The following is one of the short stories that will be included in Forever Zombie: A Collection of Undead Guy Tales. NOTE: This story is still in the editing stages and may appear slightly different in the upcoming collection.

It was a hot morning in mid-July although that may be redundit. Guess it depends on where you live. Might not be so hot in Nome, Alaska, but this was downtown Manhattan. And it was much warmer than usual in the offices of Romero, O’Bannon, Fulci & Flanders as the air conditioner had been on the blink most of the week.

“I’ll bet the air conditioner works in Mr. O’Bannon’s office”, Linnea grumbled under her breath as she applied a fresh layer of Barn Shingle Red Nail Polish to her pinky. She blew on it to aid the drying process and then picked up a copy People Magazine to fan herself with.

Although the law firm of Romero, O’Bannon, Fulci & Flanders wasn’t the most successful law firm in Pawtucket, they weren’t at the bottom either. Well, mused Linnea, that depended. She couldn’t remember whether Andy Flumble had closed up his firm and moved to California. (He’d always wanted to be an actor.)

The law office she was employed by had been more successful before Mr. Fucli had passed away. And Mr. Romero rarely made it to the office nowadays and, well, to be frank, Mr. Flanders couldn’t find his asshole if it was part of a guided tour.

Mr. O’Bannon was the only partner in the firm that showed up with any regularity. And he spent most of his day practicing his putting in his office.

She heard the front door of the law offices open, but she didn’t bother looking up. First things first, of course, and her nails weren’t going to paint themselves.

She applied one last coat of Barn Shingle Red to her pinky and blew on it again.

The person who had entered cleared their voice.

“Ahem...”

“Be right with ya, sweetie,” Linnea said as she reached for the fingernail bottle to reattach the cap and applicator.

“I have a 10:13 appointment with Mr. O’Bannon. And I really in a hurry. Busy schedule, you know.”

Linnea fumbled with the applicator and bottle.

“You must be mistaken,” she said without looking up. “Mr. O’Bannon has no appointments scheduled for today. Mr. Flanders has one scheduled for 11:00. That one, however, is with a Mrs. Kroger. Are you with Mrs. Kroger?”

“I assure you, young lady, I have a 10:13 with Mr. O’Bannon and I must be on time.”

Linnea sighed in exasperation and glanced up, ready to tell the visitor that he certainly did not, but her mouth fell open and not a single word came out.

Well, other than “aaaghhh” perhaps.

Not to mention the fact that she nearly peed her pants.

She sincerely doubted that the visitor had an actual appointment with Mr. O’Bannon.

She opened her mouth.

“Ga...a..gh..”

“Was that a question?” the visitor asked.

Linnea felt something wet in her lap and thought for a moment she actually had peed her pants. But it was just fingernail polish. She had never got the cap back on the bottle and blood red nail polish covered the front of her white skirt.

“Shit!” she muttered.

“Okay, now that you have your vocabulary back, I’d really like to see Mr. O’Bannon.”

Her first thought was that the figure standing in front of her desk must be part of some kind of gag. Had Burt or Ernie sent someone over from the costume department at Universal again? The last time it had been a knight in armor. Now that had been sort of cool since the knight had also brought her some red roses. This was just plain weird and Halloween was long gone.

The figure stood over 6 foot tall and dressed in a black robe that flowed from the hood hiding his face to the well-worn carpet of the law office. Adding to the effect was the scythe in his right hand, gleaming in the sunlight streaming in through the front window.

Linnea had to admit it was a pretty good costume.

“Ha, ha,” she grinned. “Very funny. Now go tell Burt to go jump in a lake.”

“I have no idea who this Burt character is, my dead. Now I must insist. Would you please check your appointment schedule again?”

He reached across her desk and before she could react, he tapped the enter key on her keyboard.

Linnea could have sworn, just for a moment, that she saw a skeletal finger press the key. (Nice prop, she thought.) And there must have been some static electricity present as a spark seemed to zip from the finger towards the keyboard.

“Ah, there it is,” he pointed out.

Linnea glanced at the computer screen.

Mrs. Elli Kroger’s name was still at 11:00 a.m., but there was another entry above it.

Mr. O’Bannon -- 10:13 – Grim Reaper.

“How’d you do that?” Linnea asked.

The dark figure shrugged.

The pitch black robe seemed to move into the air and then slowly settle back down around bony shoulders.

This had gone too far.

 “I think you’d better leave now. Or would you rather I call one of our associates.”

“That might be difficult,” the figure replied. “Mr. Romero is in Pittsburgh, Mr. Flanders hasn’t arrived yet and Mr. Fulci... well, Mr. Fulci is deceased. I believe he was in Italy at the time. Yes, that’s right. I remember him well...”

The man stretched out a hand that had no flesh and, with bony fingers, pulled a pocket watch from his robe.

“My, my. We only have a couple of minutes, Linnea. Can we get on with this. I have several more appointments before lunch. Well, not that I stop for lunch, of course.”

Linnea’s eyes hadn’t left the figure’s bony hand even as it disappeared back into the sleeve of his robe.

“You can’t be serious...”

Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Oh, as serious as... well, death,” he said with an eerie laugh. “Sorry. Just a little inside joke.”

Linnea had forgotten had to breathe for quite some time and finally gasped in a breath of stale, hot air. It might have been her imagination, but the taste left in her mouth reminded her of decomposing leaves in the forest. And maybe, just maybe, a hint of sulphur.

 “You’re really him, aren’t you?” she asked with an unsteady voice.

“Yep,” he replied. “Death. The Grim Reaper. The Specter of Death. Sandman. Peter Griffin.”

Linnea blinked and, without thinking, asked the question.

“Peter Griffin?”

“Well, not really,” the figure said. “But I loved that episode. Now will you please see if Mr. O’Bannon has a moment? And I assure you, it will only take a moment. But please hurry. Busy schedule you know. Death never takes a holiday.”

She stared at him blankly.

“Fredric March,” he said. “1934 film...”

She continued to stare.

“Oh, never mind,” he said. “People just don’t enjoy the classics any more. They’d rather watch things like Beavis and Butt-Head, I guess.”

“Beavis and Butt-Head hasn’t been on in over ten years,” Linnea told him and was somewhat amazed that she was still able to carry on a conversation.

“It doesn’t really matter, dear child. Now how did we get off the subject? Please inform Mr. O’Bannon that I am here. And hurry please. I’d hate to show my angry side. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

“Bill Bixby,” she said. “The Incredible Hulk.”

He looked puzzled.

“What?”

‘Never mind,” she said. “I’ll step in and check with Mr. O’Bannon. Intercom’s not working. Hasn’t worked in quite some time. And the air conditioning has been on the blitz for over a week now. Not to mention...”

Death sighed rather loudly.

“Oh, sorry,” she said. “I tend to talk a lot when I get nervous...”

The Grim Reaper glided over the office’s magazine rack as she backed herself towards Mr. O’Bannon’s door. She wasn’t sure that it was a good idea to ever turn your back on Death.

She watch as he picked out a magazine and flipped open the cover.

Linnea’s knees got a little wobbly when she noticed it was the current issue of Humpty Dumpty magazine. That just didn’t seem right. Not when there was a perfectly good issue of Maxim right there on the coffee table. Or perhaps the Guns and Ammo... Not Humpty Dumpty...

And there’s even the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue sitting right there.

That somehow made her smile.

It gave new definition to the word “boner”.

She walked backward through the door and didn’t turn around until she had pulled it closed again. Too bad there wasn’t an outside exit from his office. Not to mention that they were three stories up. She turned, already jabbering like a loony bird. And maybe she was.

“I’m sorry, Mr. O’Bannon. But there’s a... well, you see... I never... I was just...”

Mr. O’Bannon was sitting behind his desk with his chair turned towards the window revealing a billboard advertisement for the adult movie theater down the street. (They weren’t exactly located in the best part of town.)

“Sir...?”

He didn’t move.

She walked slowly to his desk and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Mr. O’Bannon?”

His head lolled off to one side and she gasped.

 “Omigod, Omigod, Omigod!”

She glanced at the ornate clock on his office wall.

It was 10:10.

Was there a fire escape beneath the window?

Before she had taken a step to look, the office door opened behind her and the black hood of her visitor’s robe appeared through the opening.

“Sorry,” he said. “But we’re almost out of time.”

Linnea stepped off to the side as Death entered the room and walked in her direction.

He hesitated as he reached the desk and got a full view of the seemingly dead attorney.

“What is this?” he asked.

“It’s Mr. O’Bannon.”

“I know it’s Mr. O’Bannon, but what’s wrong with him?”

“Well,” Linnea replied. “He seems to be dead already.”

Linnea took another step away from the desk as the Grim Reaper moved closer. She didn’t want to accidentally touch him. She wasn’t quite sure how that worked, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

Death seemed taken back for a moment.

“You must be mistaken. This simply can’t be.”

She was slightly offended.

“I don’t think so. I use to be a candy striper. I know how to check a person’s pulse.”

“No, that’s not possible,” Death sputtered with a glance at his pocket watch. “Why it’s only 10:13 just now.”

“Well, he’s dead,” Linnea said with a little courage returning to her voice. “And I didn’t do it. He was like that when I came into the room. I swear. Can I go now?”

Death pointed a commanding, bony finger in her direction and shook his head. He then began pacing back and forth in front of the dead lawyer’s desk.

Linnea watched as Death finally stepped next to the body. O’Bannon still sat upright in his chair. Death reached out with his scythe and nudged him. The attorney, precariously balanced as he was, tipped slowly to his right and finally flopped over onto the floor.

“Shit!” Death uttered. “He really is dead, isn’t he?”

“That’s what I tried to tell you,” Linnea said in exasperation.

The Grim Reaper paced back and forth a few more times and eventually wandered back into the receptionist’s area. Linnea followed (at a distance) and waited patiently for an escape route.

This just doesn’t make sense,” Death mused. “You sure you didn’t kill him?”

Linnea looked appropriately shocked.

“Now why in the hell would I do that?” she asked.

They were interrupted when the firm’s front door next opened and Mr. Flanders came strolling in.

“It’s like hell warmed over out there,” he stated as he straightened his tie. “Well, that is if one believes in hell which, of course, I certainly do. How about you, Linnea?”

“More and more every day, sir,” she replied.

Flanders took off his hat and was just about to hang it up when he noticed the person dressed in a black robe standing in the receptionist area.

He hesitated.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Mrs. Kroger, I presume?”

In the lawyer’s defense, Linnea thought later, the visitor had been wearing what appeared to be a long, black dress.

Mr. Flanders strolled across the reception area and grabbed the Grim Reaper’s hand before anyone knew it had happened. It was an automatic response for an ambulance chasing lawyer. Mr. Flanders, however, was quite surprised when the hand he grabbed was not a hand at all, but the bony fingers of a skeleton.

The surprise, however, was short lived.

The lawyer crumpled to the floor like a stack of old statutes, lying cold stone dead at the feet of the Grim Reaper.

“Damn,” Death said as he stepped away from the body. “I hate it when that happens!”

And that also answered Linnea’s earlier question.

She stepped further away.

“Who is this?” Death grudgingly asked.

“T... Ted... Flanders,” she stuttered.

And as if the events of the morning hadn’t already been surreal, Death reached into his robe and pulled out an iPhone. He began poking at it with a bony index finger.

 “Theodore Flanders of 263 Elm Street?”

Linnea nodded.

“Damn! Damn! Damn!”

He punched at the iPhone again and then held it to the side of his head. (Did he have ears, Linnea wondered?)

“Hello? Yes. I have a Code 666 here.”

He waited as the party on the other end of the conversation replied.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Death apologized. “These things happen.”

He shook his head as he listened to the reply.

“No, it wasn’t a used car salesman this time,” he replied. “A lawyer...”

And then laughed.

“That’s a good one,” Death grinned. “I’ll have to tell the missus that one.”

He paused to listen again.

“Yes, Theodore Emerson Flanders,” he replied.

He paused again.

“Not for another eleven years, huh? Yes, I know. Fill out Form 1040Z, a 10-55 in triplicate and an Incident Report for an Unscheduled Demise. Geez, it’ll take days to fill those out.”

He paused.

“Ha, ha,” he replied. “I know. I have all of eternity, but still...”

He sighed.

“Oh, we may have another problem as well,” he said. “I was sent to collect a Stanley Eugene O’Bannon, but it seems, well, he may expired before his scheduled departure time. Can I call you back?”

He nodded and slipped the iPhone back into his robe, shifting his scythe from one hand to the other as he did.

“I really need to use the ladies room,” Linnea pleaded.

All she really wanted to do was get to the hallway by the front door, run like hell down the hallway and never come back. Did Death know where she lived? Very likely. If not there was probably an app for that somewhere on his iPhone.

“In a minute,” Death replied. He unconsciously tapped a bony finger against the top of her desk as he thought things through.

She thought about running for the front door anyway. She wondered if the Grim Reaper was fast or slow. Who knows? Maybe he was wearing Nikes under the hem of that robe.

She took a step, but froze as a gurgling sound issued from Mr. O’Bannon’s office.

Death heard the sound as well and turned around.

“Ah,” Death said with some relief. “I told you he wasn’t dead.”

Mr. O’Bannon moaned again.

“Should I call an ambulance?” Linnea asked.

Death looked at his pocket watch again.

“Silly girl,” he said. “No one here will be needing an ambulance today. Maybe a hearse, but I’ll let you worry about that later.”

He spun around on his heels (Nike?) and walked backed into O’Bannon’s office.

Linnea probably could have run for the front door at that moment, but the thought that Mr. O’Bannon might need her help made her follow the Grim Reaper.

The moaning lawyer was crawling awkwardly across the carpet toward the door. Death pulled his sleeve back from his right hand, flexed a bony finger and reached down to touch the lawyer  on the shoulder.

Not only did O’Bannon continue to pull himself along the carpet, but he actually tried to take a bite out of the Grim Reaper’s arm.

The sleeve of Death’s black robe ripped exposing his skeletal arm.

“Damn!” Death sputtered. “And my other one’s at the cleaners!”

He reached out and touched O’Bannon again with similar result.

The lawyer continued to crawl slowly along the floor.

“What the...?” Death muttered and reached down to touch him again, this time on the back of his neck. O’Bannon twitched and then, like some macabre marionette, clamored awkwardly to his feet. He moaned something and reached out for Linnea.

“Bra...a...ains,” O’Bannon said in slurred speech.

“What did he say?” Death sputtered.

 “Bra...a...ains,” O’Bannon repeated as if he had actually heard the question.

All at once, there was a look of understanding on Linnea’s face.

She glanced around and spied the lawyer’s golf bag in the corner. She grabbed a three iron from the bag (although she didn’t know at the time what the hell kind of club it was) and swung it through the air. It bounced off the side of Mr. O’Bannon’s head and he fell to his knees.

“What...?”

Death seemed confused.

“He’s a zombie,” Linnea replied calmly.

“What...?”

“He’s a fucking zombie!” Linnea reiterated and slightly out of patience. “I’ve seen enough friggin’ zombie movies to know when I’m seeing a fucking zombie, for Christ’s sake. Didn’t you hear him?”

“Hear what?”

Death seemed bewildered. This had definitely not been covered in his indoctrination. Of course, that had been several centuries earlier, but still, nobody had said anything about zombies.

O’Bannon tottered there on his knees only stunned by the blow from the golf club.

“Br-a-a-ains.”

“There,” Linnea spat out. “Did you fucking hear it that time?”

She was past the point of caring whether or not she offended the man in black.

But Death had certainly heard it this time and enough was enough.

He raised the scythe over his head and the blade seemed to sing as it whished out and neatly lopped O’Bannon’s head from his body. The head bounced twice and rolled to a stop against an antique bookshelf in the corner.

Linnea was amazed she didn’t scream as blood splashed the front of her blouse and Mr. O’Bannon’s headless body collapsed to the carpet at her feet.

“There we go,” Death stated emphatically as he lowered his scythe to his side.

“Bra...a...ains,” O’Bannon’s head moaned from where it lay  near his indoor putting green.

“Shit!” Death said.

Linnea was tired of the whole ordeal as well.

“You haven’t seen many zombie movies, have you?”

Death lowered his blood covered scythe.

“I have better things to do with my time.”

“Like watching episodes of The Family Guy?”

The Grim Reaper sighed.

“Do you have a point?”

Linnea pointed to Mr. O’Bannon’s head.

The man’s lips were still moving.

“Br-a-a-ains.”

“There’s only one way to kill a zombie,” Linnea said.

She walked over to Mr. O’Bannon’s head, raised the 3 iron and proceeded to bash in the lawyer’s skull until gray matter oozed out onto the putting green.

“You have to destroy the brain,” she said. “I guess a golf club works pretty good, but I suspect the best thing would have been  blast his head into a bloody blob with a shotgun.”

Death was suitably impressed.

But it wasn’t over yet.

As they turned to exit Mr. O’Bannon’s office, Mr. Flanders lurched in. He didn’t seem to be playing his role as a dead guy very well either.

“Br-a-a-ains,” he groaned.

One solid whack to the side of the zombie’s head was all it took this time. Linnea's skills were already improving.

“Hey, hole in one that time,” she bragged.

This time, however, she had a difficult time unlodging the golf club from the lawyer's shattered temple. It made a gristly sound as it popped free.

Death laughed.

“You know, if we have a zombie epidemic on out hands I could probably use your help,” he said. “Are you interested in a new profession?”

Linnea brushed a lock of blonde hair back from her face and smiled.

‘Why not? Looks like Romero, O’Bannon, Fulci and Flanders no longer has a need of a receptionist.”

As they stepped over Mr. Flanders’ body, the front door to the suite opened.

Linnea swirled, and just as if she had been doing it for years, placed a perfect shot to the temple of the little old lady who shuffled into the lobby.

The old woman dropped like a sack of potatoes.

“A... Linnea?” Death said with some hesitation in his voice.

“What now?” Linnea asked as she tossed the 3 iron back and forth between her hands in preparation for the next possible onslaught.

“I think that was Mr. O’Bannon’s 11:00 appointment. And I don’t think she was a zombie...”

Linnea sighed.

“I don’t have to fill out an Incident Report for an Unscheduled Demise, do I?” she asked. “I hate paperwork!”

Copyright © 2009 Stan Swanson and Stony Meadow Publishing 

EASTER EGGS:

At some point during the creation of the short stories to be included in Forver Zombie: A Collection of Undead Guy Tales, I decided to include Easter Eggs in each one of them. If youdidn't catch them all, go back and take another look. Or just read the following:

Linnea (Linnea Quigley appeared in Return of the Living Dead – she was the one running around naked most of the time – and has appeared in dozens of horror films.)

The Law Firm of Romero, O’Bannon, Fulci & Flanders (George Romero, Dan O’Bannon and Lucio Fulci were the cream of the crop when it came to directing zombie movies. Flanders? Well, in a Treehouse of Horror special, when the town of Springfield is turning into zombies, Ned Flanders comes over and asks if he can chew Homer’s ear. Homer responds by blasting Flanders with his shotgun. The family voices their shock that he killed the zombie Flanders. Homer then utters the famous line, “He was a zombie?”

Mrs. Kroger (Linnea Quigley played Elli Kroger in the 2003 horror flick, Corpses Are Forever.)

Burt and Ernie (No, this is not a reference to the Sesame Street characters. Burt Wilson was one of the lead characters in Return of the Living Dead as portrayed by Clu Galagher. Ernie was another of the lead characters and was played expertly by Don Calfa. O’Bannon later claimed he hadn’t even thought about the Sesame Street characters when he wrote the script.)

Death Takes A Holiday was a 1934 film starring Fredric March.

ABOUT "EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE"

This one was originally titled “Death Meets His Match” and my third entry for the book, but I changed the title during the second rewrite to “Every Breath You Take”. This concept came my Story Idea Notebook which carries far more ideas for fiction and non-fiction books than I will ever have a chance to write, but it’s great to refer back to occasionally. This idea was originally going to be a novel about Death, but had no zombies in it. This guy was simply a normal everyday guy approached to take over for the current Grim Reaper. But the more I got into my zombie story ideas, the more some of these other ideas began to incorporate themselves. You will notice that I usually have two main characters in most of my stories. This allows for lots of lively banter and interaction which I feel leaves more room for the humorous side of my writing style. Along with the two old coots in “The Good, The Bad, and the Really, Really Ugly”, Death and Linnea are two of my favorites. The original story ended much differently with Linnea not playing as much of a major role. In the end, Death simply walks down to the local Home Depot and buys a chain saw to make his job easier. I liked the new ending much better.