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Great Writing - Home > Short S. > Samuel Greens and The Zombie Legend : Part II
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| Samuel Greens and The Zombie Legend : Part II | |
| By Harrywilo | ||||||||
| 17 March 2007 | ||||||||
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Samuel lay in bed, his eyes on his six-year-old sister, Sarah, who was four years his younger. She had been having bad nightmares the last few nights, probably brought on by their father’s most recent abandonment. He was old enough to have accepted that his father would leave once a month; maybe once every other month if they were lucky; and then be back within a week. He was also old enough to know that he would be gone again, despite any promises he would make; however, Sarah would believe his lies, so the pain of it hit her as hard every time and was starting to manifest itself into bad nightmares and sometimes even sleepwalking. He had promised to her that he would stay awake, so he would be there for her if – as she put it – ‘the monsters come to get me again’. It was hard to stay awake, and was nearly succumbing to sleep at this point, but he forced himself; he had to look after Sarah. The thing he found worst about staying up, though, was the sound of his mother’s tears from the bedroom next to theirs. They weren’t loud, but in the quiet of the night, he could faintly hear them and they made him cry also; his mother was a strong woman and only put up with his father for her children. He wished he could have told her that it would be better if he left for good; at least then, they could all get on with their lives. Sarah would get over it in time, but with him coming back, she wasn’t allowed that time, so she had to, in effect, start from square one again. However much he tried though, he would always eventually cry himself to sleep. Usually, he would either wake up in the morning light to a reasonably calm Sarah or to her screams, as she woke up from her nightmares (and subsequent switch from her bed to his). On this night, it was the latter, if anything; but things were somehow different, as he opened his eyes quickly and saw that Sarah was not in her bed, or even in his. In fact, she was not in the room at all; he could, however, still hear her screams. ******** Private Detective Samuel Greens watched the news with a passing interest. It was October the 1st, approximately twelve hours after Jeffery Billion’s death. A woman who was out walking her dog had found his body in the early hours of the morning. Seeing the dead body of Jeffery hanging out the swamp soon knocked the smile off her face and she quickly called the police. He sighed, as he stood up and began pacing back and forth in thought. Greens was a fit and healthy man for his age, despite devoting more time to his brain than to his body in his forty-six years on earth; although greatly clichéd, he was, of course, always picked last in PE when he was at school. Despite his general good health, he still walked with a slight limp, due to a bullet wound he once received in his thigh. There was suddenly a knock at his door and as he opened his mouth to say ‘Come in’, the door was opened before he could proceed any further than that. His assistant, Mortimer Denmoor, entered the room, sporting a look of excitement mixed with horror. “Hello Denmoor,” Greens said flatly, as he started to walk to his desk. “Is everything okay?” He sat down, emitting another sigh of discomfort in his leg. Denmoor sat down on the chair opposite, leaning forward as he spoke. “So what do you make of this death of that Billion bloke in the woods?” Greens looked at him, obviously not in a good mood. “What do I make of it?” although Greens had not raised his voice at all, Denmoor felt as if he’d been told off, and suddenly felt very uncomfortable. “Er…” he said. Greens sighed and then grunted in annoyance, as he got up again and stood looking out the window behind his desk, which looked over at the city of London. “I’m sorry, Denmoor,” he said, after several seconds (in which, Denmoor was planning an escape route). “My leg is particularly bad today.” He turned round, and with another sigh, he sat back down and lit his pipe. He inhaled the smoke with relieve and sat back in his chair. “So, Denmoor; you were saying?” “I, er; well, the death of Jeffery Billion,” Denmoor answered, clumsily. “Quite an interesting one, no?” “It is.” Denmoor nodded, waiting for more. It didn’t come. “Well, um…any ideas who did it yet?” “Not as yet,” Greens smiled slightly; “I am good, but I am not psychic; some investigating does help in matters such as these.” “People are saying it’s zombies.” “Zombies?” “Yes; you know, because of the legend that on all the days of October at midnight, leading up to Halloween, zombies take passers by from near the cemetery in the woods.” “For what reason, exactly?” Greens said, seemingly paying more attention to looking for something in his desk drawers, as he continued to puff on his pipe. “Erm…to kill them, I suppose…” Denmoor paused, but he got the idea that Greens wanted more. “You know, eat their brains and that…that’s what zombies do, isn’t it?” “If you say so, Denmoor,” Greens said, looking back up at him, a look of concern on his face, which clearly wasn’t related to the zombies. “I am not the most knowledgeable person on zombies.” There is a short pause between them, as Greens breathed in more tobacco, before he spoke again. “Do you have any idea where my keys are?”
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