Post your WORLD IS DEAD stories, open thread for posting of zombies!

aloha. We were talking about this in the general discussion room and there was some interest, so i thought i'd go ahead and make us a thread here.

basically, if you submitted a story to THE WORLD IS DEAD ANTHOLOGY and want to share it with the rest of us, post it up here!

here is my effort - it's not been rejected yet, but i suspect that that's just because it's not been read yet. (I'm happy with how it turned out but i'm fairly sure it's not really that great, lol)

feedback muchly appreciated!
"And Yet The Books"

Wow, Rakie! Please don't underestimate yourself. It is a great story. They would be silly not to accept it.

Now, if you want a "not really that great" story, mine follows.




*Out with the Old*

48, 49, 50, 51, 52. . . .Oh, thank God!
She watched his eyes roll up as he tilted his head back like he was trying to catch a glimpse of the high ceiling.
Been there, done that, she thought. The ceilings were out of the reach of the dim light, so counting tiles was out. She also used to use the time he took to make out her grocery list, but times had changed. No more grocery lists for her. Lately she had taken to counting thrusts or reading the plaques lining the high marble walls, but she nearly had those memorized.
She closed her eyes to test herself. James Connor Devlin January 12, 1928 – October 21, 1957. James was on the third row up, two across, nestled between father, Lawrence, who proceeded his son in death by only three years, and Sarah Beatrice Wachova, who in 1963 died a lonely woman, as no family was near her.
She opened her eyes to check. Yep, got those right.
It was then she felt the wet mouth on her neck. Junior. How could she forget?
“Get off me.”
“Oh, babe,” he panted.
“Off!” She shoved him, and he rolled over onto his side of the mattress. Grabbing a paper towel, she thrust it between her legs before his yuck dribbled out and put a wet spot on her side of their makeshift bed. Then she got up and slid on her panties and shorts, leaving the towel nestled in its place.
Junior leered at her from his place on the mattress. “Goddamn, woman, you are hot!”
She said nothing; instead she pushed aside the curtain of blankets which gave them a little more privacy in their small corner of the mausoleum and started towards the lobby to the public restrooms. Well, not so public anymore. But useable. Thank God for city water. Sure the power was off, had been for quite some time, but the water still flowed and, more importantly, the toilets flushed.
Bette had grown up in the middle of nowhere. She had been used to electric pumps moving the water from the well in the backyard into the house. When the power was out, you had no water. She had been flabbergasted that, while staying at a friend’s house during a storm, she could use the toilet and flush! But that had been ages ago. Before Junior.
She hadn’t wanted to marry Junior. Daddy had. Junior was his best friend’s boy, in his eyes you couldn’t get more perfect than that. Bette’s whole life had been pleasing Daddy, and though she didn’t like Junior one bit, she couldn’t say no when Daddy asked. Yep, the weasel didn’t even have the balls to ask her himself. She had tried to be a good girl and smile when she saw Daddy, but after his death a few years back to a heart attack,
she grew to hate Junior more and more with his beer gut and ugly county fair tattoos. He was an idiot.
Today was their fifth year anniversary, thus the sex. Sometimes it was just easier to give in, to let him grunt over her for a minute or two, then that was it. He was happy, and she could escape. Well, not any longer. The zombies had put an end to her walks. Now the only solace she managed afterwards was the short trek to the restroom.
She noticed that all the stalls were empty when she entered, so she slipped into the end one, pulled down her shorts and undies, removed the paper towel, and sat. It fell out in oozing clumps.
She still hated the thought of his sperm inside her, looking for their bullseye. Little did they or their master know was that there was no bullseye. It wasn’t dumb luck that she never got pregnant. Junior pined over a baby, while the thought of birthing his heir made her sick. She had been on the pill for years and continued to take it. One of her first stops when they went for supplies after the Z’s took over was the pharmacy. She vowed she’d turn into one of those damn zombies before giving him a child.
She finished and was washing her hands when Christine came in.
“Hey, I hear it’s your anniversary. Hope it went well.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Christine passed her and went into a stall. “You’ve been married five years, right?”
“Yep.”
“Just like us.”
“Great.”
Christine emptied her bladder, and Bette figured the conversation was done.
“See ya.”
“Wait, Bette.”
Bette paused, her hand on the door handle as she heard the other woman struggle with her clothing, flush, then come out of the stall. She made her way to the sinks, placed her flashlight on the shelf above them, and leaning over her extended belly washed her hands.
“Jack’s organizing a run for supplies. You want in?”
Bette’s face lit up. “You bet!” She lived for supply runs. Sure it was dangerous. Even though the reserves had done a fine job of keeping most areas clean, you never knew when a Z would pop up. But it was exciting, and a sight better than staring at Junior all day.
Christine smiled at her. “I knew you would. Jack says he can always count on you to pitch in.”
Jack. Now there was a husband. Smart, well built, and just plain good looking, Jack had inadvertently taken over as the leader of their little pod when he and Christine had come across the rest of them milling about with no plans of what to do, where to go, how to live. Like many, Bette and Junior decided to hold up in their homes when the first of the Z’s appeared in their neighborhood. The reservists got there only a few weeks later and cleaned up the place, but when they came back and started taking young women away “for their own safety” Junior decided they should go underground, and for once
Bette had agreed with him. Turns out they weren’t the only ones who didn’t want their sisters, daughters, and wives used as breeders for the military and what was left of the government. Little pods had sprouted up all across their part of the country. Though communication was limited, Jack and his pod had made friends with a few in the area. One, a former downtown gang was their connection to weapons and painkillers. (Jack hadn’t been too keen on having illegal drugs in the pod, and everyone agreed.) The pod was also in good with a local farmer and his extended family a few miles out of town. They were able to grow fresh food in their greenhouses, and they struck a deal with Jack. The farmers and the gang didn’t get along, so Jack was their go-between. They traded fresh food for weapons and weapons for fresh food. Bette wasn’t sure who’s idea it had been to live in the mausoleum, but she was sure it had been Jack’s. After all, the Z’s were looking for live bait, why would they hang out in a cemetery? In the year they’d been there, Bette had only seen and killed one Z in their immediate area. And Bette, who had become quite skilled at killing the nasty things, didn’t think that was too bad.
The ladies said their goodbyes, and Bette went back to lay next to her filthy husband to lie awake and think about tomorrow’s run.
Junior was still sleeping when Bette left their bed to go meet up with the small party preparing to leave on their run. They assembled in the hall near the backdoor. Jack had smiled and given her shoulder a squeeze.
“Good seeing you this morning, Bette. I’m counting on you to have my back.”
“You know it, Jack.”
Ah, what a man. Not that she was in love with him or anything. But if it wasn’t for Christine, maybe she could have been.
The cemetery around the mausoleum was clear of Z’s. They spotted a couple meandering in the park, but they were far enough away not to pose a threat, so Jack decided not to fire. In town, the watchmen of the gang exchanged nods with Jack as they hurried past the gang’s territory.
They stopped to catch their breaths at the bank in the plaza with the grocery store, pharmacy, and book store.
“Tom and Dale, you two head to the store and get s’more canned goods and water. Bob and Terry, you hit the book store. I’m so sick of those Dan Pattersons on cd I could spit. Find some new entertainment, alright?”
They smiled and nodded. Jack wasn’t the only one getting sick of Patterson.
“Bette, Jacob, and I will hit the hospital.”
“No pharmacy, then?” Bob asked.
“Don’t think we need it. We hit it last week, and our supplies look good. I’m more concerned about getting everything we need for Christine. She’s due to give birth any day now, and Jacob here knows what he needs to help her deliver.”
They had been blessed with finding Jacob a few months earlier. He had been the only survivor of his group after a surprise run in with a dozen Z’s in an alley behind the Wal-Mart in the suburbs. Jacob was an RN and extremely valuable to Bette’s pod.
“We meet back here in an hour. Wait half an hour after that before heading back. You know the reason.”
Jack had lost most of his previous pod due to waiting too long for a couple to come back from foraging in a grocery store. The Z’s had gotten them, smelled the others, and almost cleaned them all out. Jack now followed a strict rule: anyone who doesn’t meet up at the appointed time gets left behind. He couldn’t risk it. No one could.
They broke and Bette fell in behind Jack and Jacob. They rushed across the open road into the drive of the hospital.
“You know where to go, Jacob?” Jack asked.
“Sure. Once we find the maternity floor, everything I’ll need will be there. Most hospitals are set up in a similar fashion. I doubt we need an hour.”
“Better safe than sorry. Bette, you be the lookout.”
“Gotcha.”
The lobby was deserted. Bette still kept a constant sweep of the area with her flashlight, her rifle at the ready, as Jack and Jacob found maternity.
They found the stairwell, Bette went in, and hands instantly grabbed her throat. Before the dead man had a chance to rip off her face with his teeth, she put the rifle’s barrel up under his chin and pulled the trigger. The report was deafening, but the Z slumped to the ground. Jack did a sweep with his flashlight and found the rest of the stairwell empty.
“Holy shit, girl,” Jacob exclaimed. “Good reflexes.”
“Thanks.” Bette wiped the spatter off her face with her sleeve. She didn’t fail to miss the look of approval from Jack before he turned and started up the stairs.
Maternity was empty, and Jacob was quick to locate one of the delivery rooms. Bette stayed in the hall as the two men went in to get everything they would need for Christine’s delivery.
“Jack,” Bette whispered after a few minutes.
“Yeah?”
“I thought I head something across the hall.”
Jack cocked his head to listen and Jacob stood still. ‘I don’t hear—“
“No. I hear it. I’m going to check it out.”
“Bette,” there was concern in his voice, she heard it loud and clear, “you sure?”
“Yeah. I’ll be right back.”
She turned and crossed the hall. She heard it again, a soft cry or moan, coming from behind the door in front of her. She pushed it open slowly, her rifle and flashlight coming around quickly to find the source of the noise. The beam illuminated a woman sitting on the floor in the corner. She was alive, but barely, and was holding a small girl in her arms.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t let us become one of those things.”
Bette took a few steps closer, letting the door close behind her.
“My friend’s a nurse—“
The woman shook her head. “I am, was a doctor myself. We have pneumonia. I tried to come here and treat it,” she gave a small cough, “but was too late. I need you to kill us. Please don’t let us turn into those things. Please.”
Bette took another step forward. “Your daughter?”
“Yes. I don’t know if she’s asleep or—“ she tried to glup back some tears, but they came anyway. “Please. Please do this for us.”
“Yes.” Bette raised her rifle.
She told Jack of the woman as he rushed into the hall.
“Wow. You know, Bette, I don’t think I could have done it.”
She smiled at him. What a softie. “Then it’s a good thing I found them. You boys ready?”
“Ready.”
The trip back was as quiet and uneventful as the trip out, the only major difference being they all were carrying full and heavy dufflebags. Bette, especially felt the weight of hers bearing down on her shoulder.
“Jack!” Christine hugged her man as the door was swinging shut behind them. Others grabbed bags to help unload. Bette nodded her hello’s and left the pod to welcome their members back and unpack the newly gotten supplies. She slipped back unobserved to her private hall to find Junior.
She let the curtain fall behind her. There he was, still lying on the covers playing some sort of handheld game.
“Hey, babe. You go yet?”
“Gone and back. And I brought you something.”
He dropped his game. “Really?”
“Yep.” She came over to him and set the duffel bag next to their makeshift bed. “It’s something you always wanted. I’m finally ready to give it to you.”
Junior sat up on his haunches, clearly excited now as to what the gift could possibly be. He unzipped the bag and the dead child launched herself at his jugular. He didn’t have time to scream.
Bette came to stand over him as the child ate her way through his neck.
“You always wanted a child,” she told him as he died.
When the feeding was over, she took care of both the bodies so they would not reanimate. Waiting until after everyone had settled for the night, she dragged the bodies to the basement. She had discovered the room where the bodies had been embalmed and prepared for burial when they had first settled in the mausoleum. Using the tools and supplies she had found and had been itching to use, she worked on the girl and Junior until she could hide them without the worry of them ever being found. Afterwards, she returned to her empty marital bed and lay down for what would become the best night’s sleep she had had in five years.
As she drifted off, she wondered what the chances would be of Christine surviving childbirth.

xx

Now that's a punchline.

Steven: I can see why they said it was "nauseating" but I think that if that's all they took from it, they missed out on a really strong, original piece of writing.

I am now too p*ssed to read the stories....damn!

Not a World Is Dead sub, but as I promised Rakie, here's the tale of an undead dominatrix aving an odd session:


Jade hadn't really been planning to start working as a dominatrix after she died, but the run in she'd had with those idiots in Christ’s Sword had ended with her diving into the canal on fire. Mercifully, her eyes had survived, but the rest of her had left been left in a pretty terrible condition. She'd wiped out all of her remaining savings that she'd been able to hide in an illicit bank account after her death getting reupholstered. Most of her fat had been cooked, along with a lot of her muscle, which had left her a lot slimmer after she was sewn into the catsuit she'd splashed out on. Jade was very glad that she wasn't an eater, as her backside was now permanently sealed under her new leather skin. The effect was a little frightening, but it would probably prove a lot more hardwearing than most of her peer's skins had. At least she didn't have to worry about it turning green and peeling off. She missed her hair, but the seamstress friend of a friend who'd done the operation in Manchester had tightened the costume all over so it fit nearly perfectly, and replaced the front of the hood with a moulded sheet that made a much better replacement for the parts of her face she wasn't ever going to be able to show again without making people sick. Jade didn’t think her nose or her cheekbones had looked quite like this before, but wasn’t going to complain about the effect. Her lips had been padded with rubber, rather than leather, but as Jade didn’t use her mouth for anything besides talking anymore, she didn’t think that would matter much, and the plump glossy red lips superglued over the edges of the hood gave her a much better mouth than she’d since before she died.
The job offer from the dungeon in Meir had come as a surprise. Jade knew that a lot of dead girls were working in the sex industry, largely under conditions of virtual slavery that left them envying the illegal immigrants who the Russian mobs had been imported from eastern Europe, but she couldn't imagine anybody wanting to be topped by a dead person.
Becki had explained that Jade looked the part, and nobody would know, or care, that her catsuit was sewn in place permanently. Jade was quite pleased she'd bought the most expensive one she'd been able to find. She quite enjoyed the work, and as she didn't get tired from whipping people,  she was often asked to take over for her colleagues. Becki refused to allow scat or watersports in her premises, so the fact that Jade couldn't do that wasn't an issue. In fact, during her first week Jade had found out that she'd been hired to replace a Domme who'd been told to take a hike for pissing on a client and failing to tidy up as thoroughly as she thought she had. Apparently Caitlin had been coked out of her head most of the time she was working, which was good for projecting an air of arrogant hauteur, but a lot less helpful when it came to sweeping indiscretions the owner objected to under the carpet.
The other girls had twigged that Jade was dead, but nobody said anything about it, or seemed particularly bothered. The bible freaks who made up Christ’s Sword were down on what they got up to almost as much as they were on the living dead, after all. Jade hadn't shared the address of the lock up she was renting with anybody, though. She was being paid cash in hand, and was trying to look into getting another bank account set up, but that was proving tricky. Before she’d had to splash out on a new face, she’d been able to pass herself off as one of the living, but she doubted that’d work anymore.

Jade was chatting to Fiona in the dressing room when Rowena bustled in. Rowena was a curvy blonde who always struck Jade as a bit too short to convince as a Dominatrix, though she had quite a few regulars, and seemed to make a good living from it. She teetered into the room dressed in one of the pairs of platform sandals with cheat heels she favoured, her fishtailed rubber hobble skirt squeaking with every motion and collapsed onto the sofa.
 "I can't handle anymore tonight, Jade," Rowena said. "Could you take over the guy who's just come in for me? Please? I've got to get home. I didn't get any sleep yesterday.”
"Of course," Jade said. "What room's he in?"
Rowena smiled gratefully and began to unbuckle the ankle straps on her sandals. Maybe that was why Rowena got so many clients. There were a lot of gimps with a foot fetish, and Jade had to admit that Rowena had very nice feet. The polish on her toenails was chipped and needed redoing, Jade noticed.
“Thanks, honeypie,” Rowena said. "He's in the flame suite." For some reason, Becki had decided on elemental symbolism when decorating her dungeons. This mostly amounted to a few graphics on the black walls, but at least the graphics weren't completely obvious. In the case of the flame suite there was a Chinese dragon painted in red spiralling across the ceiling. It struck Jade as a nice touch, and whoever had painted or stencilled the dragon had done a good job, but she wasn’t sure that Chinese dragons actually breathed fire like their occidental rivals. Still, she wasn’t sure that she was right about that, and it would have been either tactless to mention it even if she was right. Jade certainly wasn’t up for repainting the roof, put it that way. She could afford to replace her leathers by now, but they were a nice fit and she didn’t want to do that until she had to because they’d started to bag or split. Maybe she could have one of the clients lubricate the bits of her back she couldn’t quite reach with saddle soap. There probably were people out there who’d pay for that, but she hadn’t met any of them yet.
“Great,” Jade said. “A pain puppy.” The cellar of the big Victorian detached had been carved up into two halves. The two dungeons down there had more room than the suites on the ground floor and upstairs, but Jade thought the other suites looked a lot better. Even under the redecoration, they were obviously solid nineteenth century architecture, whereas the two dungeons waslls were chipboard under a thin layer of plaster and matt black paint. She supposed the fact that the floors were concrete rather than boards must turn some people on, though they were probably seen as being more private. Even the skylight that had once been a coal chute, opposite the stairs down from the kitchen stood at one end of the corridor running between the two rooms. The Flame Suite had the biggest collection of props in the house.
“Well, at least you don’t get tired whipping them,” Fiona said.
“There is that,” Jade said. “Look on the bright side, though ‘Fee. It’s built up your biceps.” At least if the guy just wanted to be whipped it wouldn’t take long, and Jade wouldn’t be expected to spend much time roleplaying. Roleplaying really did bore her stupid, and she was astonished that some of the girls actually seemed to enjoy it. Still, she’d been a pretty vanilla sort back when she still had a sex life, so maybe that was it.

When Jade got down to the flame suite, she was surprised to see the city’s elected Mayor, Anton Baines, perched naked on the end of the leather sofa. Since becoming the city’s Mayor, rather than one of its growing cluster of BNP councillors, he’d been making a point of stirring up trouble for the undead. There wasn’t any doubt that he was in tight with the idiots in Christ’s Sword, despite the fact that the Sentinel had been sued for saying as much. It was a horrible, right wing rag even by the low standards of local papers, but even they thought he was an evil right piece of vermin who needed shooting. He looked up at her with greedy, feral little eyes, and after skipping a beat, Jade locked back into her script. She wondered how long it would take Fiona and Rowena to leave, and then decided that she was going to put in a bit more effort than she usually did for this trick. The evil little shit had earned it, after all.
“What the **** do you think you’re doing on the furniture, you repulsive maggot?” Jade barked. Baines sprang off the couch, his cock stiffening. Jade pointed one permanently gloved finger, and he knelt in front of her. She’d always thought that a politician’s habitual kink was crossdressing, but Baines had far too much body hair to make a very convincing drag queen. He leaned forwards and pressed his lips to the toe of Jade’s court.
“Did I tell you you could kiss my feet?” Jade said, tapping his cheek, hard with her other shoe. Restraining herself was a real effort.
“No, Mistress,” Baines said.
“You don’t do anything I don’t tell you to, worm,” Jade said. “Is that clear? You don’t even scream without permission.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Baines whispered. From the way he was trembling, he was very excited. There was something deeply ironic about him getting a storker over a zombie.
“I didn’t give you permission to get hard, either,” Jade said. “That’s is you can call this silly little thing a penis,” Baines gasped hard as Jade ground its head under the toe of her shoe, “and what it’s doing an erection.” Jade withdrew her foot and pondered.
“The stock, I think,” she said. “That’ll hold you still while I punish you.” The stock was mostly pine, pinned together and banded with stainless steel. There were snap releases on the locks, but they could be jammed shut quite handily, and it was bolted to the floor. Once he was locked into it, he wouldn’t get loose in a hurry, and it would hold his hands as well as his neck. Perfect for what Jade had in mind. She flipped it open, and snapped her fingers. Baines hastened to put himself into position. Once the top was closed, Jade quickly wedged a nipple tweezer through the loop above the pin.
“There,” Jade purred in her most seductive tone. “You’re at my mercy now. I can do whatever I want with you. Doesn’t that feel nice?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Baines said. He really was stupid, jade thought. It hadn’t even occurred to him to ask about safewords. Still, she’d had to remind clients about that before now, and doubtless Baines would realise what was missing before long.
“My name is Mistress Karma,” Jade said. She normally considered her real name exotic enough for this sort of thing, but decided that the current situation warranted a nom de guerre. She walked over to the cabinet in front of the stocks, her high heels clicking on the concrete floor and walked back, carrying a strap and a pair of nipple clamps. “You want these don’t you, worm?” she said.
“Yes, Mistress,” Baines said.
“Convince me, then,” Jade said. “You can’t grovel while you’re locked in there, but you can beg.”
Baines started begging very enthusiastically.

Baines enjoyed the role playing at first, and wasn't even that alarmed when Jade gagged him. His eyes did widen when she took the bullwhip off the wall, though. Becki had stressed that it was part of the décor, and wasn't ever to be used on clients. Unlike the various crops, straps and canes about the dungeon, it could do a lot of damage. Jade was interested to see how much and took a hard swipe at Baines' back with it. The whip made a lot more noise than the lighter instruments as it whistled through the air, and Jade suspected that if Baines hadn't had a penis shaped gag filling his mouth he'd have screamed the house down. He still made a lot more noise than she'd expected. Jade tutted and walked back around in front of him.
"This is what you're paying for, you little shit," Jade said. "Stop being such a baby. You came here to get hurt, and by God I'm going to hurt you." Her voice was taking on a harsh, mean tone that Jade much like, but it wasn’t like there was anybody else about to hear. "What do you expect if you're stupid enough to pay a zombie to top you? Your little friends in Christ’s Sword set me on fire. I'm sewn into this suit to stop what was left of me afterwards spilling. It's a pity you were too stupid to think of using a safeword, wasn't it? Not that I'd listen to one."
There was a packet of syringe tips in the cupboard. A few of the clients were into needles. Jade didn't think that Baines was one of them, but didn't let that deter her from sticking them through his penis. She was pleased to see that it had started to soften. Being abused by a zombie wasn't a turn on for him, it seemed.
"There," Jade said, straightening up. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" She made an effort to force her voice back into the honeyed purr she normally used for these sessions. She wasn't going to give Baines the stimulation he'd come here for, but it amused her to use the patter. "I wonder if I can whip them out without mutilating you?" Baines made a muffled, choking noise through the gag. "It'll be tricky. I've never used the bullwhip before, maggot. We're not supposed to because it leaves scars, but you're such a special case, I think an exception can be made." Baines' next burst of muffled screaming was louder than the last one.
Jade eventually gave up on whipping out the needles, and pulled the last few out by hand. It looked like Baines wouldn't ever be getting hard again, looking at what was left of his penis.
"Are you enjoying your special treatment, worm?" Jade asked. Baines didn't make any noise so Jade whipped him across the balls as hard as she could to see if he was still breathing. That drew a response. After the fifth time she whipped him there, he stopped screaming. He was still breathing, but it looked like he'd just fainted.
Jade lit a candle and played the flame across the mess she'd left between his legs until he started wriggling again. "You don't away that easy, worm," Jade said. "This session isn't over until I say so." She thrust the lit end of the candle up Baines' ringpiece, then walked back around to his front end for a quick word.
“Don’t give me those hurt puppy eyes, Baines,” she said. “The sex industry is one of the only vacancies you’ve left for dead people like me.”

Jade wasn’t sure at what point Baines stopped breathing. She rinsed off the bullwhip and saddle soaped it first, then hung it back where she’d found it. After dragging Baine’s mortal remains out to his Beemer, she threw him in the back and dropped his clothes on top of him. He had a couple of hundred quid on top of his fee and Becki’s cut in his wallet, which Jade was sure must be a tip. She mopped up the floor in the dragon suite, and put those sex toys back where they belonged before leaving. Apart from the needles she’d bent, even the nipple tweezers would still work. Becki was a firm believer in psychosymmetry, and Jade was sure that any essences Baines had leaked into them would provide future clients with a nice added thrill. Once she’d locked up, and pulled on a coat over her leathers, she was whistling as she walked back to the BMW. This was going to be the first drive she’d taken since dying, and while the temptation to take his big turbo out for a spin was a strong one, she resisted it in favour of a short jaunt down to the internment camp by the A road. Standing on the roof of his car, Jade found it quite easy to heave Baine’s corpse over the fence. The acephalic eaters lurched forwards as they caught his scent. They wouldn’t leave enough of the wanker’s corpse to identify, and it was about time he did something for Stoke’s undead community. She gathered up his clothes and dumped them in the canal, then left his car on the edge of a rough estate in Abbey Hulton with the keys in the ignition. Even if she couldn’t risk taking it for a joyride, there was no reason why somebody else couldn’t.
With her hands in her pockets, and the brim of her hat pulled down low over the curly blonde wig she used to hide her head when she wasn’t working, Jade walked back to her lock up, whistling a Kurt Weill song to herself. As Baines hadn’t been a regular, she might not even lose her job over this. She’d just got away with murder. It gave her a nice, warm feeling. A warm glow like this could almost make a girl forget that she was a corpse.

Scarlet> "Now, if you want a "not really that great" story, mine follows."

You don't give yourself enough credit, Scarlet, your story's really good...

I'll read yours and Rakie's over the weekend, Dominic...

Thanks, Steve.

I loved the way our stories both started out with the sex thing. Coinsidence? Perhaps, perhaps not.

I enjoyed your stories very much, Steve & Dominic. They are the bright spot to my day.

I think, Steve, yours was just too optimistic for them. But I agree with CJ, so we'll just say the editors are idiots.

I'm surprised you didn't submit that one, Dominic. I enjoyed it. Parts reminded me of something I wrote quite awhile ago.

Thank you, Scarlett.

To be honest, I actually came up with the idea for that one for Dark Jesters, but shelved it after finding that they weren't interested in being sent anymore zombie stories. When I mentioned that I had a partially written zombie dominatrix story, Rakie was interested, so I thought I might as well finish it off. (If I was trimming it down to 2000 words for those guys, all the stuff about Stoke's local government and the four BNP seats in the council would have to go, I suspect. There's nothing funny about any of that.)

Here's a link to one I submitted to the comedy based antho. Sadly it was Zombie based so they didn't want it.

I think Rakie read this one ages ago as I wrote the original draft not long after we first met.

http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseacti...iendID=52633722

Just scroll down past the poem (or take a read of that too if you like).

hee... good one!

"...it wasn't until I ate my wife that I realised I was a Zombie."

Fun story.

I didn't read the poem. Poems don't agree with me...

Necrotic Tissue have bought my story for the October 2009 issue. They were good enough to say: "An interesting and new take on the Zombie story, great job."

So, you really can't keep a Zombie down! :-)