Flesh of the Zombie

Luke Watson
stared at the length of spine on the grass in front of him and frowned in concentration Biology lessons at his old school had never been like this.

“Well?” asked Dr Skully. “Can you, or can you not, indicate where the lumbar section starts and ends?”

Luke briefly wondered whether he should be more surprised that he was being taught
by a skeleton, or that it was the teacher’s own detached backbone he was examining. Since he had arrived in Scream Street, however, surprises like this had become an everyday event, so neither fact now seemed that strange.

Daylight had only just returned to Scream Street after a century-old darkness spell had been broken. As a result, today’s class was taking place in Dr Skully’s back garden — and while the surroundings were comfortable, Luke found it difficult to concentrate in such a casual atmosphere.

“I’m waiting,” said the teacher.

“I, er …” began Luke.

A clatter from the patio provided a welcome distraction. “It’s no good, sir,” complained a small Egyptian mummy. “I can’t reassemble your ribs!”

“Cleo, please be careful with those,” sighed Dr Skully. “The last time I provided ribs for a pupil, he lost three of them and my pyjamas didn’t fit for a month!”

“But, sir, I—”

The mummy squealed as she was interrupted by a fist punching up through the grass.

The young vampire sitting beside her grinned. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

A green cracked face appeared through the widening hole, its milky eyes blinking in the sunlight. “Looking for something, Doug?” asked the vampire as he reached inside his cape and produced a leg, its skin covered with sores.

“Dude!” beamed the zombie. “I’ve been searching for that all morning.”

“I found it on my way to school,” said the vampire. “Heavy night?”

Doug nodded. “Party city, man! Now I got to get busy with the sewing kit. Big day, today!” The zombie retrieved his missing limb and sank back into the hole. “Smell you later, little dudes …”

The teacher’s skull glared across the garden from its position on an upturned bucket. “Don’t think your work with the undead will get you off, Resus Negative!” it warned. “You still have the lower half of
my
leg to assemble.”

“Why do we have to learn this stuff?” groaned Resus.

“Because,” explained the skull, “I did not spend thirty years standing in the corner of a university science lab only to have the knowledge I gleaned go to waste!”

“But, sir,” grinned Resus, “my brain’s full — look!”

Luke fought back laughter as the vampire reached into the folds of his cape once again and produced a squishy grey organ coated in clear jelly.

“That’s disgusting,” moaned Cleo, gagging as she pulled her bandages up over her mouth.

“Whose brain is that?” demanded Dr Skully.

“My great-uncle Igor sent it to me,” replied Resus.

“Your family is sick!” said Cleo.

“How can
you
say that?” asked Resus. “You had your brain pulled out of your nose with metal hooks when you were mummified!”

“Maybe,” said Cleo, “but I don’t carry it around like some sort of troph—”

She screamed as another hand burst up through the grass in front of her.

Resus smiled. “What have you lost now, Doug?”

A grey head forced its way up through the earth. One of the creature’s eyes was missing, and sticky brown fluid poured from a gash in its cheek.

“Er, that’s not Doug …” said Luke.

“Brain drain!” groaned the zombie, scanning the garden. “Brain drain!”

Resus jumped as another hand exploded through the lawn, followed by another a few metres away. More of the monsters appeared, digging their way out of the ground, all of them chanting the same phrase.

“Brain drain! Brain drain!”

“Eurgh,” squealed Cleo. “Get them away from me!”