Page 3

He was almost out the door when it occurred to him that he might want to bring a weapon, just in case he ran into any of the bullies from his old school, Sally Myers in particular. Back in the kitchen was a butcher knife mother had used to cut herself a piece of cake a few days ago. Andy had not been allowed any cake – pretty girls were obligated to stay slim so they could fit into frilly dresses. Well there would be no more frilly dresses and he would eat all of the cake that he wanted, so he grabbed the knife, licked off the frosting and stuck it into the waistband of his double-buttoned pants.

Back in the living room, the sight of mother's formerly re-animated corpse reminded him that it may be wise to carry a longer range weapon, just to be safe. Over by the fireplace stood an antique fire-poker, the kind with a curved spike coming off the arrow-shaped head. That thing would do some damage – he knew this first hand as mother had beaten him with it on several occasions. With that in mind, he took the poker by the handle and swung it hard into mother's skull, splitting it cleanly in two and coating her precious oriental rug in blackened, pulpy brain-matter. Yes, this would do just fine. Confident he was now well prepared, he went to the front door and stepped boldly outside.

The world that greeted Andy was a world of silence. No cars drove, no voices called, no children ran by screaming and laughing. It was as quiet as a graveyard on the coldest night in December. While Andy had been pre-occupied, nose-down in his work, the world had died. It was an unsettling feeling to be presented with such a world, and if Andy hadn't shoved all of his feelings into a deep dark hole, he might have turned around and gone back inside. But Andy was done with fear, it would no longer dictate his actions, so fire-poker in hand he walked fearlessly into the empty streets and headed towards town. From now on, it would be he who dealt fear.

As he neared town, a fog rolled in, thick and portentous. It was not uncommon for a fog to roll through town, they were not far from a lake after all, but this fog did not feel like the natural condensation that came off of water. This fog had an acrid, chemical smell and taking it into your lungs was like gulping down hot cotton. But Andy did not let it bother him. He took in shallow breaths, a slow, steady rhythm, and by the time he reached the town center his breathing had almost lulled him into a trance.

The town, like everywhere else, was lifeless. The storefronts were lit and doors left hanging open but the whole area seemed to have been deserted in a rush. The fog made it hard to see the small town commons, but even through the pea soup Andy could tell it was devoid of people. There were cars scattered about, some abandoned in the middle of the street with doors ajar and windows smashed. It all told the tale of a small-scale apocalypse, a provincial Armageddon, and as he stood there in the square he wondered if the state of the town and his mother's return from the dead had any connection to one another.

Through the corner of his mask's eye hole Andy caught something moving in the smoky gloom, lurching from behind a van. At last! he thought, and turned to face the figure. As it stumbled towards him he recognized it as a local shopkeeper, a middle-aged man that the cruel local kids had nicknamed "Mumblin' Joe" due to his habit of muttering during a transaction.  Andy had always felt a kinship to Joe as he himself was similarly mocked, but Joe just glanced at him side-eyed on the one occasion that Andy had snuck in to buy candy. It seemed that one town laughing-stock could still be contemptuous of another, especially when it came into his shop wearing an Alice in Wonderland dress topped off with a pretty pink bow.

Well Mumblin' Joe wouldn't be looking at him side-eyed anymore; in fact, he wouldn't be looking at anyone side-eyed, period. As the man lurched closer it became clear that both his eyes were gone, torn right out of their sockets leaving empty, blood-encrusted skull holes.  He groaned in that dry, dead-leafy way that mother had groaned, and Andy knew that Joe must be in the same state of un-death. Without giving it a second thought he hauled back and hit Joe hard in the face with the fire-poker.

[ Continue to page 4 ]