Zombies in a Boston blizzard, humor in horror

From Mistress of the Undead

Belmont pushed himself off the floor, shuffled to the bathroom, not bothering to flush the toilet after he pissed. Still naked, he made his way to the kitchen, set the kettle on, grabbed his French press. He reached into the cabinet over the sink for the bag of coffee beans but all he found was an empty space. Rolling onto the balls of his feet, he reached further back, felt around the vacant space, smacking the bottom of the cabinet.

“Don’t bother looking. I drank it all.”

Hayden froze. Waited for his brain to process the voice. Still reaching in to the empty cabinet he called over his shoulder. “Belmont?”

“Who else?” The old man grumbled. “I tried to stay awake but gave up around five. They must’ve brought you in after I fell asleep.”

He slammed the cabinet closed then crossed to the front room. The old man sat on the couch. His clothes scattered across the floor. Thankfully, this time, his ancient dick was covered by his striped boxers. “They brought you here too?”

“Turns out, I never left,” Belmont replied, giving Hayden’s naked body the once over.

Hayden stalked to his bedroom, grabbed the cover off the bed, wrapped it around himself then shuffled back to the front room. “You been here the whole time?” He dropped himself into the chair. “It was only one night, right?”

Instead of having the decency to cover himself up, the old man just sat there, his sagging chest and spindly old knees exposed. “I knew they’d bring you back once they got what they wanted and yes, only one night.”

Hayden sank into the chair. “Shit.”

 “That’s the way they do it. Fucks with your head, doesn’t it? Makes you wonder if it ever happened?”

That pretty much summed it up. “You’ve been through it.”

“Actually, no. But I’ve seen it happen enough times.” The old man paused, then looked Hayden over again. “What’d they do to you?”

No way. He was not ever going to admit to any of that. Did not want to talk about Matthew touching him. Did not even want to think about what he’d done to Mattie. “I need coffee.”

“Get dressed. We’ll go get some. My treat.” He shoved himself forward, bracing his palms on his thighs as he stood. “It’s the least I can do. I ate your stash of Girl Scout cookies.”

Hayden spotted the torn green box on the floor beside an empty can of tuna. “Those were from last year.”

“You think I cared?” he asked, pulling on the pocket-laden travel khakis he’d tossed over the back of the couch. 

Hayden pointed at the TV. “You charge anything on pay-per-view?”

“What?” He zipped up the fly his pants. “You mean like porn?”

“No dude. Like on Prime.” He grabbed the trash from the floor and took it to the kitchen.

“I watched some Breaking Bad on Netflix.”

“Not the Walking Dead?”

Belmont waited until he’d come back into the front room to reply. “Very funny. No. I like Walter. He proves that old guys aren’t useless losers like you think.”

“That’s an actor reading a script. You get that, right?”

Belmont ignored his jibe. Hayden let it go. Binge watching Netflix and eating an entire box of stale cookies would’ve been preferable to what he’d been through the past fifteen hours. “Fine. Let’s go get a coffee.”

Read the rest in Mistress of the Undead