Author and Creator of Anno Zombus, but don't let that worry you; I write more than just zombie stories.
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Flight of the Living Dead
I have always hated flying. This flight is no exception. My third for the week. My entire life, it seems, is nothing but flying from one place to the next, spending a good half of my life on aeroplanes such as this one. Glancing out over the wing, I saw clouds until a rude hand came from behind to shove my window closed. I opened it again, only to have the person sat behind me try to close it once more. This time, I was ready. I gripped the arm as it passed my face.
The Man in the Mirror
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. It was, yet it wasn’t. At first it was nothing serious, nothing to worry about. Just a flicker of an eyelid, barely noticeable in the beginning. Was it my eyelid flickering, or the reflection? Hard to tell. The strange feeling that the mirror was watching me was what had prompted me to make the purchase, naturally. I’ve always leaned towards the odd, the strange. The unfamiliar. This mirror, with its slightly brighter-than-the-real-world colouring, had fit the bill nicely. A neighbour’s yard sale had brought me out from the depths of my home, investigating the refuse of someone else’s life like some kind of garbage-fossicking wild beast.
Ember and Ash
Ember soared above the clouds. Her scales, glorious scarlet, her eyes rubies the size of boulders. Ancient and terrible Ember had encountered no serious threat to her existence in centuries. She had destroyed armies, devoured giants. One day a powerful wizard had broken into her lair to ransack her hoard with the intent of stealing an ancient necromancer’s grimoire. She had eviscerated the wizard with one claw and melted his brother with her flaming breath, armour, flesh and bone all.
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. This is true, in that without atmosphere to travel through there is nowhere for the sound waves of the scream to go. In Jessica Malloy’s case, however; she was sat in the cockpit of a shuttle in the shadows of an asteroid mere inches away from the surface. Were she to make contact with the surface the vibrations from the impact could be detected by the patrol that was even now slowly making its way past her hiding point.
Rails of Rebirth
His eyes snapped open. It didn’t help; the darkness was oppressive. Only the sounds and motion of the world around him told him he was on a train, sat in a standard train seat, probably encrusted in filth and coated in graffiti as it clattered along merrily. As his eyes adjusted to the blackness, he patted down his pockets. He was a smoker; he should have a lighter on him. Strange, his pockets were empty. Not simply devoid of lighter and cigarettes; devoid of everything that he should have upon his person. No wallet, nor keys, nor mobile phone. In fact, upon closer inspection, he realised that whatever clothes he was wearing in the darkness had no pockets. His fingers scrabbled upon the outside of his trousers where a pocket should be. Nothing. Same with his shirt and coat. Odd that he should be wearing what felt like his usual clothing with no pockets for his absent belongings.
Not a Sight, Not a Sound
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Three young people stealthily make their way through the trees, splashing through the moonlit puddles, visible only due to the bright yellow raincoats that their parents had insisted that they wear in case it rained. The parents had, as they frequently were, been right.