March 3, 2014 9:55pm est
Mrs. Marcus (Mom) is slowly turning into a zombie. She is “hungry” so she walks into her teen son’s (Charlie) room. Perhaps to find him sleeping so she could munch on her first born. She enters noticing quickly that he is not sleeping nor even in his room tonight. He has run out when he was supposed to be grounded. She can not think of this right now as her belly rumbles for something more than the blueberry yogurt and Jenny Craig dinners the freezer has developed little ice castles on. She wants neither of these things….she wants meat, so to speak, and meat is what she sees. The meat, in the form of 3 plump furry friends by the names of Billy Willy Do-Do, Travis Smelly and Andy Dicky Do. These are her son’s hamsters. They were always cute. Now they look yummy. Mrs. Marcus snatches Travis up quickly and begins to sniff his little body as if she were testing out his name. You can see it in her eyes that she is beginning to mean business. The virus has almost peaked. The next step is tasting what the urge has been screaming. She closes her eyes, opens her mouth, raises the tiny fur ball to her face and slowly pushes Travis’ footsie into her diseased mouth. She then bites his short fucking leg off with a frightful squeak and snap of Travis’ toothpick-like bone. What’s left of the real Mrs. Marcus, confronts herself looking into the mirror hanging on the wall over the hamster cage, crunching down on what use to be one hell of a wheel spinner. The human disgust takes over as she begins dry heaving and she throws Travis back into his cage. The poor furry tripod is left to agonize with his kin Billy Willy Do-Do and Andy Dicky Do. They are obviously concerned and run to the opposite side of the cage away from poor Travis ‘Tripod’ Smelly.
Mrs. Marcus runs out of the room and down the hall gagging and growling at the same time. Mr. Marcus Sr.(Dad) sees this as he walks by the stairs leading to the second level of their home. As he trots up the stairs after his wife, you can hear him mutter insensitively, “She better not be pregnant again or else!” He gets to the door and starts to knock impatiently, “Hun? You okay? Let me in please. Do you want me to call Dr. Powell?” He hears only silence now, the virus takes hold-she is dead now-but not for long, and decides to bust in after his wife. The door closes behind him. Now there are only muffled sounds of his voice followed by a horrendous screech and a tussle and then silence. Mrs. Marcus got her meat on.
It is now 10:03 in the evening. Good thing Charlie was bad tonight. Hopefully by the time he sneaks back in Mom and Pop will be feasting next door or even better yet, they’ll be down the street at the new buffet that opened up, formerly known as The Whitehurst Home for Senior Citizens. One could only morbidly hope. For Charlie’s sake that is.
March 4, 2014 3:49am est
Charlie gets home late. Stoned. Drunk. Ready to sleep. He stumbles through the front door, apparently not caring at this point as to how loud he is being and at this point, does it really matter? He makes it up the stairs passed the bloody banisters and bloody puddles on Mom’s beloved $60 a yard carpet that surrounds him. Of course he doesn’t notice. As well he doesn’t notice the bloody smears on the once closed bathroom door Mom and Pop had been behind just a few hours before. “No need to pee, just to sleep“, he thinks to himself. Charlie also thinks to himself why is his damn door is open but since he can barely stand at this point he decides to just slam it shut behind him in loud defiance towards the parental units. “They’re going to pay”, he thinks, “when I move out and stop speaking to them, ha ha.” At last, the long awaited firm mattress and comfy cold sheets. Charlie plops face first on to his bed and doesn’t move. His last thoughts before he clunks into dreamland is, “Oh shit! I forgot to feed ‘the boys’….ah, oh well, I’ll feed them extra when I wake up. Sorry fellas, I know you’re hungry. I will make it up to you.” Yes Charlie. You will. No worries, all you need to do is lie still. They’ll do all of the work for you. Who are ‘The boys’, you ask? Oh they are Billy Willy Do-Do, Travis Tripod Smelly and Andy Dicky Do. Now the other two go by a different name as well. They can’t seem to decide on the right name right now, all they can think of is how hungry they are and they are no longer in the mood for hamster meat. They smell teenager meat right outside their cage and this cage cannot hold them for long. The virus has taken hold of them much quicker than it did Mrs. Marcus. Charlie’s snores sound more like a dinner bell to these tiny little demons. Sshhhh Charlie, it’s time for ‘the boys’ to poke and prod you now. Ssshhhh, sleep tight. Don’t let the zombie hamsters bite! PETA is about to have their point made, ominously.
March 4, 2014 6:49am est
Dawn arrives with pain. A lot of pain. Charlie is laying on his back at this point. While Charlie was away playing, he missed out on witnessing his mommy snapping off his pet hamster’s footsie…he also missed out on seeing his furry little tripod’d buddy tearing up his own kin and in turn creating little furry ravenous balls of fright….and he also missed out on, while being completely passed out, the fact that these clever creatures had crawled up his overly loose pant leg and entered his not-so-overly-loose asshole(Charlie had secrets). The pain he is beginning to feel now that he is waking from his drunken slumber is not unlike one would feel if they were having small rodents chewing their way out of ones tummy…because, in fact, there are small rodents eating their way out of his tummy. He lifts his shirt to reveal his skin being stretched and pushed in all different directions as his tiny buddies finish their travels through his intestines and are ready to break free like Andy Duschane in The Shawshank Redemption, pushing his way through the top soil and rain soaked sod. Except its not top soil and its not sod they are clawing out of. He lets out a shrill of terror as he notices his furry former friends Travis (Tripod), Billy Willy and Andy fuckin’ Dicky climbing out of his abdomen. Charlie was moments, possibly seconds away from thinking his last human thought and the only thing that keeps coming to his mind is the culprit behind this maddness isn’t so much his new zombie pets but the reason behind being able to sleep through this ridiculous amount of torture that has been bestowed upon him for the past couple of hours has got to be that devilish liquid known as Four Loko, mixed with every and any type of liquor in his school buddy’s step-dad’s liquor cabinet. He always swore it would be the last night he would take part in such absurdity. Well, he was right. It was his last night.
March 4, 2014 6:59am est
RIP – Charles Allan Marcus Jr. and his family.
But how did Mrs. Marcus contract this awful virus and where did it come from? For that you will have to read the next installment in this new series of stories that come together and will be known as “The Zombie Witness”. Eat your heart out Twilight disciples, literally, eat your hearts out. PLEASE!
The next volume will be called “Mrs. Marcus’ Affair with a Zombie” or “Business as usual” You decide.
- Life Inside a Hamster Wheel (desertmusepublishing.wordpress.com)
- If You Can’t Beat The Zombies, Eat The Zombies [Food] (kotaku.com)
- Who Wants Zombie Meat? [Zombies] (kotaku.com)
- Zombie Jerky: There Is No Beef In The Future (geekologie.com)
- Zombie drills (sixofclubs.net)