Here’s the third part of a story I’ve been working on set in the Ghost Punchers world. (If you haven’t read the first parts, you can catch up here.)
The zombie swung its mottled, gray-skinned face around to look at the van. If it was concerned about being three seconds and 20 feet away from being turned in undead roadkill, it wasn’t showing it.
“Ah…” it groaned.
“Dude,” said Todd. “Dude! Zombie!” His face was pale, hovering between breaking into a grin and breaking into tears.
Carly frowned. “I’m not so sure.”
She took a deep breath, like Professor Mayhew had taught her three years ago. She let her eyes unfocus, and concentrated on what was flickering at the corners of her eyes, just at the edge of her perception. She let the breath out slowly, then drew another. The flickering spread to fill her whole range of vision, and she could see shadows of the spirit world.
One of those shadows stood before the van, its head lolling on its emaciated shoulders. Carly could discern the outline of the man in the suit. His life force was faint, but definitely human. If he were undead, his life force would be pulsing with stolen energy. But the only pulsing here was Carly’s impending headache.
She blinked.
Todd was turned in his seat, watching her and grinning. He gripped a metal baseball bat.
“He’s not a zombie,” said Carly.
“Oh,” said Todd. He slumped and stuffed the bat back under the seat.
“He’s just really, really, really old. And I think he’s the butler.”
“Then it’s a good thing,” said Mayhew, “that I didn’t go with my first instinct and run him down.”
