Happy Halloween! This One's Going to the Dogs...

I get a real kick out of Halloween. There is something about a holiday that allows, ney, encourages adults and children to explore their wildest, grossest, princessy-est dreams. In our house, even Otter gets in on the celebration.

Princess Wild Bill Otter

Otter VonSchtupt

 

Chef Otter Ramsey

Victim of Otter-napping

Che Gau-va-Otter

Beats by Dre-Otter

And finally:    

Mike-Otter Meyers

Hope your Halloween is everything you dream of and may all your candy bars be full size!

Frank Sin-Otter says 'Do it Yourrrrr Way'!

AND NOW: a little scare. 

I had a request to post one more scary story, in honor of the season. This one first appeared in the now out of print Vicious Dead anthology and later in the on-line magazine 69 Flavors of Paranoia, a publication which sadly, is now only a memory. Please enjoy...with the lights one.....

Animal

My Dad said that once an animal gets a taste for blood its all over. I consider this as I watch the dog padding towards me on the other side of the street. We had an old farm dog once, killed a calf by running it down. The calf was only a day old and the dog was fast. I remember seeing the calf’s blood matted in the dog’s muzzle and the wild look in his eye as he watched Dad walk towards him.

That wild look is in the stray dog’s eye as well. Blood is matted in his muzzle. He is not moving slowly but rather walking with an almost deliberate gait. He swings his head back and forth independent of the swing of his tail, which he is holding at a neutral level to his body--not friendly but not afraid. It is the same way our old dog held his tail as he stood and walked toward my dad.

Dad shot him with a 0.22.

Memory over. I watch the real live dog as he pads to the curb. He sits and fixes his stare on me. I sink back into the shadow as recognition makes a brief appearance.

His name is Bink, the old man’s dog from down the hall. The old guy walked bent over like so many old people do. Bink and the old man were there for as long as I stayed in the building, which would have been two years next week had the old man lived.

But, he didn't live. He died alone in his apartment, alone save for Bink. The howling started on a Tuesday. I couldn’t get the super to let me in. He had disappeared.

I finally broke the door open with a tire iron. Bink barked as the wood split but ran when I pushed the remainder of the frame and shattered door aside. He stood in the dining room, hair standing in a stripe down his back, his tail tucked tightly between his legs. I could see the old man’s head and shoulders lying on the floor behind the dog.

Thinking back, I should have known. The smell should have given something away. Actually, it was a lack of smell. The air in the apartment was stagnant and heavy and in my heart I knew I should be smelling a rotten odor like bad lunch meat or at least the foul smell of dog shit. But there was no odor.

I called to Bink, not the old man. I called him quietly, waving my fingers in a "come on" gesture. The dog responded without hesitation, moving from stock still to full speed and nearly knocking me over as he barreled into my open arms. His rough tongue ran the length of my arm and up to my face before he turned and made a break for the open door.

My fingers looped around his collar as he began to make a sound, though I couldn’t call it a whine or a growl. It was somewhere in between those things and whatever the noise would be called, it made the hair on my arms and on the back of my neck stand as stiff and straight as the hair down Bink’s back. I had little time to qualify the sound with anymore specifics, since the old man was moving.

He staggered from the dining room hunched over and dragging his left leg. His skin was transparent and yellow like an old photograph. There were places on his arms where the skin curled from the bone just like the edges of the photo would curl from a page. I could see areas of decay at his elbows and knees. It looked to me as though he had been leaning on all four bony prominence for a very long time.

Bink snarled and bared his teeth and the old man raised his head. Hollow eyes stared our way, hollow yet aware. Cold nerves ran through my body and I stood, releasing my grasp on Bink’s collar. The dog ran into the hall.

I did not have time to brace for the assault, never anticipating the old man could move so quickly. His fragile body landed on me and knocked me to the floor.

I felt the crunch of his wrist as the bones crushed on impact with the floor. I pressed up with both arms in an attempt to throw him off of me but he opened his mouth and bit down. His teeth sank into the fleshy part of my inner arm as his hollow staring eyes looked somewhere far away.

“Taste for blood…” repeats as a chorus in my head.

Expletives born of shock and pain flooded the room as I ripped my arm from the old man’s mouth. Only, I couldn’t pull free. His jaw was locked down and he continued twisting and tearing at the flesh, finally succeeding in securing a mouthful of skin and muscle.

Bile rose in my throat as I watched the old man chew and swallow the better part of my right arm. His knees pinned my thighs and his hands held my shoulders. Blood fell in one artistic drop onto my forehead as the old man watched carefully for intruders to his feast.

I can see that farm dog ripping at the calf’s hide.

The old man was strong. But he was still 80 years old and I was much younger and stronger. I took a second to calm my stomach; there would be time to vomit later. As he lowered his head to take another bite, I raised mine. Our skulls cracked together with a dull thud and I used the surprise to press up once more and throw the old man off. A hideous whine echoed through the rooms of the apartment.

That farm dog’s name was Rex.

In response, Bink appeared at the open door. He coiled and sprang past me and onto his owner. The old man growled, grabbing for the dog as the animal crashed into him. His hands gripped Bink by the throat and I could see the light in Bink’s eyes begin to fade.

My arm throbbed and blood dripped from my fingertips as I moved towards the man and his dog. I swung my left fist at the old man’s head but not before he bit into the dog’s leg. I am wholly right handed and the southpaw swing was laughable at best. It only seemed to irritate the man and did nothing to prevent him from biting deeper. Afraid he would succeed in simultaneously strangling the dog and ripping its leg off, I let instinct take over and I lunged forward again.

This time, I attacked in kind and let my teeth sink into the old man’s shoulder. Immediately a bitter decaying taste filled my mouth. Inhaling, my nostrils filled with an acrid, earthy smell.

“Taste for blood…”

The old man howled and released his hold of Bink. The dog landed in a scurrying heap. He twisted and turned as his feet slid in the pool of blood accumulating on the floor. When he at last gained his footing he ran from the apartment his tail tucked neatly between his legs.

The old man lay in a daze, his breath puffing, his left hip loose from its socket.

I too ran from the room, across the hall and into my own home. My arm throbbed with each heartbeat and I sat on the edge of my couch, watching in fascination as my blood and my life splattered rhythmically to the floor. I counted three thousand and forty six drops before it went dark...

I hear the explosion of the gun and see Rex recoil--his blood splattered outward, a sanguine firework.

I did not see Bink again. Until now.

Now. It is dusk and the streets are wet so I guess it has rained. Time seems to have progressed but I do not know where in the minutes and hours of a day I belong. Bink sits across the street and chews his back. To relieve an itch, I suppose. When he is satisfied he looks back in my direction and snarls. His teeth are yellowed and even in the poor light of early evening I can see saliva drip from the sharp edge of the incisors.

Show no fear. The words echo through my head and are gone. The sudden clarity startles me and as I gasp in surprise I catch a deep breath.

The sulfur smell of exhaust permeates the air but there are more subtle scents as well. I inhale again, nose raised to the sky and catch the musky smell of the dog across the street and the sweet earthy odor of blood. I raise my mangled arm and sniff then return to smell in Bink’s direction--the same blood smell, fainter but present.

Clarity of thought. I don’t feel as though I am actually thinking. My brain is bombarded with smells that signal a response. I feel the pupils in my eyes constrict as they focus on movement to my left. I turn slowly. A street light has begun to glow and its rays reveal a figure in the window by which I stand.

Vacant eyes, yellow, peeling skin...an image of the old man...but he is gone and this man moves as I do. I snarl and bare my teeth and he does the same but he does not move closer. Gingerly I raise my nose to the glass and sniff. There is no unfamiliar odor and as I move closer the intruder disappears.

From across the street there is a single, questioning bark. The dog is standing, sighting farther down the street.

I ease my head out from around the corner of the building. Parking meters line the street, several still occupied with deserted cars. The rain has formed puddles near the curb. I hear a lapping noise and catch a glimpse of the dog as he drinks. My mouth is suddenly, noticeably dry.

I drop to the curb and drink as well. The water is cool and bitter. I can taste bits of oil and grit but it quenches. At least for now. I stand and wipe my mouth with my damaged arm. Fresh blood smears across my face and my tongue flicks out and licks it off my lips. This is fresh and sweet. My gut rumbles in response. I am starved.

A distant sound catches my attention and I cock my head as Bink does the same. We both cease movement and I listen intently. My ears pick up a thin high whimper. Inhaling in the direction of the noise yields a floral scent. The smell is light, chemical and mixed with a baser musky smell.

Fear.

I feel a twinge of anticipation as the hair on the back of my neck and on my arms and legs ripples to attention. My muscles tense and I breathe deeply. Bink snorts and I look his way.

The dog is coiled back on his haunches ready to run and I squat in a runners mark. We both scent the air once more as the woman breaks from her hiding place behind the dumpster. I feel instinct rising up with a rumbling growl in answer to the essence of what I am. What we all are...

“When an animal gets the taste of blood...well, that’s the end...”

No Dad, it's just the beginning…

(Laura.Ehlers. This is my story. Please don't steal it. If you are interested in publication or better yet, screenplay-ing check out my Call Me page.)

Don't Be Afraid. Be VERY Afraid

I have just a few rules in life.

Be nice.

Try not to be terribly wasteful.

Don't antagonize the bucket of baby-dolls in the basement.

Oh you laugh.

But I am saving humanity.

You see, I found these awesome candle holders at Old Time Pottery.

Please meet Skell and Tor.

I was lamenting the fact that I have had trouble finding candles which fit the shape of the holders. Regular tealights are too small to be seen. Tapers are too narrow. Pillars are too large.

Being ever helpful, Rob suggested going straight to the creep factor and pop the heads off some of the old dolls in the basement.

He said, and I quote, 'wouldn't it look so cool with tiny heads in their hands!'

(This was ROB. Not me. I am only reporting the facts. That's R-O-B. He's the guy in the house with a mustache. In case anyone needs to know.)

Those 'old dolls' currently and forever will, reside in a large popcorn tin.

 

They once belonged to my daughter, who has since moved out leaving her horrifying container of torsos behind. They were all loved once. But now, they sit on a shelf in the basement, lid nearly rusted tight, surrounded by two mannequin heads and a styling head.

(The Heads get to come upstairs for Mardi Gras. None of the Heads have bodies, or more importantly, arms with which they could pull the top off that popcorn tin)

I looked at my husband of 30 years as if he were a stranger and gave a resounding NO. Why would you open that can of dolls, pop off the heads of a select few and expect to live through the night?

He knows my feelings about non-living items with eyes.

(Once they have eyes, they have souls. You do not piss off non-living items with souls.)

This is partly why my Barbies live upstairs on a shelf of honor, our family teddy bears are in a basket in the hallway and that china doll which was broken had to leave under suspicious circumstances that I know nothing about.

NOTHING.

'Oh, come on,' he countered. 'What do you think will happen? That they will drag their tiny headless bodies up the stairs as we sleep and terrorize us?'

'Of course,' I answer while making a 'keep your voice down' gesture and lean over the back of the couch to watch the landing which leads to the dark basement.

'What makes you think they don't already hop right out of that can at night, have a little dance and then climb back in before morning?'

'Have you heard the cat crying out from the basement some nights? I am quite sure that they do. But at least they have their tiny heads on. There's a fairly well stocked bar down there, they have no reason to come upstairs. But without their heads....' 

Against my better judgement I opened the tin for this photo. Notice how that one nearest the Pretty Pretty Pony is beckoning me to come closer...

Needless to say. I found candles to fit the holders.

And bought a brand new bottle of tequila for the downstairs bar.

I have no idea what happened to the last one.

Fire. So much safer than a handful of heads.

The Final Chapter

So here it is. The day before Halloween. All Hallow's Eve...Eve? And with it comes the final installment of my contribution to the zombie craze. I hope you have enjoyed this little month long departure from the everyday life on the Coast of Illinois. Watch out for those little ghouls and goblins tomorrow night and come back on Friday November 1 when the Coast returns to normal...

Birth

Part Nine

 

                          Part One   Part Two   Part Three   Part Four   Part Five 

                                             Part Six  Part Seven   Part Eight
 

The infant took a tiny breath, coughed and began to cry. Mary and Debra joined in. Downstairs, Jake heard the crying and gave one last look outdoors. The female zombies jumped up and down excitedly with each cry.

In the bedroom, Deb hurriedly rubbed the crying baby dry. Ordinarily a newborn’s skin begins to pink as it is rubbed dry. This baby seemed to turn grey. Debra leaned in closer. Its breathing was deep and even with no sounds of obstruction. Its cry was healthy. She felt certain the color was not due to lack of oxygen. As she handed the baby to Mary it opened its eyes. They were flat and lifeless yet seemed to look directly at her. Debra shuddered. The baby was so cold.

Mary took her baby and held it close. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she moved the blanket. Its tiny grey body shivered. “It’s a boy! Oh Jake, come quick. Our son is here!” Mary called out as she placed the infant to her breast. In a whisper she said, "It's just as Jenna said." She looked to Debra and nodded.

With a deep breath, Deb returned the nod. A wave of nausea hit her and she stepped back. It was too much to take in. Mary sat curled on the bed, the tiny grey infant with blank eyes open and staring around the room gave a final cry and began to suckle gently its grey flesh dry and peeling like the paper of an old letter. He closed his eyes and in the dim light of the bedroom Debra could see how much Mary loved her son.

Crashing outside the bedroom window brought her back to reality. Jake raced into the room as Debra moved the curtain. The two females from downstairs were peering into the bedroom window. They had climbed up the downspout. Neither touched the wired window nor did they make any attempt to push closer than necessary to see inside. Their heads dipped back and forth as Mary swayed with her nursing infant.

“They want to see him. Mary, hold the baby up. Let them see him,” Deb spoke quietly. Births had a way of changing people. The females looked concerned almost hopeful. Debra had seen that look many times …on the faces of worried grandmothers standing outside the nursery windows.

“God, no! Mary…” Jake stopped at the bedside as he saw the baby for the first time. His face went pale as horror washed over him. The baby fixed its lifeless eyes on Jake and began to scream.

Debra stepped back, away from the window. The zombies stopped swaying as Mary held the baby up for them to see. She pushed the bedroom door shut as Mary announced to the room and those beyond it, “His name is Adam.”

“Deb, help us.” Tears welled in Jake’s eyes as he reached out to stroke the crying infant’s head. It lunged towards him; tiny white teeth glimmered in the darkened room.

Debra nodded her head as she slipped her hand into her sweater pocket, her fingers closed around the handle of the small gun she carried with her ever since the sickness began. These people had been her friends for so long. They had waited for this baby for so long. Her eyes began to tear as she moved towards the terrifying family but the infants screams brought her into focus. She had to do this.

“Give me the baby Mary,” Jake said as he held out his hands. Mary looked up, smiling.

“No Jake.” Debra answered as she raised the pistol to the base of Jake’s neck and squeezed the trigger.

Jake fell to the floor. His eyes rolled up in his skull, a mass of bone, blood and brains spattered the wall and his body collapsed. The baby fell silent for a few seconds before returning to its hungry cry. Mary slid off the bed, baby held tight in her arms. She propped herself on the floor, leaning back against the bed next to her husband.

“Oh Jake. I knew you would always take care of us,” she cooed as she scooped a tiny bit of grey matter from the side of his skull and placed her fingers with the bits of brain into Adam’s mouth. The baby gurgled contentedly as he began to feed.

Outside, the females hummed and slowly slid back down the drainpipe to the ground below. Debra watched from the bedroom window as they joined the group. The witnesses gestured wildly towards the upstairs window and the group pulsated excitedly. As they moved away from the house, Deb pulled the curtains.

From downstairs Dave called out, “Deb? Deb, are you okay?”

Mary looked up at her friend as the baby began to doze. “Go on, we will be fine,” she said. She looked at her husband's body. “We can freeze him later.”

On shaking legs, Debra went downstairs to her husband. Dave remained on the couch, head propped up on his right arm. “Man, my head is killing me. Did I hear crying? And a gunshot?”

Deb smiled as she told Dave that mother and baby were doing fine. “His name is Adam.”

“That’s perfect,” Dave smiled and patted Debra’s rounded belly. “Maybe in another month we can introduce him to Eve. Do you think you're ready?

“Yes,” Debra answered. "Of course. A new mom knows exactly what to do the minute her child is born." She leaned forward and kissed Dave on his left temple and pressing her hand deep into her sweater pocket never releasing its grasp on the handle of the pistol hidden within.

                                                                               The End.........?

@Laura.Ehlers2013

This is exactly what would happen if I were an OB nurse...

It's almost Halloween! Have you been keeping up with poor Deb and Dave and Jake and Mary? And remember – if zombies aren't your thing check out some of the favorite posts and my favorite blogs in the column on the right. Coast of Illinois will return to normal on November 1!

Birth

Part Eight

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

Jake looked from Debra's back to Dave’s body, laid out on the couch and shook his head. Outside, the zombies muttered and milled around in groups of twos and threes as Mary groaned.

For the next hour, Jake split his time between the front and back of the house. He found it odd that the creatures made no attempt to enter but even odder that their groups were divided by sex. The females hovered close to the windows, kitchen and back laundry. The males grouped a little further away. In the back of the house, Dave slept the sleep of a minor head trauma. He stirred now and then, moaning in tune to those outside. An older female with long hair on half her head looked into the back living room, watched Dave’s nearly motionless figure but when Mary cried out from the upstairs bedroom, the creature moved away stopping several feet away from the house with its head tipped back, vacant eyes staring towards second story.

“Deb, things okay up there…with Mary and stuff?” he called up the stairs before moving to the front of the house.

“We’re good Jake. I’ll holler when it’s time.” Deb called back.

Mary sat propped up on the bed. Deb had covered the mattress with plastic and then padded the entire thing with old blankets. The contractions were coming fast and Mary was beginning to feel overwhelmed. She gripped the blanket with white knuckles. Through clenched teeth she said, "Are we going to be able to do...what we need to?"

Deb peeked out the window, on the ground stood two females. They held hands, swaying back and forth, never letting their gaze move from the upstairs window. With each of Mary’s moans, they swayed faster. "I guess we'll find out...when the time comes. Jenna in Denver managed and last check in she and the baby were just fine."

“God, Deb…I…think this is it…” Mary gasped as a second flood of liquid flowed onto the sheets. Mary grabbed her knees as Deb instructed her to push.

“Jake, it’s time…” Debra shouted as she moved to the end of the bed. She grabbed a dry towel and began to slip it under her friend’s hips to protect her from the wetness of the birth fluids but something was wrong. The fluid, normally clear to slightly cloudy and pink was grey. The pattern of drying liquid on the sheets looked horribly similar to the puddle the dying zombie had left on the snow. Doubt formed a tiny shadow over Deb's eyes. They had to do this. No matter what.

“Deb…I can’t do this.” Mary began to twist on the bed as the baby moved down the birth canal.

Debra had delivered hundreds of babies over her career. This was nothing new. As delivery got closer most moms began to panic. It was best to give them something to do. “Push Mary.” She said and hoped her voice was stronger than it sounded in her head.

Mary pushed and Deb could see the baby’s head. Mary cried out and immediately pushed again. The baby slipped out and onto the bed in another puddle of grey fluid. Debra rapidly assessed the infant – ten fingers, ten toes, umbilical cord intact. She tied the cord in two places and with a sharp knife left upstairs for just this task, she cut the cord.

Maybe They Just Want Tiny Candy Bars...

It's beginning to feel like Autumn here on the Coast of Illinois. Chilly wind whipping leaves into the kitchen window, entire pumpkins taunting me in the grocery store begging to be turned into poor caricatures of Frankenstein's Monster and Johnny Depp, bags of tiny candy bars begging me to eat them while hiding under an afghan where those creepy twin girls from the Overlook Hotel will never think to look...

Have you got your afghan and tiny candy bars ready???

Birth

Part Seven

Part One   Part Two   Part Three    Part Four   Part Five   Part Six

Dave ran to the kitchen window to assess the damage. “What are they doing out there?” The zombies had huddled around the wounded creature. Mumbled noises could barely be heard through the glass. The wounded zombie waved its injured arm back and forth as if to keep the others away. A larger male reached around the victim from behind and wrapped its arms around the torso of the wounded one. It held the restraint as the others began to feed, at first taking bites here and there then ripping large hunks of flesh and bone. The victim continued to shriek until at last the large male leaned forward and took a deadly bite at the back of the victim’s neck. It's head tilted forward, mouth open but silent at last. Dave stood frozen as he watched the scene unfold. In all it took less than a minute for the group to devour its weakened member.

Mary moaned again, louder this time. Outside, two of the zombies stood up, sighting on the house. Nervously, they returned and peered in the kitchen window staying well clear of the grating which still held bits of sizzling flesh. With each of Mary’s moans, the creatures muttered and teetered back and forth. None made any attempt to enter the house.

"They’re responding to Mary. Deb, get her upstairs.” Jake began to flip switches on the control panel, shutting down all but a few lights at the baseboards of the kitchen. “ I think they're women." He leaned closer to the window. One of the creatures was wearing a tattered uniform dress – yellow and red – Denny's, he guessed to himself. "Dave, you keep watch in here. I’ll watch the front of the house.”

Dave hurriedly walked towards the living room. The television glowed brightly, check in was over and the light from the screen illuminated the house too well. His concentration was on the back door. He took two quick steps before his stocking foot hit the amniotic fluid which remained puddled on the kitchen floor. His feet slid forward as he teetered and fell back, smacking his head on the kitchen table before landing with a thud on the floor.

“Dave!” Debra cried as she steadied Mary at the steps and ran back to the kitchen. Her husband lay flat on his back, unconscious but breathing. “Jake, help me. Dave’s out cold.”

Mary moaned again, this time through clenched teeth. Her sounds were quieter but the zombie women continued to rustle in response. “Deb, I need to lie down.”

“I’ll be right there Mary.” Deb gasped the words as she and Jake hefted Dave onto the couch. “Hand me a flashlight.”

Jake pulled a small light from his back pocket. He crouched quietly as Deb went to work. She carefully opened each of Dave’s eyelids, shining the light into his deep brown eyes. The pupils dilated and with the light quickly contracted again. Satisfied, she felt the back of his head for swelling and bleeding. A small knot had formed in the center of his skull but there was no laceration. She listened carefully to his breathing. It was shallow but regular. Still grasping the flashlight in one hand, she formed her other hand into a fist and harshly rubbed Dave’s chest on the sternum where the bone was unprotected by even a thin layer of fat. Dave grimaced in response to the pain and Deb smiled.

“He’s going to have one heck of a headache but he’ll be okay,” Deb said as she stood. “Keep an eye on him. If he begins to breath weird call me. I’ll be upstairs greeting your child.”

Come back on Sunday for the next to last installment! And, if zombies aren't your thing please check out the favorite blog posts and my list of favorite bloggers to the right. The Coast of Illinois will return to its much less scary self on November 1!

When we last left the Zombies...

It has been a wild couple of weeks here on the Coast. Actually Coasts – plural. As this posts I am returning from a trip to California where our beautiful niece and her darling man got married. Thankfully, there were no Zombies.

Part One  Part Two   Part Three   Part Four   Part Five

Birth

Part Six

“Mary! Your water broke!” Deb grabbed the counter with one hand to steady herself, her legs suddenly weak with all the excitement and now, relief. If labor hadn’t progressed she would have had to break it. “How are the contractions?”

Mary moaned in answer. “Wow, that was a big one.” As the contraction lessened, she stood and caressed her belly. “I could actually see it tighten.”

“Yup, that’s what labor does. Come on. If you feel up to it, how ‘bout walking around while I start some dinner. The rest of us are going to need to keep up our strength. I’ll fix you some soup if you’re hungry.” The pot full, Deb placed it on the gas burner.

The slam of the back door made both women jump as the men returned. Their stomping sounded more violent than was necessary.“What the fuck were you doing out there alone?” Dave was pissed. They had specific actions for attack. “You put us all at danger Jake.”

“I had the chance. I had to take it. That Zom was acting really weird. It was almost as though it were observing, stalking us. I am pretty sure it had been at the kitchen window and those dragging prints were by the back door too.”

Both men continued to argue as they pulled off their wet shoes and placed the shotguns in the rack. Mary completed her first lap around the living room as Deb browned some sausage and stirred in tomato sauce. Jake was the first to notice Mary’s parade.

“Um, babe? What ya doin’?”

“Training for the marathon. Aaa…what’s it look like?” Mary gasped as another contraction hit but her smile covered up the pain. “Of course, Deb won’t let me do any carbo loading. Guess she’s afraid I’ll puke on her!”

“Yes, that is exactly right. You know what they say: puke on me once, shame on you. Puke on me twice…” Deb began to laugh but choked as a scream replaced her momentary mirth. A grey face with flat eyes peered into the kitchen window.

“Shit!” Dave grabbed his gun and ran to the back door. “There’s another one on the porch.”

Jake sprinted from the kitchen to check the other windows only to return with disheartening news. “There are at least twelve of them. It’s bizarre. They are just standing there, staring inside.”

Mary moaned and grabbed her belly. Deb turned the burners off and hustled to her side. Outside the kitchen window the zombie shifted its weight and moaned in response. Its withered hand grasped the wire frame work outside the window as the electricity made its surge. The creature shrieked as its hand exploded, spattering grey flesh on the window. Both women screamed.

The face at the back door disappeared. 

Come back on Wednesday October 23 to see what happens next! 

And - if Zombies aren't your thing, please check out some of the more popular posts and some of my favorite blogs to the right. Coast of Illinois will return to reality no November 1!

October...da da dum...THIRTHEENTH

October 13. Thirteen. It even sounds scary. In my day job – nursing- we have many superstitions. Full moons – bring out craziness, speaking the word 'quiet'- causes it to be anything but, never passing up the chance to eat a snack -because you may never get a chance to eat again.

Do I actually believe these things?

YES.

What happens when you comment on how quiet the department is when you forget your lunch one Friday the 13^th midnight shift with a full moon? Well let's see – killer pimp, lice epidemic, three cardiac arrests and someone who actually chewed through a restraint.

Now do you believe?

And now it's check in time in Wisconsin...

                                        Part One                        Part Two                   Part Three

Birth

Part Four

“Welcome Spring Green." Tony wiped his face with both hands, pushing his trademark hat off kilter. "Have we enlarged our ranks?” The entire Underground was anxious for Mary to be delivered. The Underground had yet to log a successful birth, but there was always hope.

“No, just us four at present. But Deb says tomorrow will be the big day. What’s the word on burn-out?” Dave leaned closer to the screen.

“Bad man. Let’s leave it at that.” Tony looked around, distracted. “Keep a weather eye man. They’ll be coming your way tonight.” Noises could now be heard off camera. Hammering.

“We’re ready. Generator is fueled up, windows wired, wine chilled.” Jake squeezed his face closer to Dave, into the webcam's view.“What’s going on over there Tony? Sounds like you guys are rebuilding already.”

“What? Oh, that’s nothing.” Tony looked over his shoulder and then back at the camera. “Shit’s A-okay here boss.” He leaned into the camera and smiled. Both Dave and Jake leaned closer. There was something not quite right in the way his pupils were dilated. His mouth twitched just barely, at the lower lip.

“You sure things are fine?” Dave put his hand up to the screen, as though Tony could feel his touch and Tony placed his left palm to Dave’s in response.

“No man, its not."He looked away from the screen for a second. "Give the newest member a kiss on the noggin’ for me boys.” Palm still on the screen he raised a bottle of whiskey and toasted the camera before draining the bottle dry. “My time is up.” Tony pulled his hand away, dropped the whiskey bottle to the ground and turned his back on the camera. The pounding had grown louder and more frantic. In the background of the camera’s shot a window blew out and three grey arms in tattered clothing reached through. The leading arm snagged on the jagged glass leaving a bit of fabric and a chunk of oozing flesh. Dave and Jake leaned back and gasped. And then they watched as, in slow motion, Tony lifted his arm and raised a pistol.

The blast was amplified by the microphone clipped to his shirt. It took less than a second for the fedora to flip backwards and cover the screen, stopping all but a thin slip of blood from hitting the screen.

“Oh!” Debra cried out and buried her face in her hands. Both men looked from the television to each other in disbelief.

“Deb, can I eat? All at once, I am starving.” Mary waddled into the kitchen, her voice loosening the grasp death had on the others in the room. “Did I just miss something?”

“No, nothing. Madison is having trouble signing in. Are you okay to be down here?” Jake didn’t move from his place in front of the screen but it was clear that his concern had shifted across the room to his wife and unborn child.

“I’m fine. Let’s fix spaghetti. Deb? You sure everything’s okay?” Mary placed a hand on the counter to steady herself as she looked out the kitchen window.“Still snowing a ... Hey!" Her shout made everyone jump. "Something is out there."

Everyone scrambled. Jake began flipping switches on a control panel on the interior wall of the kitchen. Electricity hummed through the wired window frames. The system was set to pulsate every ten seconds through windows both upstairs and down in a random sequence. A large spot light flooded the area outside the kitchen window. Dave grabbed the shotgun beside the door and Deb lifted the one lying on the island. Mary remained at the window. "Oh wait, I think it was just that stupid bush." She turned to see her three friends freeze mid movement, glancing warily at one another.

"That does it. I am cutting that stupid shrubbery down first thing tomorrow." Jake deflated with a heavy sigh.

"Not the ...shrubbery!" Mary said in her best falsetto, English voice. When no one laughed she gave Jake a questioning look and he crossed the kitchen in three large steps, wrapping his wife in flannel clad arms.

"Madison had some trouble." His voice caught in his throat. There was no mention of Tony. Too many gone. It just wasn't done.

The room was silent save for the alternating hum of electrons and the rapid sequence of city names logging through the television. Each face that appeared gave a sign – crossed fingers or hearts, peace signs, open palm to the screen – in acknowledgment of the red light on Spring Green’s screen, the light which indicated a possible attack.

“There, beside the garage…” Dave’s whisper spread through the room. “Footprints.”

That's Not a Baby!!!

Saw my first Halloween...um...character on the way home last night. She was dressed in a full length black dress, her face was powdered bright white and she was holding a baby doll as though it were real. Dear Lord, I certainly hope she was dressed for Halloween...

If you are new to Coast of Illinois – the month of October is Serial Story time. Click HERE for part one, and THERE for part two. And, if you aren't really into scary stories please check out the favorite posts at the right for more typical Coastal discussions or page down for some of my favorite bloggers.

And now....

Birth

Part Three

"You can’t call other human beings a liability.” Debra stopped in the doorway. Jake’s tough words and hard jaw did nothing to offset the fear in his eyes as he turned from the counter. Outside an early winter wind rattled the now bare lilac branches near the kitchen window.

“You know what I mean Deb. We can’t save everyone.” His jaw softened a little as he spoke and began brushing the broken saucer into the trash can under the sink. Jake had helped burn out Madison. It took two treacherous weeks of prep but he had returned safe and sound. Deb herself had inspected his stripped down body for signs of bites or scratches. He had returned clean.

"Let me do this." She hugged him as she pushed him aside. "You'll just wind up cutting yourself. Now be a good little boy and pour me some coffee."

“What are you doing down here, anyway.” Dave raised his head from the maps and met his wife straight on. “You are supposed to be on Mary duty.”

“I know. She is awake but resting for just a little more. I think the baby will be here by this time tomorrow.” She kissed him on the top of the head and turning to Jake said, “You’re almost a Daddy.”

"Nooooo..." Jake slapped his hands to his face in his best Macaully Caulkin impersonation before pushing the steaming mug of coffee towards Deb.

Dave stood, stretched. "It's almost time for check-in." He walked to the television set and punched the on button. Various wires laced back and forth between the television and a computer whose screen saver depicted a blue bottle of window cleaner with the scrolling phrase 'Put Some Windex On It." Static and grey fuzz filled the screen. Log in would start in about five minutes. The Underground transmitted nightly at six, or as close to six as possible. First each state logged in and then counties and then each individual safe house, depending on the rolling electricity. With the burnout of Chicago and Madison, the local log-in would be first. The surviving zombies tended to take flight so outlying areas were at risk.

Live feed was both reassuring and terrifying. Over the past month the number of log-ins had dropped by about one third. Static on the television, this waiting, bothered Deb and she turned to look outside. Snow was piled high against the garage in wave-like drifts and frost formed a delicate frame. She leaned closer to the window and subconsciously reached out to steady herself on the windowpane.

“Deb!” Jake shouted and Debra jumped. Like the upstairs windows, it too was equipped with a makeshift electric fence. “Shit Deb. Please don't cook yourself. Who would fix us dinner tonight?” Deb gave him a smirk and cautiously rubbed her arms. She would never get used to being held hostage at home. “Speaking of...you get anything out of that humongous freezer? Like, I don't know, hamburger, sausage...a body?”

Deb laughed and shook her fist. At present it was half full with chicken, hamburger and a deer the guys shot. Jake scared the crap out of Mary just yesterday morning by stuffing himself into the empty space. "You know you are the reason she's in labor now."

"I should hope so." He laughed and joined Dave on the couch.

“Sign in folks.” Dave leaned over the web cam which sat on top of the television. Deb perched on the couch arm and Dave absentmindedly rubbed her thigh. The clock over the fireplace struck the first of six tones and instantly the static on the television shimmied into the image of a man in his early thirties. Worn fedora, scruffy beard, Tony’s face; another Survivor.

The three let out one collective sigh of relief.

Come back on Sunday October 13 for part four....

Happy Hallow-Hairnet-een!

It is Halloween!

Crappy economy! Constant campaign phone calls and attack ads! Frankenstorms!

Like it could get any scarier out there...

But, Hairnet Spotters, it has. We have had an Private Interior Hairnet Spotting! Not only was this a PIHS, it was also Spotter Julie's first sighting. We could, of course, wonder about the security of her home and possibly the alliances of the person responsible for bringing the Hairnet in...but here on the Coast of Illinois we are more about saving lives than pointing fingers.

The Hairnet breach occurred last weekend as Julie was setting up her Very Topical Reality Television Halloween costume. She ripped open the package and whup (BAM! Would be more dramatic but Hairnets rarely go BAM!) the albino Net fell onto her table. In Julie's own words:

"Once I realized what I had my hands on (not a harmless fake beard!) I snapped a quick photo (as proof of my bravery) and then threw it in the OUTSIDE trash can! Whew! I washed my hands thoroughly (2 rounds of "Happy Birthday!) and sprayed Lysol liberally, making sure to rid the house if any bad juju."

"The sneaky infidel is masquerading inside the package of a hair called "The Savior." Blasphemy!"

Way to go Julie! Handled like a true professional. And an Albino Hairnet too boot! This may be our first observation of Hairnet Adaption.

They are adapting.

 But, they are also SPAWNING:

Jeez! Get a room. 

Be Wary out there people. Let this be a warning to us all. Hairnets are everywhere. They are getting sneakier. And, once you start seeing them.....wait, what's that on the floor....NOOOOoooo....

(No bloggers were actually injured in this writing. That last bit was just for fun.)

((Coast of Illinois is a non-denominational public service. The use of the words 'Infidel', 'Savior' and "Albino' are not meant to profile anyone.))

(((Thanks again to Mel for the horrifying spawn photo. And to Julie - welcome to the club!)))

The Horror! The HORROR!!

Trick or Treat
Smell my feet
Give me something good
to read!

The Writers Pad

Scary ass short stories and poetry all available for download on most e-readers and computers! Just click the link above.  FREE!

Oh sure. Its not those awesome tiny snickers but it is low cal, low fat and surprisingly high in fiber!