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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Something for zombie fans and anyone else. Do not stray into the Dead Corner.

Submitted: August 22, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 22, 2016




Tarnished in the haze.  Her husband stood like a coat stand in the corner of the room.  Her weeping eyes fused to see the horror of what he had become.  She lay on the opposite corner of the cellar floor.  Her mind screaming louder than she ever could.  There before her, drooling with blood.  White sinewy flesh flopping from its torn away lips.  The half suited one time man, groaned like a cat on the proverbial hot tin roof.  This was some thing.  Not a man at all.  This was a zombie.  It had been born from death itself.  Grown from the dark recesses of the mind.  When trapped in the dead corner, nothing else could happen.


‘What a great place,’ buzzed Colin Fielding.

‘What do you like about it, honey?’ enthused the pretty wife, Anna.

‘Why it is the Gothic roof and windows.  They some how compel me.  Can we go inside, Anna?’

‘I have the keys here.  The man said we could spend the night if we wanted.  Just to get a feeling for the place.  Here catch.’


Pinstripe suited Colin forgot he was wearing his best clothes.  He wanted to impress his bosses.  When around for drinks.  They would be impressed with a house with a great look.  And culture.  It would be so different from the stiff faced office block.  Most men in his position admired money the most.  But something different was what they aspired to.  When Colin walked to the door, he saw the name above the gothic archway.  Steppes.



The attic of Steppes was a large playground.  One half full of old furniture.  As old as Queen Victoria.  Near the central manhole into roof realm, was a book with the architectural plans of the big house.  The happy couple brought it down the retractable metal ladder.  The master bedroom was fit for a king.  Colin lay down a large mattress and sleeping bag.  A warming lamp would be fun at night.  The end of the sun was hours away.  The pair roamed the many rooms. 


The sitting room still had a large dining table and usable fireplace.  Not needed as it was still summertime.  The room was wall to wall mahogany panelling.  The old hearth lay as cold as sin.  Yet the couple sat on the sole remaining uncovered brown leather sofa.  Almost matching the tan walls.  The fireplace was black stone.  Shady sunshine rayed into the main room.  Causing the couple to dream of magical beings dancing in the ghostly black coal, still there since the last resident, of Steppes.


Colin took off his jacket and loosened his tie, throwing the pinstriped onto the dusty dining table.  It lay there among dulled silver candlesticks and looping cobwebs.  The man found his wife lying in his arms.  In her casual denim wear.  She was going to clean most of the house, when the dealer had done the deal.  Not revealing a dark secret about the history of Steppes.  The man would be back the next day.  To finalise the contract.  There was no hurry.  No one else wanted to buy the place.  Some thing put off others who had looked at the large house in a remote part of England.  The happy couple closed their eyes for an hour.  Dreaming pleasant thoughts that changed into black terror that woke them both.  The witching hour was upon them.  The blind fools.


The cell phone alarm chimed at the same time as the imagined Grandfather Clock in the hall.  It had been taken away years ago.  Still, it haunted the house when close to Midnight.  The time was 10pm and still light out.  Some identity stirred Colin from his repose.  In his lap was the book for the house.  The Wife also looked at the ancient pages.  A door under the grand staircase lead to the basement.  The rustiest key on earth was found on the keychain.  The chart showed a spacious chamber.  With room for wine racks.  Yet it had been used to store wildfowl.


The couple managed to turn the key.  After several attempts from Colin.  The thought of his bosses drinking his wine, cast shadows of hope.  That was washed away by the cold opening of the door.  A draft sent chills down the spine.  A stone spiral stairway, with no handrail, lead into the darkness.  Anna found a cord for the light.  A lonely light bulb shone as the sun went down, outside.  The scent of blood and death was in the static air.  The left of the cellar revealed a small rack of wine.  Only one bottle remained.  An uncorked red wine.  Of no name or lineage. 


The two humans did not look right.  They moved to the bottle.  And then to the far end of the basement.  There sat a lone pinball machine.  It did not match the house at all.  It was American.  It required a quarter to play.  But had been redesigned to play for nothing.  Colin grinned.  ‘It must have belonged to the last owner.’ 

‘Typical,’ sighed Anna, smiling in her denim dungarees. 


After a play, the machine jingled then stopped abruptly.  From behind them grew a stench.  Of dead animals.  On the book, the basement was more under the spacious driveway at the front of Steppes.  The back was near the steps.  In the right side, when descending the stairs, were three hooks in the ceiling.  Used to hang caught prey.  The skeletons’ of birds, fox and rabbit still hung there.  In the dimness.  At the outer reaches of the single bulb.  Some thing drew Colin to look closer at the gory sight.


As Colin loitered among the hunted relics, he laughed and joked, ‘Hey, Ann, look at these.  Skulls and bones.  Fit for pirates.’  Colin laughed out loud.  As he did the bird remains moved.  As his hands reached and pawed.  Dried blood and tiny feathers fell upon his face.  Colin coughed and spluttered.  Still laughing. 


‘Come away from there?’ pleaded Anna, more concerned than she sounded.  She lied, ‘I don’t want you to get your best shirt and trousers messed up.  You have to look good in case your bosses turn up.  Please, Col, come away from there.’


As the short but slim Colin laughed, his throat began to choke.  The guy reeled and half crouched in the corner.  Some thing had a hold on him.  Memories of someone else filled his mind.  Of frantic crows and rats, flapping and scurrying.  Cawing and screeching madly.  The sound of humming and chanting.  The visions of blood spraying and rushing around.  The whole basement was some satanic arena.  The stench of blood filled the room.  Anna partly passed out.  She was still by the wine rack.  Colin would not come to her.


This was all wrong and she sensed it.  The bulb began to flicker like a candle.  Possibly a fiery lantern of long ago.  A voice whispered in her ear from nowhere.  It was ice cold breath, ‘Welcome to the Dead Corner.’



A small river of blood crept to the centre of the basement.  It emancipated from the dark grey corner.  Nothing much was actually there.  The plain black brick walls were the same kind as the fireplace on the sitting room.  The brass hooks were screwed into the mahogany ceiling.  It was a lot stronger wood than in the rest of the house.  From the inch long hooks were razor sharp metal hooks jabbed into the neck of each animal.  The bones of a Rooster was causing most of the gore.


Anna remembered reading a few words in the book of the house.  Steppes was used to raise the dead.  There was no more to read.  But history books had notes about attempts to cure all ailments.  This was all done an age ago.  The last spirit had been trapped and mixed with the blood of the dead animals.  The power of the black magic was changing the next man.  Into some thing.  Not a man at all.  But a zombie.  Born at Midnight from the realms of death.  Nothing else can happen, when caught in the Dead Corner.


A deep long groan emitted from the entity.  The wail vibrated deep into the body of Anna.  Also there, were the lost victims of the spells.  The rotting face pulsated revoltingly.  Wet snot dripped non stop.  Teeth fell out with bloody gums.  The quivering lower jaw tried to speak.  But only a vomiting stinking low howl could be heard. 


Colin Fielding was no more.  The similarity ended at the shirt collar and tie.  Flailing arms ripped buttons off like bullets at Anna.  The red mire fell down from neck to foot.  The shirt and trousers were soaked in lops of matter.  Red and white blood cells failed.  The body and legs began to convulse.  As the feet attempted to walk away from the Dead Corner, to a black spot on the floor.  This was where past lives were lost.  The long arms of the most jaundiced man in the world, moved towards its wife.


Anna Fielding could not move her legs.  She lay sat up against the oak wine rack.  It had empty bottles near the floor.  These were ammo for the wife of the zombie.  Physical impulses helped her to smash wine bottles at her monstrous husband.  The malfunctioning pinball machine came back to life.  Humming and jingling.  Lights flickering along with the single light bulb above.  It illuminated the terrible fiend.  Spatters of bubbling blood found the petrified woman.


Outstretching hands found its object.  Anna squirmed and cried below.  The weary form found the last bottle of wine.  Anna slid her legs and body across the stone bricked floor.  Past the black spot.  It was where a steel ring was bolted into the black stone.  It would have been were the sick humans would be shackled and worked upon.  The dead animals would be cut and shaken at the sick man or woman.  The occult doctors had been bringing forth the dead.  The patients would die then revive as zombies.  Always reaching to bite the nearest human heart.


There was a cure for the demonic state.  The wine rack held bottles of blessed wine.  And only one bottle remained uncorked.  The decaying zombie was losing its reason for reaching for the black glass in the rack.  At the moment Anna was having a panic attack, by the pinball machine, zombie Colin was grabbing for the bottle.


Bulging eyes dilated as tears of blood wept.  Puss yellow fingers picked at the bottle.  In seconds the bottle was at the broken mouth of the zombie.  It was then that Anna Fielding screamed loud.  After finding her voice.  It was enough to cause the zombie to drop the bottle.  It smashed and splintered on the stone surface.  More blood and snot flew from the doomed monster.  It seemed to know that that was it.  No more mister nice guy, from the beast of the Dead Corner.


Anna Fielding cried out more, when her husband motioned towards her.  Ready to rip her apart.  The numb hands found the female arms on the floor.  It instantly ripped her arms, from its sockets.  Her tonsils squealed like a drowning rat.  Mushroom fists pounded her chest.  The denim dungarees became a human punch bag.  The pinball machine roared to life.  The lights and bells worked.  The picture of Al Capone showed on the game.  Holding a machine gun, rapping sounds drowned out the rapid pounding of the zombie.


Colin the zombie picked up the dead decapitated head of his wife, then kissed it with bloody mushy mouth.  It turned towards the stone steps of Steppes.  There standing in its way out was a man.  A large bucketful of something washed the face and torso of the dead man.  Melting eyes did not see the man.  Or the acid.  The sound of, ‘oh no, not again,’ were not heard.  Only the sensation and relief, of the finality of death itself.  And of corroding flesh, blood and bone oozing down a drain cover in the corner.  This was joined by the remains of Anna Fielding.  Every part of man and wife were washed away by acid, water, then strong disinfectant.


The pinball machine was turned off.  Another bottle wine was placed in the rack.  In the corner still remained the skeleton of a fox and a rabbit.  Maybe ready for the next victims of the Dead Corner.  The man climbed the stone cold steps.  Then locked the basement door.  And placed a new sign on it.  In red paint, ‘KEEP OUT.’  He knew it would be ignored again.  His mind thought, the house would never get sold.  Still he kept fee for showing the place.  His nose could still smell something bad.  The dealer cursed to himself.  ‘I will never shift that stench of death.’


The front door banged shut.  The name was still there.  Steppes.  The house had been born from death itself.  From the dark recesses of the mind.  Nothing else could happen, when caught by the DEAD CORNER.















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