The word “turnpike” got its name from guardsmen standing at either side of a road and lowering their poleaxes to block the road until a toll was paid or a pass was shown.
These days, the pike has been replaced by a mechanical barrier or by cameras which scan for an electronic toll-paying device and capture the license plate numbers of violators.
Still, somewhere in that tollbooth, there’s a fierce-looking halberd leaning against the wall.
When the machines fail. Society breaks down, and the zombies win.
The tolls must be paid, and they certainly don’t collect themselves.
One brain please.
Category: Halloween
The Zombie Clown
Zombies are everywhere.
There’s nowhere left to hide.
I found a boat and made it to an island in the middle of a lake, but the zombies walked along the lake floor and started to come ashore.
So, I kept the boat at sea, which really sucks because I get seasick easily.
I have plenty of food, ammo, and fresh water. And books to read.
If I need more, I go back to shore and collect supplies.
I saw a clown zombie. A freaking clown zombie.
Sick, really, twisting his guts into the shapes of animals.
But, yeah, it’s funny.
That Pumpkin
Back in college, we had pumpkin carving contests.
All of the pumpkins were sent to the children’s ward of a nearby hospital.
Well, almost all.
Everybody else made your typical not-very-scary faces and outlines of flying witches.
I made a screaming face and stuck a saw through the top.
Then I mixed ketchup and quickdrying paint to add the effect of dripping blood.
“Don’t you know this is for kids in the hospital?” they asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Wait… it’s not a mental hospital?”
Oops. My mistake.
Really, I figured the saw could be handy for cutting through the bars.
Burned
I went out to the cemetery, found a place to sit, and read a book about zombies under the moonlight.
After a few minutes, zombies appeared through the trees, shambling across the grass and headstones.
I got out my lighter, and set the book ablaze.
The zombies burst into harmless puffs of flame and ash before vanishing.
Neat trick, right?
You ain’t seen nothing yet.
That’s when opened the magazine I found under dad’s side of the bed.
And… then… a zombie centerfold showed up, moaning “BRAAAAAAAAAINS!”
Sure, that’s in her LIKES list, but I think I’m going to run.
Hallow’s Eve
Every holiday brings its special charms and annoying marketing blitz.
All throughout the store, you’ll see a lot more orange and black for Halloween.
We’re not just talking about the piles of candy for handing out to kids.
(Although I must admit, I ate my candy stockpile and need to go out and buy more.)
You’ll see all kinds of products decked out for the season, some of which don’t make much sense.
Small bottles of Summer’s Eve douche, rebranded “All Hallow’s Eve.”
I guess if you’re turning tricks while collecting treats, it’s essential, but I’ll just stick to candy.
The Ghosts In My Pants
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Most ghosts appear as sheets flapping in the wind, but the ghosts that haunt my house appear as torn and worn-out pants flying around.
At first, I found them frightening, but in time I’ve grown used to them.
They’re even somewhat ludicrous when I think about them.
Especially when they fly around with their zippers undone.
“X Y Z,” I say to a passing ghost, and the jeans hover there for a moment before zipping up.
It goes back to moaning and flapping around with the others.
The laundry promises to exorcise them this time.
Just like “no starch” right?
The Dead Bird
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I’ve had this bird for years.
Used to be pretty with bright white feathers.
One morning, I lifted the cage’s cover and it was lying there on the bottom of the cage, ugly and dead.
I was about to open the cage when I saw it twitch.
I’d seen this in the news: zombie birds.
If it hadn’t have twitched, it would have bitten off a finger or two.
I padlocked the latch to keep it from escaping.
Now, it just claws and bites at the bars of the cage, getting scrawnier and uglier over the years.
Fifty bucks? Deal.
My Medicine
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I wake up, naked, surrounded by my servants.
They have strapped and chained me to a table.
I have a good view of the ceiling. Daylight through the windows.
I don’t taste blood. My hands aren’t sticky.
Still…
“I forgot my medicine again, didn’t I?” I asked.
“Yes,” said my secretary.
“How many died this time?”
“Seven, I think. You made quite a mess.”
They release the chains and straps, and I get up.
“Thank you for washing me off.”
“You made quite a mess.”
I must remember to take my medicine.
Or my prescription will change… to silver bullets.
The Vampire in the Basement
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The tanks are old and need replacing. Blood is leaking from the ceiling again.
We used to have them in the basement, but hauling them upstairs during every flood became a hassle.
The Master has the strength of ten, but the patience of a child and the arrogance of a nobleman.
Nor do the members of his coven perform any lifting beyond coffin lids.
Labor is for us, his daytime servants.
The work is steady, and as long as we don’t complain, we live.
The forecast calls for rain.
At least all we have to haul up are coffins now.
The Werewolf
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Those damn cops had shot at us.
I lucked out, but the Werewolf didn’t.
The angry beast growls and licks his wounds, picking out bullets with his claws and tossing them into the gutter.
“They can’t kill me,” it says. “But it still fuckin’ hurts.”
I nod and watch the wounds.
The bleeding stops, and within a minute they’ve scarred over.
“Drowning is bad, but fire’s the worst.”
“Try taking a stake to your lung,” I say. “They don’t teach anatomy worth a damn anymore.”
He washes the blood off with the rain, and we head back down the alley.