Read The Real Night of the Living Dead Online

Authors: Mark Kramer,Felix Cruz

The Real Night of the Living Dead

 

 

The Real Night of the Living Dead

(Dead Memories Series, Book One)

By

Mark L. Kramer

 

               

 
 
 

also by JAVA Publishing

 

Horror Novels
:

 

Now I Lay Thee Down to Sleep

Dead Memories Series, Book Two (late 2012)

 

Crime Novels:

 

Rushing the Row (Andrew Barry Series, Book One)

Daddy’s Little Boys

 

 

 

 

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
 
Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 

A JAVA Publishing eBook Original

 

THE REAL NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD (DEAD MEMORIES SERIES, BOOK ONE) Copyright © 2009 by Mark L. Kramer

 

All rights reserved.

 

Updated eBook edited by Felix Cruz.

 

To contact Mark L. Kramer, send an email to [email protected]

 

Cover design by Antonio Cruz and Felix Cruz

 

ISBN-10: 1449508383

ISBN-13: 9781449508388

 

Table of Contents

 

My Introduction...

The name is
Veimer
Stanton. I’m 85 years old…

Chapter One

I was serving a five year sentence at
Holmesburg

Chapter Two

Doctor
Oksenberg
approached the dead patient…

Chapter Three

Doctor Haas was with the nurse now…

Chapter Four

Melvin saw the four
move
toward me…

Chapter Five

A few minutes ago, before I helped Melvin…

Chapter Six

We shut the door and pressed our bodies…

Chapter Seven

He was screaming.
And loud…

Chapter Eight

William Kelly was born in Hatfield, PA…

Chapter Nine

“Evening, fellers…

Chapter Ten

Me, Melvin and Billy ran to the center…

Chapter Eleven

He was on his back and was screaming…

Chapter Twelve

Some of them began showing signs…

Chapter Thirteen

We ran…

Chapter Fourteen

He laughed once he recognized…

Chapter Fifteen

I was a few days into my position…

Chapter Sixteen

I told them about Clara, my “childhood friend”…

Chapter Seventeen

It started as a low single continuous thumping…

Chapter Eighteen

A few of us were screaming…

Chapter Nineteen

He crashed into the first of the infected…

Chapter Twenty

We were in the stairwell of N-7…

Chapter Twenty-one

About twenty feet away from the opening…

Chapter Twenty-two

My eyes widened as Dallas said, “She took…

Chapter Twenty-three

The door was pushed open and infected…

Chapter Twenty-four

He fired another two shots in the dark…

Chapter Twenty-five

We all looked to the door…

Chapter Twenty-six

We all screamed and jumped out…

Chapter Twenty-seven

My heart dropped. “Who was bitten?”…

Chapter Twenty-eight

I was frozen…

Chapter Twenty-nine

I was helping the professor to his feet…

Chapter Thirty

The cop was out of his patrol car now…

Chapter Thirty-one

“Get in the car,” I shouted…

Chapter Thirty-two

The Plymouth plowed right into…

Chapter Thirty-three

I screamed her name and caught the…

Chapter Thirty-four

I
screamed,
so did they, as they pulled me…

Chapter Thirty-five

I quickly pushed her away…

My Long Goodbye...

My eyes stayed on…

About the Author

 

For Jess.
This one starts it all. Are you ready for the ride?

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Introduction...

 

 

The name is
Veimer
Stanton. I’m 85 years old, and I live in Toms River, New Jersey.

I may not be around to see this published, but a close friend has assured me that it will. I’m not sick. At least, I don’t think so? It’s just that I am a very old man, and I am tired.
So tired.
I’ve lived my life. I lived my life the best that I could, and there’s not much else to look forward to.

I get up at 3:30am every morning. Make my cup of coffee. Sit down in the living room and watch sports highlights from the night before. After around seven, I sit on my porch and watch my neighbors head to work. Then I whip up some eggs and French toast, smother them in syrup (even the eggs), grab another cup of
joe
, and plant my butt on my sofa in the living room. There I spend the next eight hours or so watching old pictures on the cable. The other day I saw
Sunset Boulevard
and
Mr. and Mrs. Smith
― that would be the Hitchcock one, not that malarkey with the dame who has all those kids. There was another one, but I can’t remember. Maybe it was a Bogie flick? Speaking of Bogie, there was a Cagney marathon on last month. I love Cagney.

I have my lunch while watching the cable, then around four, I eat supper. I take a shower after the dishes are clean, and I sit on the porch, with another cup of
joe
, to watch my neighbors return at the end of the day. Then I go to sleep, usually around 7:30. I live in a nice quiet area. People are nice. No problems.

It’s boring.

Which is why I watch the cable all day.

But last week was Halloween, so instead of watching the cable, I spent the evening handing out the sweets to the kids who came ringing at my door. Usually, whenever Halloween came around, I would shut off my lights and go to sleep early, to avoid having to spend money on the junk food. But this year was different; I felt extra lonely, so I decided to be generous. The evening was going swell; kids showed up dressed as firefighters, superheroes, all kinds of stuff. Then came the moment that terrified me so much that I had to lock myself in my bedroom and couldn’t sleep for days; the doorbell rang, and when I opened it, I was met by three kids dressed as the walking dead.

Since then, I haven’t been able to think straight. It’s amazing. I can sit back and remember everything that happened that night; almost as if it took place yesterday. All the memories continue flooding back into my decrepit mind. The memories of what happened that cold spring night back in 1951. A lot of people died that night.
Some more than once.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

 

I was serving a five year sentence at
Holmesburg
Prison, about seven months into it I was asked if I’d rather serve my remaining time at Philadelphia State Hospital. I asked, Serve as a patient? They told me, No, serve as a worker. They were far overcrowded and didn’t have enough workers to perform the necessary duties. I think at the time, there was one worker for every eighty patients. So they needed help.
Bad.
But the state wasn’t interested in spending the additional funds. So what did they do? They compromised. Philadelphia State Hospital needed more workers? Okay, we’ll get them help. Have someone visit the nearby jails and prisons and see which convicts want to leave to work at a hospital. The catch is: you work for free. You don’t get paid. Not a red cent. But, you’re not locked in a cell all day. You have to stay on the hospital’s premises, but at the time, this hospital had so many buildings that it was like a small town. And, you get to live in a dormitory with the other workers. You see, back then, this part of Philadelphia was still very rural and secluded from residential areas. So workers had the option of living on campus. There were other big advantages for prisoners: get good food, be around women all the time (depending on where you worked.) To hell with getting paid, I mean, the prison and the warden could go jump in the lake. It was a no brainer for me. I chose the hospital.

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