Greg Krojac - WTF?

Arnold gestured towards the wineglass.

“So… if you’re a vampire, is that blood?”

Trevor laughed.

“My goodness, no. It’s a rather splendid Chilean Merlot. The experts say it should be served at around 60 degrees Fahrenheit but we prefer it chilled. No, we have to drink blood from a warm living human. It loses its restorative properties if it’s chilled.”

He paused for a moment.

“Are you sure you’re not thirsty, Arnold?”

“Positive, thanks.”

Trevor winked at Tracey.

“You will be.”

Tracey was never one to mince her words.

“Tell you what Arnold. You look a bit conspicuous in that get up you’re wearing. How about my Trevor finds you something more normal to wear? And, whilst we’re about it, we can check out the condition of your – um – condition.”

Arnold followed Tracey up the stairs to the bathroom while her husband went to the master bedroom to find something more suitable for the zombie to wear. Still shell-shocked at how helpful the couple was, he sat down on the toilet seat while Tracey unfastened the laces of his right boot. It took a little encouragement, but the boot was soon off. She looked at his foot.

“Not too bad, considering. A bit spongy, but it seems quite stable.”

She set to work untying the laces of his left boot. This one seemed to be more stubborn and determined to stay on his foot. She placed her own feet against the base of the toilet bowl to give her more purchase, gritting her teeth as she put extra effort into trying to remove the boot. Suddenly it flew free, and she fell over backwards with the boot triumphantly raised in her right hand.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

The boot had come off, but so had Arnold’s left foot. The vampire and the zombie sat blinking at the results of Tracey’s efforts.

Trevor appeared at the bathroom door with a change of clothes for Arnold; a pair of trainers, a pair of denim jeans, a belt, and a Grateful Dead T-shirt. He thought the T-shirt design was quite appropriate, but – greeted by a dismembered foot – he knew it would take a lot more than an ironic T-shirt to cheer Arnold up. He picked up the boot and its contents.

“I think I may have to cut the foot out. I don’t want to damage it any more than it’s already been damaged so I’ll take it down to the garage where I’ve got some tools. I won’t be a minute.”

Arnold felt a little embarrassed as Tracey helped him to remove the rest of his clothes and was grateful for the bath towel she handed him to protect what modesty he might still possess. He might not be a live human being, but he was still a kind of human being nonetheless.

After quickly checking the rest of his body, she stood up.

“It looks like I’ve got some good news for you, young man.”

Arnold found it strange to be addressed as young man by a woman who looked at least fifteen years his junior, but then remembered her saying that she had met Trevor nearly one hundred and fifteen years ago – so she was actually considerably older than he was.

“Good news? What can be good news? I’m dead, I’m decaying, and my foot’s fallen off.”

She bent down on her haunches and supported his left ankle in her hand.

“The good news, Arnold, is that your body appears to have stopped decomposing. You won’t revert back to how you were when you were alive – properly alive – but you won’t get any worse either.”

Arnold supposed that was good news. If he was going to stay one of the undead, at least he wouldn’t rot any more than he already had.

Tracey helped him to get dressed as Trevor returned to the bathroom carrying the missing foot, a roll of gaffer tape, and an industrial staple gun. He nodded approvingly at the ‘new’ Arnold.

“Cool.”

He put the objects from the garage on the bathroom floor and studied Arnold’s ankle.

“I reckon I can put your foot back on. It won’t be perfect – you’ll probably walk with a bit of a limp – but that’s to be expected of a zombie anyway. Zombie 101 – zombies shuffle, stagger, and limp.”

Placing the foot against the stump of Arnold’s ankle as if he was connecting two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, he pressed the two together.

“Tracey, if you could wind the gaffer tape around where the foot and ankle meet – nice and tight – and then I’ll staple the two parts together.”

Tracey did as she was asked. She stood up to admire her handiwork.

“Not bad if I say so myself.”

Once satisfied that the ankle and foot were bound together properly, Trevor picked up the staple gun.

“I don’t think this is going to hurt, Arnold, but, if it does, I apologise in advance.”

He lined up the tool and fired the first staple. He looked at Arnold’s face.

“Did you feel that?”

“Didn’t feel a thing.”

“Good. I’ll carry on, then.”

Soon, Arnold’s ankle was wearing a bracelet of almost forty staples. He could probably have got away with using half that number but Trevor wanted to make the join as strong as possible. He stepped back from the zombie.

“Try and stand on it.”

Arnold tried to stand up but was nervous about the foot giving way, so Trevor and Tracey helped him to his feet. Surprisingly, the repair job seemed quite strong.

Tracey cleared a laundry basket from the room.

“Try walking around a little.”

Arnold moved around the bathroom as much as the limited space would allow. He smiled, the first time he had done so since Trevor had bitten him.

“Thank you. Both of you.”

Out of politeness, Arnold sat at the table as his hosts ate their evening meal. The food – sausages, mashed potato, and baked beans – had been one of his favourite dishes when he’d been alive, and looked absolutely delicious, but he didn’t feel in the slightest bit hungry. He just felt envious that his hosts could eat it.

Trevor picked up a sausage on his fork.

“You used to work in IT, didn’t you, Arnold? I think you said that’s what you did at Tony and Judy’s barbecue.”

Arnold wished he were hungry.

“Yes. A software tester. I was paid to break computer programs.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It was sometimes. But most of the time it was boring financial software.”

Tracey scooped some baked beans onto her upturned fork.

“Do you miss it? Your job, I mean.”

“I don’t think I’ve been away from it long enough to miss it yet. But, I won’t be going back to work there, I suppose.”

Tracey agreed.

“I think you can definitely say that you’re retired now. You’ll have to get used to your new lifestyle.”

Trevor cut in.

“Don’t you mean deathstyle?”

Arnold surprised himself by chuckling at Trevor’s wisecrack. This was his new deathstyle; there was no disputing that. He might as well accept it and move on.

Suddenly a strange sensation clawed at the back of his throat. He coughed a little to see if it would go away but it persisted. Trevor noticed his discomfort.

“Are you alright, mate?”

Arnold’s throat started to make involuntary swallowing motions. His throat began to visibly ripple as what could best be described as a mild seizure overtook his throat muscles. He managed to splutter a few words.

“What’s happening to me? I can’t normally feel things.”

Trevor and Tracey looked at each other anxiously. Tracey looked back at the zombie, feeling his discomfort.

“You’d better tell him, Trev.”

Arnold was starting to get worried now.

“Tell me what?”

Trevor took a deep breath.

“I didn’t mean to, but it looks like I turned you when I bit you at the cemetery.”