Greg Krojac - WTF?

Adrienne pulled down the shoulders of her dress a little so that Arnold would have a clear target area.

He rested his fangs on where he thought he should bite and then pulled them away quickly. He turned to Trevor.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Trevor.”

Trevor took hold of Arnold’s head and placed the zombie’s fangs on the Goth’s neck, a little to the left of where Arnold had previously positioned them.

“Of course you can, Arnold. You have no choice. If you don’t, the thirst will get worse and you’ll attack someone indiscriminately.”

“Like you did when you attacked me?”

“I’ve said I’m sorry for that, mate. Sometimes an impulse takes over but it’s rare. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. No, it’s much better to do it like this, with willing donors.”

Adrienne was getting bored with all the talking. She took Arnold’s hands and cupped each of her breasts with them, over her dress. A memory of the porn actress who had touched him up fleetingly entered his mind. Arnold went to take them away, but Adrienne wouldn’t let him.

“Leave them there, Arnie. It helps.”

Arnold couldn’t see what benefit there was to him holding her breasts but, if that’s what she wanted, who was he to argue?.

Trevor was ready with the next instruction.

“Now, draw your head back and be ready for the unexpected.”

Arnold moved his head backwards and was shocked when it suddenly shot forward again of its own accord, his teeth puncturing Adrienne’s skin exactly how Trevor had said they would.

There was a strange dribbling sensation as the enzymes seeped out of his fangs into the Goth’s bloodstream but that was nothing compared to what Adrienne was feeling. She began to tremble and waves of hot tension and then cool calm washed over her. It was almost confusing – it felt so good that it almost hurt – and she wanted more but she wanted it to stop at the same time. Every muscle in her body tightened and her upper thighs began to quiver. She broke out in a light sweat and it felt as if a waterfall was being turned on inside her. She let out a moan of satisfaction and slumped to the floor as Arnold removed his fangs. A look of panic shot from his eyes, as he looked at her motionless body.

“Oh my God. Have I killed her?”

Tracey smiled at the zombie.

“No. Don’t worry. She’s just had a pretty intense orgasm, that’s all. She’ll be fine in a minute or so.”

Arnold was relieved.

“You could have warned me.”

Trevor laughed.

“And miss the look on your face?”

Adrienne sat up again, feeling a little groggy but satisfied.

“Cheers, Arnie. That was intense. You can come again – well, I can. I don’t know if zombie vampires can orgasm.”

That was a mystery that Arnold doubted he’d ever resolve.

As Tracey finished off taking Harold’s blood, Hilda entered the room with a plate of biscuits and six mugs of tea.

“When Harold and I used to give blood to the health service, they always made us drink a cup of tea and eat a few biscuits to get our strength back.”

Trevor and Tracey gratefully accepted the hot beverage but Arnold held his hand up.

“Sorry Hilda, but I don’t eat or drink.”

She looked shocked.

“What? Not even brains?”

“No. Not even brains.”

“Well, I never. You’re a strange zombie, aren’t you? I’ve never met a zombie that didn’t eat brains.”

Harold interjected.

“You’ve never met a zombie, Hilda.”

His wife had to acknowledge that her husband was right. The only so-called monsters she had met were the two vampires – and they were a lovely young couple.

Arnold watched as the others drank their tea.

“How often do we have to feed, Trevor?”

The vampire spoke through a mouthful of biscuit, inadvertently spitting a few crumbs onto the floor.

“About every two weeks.”

“And how come we all got the thirst at the same time?”

“That is a strange one, yes. It appears to be a phenomenon like when women are constantly in each other’s company. Sometimes their menstrual cycles coincide. When two or more vampires get together, their thirsts align with each other.”

Adrienne, now fully recovered, studied Arnold’s face.

“You know, Arnie, I reckon I can do something about your face.”

Arnold didn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can make up your face so that you look almost human again.”

“Almost human?”

“Well, almost. You’ll still look a little bit odd to people on the street, but nobody will take you for a zombie. The worst they’ll probably think is that you had an industrial accident.”

Arnold wasn’t sure that he liked the idea of being thought of as an industrial accident victim, but it had to be better than looking like a zombie. And it would be good to go outside again.

Adrienne was quite excited by the challenge.

“Well, Arnie? Are you up for it?”

“I suppose it couldn’t do any harm.”

Adrienne skipped over to the zombie and took his hand.

“Come on then. Let’s go upstairs and put your face on.”

Adrienne’s bedroom was a shrine to Goth subculture. The walls of the room were a rich purple colour but where Arnold’s daughter Keira would have had soft toys that she’d grown up with – Care Bears, ragdolls, and the like – Adrienne’s shelves were full of Goth ornaments such as skulls, staffs, candles, tombstones, and bones. Where Keira would have had posters of the latest boy band, Adrienne had posters of Robert Smith, lead singer of The Cure, and – of course – Siouxsie Sioux. She didn’t have a wardrobe, but a clothes rack held a number of different outfits hanging up, each protected by its own transparent plastic cover.

Arnold was impressed as he looked at the plethora of black velvets, lace, fishnets and leather, tightly laced corsets, and gloves. Adrienne certainly was passionate about her chosen lifestyle. He called over to the Goth, who had pulled a large make-up box from the bottom drawer of her dressing table.

“I hope you’ve got some colours that aren’t black.”

Adrienne laughed.

“Don’t worry. I do amateur dramatics and I double up as a make-up artist. I’m not going to turn you into a Goth Zombie. Although that’d be pretty cool.”

She pulled out a chair that matched the purple dressing table.

“Sit here, Arnie, and I’ll sort you out.”

She truly was a magician with a make-up brush, deftly mixing and applying tints of white, cream, pink, and shadow to the zombie’s face until he almost looked alive. She stood back from her client and looked in the dressing table mirror to get the full effect of the transformation.

“What do you think, Arnie? Will it do?”

Arnold was astounded. In less than half an hour she’d brought him back to life – metaphorically speaking. But there was one thing that let down the final result. Arnold’s smile turned to one tinged with sadness.

“What about my eye? It’s a dead giveaway that I’m a zombie.”

Adrienne rummaged in a dressing table drawer and resurfaced with a ping-pong ball. Arnold looked at her.

“You’re not seriously thinking of putting that in my eye socket, are you?”

Adrienne beamed at him.

“Not as it is, of course not. I’ll draw an eye on it first.”

Taking several small bottles of nail varnish of varying colours and shades from another drawer, she set to work customizing the table tennis ball. She leaned over and stared at Arnold’s remaining eye.

“Better make the colours match. We don’t want you to look odd.”

After a couple of minutes, it was ready. She hadn’t done a bad job at all and was quite the artist. Was there any limit to her talents?