Mabel whistled as she washed the last of their dinner dishes. After drying her hands, she struggled to put on her wedding ring over her arthritic fingers. Stubbornly she refused to leave it off. After almost fifty years of wearing it, she felt naked without it.

She examined the ring on her hand, a diamond small in size, but of good quality. “Kind of like my husband,” she thought to herself with a slightly naughty giggle.

“MABEL!” Her husband bellowed from the front room.

She popped her head around the corner. “What? I’m busy!”

“I got an express letter in the mail.” He held up a piece of paper.


“It says I’m now a zombie.” The paper quivered in his hand. She hurried toward him and took the letter.

Dear Mr. Frank Blumberg,

We regret to inform you that due to a tainted batch of blood you received as part your recent out-patient procedure, you are now a zombie.

Do not panic; enclosed is a list of public safety facilities in your area. Steps are being taken to assist/contain all who are infected. Your failure to appear may result in involuntary incarceration.

We apologize for the inconvenience.

Jeff Frankerson
CDC, Revivification Taskforce

She checked it carefully; examining the letterhead, postmark, and envelope. “Well, this all seems legitimate.”

She had thought it was odd when he asked for his hamburger rare tonight when he usually preferred them nearer to burnt. Could there be something to it?

Looking him carefully over she sniffed the air. “I think you’re already starting to stink Frank!” He lifted one arm and took a whiff. Not smelling anything out the ordinary, he lowered the limb and shrugged.

Nodding to herself she came to a decision. “Get your shoes on Frank; I’m driving you to the public safety facility.”

As she grabbed the car keys from the rack above the phone, he approached her and tentatively touched her shoulder. “Honeybuns, there’s a problem.”

With her best martyred sigh, she turned toward him. “Now what?”

“Remember last night?” He blushed furiously.

“You mean the first time you were able to get it up in months? The best evening we’ve had in a long time? Yeah, it’s how I’m planning on remembering you.”

“Well…” He reluctantly continued while slowly backing away from her, “You know how I got a little frisky while we were… warming up?”

A wicked smile came to her lips. “Yeah, you were a tiger for some reason.” Then the bottom fell out of her stomach. “Son of a bitch!”

He looked down, examining his feet, anything so that he didn’t have to look at her. “I bit you. Just a little, but it’s probably enough.”

Flinging the keys down she advanced on him. “You mean to say that now I’m a zombie too? Great! That probably wasn’t a hard-on, just early rigor mortis now that I think of it.”

Throwing herself into her chair, she put her head in her hands and started to cry. “Now who’s going to drive us?”

“Actually, dear, this might be a good thing.” He continued quickly as she lifted her head and glared at him, “Right now we’re no longer constrained by the laws of decent society.”

She motioned for him to get on with his thought. “Aren’t you always complaining about your so-called friends?” Frank said expectantly.

She was confused at first, and then understanding dawned on her. “You don’t mean…”

“For almost fifty years, I have heard nothing but you grousing about the women in and about the neighborhood. Well if we’re zombies now, I think we should start with them.” Smiling she leaped up and hugged her husband.

She released him as a thought came into her mind and she began to rummage in a drawer, eventually coming up with the object she sought.

“What do you need with super glue?” he asked as she struggled to get the cap off.

Removing her dentures, she liberally spread glue over her plates. Seating them back in her mouth she turned towards him. “Last thing I want are these falling out while I’m trying to bite some old woman’s neck. I have never heard of anyone turning into a zombie from a vicious gumming and I don’t think regular denture adhesive will do. Anyway, I’m dead so it probably won’t hurt me.”

Stepping out onto the porch of their little bungalow just as the sun was setting, she nudged her husband. “Go on.” She was breathless and giddy with excitement. “I want to hear you say it.”

“What?” It took him a moment, and then it dawned on him what she meant, “Brains!”

Looking pleased with himself, he patted his stomach. “You know, that is starting to sound good.”

She grinned at him and shivered with delight. As she locked their front door for the last time, she decided to try it on for size. “Brains, heh heh heh,” she cackled. “BRAAAAINSSSSS!!!”

Taking his arm she led him into the evening to begin their rampage.

Brian J. Hunt is the editor of several books on vintage art including “The Outlandish Art of Mahlon Blaine”. His stories have previously appeared here and at He wants to assure his readers that although 100% of his stories published at Every Day Fiction have included zombies, he is not a zombie-centric writer. Really.

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