted by a noise that filled me with fear. Not because it was one of them, but because I knew that they would be to me before I could say the alphabet. A bucket had fallen off of one of the shelves and had clattered to the floor. Usually, this wouldnât have bothered me, but now that the dead were around every corner, I knew my next move could decide whether I lived or died.
I knew they would be coming and I was right. Just a few seconds after the bucket had fallen, the moaning got louder and louder. I got up as quick as I could, sleep still making me a little dizzy, grabbed a shovel off of the wall, and bolted out the door.
I didnât even look where I swung the shovel, itâs not like I was all to concerned about harming anybody or anything, that was my intention. I felt the shovel vibrate harshly in my hands each time it hit one of the Deceased.
The moaning didnât die down, and neither did they. I wasnât even sure if their current state of what some would call life could be put to an end. And then I wasnât moving. I stared into the eyes of a Deceased that could have been a NFL lineman, if he could move faster than your average walking pace.
He was right in front of me and I honestly thought that was where my life would come to an end. The stench of his rotted flesh seeped into my nostrils, making me want to puke. But that isnât what I did, I took the shovel, pointed it towards his neck, and shoved with all my strength.
His head dangled from his neck, and then he just flopped to the ground. I just killed a fucking zombie, hell yes! But I didnât have much time to celebrate, as I looked around and noticed that more of them had appeared, surrounding me.
I charged again, making a straight line towards⌠whatever was in front of me. The Deceased definitely didnât mind it if they were sliced with a gardening shovel, they didnât even take the time to look at their wounds when the metal edge cut them open. Their only intention was to make me one of them.
And then I saw a light, it wasnât bright or big, but it was a light. And that gave me more hope than anything I had felt in the past few days of me fighting for my life.
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I hope you enjoyed it! And thank you to Amanda, without Zombiepalooza, I doubt I wouldâve started writing this!
-Alexander Bennett
Zombiepalooza Giveaway & Guestblog from Jeff Bryan!
Zombieaplooza’s guestblog today comes from Jeff Bryan, author of Jenny Pox, Helix, and Dominion. He offers a new take on the debate between old-school slow zombies and the new hyper speed modern ones.
A giveaway for e-copies of Jenny Pox follows after his guestblog…
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As someone who loathes jogging, I’m starting to feel a little unprepared for the zombie apocalypse.
It wasn’t always this way. Once upon a time, all you needed to do was hook up with some survivors, find a good solid building, and board up the windows. The biggest problem was deciding who had to kill that sweet little girl with the nasty zombie bite.
If you ran into a zombie, you just aimed for the head. You had plenty of time to line up your shot while the zombie dragged and shuffled toward you.
No more. Zombies are getting faster every year. You knew it would happen.
Americans are just too impatient to turn into the traditional, sluggish walking dead anymore. We can’t even tolerate the indecisive customer ahead of us at Starbucks. People risk life and limb to get one car length ahead in traffic.
When we’re always gulping down caffeine and 5-hour energy tablets, that’s going to have an effect on how we behave in our second life as zombies. Gone are the gentler, slower zombies that menaced our grandparents. As we rush from one errand to another, our nervous systems are programmed to hurry, hurry, hurry. That won’t just go away when the radiation/toxic waste/black magic reanimates our corpses. High-speed is all we’ve ever known.
You can’t count on modern zombies to loiter around outside your house for hours while you debate strategy with the other survivors. And forget about that desperate sprint to the truck outsideâyour brains will be snack food before you reach the tailgate.
Zombies are single-minded and nigh-unkillable. Their sloth was the only hope we had. Like South American army ants, they were fairly harmless as individuals, and only became a threat when they swarmed in large numbers. But even one fast zombie is a serious threat.
I’m not sure how they got so fast, but it makes sense. Imagine the first zombie who was only slightly faster than the others. He (or, more likely, she) got to eat more brains and bite more people, spreading the faster zombie-juice around. It’s evolutionary pressureâonce a single zombie speeds up, the others have to speed up or starve.
Before you know it, zombies are racing through your city, ripping off heads, not even stopping to savor the intestines.
How do we prepare for a fast-zombie apocalypse? The usual rules applyâstore up ammo, water, food and fuel. But now, you need to add one extra bullet, just for yourself, just in case.
Otherwise, you’ll have to take up jogging.
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For more information about Jeff Bryan or his books, please visit: www.jlbryanbooks.com.
Jenny Morton is a quiet small-town girl from South Carolina whose touch spreads a deadly supernatural plague–she can’t touch anyone for long without killing them. Jenny can’t control her power, so it controls her life. The kids at school call her “Jenny Mittens” because she wears gloves year-round, even in the broiling Carolina summer.
Occasionally, she makes a mistake and spreads disease and death. She struggles to keep her fatal touch a secret from everyone.
Her life is friendless and lonely until she meets Seth, a boy with a healing touch. Seth is the only boy Jenny can touch, but Jenny’s affection for him brings the wrath of his devious, manipulative girlfriend Ashleigh, who secretly wields the most dangerous power of all–the power to make people feel love.
Jenny must master her own power–the deadly “Jenny pox”–before Ashleigh can destroy her…
Jeff is offering TWO ebooks of Jenny Pox in eformats supported by the Kindle, the Nook, and most other ereaders.
The giveaway for the TWO e-copies of Jenny Pox has the same rules as the other Zombiepalooza giveaways –
1. To enter to win, comment on this blog, leaving an email address to contact you in case you win.
2. The giveaway runs from now until October 28th at midnight. On October 29th, winners will be chosen by random.org and contacted. They have 72 hours to reply before the prize defaults to the runner-up.
3. Only one entry per giveaway. (But you can enter as many different Zombiepalooza giveaways as you want.)
4. US only. Sorry to our international friends. đ