Chapter One. Dead Nice and Dead Nasty

     

Aubrey Clever was dead and he was rubbish at it. He was the most disappointing ten year old in Nonexistence and lacked all the basics of a top of the range zombie: on demand dribbling, quick release arms and three thousand year old underpants. He couldn’t even make your standard zombie sounds like squelch, slurm or gurglesploshsplat.

‘Warning anomaly detected!’ said the Dead-o-Matic Disgustometer.

‘Is there something wrong with the machine?’ asked Aubrey.

‘Oh I shouldn’t worry about all that,’ said Louie Leftside, holding the state of the art Dead-o-Matic under Aubrey’s nose.

‘Now once more Aubrey this time with feeling.’

‘Gurglesplingsplug,’ said Aubrey.

‘No, no my dear boy, feel the cold blood in your veins.’

‘Gurglesplingsplatplop.’

‘No, no, no, more moaning, more groaning!’

‘Gurglesplingsplatpoo!’ shouted Aubrey, desperately.

‘Well, have I improved, what level of dead am I?’

The Dead-o-Matic creaked, buzzed then spoke.

‘Good morning aspiring zombies and registered Disgustometer owners.

Welcome to the unbiased dead level assessment program v1.

Please note to become a five star zombie the following levels must be passed:

1. Dead: three teeth, moths in hair, occasional dribbling.

2. Advanced dead: grey tone, starting to shuffle, still eating cupcakes.

3. Ghoul: green tongue, no toes, no longer wears comfy slippers.

4. Mummified: crispy, no appetite, very good at curses and queueing.

5. Double Dead: CLASSIFIED.

After advanced statistical calibration, computer analysis and lots of giggling, Aubrey Clever has achieved the following dead level result:

Level 0. Barely Dead: nice teeth, awesome hair, flexible underpants.

End of shameful test results.

Don’t bother me again.

So long and thanks for choosing Dead-o-Matic.

(Disclaimer: The makers of the Dead-o-Matic cannot be held liable for any loss of eyeballs, dangerous dribbling techniques or over crispy-fication of underpants.)

P.S. Before I go, WARNING ANOMALY DETECTED!’

‘I’m sorry dear boy, maybe next time you’ll zombie up,’ said Louie.

Louie Leftside was Aubrey’s best friend and a professional zombie. He could dribble on command, shuffle at will and sneeze his eyeballs out at random.

Aubrey walked over to the tatty sofa at the back of his small bookshop. He was a failure. He wished he was dead. Then he realised he was dead and he was rubbish at it. He flopped onto the sofa, stuck his head into the cushions and thought about cupcakes and comfy slippers.

‘No, no my dear boy, upon walking one must shuffle and upon sitting one must lose a limb,’ said Louie and his arm fell off.

‘Thankhss veshy mussh Louie. Bus wash the pointsh?’ mumbled Aubrey.

‘No need to worry. It takes practice to be disgusting. You must rise above the shame of your hideously shiny black hair, horribly perfect teeth and dreadfully clean socks,’ said Louie.

He picked up his arm and lifted it into the air.

‘One must strive for greatness, for the finer things in life, like three foot nasal hair, fangs and mummified underpants.’

Louie wiped away a tear, then squashed his arm back into place.

‘After all dear boy you know more about the dead than I do.’

Aubrey Clever had studied every rotten, revolting, nasty, despicable, hideous, creepy, smelly dead thing in the city of Nonexistence. He became such an expert that he wrote the best selling ‘The Beginners Guide to Being Completely Dead.’ It was a great success, full of fun packed tips on dealing with nothingness, making the most of being headless and of course, coming to terms with wearing the same pair of underpants forever.

Soon he’d sold enough copies to buy his own little bookshop and in the back he’d placed a wooden stool and a small single bed. But of course the dead don’t sleep, they just tend to stare creepily out of windows, peel wallpaper from the wall and eat woodlice. Everything should have been perfect.

Then the new neighbours moved in, everywhere. They wore black suits and dark glasses. They’re trousers were suspiciously short and they asked way too many questions. The city of Nonexistence was under new management. The United Republic for Disgusting Entities, Apparitions and the Deceased, U.R.D.E.A.D had taken charge. They filled every skyscraper, office block, warehouse, outhouse and coffin to rent. They placed telescopes at the windows and listened through the walls. They watched, they followed and they made notes on every ghoul, ghost and gremlin.

‘Being dead just isn’t fun anymore,’ moaned Aubrey.

He grabbed the Dead-o-Matic and gave it a thump. It buzzed and beeped before making a complex and terrifying sound.

‘Dibble dabble ding dang phew.’

‘Dibble dabble ding dang phew.’

The lights in the bookshop suddenly went out. The air grew cold.

‘My dear boy, what did you press?’ asked Louie.

‘Nothing!’ said Aubrey as the Disgustometer spoke.

‘For the last time, WARNING ANOMALY DETECTED!

Type: Complex Inter-dimensional vortex.

Threat level analysis:

70% Itchy.

20% Scratchy.

10% Chance of a slight rash followed by total annihilation.

Action required: Apply 2 million factor sun cream and kiss your bottom goodbye.

‘Dibble dabble ding dang phew.’

‘Dibble dabble ding dang phew.’

The Disgustometer started a countdown.

‘Don’t say…5..4.…I didn’t…3..2..1...warn you!

Then there was a sudden flash of blinding green light as a pulsing, spinning green vortex materialised in the corner of the shop. Like a tiny black hole it started sucking the shop towards it: books, dust, plates, papers, socks, carpets, woodlice, wallpaper and Louie Leftside.

‘I’m too young to be stretched into oblivion, HELP!’ shouted Louie.

Aubrey grabbed hold of Louie’s leg. Thankfully it wasn’t quick release.

‘Hang on!’

The vortex was squeezing, squashing and crushing everything into a soft, gooey grey matter and all the while it spun faster and faster.

‘It’s like watching the formation of a distant galaxy, it’s AWESOME!’ said Aubrey.

‘Or a chunky great washing machine on fast rinse. HELP!,’ shouted Louie.

‘It’s creating something from the dust, moulding it like a huge lump of clay.’

The Dead-o-Matic was going wild.

‘Dibble dabble, dibble dabble, phew.’

‘Dibble dabble, dibble dabble dibble dabble poo.’

‘There in the centre, can you see it Louie? It looks like a…’

‘A Potato! HELP! ’ shouted Louie.

‘...a head, it’s a head!’ said Aubrey.

‘And look there’s an arm and on the end a…’

‘A bag of potatoes! HELP!’ shouted Louie.

‘...a hand, a small delicate hand,’ Aubrey was amazed.

He watched as the ball of dust added another hand, a slender body, slim legs, long black hair and a soft, beautiful face.

Then the spinning stopped and the light went out, releasing Louie from its grasp.

‘Aubrey my dear boy, I don’t think that’s a potato, do you?’

The vortex had finally found the shape it was searching for and it was a small, shiny looking girl. She wore strange clothes and held something in her hand. Something familiar.

‘The Beginners Guide to Being Completely Dead,’ said Aubrey, shocked.

He held up the Dead-o-Matic and read the dials.

‘But that’s not all,’ he said, shaking.

‘This girl is very, very much alive!’

Dead Nasty.

In the good old days being dead was a doddle. You could just lean up against a wall, turn grey and dribble down your T-shirt. Job done. These days being dead isn’t easy. There are the endless forms to fill in, the regulated ear wax stickiness and the standardised nasal hair length of 3.25 inches. It’s a nightmare. And It’s all the fault of Grimella Goodnot Grim.

‘Make-up Stanley!’ shouted Grimella Grim.

Stanley Stillgone was a highly trained zombie and head of the Zombie Secret Service. He picked up a large tub and trowel from the table at the far end of the enormous office and started towards Grim. He was slowly swinging one arm around and lazily dragging his right leg. He groaned every now and then and dribbled onto his torn and dirt smeared suit jacket. He looked good and he knew it.

Suddenly an all too familiar crreauukkukukukslurchslichcrickcruckkkkkkkk sound echoed around the room.

‘Stanley quick, abandon strict protocol!’ shouted Grim.

‘EMERGENCY ZOMBIE SHUFFLE!’ she screamed.

‘I’M STARTING TO CRACK!’

Grimella Grim’s face was caked with a thick layer of white makeup and it was starting to break up dangerously. This was a level one situation. If her nose fell off the city may have to be evacuated and all the lights turned off.

Crreauukkukukukslurchslichcrickcruckkkkkkkk.

‘CRACKING!’ screamed Grimella Grim.

Her eyes were now bulging, her lips dry and blackened and her face looked like a broken paving slab. She looked beautiful, thought Stanley.

‘CRACKING!’

Stanley grabbed his trowel and started plastering on Grim’s thick white make-up. He touched up the black lips with bright red paint, applied more glue to her nose and restapled the matted mass of fake blond hair to her head.

‘Stand down everybody, back to your stations. I repeat stand down, Operation Crack up was a success,’ said Stanley proudly.

The rest of the zombie secret service hadn’t even moved. They were dribbling against the walls, dribbling on the floor and some were even dribbling on each other. They too were highly trained professionals.

‘That’s better, far more me, far more alive,’ she said.

She liked order and rules. She liked being the boss and she liked being mean and nasty. But she didn’t like being dead. She would do anything to live again and now she had a plan and boy was it good.

‘Bring me the Dead-o-Matic monitoring machine,’ she said with a sneer.

Grimella stood by the enormous glass windows of the U.R.D.E.A.D Presidential office and looked out over Nonexistence. She saw the usual ghouls, ghosts and gremlins and her black suited, secret service zombies everywhere. She was waiting for someone special. Someone whose skin glowed, whose eyes sparkled. Someone who didn’t need to sticky tape their eyelids open or keep their head in the fridge. Someone alive.

‘Did you dribble on the Dead-o-Matic Monitoring Machine again Stanley, its lights are flashing?’ asked Grim.

‘Possibly,’ said Stanley.

Grim wiped down the globe with her hair. She pressed its buttons and pulled the lever on its side. Nothing happened.

‘I believe it’s password protected ma'am,’ said Stanley.

‘Shut up Stanley, I knew that, I was just checking it was working.’

Grimella Grim leant forward and spoke into the machine.

‘Gorgeous Supreme Overlord!’ she said, dramatically.

Nothing happened.

‘Protocol Override,’ she said.

Nothing happened

‘Cheese sticks,’

Nothing happened.

As so it went on: comfy slippers, flapjacks, cheesy slippers, flappy slippers, comfy flappy cheese flapjacks.

But nothing happened.

Grimella Grim was furious. Her hair started to sway dangerously.

Crreauukkukukukslurchslichcrickcruckkkkkkkk.

‘CRACKING!’ she screamed.

The Dead-o-Matic Monitoring Machine suddenly beeped, stopped its flashing and spoke.

‘CRACKING password accepted, welcome Supreme Oneness Grim. You have one notification and your subscription to ‘Let’s Get Living!’ is due for renewal,’

‘Er yes, anyway, what’s the notification?’ asked Grim.

‘Initial evaluation of the prime nodal indicators, confirmed a starting value that was surprisingly binary in nature, but not less than a secondary and expansive vortex occurrence within sectors seven through to nine point four. Then using a dubberydangleometer, we diddle dangled the coordinates and found a flimflamfluggleflop had emerged in sector blubblubb poo poo.’ said the machine.

‘Hang on, did you just make that last bit up?’ asked Grim.

‘Absolutely nugget, I mean not,’ said the machine.

Grim gave it a whack.

‘What on earth did all that mean?’ she shouted.

Another wallop. The machine spoke again.

‘Welcome Supreme Cheesy slippers, the vortex has appeared, we have found a match.’

Grim sat back in her chair. She probably had a shocked, contorted look on her face. It was hard to tell. She’d probably gone as white as a ghost. It was hard to tell.

‘It worked, it actually worked,’ she said.

Then Grimella Goodnot Grim did something which chilled Stanley to the bone and even stopped the Zombie Secret Service dribbling. She smiled.

And as her lips spread, her face made a sound like a balloon being overstretched. Stanley edged towards the pot of make-up, trowel in hand.

Grim couldn’t stop smiling. For the successful leader of an evil republic, it was embarrassing.

Grim was staring out the window scanning the city.

‘Where?’ she asked.

‘A grotty little bookshop owned by a level one dead kid. Name: Aubrey. Watchlist number: 245653,’ said the machine.

‘And what is it?’ she asked.

‘A small girl, black hair, green eyes. Name: Zelda. Status: Alive.’

Grimella Goodnot Grim suddenly stood up.

‘Stanley get the zombies.’

She grabbed some lipstick and dragged it across her lips.

‘We’re going shopping,’ she said with a sneer.