A zombie in the house.

christopheranton By christopheranton, 22nd Jan 2011 | Follow this author | RSS Feed
Posted in Wikinut>Humour>Off Beat

Living with a zombie is never straightforward, or boring.

The zombie confesses.

Before reading this story read this one to get the full flavour.



My name is Julian Faversham. I am a zombie.I am currently domiciled in Wimbledon in south west London. For the past two years I have been living with the aspiring writer Mr Christopher Anton. I had existed for many years in a tomb in Wimbledon cemetery, until Mr Anton very kindly consented to allow me to reside with him, in return for my entertaining him by playing the great classical piano pieces on the instrument in his house, which had been my piano in life when I lived there once.
He also undertook to supply me with about a dozen tins of catfood a week, which I told him was my staple diet. So far we have been getting on very well. There are plans afoot for me to enter The television programme Britain's got Talent as a pianist, if the problems associated with my unprepossessing appearence, and the smell of decomposing flesh can be overcome .

This may to most people to be the ideal domestic arrangement, sadly life, or in my case, living death is never a bed of roses. There are things about me that my housemate does not know. I feel guilty about not telling him, but at the same time I dread the consequences of his finding out. I have grown quite fond of Mr Anton in a dessicated sort of way, and I would hate to be forever banished back to the spidery mouldiness of the tomb in Wimbledon cemetery.

The first thing, that I was less than honest in telling him, was about my father Herbert Faversham. I told him that my late parent had been butler to Queen Victoria, which was true. But I omitted to tell , that on his deathbed, my father had confessed to being Jack the Ripper. My beloved Pater had, when he was not serving tea and scones to Her Britannic Majesty, been ripping the intestines from fallen women in Whitechapel. This was, as you can imagine, a great shock to me to be told this; and there is the added dread that the mania might be inheritable, and that it might break out in myself at any time.

Also when I told Christopher that zombies never eat live flesh I was lying. I may nowadays exist on catfood, but that was not always the case. In the early period of my zombiehood I behaved very much as the much derided zombies in the movies. I used to come out of my tomb in the cemetery and attack everyone from gardeners to grieving widows. I would drag them back to my mouldy lair, and consume their flesh at my leisure. Once I managed to throttle a courting couple. I sustained myself off their remains for almost a month. The adrenelin, that was coursing through their bodies just prior to their demise, gave their meat an added piquancy.

The horror of an addiction.

I dont live of human flesh at the moment because of the fortunate interference, in my abominable living death, of a counsellor from Z.A. For those of you who are not in the know, Z.A is Zombies Anonymous . It was set up after the last world war in 1947 to wean zombies off the addiction to human flesh. The bombing campaign during the war had given so much opportunity to us to indulge our proclivities, that we were in danger of descending into a spiral of cannibalism that would result in public scandal, and a campaign to eradicate us forever.
The meetings, which I used to attend, take place weekly in one of the chapels of rest in Wimbledon cemetery. What happens when someone wants to speak is that they stand up and say

"My name is ????????? and I am a cannibalistic zombie"

There then would be told the usual story of addiction, degradation, and redemption. One, I remember, had reached so low as to prey on bankers at Canary Wharf, and a less tasty bunch than them it would be hard to imagine.
Anyway I have been clean for some twenty years now, but I do still have a great need to attend the support groups, for an addiction, once it has got hold, can never be totally shaken off.
Living with Christopher has been brilliant. He is a sparkling and intellectually challenging companion. Occasionaly I have caught a glimpse of him holding his nose when he thought I was not looking, and I know that he moans at times about having to sweep up my fleshy crumbs; and he does not like soapification stains on his furniture. But, on the whole it might be a "marriage made in Heaven".

But there is one major problem. I cannot go to the meetings of Zombies Anonymous as regularly as I once did. If I told him the truth, that I am just a recovering cannibalistic Zombie, instead of the catfood loving treasure that he seems to think I am, it might lead to a lot of domestic disharmony.
It's not only that.
Since I am no longer able to regularly attend the meetings, feelings long buried, and appetites thankfully suppressed, are beginning to reassert themselves. My craving for the warm juiciness of still living human meat is starting to return. Sometimes when I look at him, I have to make a supreme effort of will to prevent myself leaping at him and sinking my rotting teeth into his fleshy shoulder, while my crumbling talons claw their way through his stomach lining in a frantic search for his still beating heart.
Once, about six months ago, things got so desperate that I had to ring Z.A in the middle of the night. He thought that the zombie female I had stayed the night with in the living room was a girlfriend. I had to tell him that. She was really an emergency outworker from my addiction group. Christopher thinks we were making love in the room downstairs from his; but she was actually wrestling with me to prevent me from rushing upstairs and devouring his ass.

That is the situation as it is at the moment. I am managing to keep my cravings under control, but only just. I know that he doesnt keep his door locked. Part of me wants to tell him the truth, but I fear for the consequences for our friendship if I do. How long I can keep my hands, and teeth, to myself is anyones guess. He is upstairs as I type this. If it were possible for a dried out tongue to salivate, mine would be doing it now.

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Tags

Brain Eating Zombies, Decomposing Flesh, Living With A Zombie, Smell Of Decomposition, The Dreaded Zombie, The Walking Dead, Tomb In Cemetery, Zombie, Zombie In The House, Zombies Are Real, Zombies Eat Brains, Zombies Eat People

Meet the author

author avatar christopheranton
Born in Ireland, but living in London since 1986, my main interests are reading, studying history, politics, and theology, and looking after the welfare of my cat. I like to write on a variety of subjects, make general observations on lifes dilemmas....(more)

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Comments

author avatar Carol
23rd Jan 2011 (#)

I love your humour Chris, great read.

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author avatar christopheranton
23rd Jan 2011 (#)

Cheers Carol.
Julian.
P.S Christopher can,t read this article.
He is under a zombie spell, that hides it from him.

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author avatar Retired
31st Jan 2011 (#)

What a really great post. Love your work.

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author avatar christopheranton
31st Jan 2011 (#)

Thank you Martin.

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author avatar Greenfaol
1st Feb 2011 (#)

Honestly, you should be putting this together in a book. You have a wonderfully captivating grasp of horror :D

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author avatar christopheranton
1st Feb 2011 (#)

Thank you.Maybe I might.
There are two more to come. I shall be publishing them here
next week. They can be read on my hubpages at present, if anyone wants to visit.

Reply to this comment

author avatar christopheranton
1st Feb 2011 (#)

Thank you.Maybe I might.
There are two more to come. I shall be publishing them here
next week. They can be read on my hubpages at present, if anyone wants to visit.

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author avatar Retired
13th Mar 2011 (#)

oh this is teh best I've read from you, well done. As an aside, I don't know what you think, but the reason I read this was because of the title-- great title.

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author avatar christopheranton
13th Mar 2011 (#)

Glad you liked it Rebecca.
Thanks for reading.

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