A TASTE OF EVILFrankie LassutNon King of Horror

There are several possible etymologies of the word zombie. One possible origin is jumbie, the West Indian term for “ghost”.Another is nzambi, the Kongo word meaning "spirit of a dead person. According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, the word entered English circa 1871; it’s derived from the Louisiana Creole or Haitian Creole zonbi, which in turn is of Bantu origin. A zonbi is a person who is believed to have died and been brought back to life without speech or free will (or a working class factory or office worker im a Union). It is akin to the Kimbundu nzúmbe ghost

Donald and Roger were best buddies; drinking pals. They had known each other since they could walk, as their mothers had been best friends.
One Friday night they decided to go down the City centre and grab a taste of the bright lights; which they did, magnificently. On their arms round shoulders singy way to the taxi rank, they had to cross the road, and were trashed by a joyrider; who just carried on of course. he was caught by the police later, and was given two months suspended sentence by the judge who told him to slow down (The judge was having sex with his mother on the quiet).
Their deaths hit the front pages of the local and National papers, and everybody cursed mobile phone chatting joyriders for about ten minutes, before they moved onto the latest postman who had been dumping letters in the brook, and the old woman who had been arrested for swearing at some hoodies who broke in her house and tortured her, because it completely reversed the positive effects of the ‘late’ in the day potty training they has received from social services, and the memory of their month long excursion in Kenya. Now they had to go through the long process of pleasure rehab again; social services hoped the inconvenience wouldn’t add to their attitude.
Need I go on with this attempt at horror?

They had a double funeral since they had been best friends, and people cried profusely, but stuffed their faces at the wake. As people pigged out and offered condolencies to the two bereaved women, the door burst open, and the autopsy scarred bodies of Donald and Roger stood there, looking bloody angry.
No they didn’t… this horror writing is not that cheap. It’s a funny subject horror as it has been cooked many times.

The wake ended. The food table was empty, and all the drinks had gone, and at this point, the author (me) feels sick at what’s going to happen later on; so I hope you like slime and yucky stuff?

Underground, the dead bodies lay cold in the coffins, and the de composition process began. There was no drip drip drip of liquefied flesh yet, as that would happen in appx two weeks time.
At this point when writing, I rushed to the tiolet to be sick, and I have a witness:

Yvonne Elliott: “Yes he was!! He made a mad dash for the loo!! Unbelievable!”

I tell you, it’s funny the effect of thinking what drippy flesh sliding down your throat can do to you. LOL


Drip drip drip. This happened in both coffins of course.


No one really knows where a zombie comes from. Well they do, from graves. That bit is obvious though. But what I’m trying to say is that no one really knows where zombies are, erm given ‘life’?
Actually, I could go real natural scientific here, and say that “A human body de composes and tries its best to return to the earth as minerals and chemicals i.e. from whence it came i.e part of what your mother ate, became ‘you’. And then part of what ‘you’ ate, sustained your body. That was proved in the Nazi death camps, where starvation diets caused people to absorb themselves until the body couldn’t survive with no more nutrients. It was noted how long it took a human to die without food, in many circumstances, so an experiment in cruelty at least gave data as to human survival without food. They called the skeletal workers Musselmen.
That’s horror.

So, if you take note of that anyway, there is no such thing as ‘death’ bodywise, as whatever is left is still valid to the earth. It’s all energy.
But still. Usually when the body has been discarded by the owner, it then starts its journey back to nutrients, producing a smell worse than any fart (but only just ahead of a fart produced by drinking the vinegar from a jar of cockles), but somewhere along the line, it regains a sort of semi consciousness state called ‘Zombie’. And then it eats people to support itself nutritionally. You can of course kill one by shooting out its rotting brain, which amazingly still works! Be it limited (and it must hurt with no paracetamol).
It’s a great idea for horror, but the rotting corpse to semi conscious being is slightly fuzzy.
Never mind though, it’s fun.
Personally. I’ve been in many graveyards, sometimes at nigh, but nothing ever happened. Not even when it was said that if you walked round a certain grave three times and then said “Oh evil dead please don’t take me!”…which I did, and was immediately attacked by bats and questioned by a bloke in a dark cloak and a sythe, who said:
“What you doing hanging round here at this time of night?!”
It was weird Nobby the gardner, and the bats, well, I lied about.
I lied about weird Nobby too; but I bet you thought of Marty Feldman???

Anyway. As Don and Roger’s corpses began to liquidise, they returned to some sort of weird Zombi semi consciousness, which was enough to tell them that fresh air was upwards, and that upwards was the oppisite way to which they were laying on their backs. They had an incredidle urge to smash through the hard coffin plywood lid (their wives had paid for seasoned oak of course, and the undertakers were masturbating over the profits!!!…or was the opposite true?).
They smashed through the lids, and with ease dug themselves up to the surface.
Both arms broke through to the surface at the same time on the side by side graves, and the hoodies scattered, leaving the working class teenage girl laying there crying after the phonecammed multi anal bitch-rape. It mattered not thought, because the hoodies were above the laqw, and they ran off laughing after the initial shock. They went then to the secret place, where they were paid in cash and drugs by the Labour Politician.
That’s horror.

She lay there in horror as Donald and Roger dug their way out, and it was the frst time in history that an anally raped teenage girl was comforted by two zombies. She left smelly, but not scared of zombies anymore, She reported the crime, but the police weren’t interested, even though she didn’t mention the zombies. Eventually, after some nagging to the authorities, the wigged Judge said… “Well. If you will wear lipstick, what do you expect!? case dismissed! Yes! Oh we do like to maintain mass control! Now, where was that little worthless working class boy you had lined up for me? I do like a tender young lubricated bum now and then.”
That’s horror (and it’s true..Jersey children’s home?).

The girl Lena actually went back the next night and sat with Don and Rog, because she liked them. She wore a peg on her nose because of the smell. They both couldn’t talk of course because their vocal chords were liquid and dripping, but they listened intently to her telling them of her life. For some strange reason, she was fascinated by numbers, and wanted to be a mathematician and teach it to people in college. Unfortunately, her maths teacher was less than good, meaning, he couldn’t find the combination to get into her head (not to eat her brains you’ll understand).
Roy pointed at Donald, and pointed at his head. Don nodded, and made a paper and pen motion. Lena got it straight away… “You’ll teach me?!”
Don nodded. he had been a good mathematician in his time.
Never underestimate a zombie or a rotting human brain, something still works! The MIND perhaps?
“I have to go now” said Lena, it’s way past my bedtime.
She blew a kiss to them both, and they both blew one back, be it without breath, and she was off out the graveyard.
A drunk had come out of the nearby pub, and thought as a scarydare, he would walk through the graveyard. he was more than surprised to see a guy dressed like a tatty tramp come the other way, fagstump in his mouth, looking in his pockets for a light. The drunk stopped, and got his ciggy lighter out. “Here mate. A light”
he would have screamed if he’d seen the face looking into his, except that, Rog had shuffled up behind him, reached round, and crushed his voicebox. the guys used zombie power to drag him into an open topped crypt style stone grave. They laid him on his back, and with a sharp stone, began to crack his skull open like a breakfast boiled egg. They could have killed him first, but where would the delight be in that. Once they had cut through half the skullbone, they managed to, with a crunchycrack, pull the rest of the skull off, exposing the brain. The guy had fainted of course, and while he was out, he may as well go to the next realm, which he did; as coming back is no use when your brains are being chewed by two zombies with great table manners i.e. they don’t burp. How can you when your lungs are falling apart with decay? (Mind you, with the gases produced during decomposition, they do tend to fart).

Part 2

As they chewed the slimy organ, they looked at each other with curiosity. They scooped some more brain like someone alive would scoop hummus from a pot (providing the wife or the mother wasn’t watching), and took another mouthful each, eating some of their own rotting finger flesh in the process.
You see, Zombies, although they are rotting, do have tastebuds, but like dung beetles who think that shit tastes like T bone steak, Zombies think brains taste like lamb with mint sauce, which is why Zombies in Wales and New Zeland are generally of a happy disposition, as they can somtimes get away with eating lamb with mint sauce, which tastes human, ish, as human tastes like lamb with mint sauce. And on average, they never visit the doctor, being so healthy, as zombies go. If they do, they generally scare everyone out of the waiting room and then kill and eat the doctor, and then eat him or her. Fucking pests really, and far worse than grey squirrels; except to members of the Grey Squirrel Lovers Club, who really like them… but, they’re a bunch of sad bastards. It’s a mystery where Welsh and new Zeland zombies get the mint sauce. Well, it isn’t, because artic lorries containing mint sauce are regularly found tipped over and bootied in Wales and New Zeland, and the drivers always have their skulls ripped open and their brains eaten….and, mint sauce on their ears. Police have decided that it can’t be zombies as zombies don’t exist (but we know different now don’t we). The only mystery is this. ‘Why, if human flesh tastes like lamb with mint sauce to zombies, do they use MORE mint sauce?!’ Why why why!?
Maybe it’s because, like when your mother says “Don’t put no salt on your food, I’ve used loads” you put on more because she’s lying? Human flesh may sometimes be lacking in the mint sauce dept for zombies.

They looked at each other again, as the chewed brains slipped down their gullets and fell into their rotting stomachs. They both shook their heads.
There was something wrong.
The brains tasted like, brains. Ugh! This wasn’t right. They couldn’t eat this. Something had to be done, or they would strave to death. They tried voicebox, tongue, lung, liver etc, all with devastating tastebud results. After they had finished their non meal, they put the remains of the drunk’s body in another concrete grave, this time with a lid (well, you don’t want the hoodies to find him and start a feeding frenzy, do you).

Lena came back the next night with two pens and two notebooks, as she considered taking a notebook home covered in rotting flesh wouldn’t go down well, as her mum was into aromatherapy.
Her lessons began with Don. He talked to her on paper. He had a way of making his ideas of difficult maths easy for her to understand. He managed to change maths from logic left to creative right, and she used that not normally used side of her brain to make maths interesting, colourful, and creative…and the answers then fell into her head, with workings.
She asked him if he’d ever been a schoolteacher. He replied that his ability to teach students anything, and have them enjoy it, had been the one factor which stopped anyone employing him in state schools where thinking was encourages on a ‘required’ level in a style of ‘guide the sheep’.
Lena loved the lesson. She then blew them a kiss, and went home… buzzingly happy.

Four nights later she arrived again. She looked at the two lads. They were thin, because they hadn’t eaten. You see, zombies get thin too if they don’t eat. They had had to tighten their belts to stop their trousers falling down.
What’s wrong? Wrote Lena?
We havent eaten for days, wrote Don.
Why not? wrote Lena
Because raw human taste bloody horrible. Can you help us Lena?
Sure wrote Lena. How? Sandwiches?
We can’t eat sandwiches Lena, we need human flesh; you know, brains and stuff. But the fact is, we can’t stand the taste, and we could die of malnutrition very soon if we don’t replace our rotting flesh with more rotting flesh derived from fresh flesh, which has to look horrible because if they ever film this, it would hardly do to have two zombies chomping on tuna and tomato sandwitches.
Understood. What do you want me to do?
Can you get us some herbs and spices and stuff? A saucepan or two, and a camping gaz stove.

Lena had the goods there the next night.
Thankyou Lena, for showing two lonely zombies such love. We didn’t expect it, being undead, and eaters of freshly killed human meat and organs. If we had tear ducts, we would be forced to cry, but as it is, we can only ooze liquid eyelid and cheek.

And it went on. Rog and Donald made up some wondeful recipies for human brain and flesh and organs, and Lena wrote them all down, with her maths of course, which she could whizz through.

The fact is though, in all these zombie films you see, no one ever knows where they came from or why? Well, it’s graveyards obviously, but when the soul had departed and the body rots, it seldom returns; except when Jesus resurrected the days dead body of Lazarus, who must have smelt like some of the passengers I had travel with me when I drove buses.
That wasn’t the point of the Lazarus story though, the point was, and Jesus did it all the time… he thanked God in advance for the miracles, which are natural occurrences when you reach that state of mind, and as time is eternal, everyone does; although it probably doesn’t feel like it now. He told you too “Why are you looking so astounded? You will do these things and more”…let him therefore not speak those word in vain, and then you can class yourself as not ‘saved’ (there isn’t any saving to do), but reminded of your own greatness as a creator. But. If you have been braincoaxed into believing that he ‘died to save us all’… why not use that saving death then to have a little faith in who you really are “ye are all gods”…he told you that too.

Lena returned to the graves the next night, to find no Rog or Donald, no dead bodies. Well, I say no dead bodies, but, there were two graves side by side, not that old. One said In Loving memory of Roger So and So, Loving husband and father. Tragically taken from us with his friend… on the 5th April…. and the other said In Loving memory of Donald So and so, Loving husband and father. Tragically taken from us with his friend…

She’d had the experience. She didn’t know how, but she shed a few tears for her friends, and as she did so, she felt two lumps of love envelop her like hugs, and in her head she heard two voices in sync. We’re fine Lena. Keep laughing.

Watch the shelves Goths, there could be a source written ‘Zombie Cookbook’ appearing soon.


Frankie Lassut

Coventry, United Kingdom

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A nice zombie story for a change

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