Get Hooked Anthology

@pixelmum - Golden Apples of the Sun

Chapter 1: An Undeath in the Family

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

from "The Song of Wandering Aengus" by William Butler Yeats, 1897

~~☆~~

Abbingdon Manor, near Guildford, Surrey

When Uncle Conrad arrived I was in the back garden trying to bury Winston again.

Though the poor dear hadn't been the most mobile when alive, undead Winston leapt and capered after me like a gymnast. As I dodged between yew trees to put off having to thwack darling ex-Winston with my spade, I pondered on what was more repulsive: the ribbons of stinking flesh hanging off Winston's bones, or his new-found septuagenarian agility.

"Bloody hell!" Uncle Conrad cowered at the gate, his bulging eyeballs darting between his Landrover and my re-animated butler, who was now ricocheting off the gravestones of our little family cemetery like he was in a haunted pinball machine. "Lara! What's happened to Winston?"

Winston lumbered after me, hurdling gravestones like an Olympian whilst chanting "Cup of tea, my Lady?" with what was left of his maggot-chewed lips.

"Distract him, Uncle! I'll stake him!"

Uncle Conrad's anvil of a jaw worked. Probably mustering the collective courage of his ancestors to stop himself from driving back to Oxford and leaving his only niece to be eaten by her zombie housekeeping staff. Then, with a cry of "Crouch! Bind! Set!" Uncle Conrad bent his knees, tucked his duffel bag under his armpit, and lunged towards Winston.

"Darjeeling!" came a gurgle from somewhere inside Winston's gaping chest cavity. He sprang towards Uncle Conrad, his worm-eaten jaw clacking like the world's most inappropriate castanets.

"Uncle! Get Winston into the ha-ha and I'll stake him through the heart!" I set the spade handle at the edge of Dad's gravestone and jumped onto its unsupported middle. The handle snapped like a twig, leaving two splintered stakes that looked simply perfect for javelining into a zombie butler.

Winston wasn't cooperating; the poor chap didn't seem to like the idea of waiting patiently in the ha-ha to be staked, preferring instead to chase a wailing Uncle Conrad through the rose garden. I lobbed one of my makeshift stakes at his retreating back. Unfortunately, I hadn't accounted properly for the whacking great steel spade on its tip. It ended up boomeranging into the fountain, knocking the arm clean off a stone cherub. Good job Dad wasn't around to see that.

I gave chase, weaving between budding rose bushes until I almost fell on Uncle Conrad spreadeagled on the cobbles with dear old ex-Winston's withered fingers around his neck.

"Cup of teeeee," groaned Winston, despite an almost certain lack of vocal cords.

"So sorry, old fruit." I plunged the spade handle into where Winston's heart used to be, screaming to drown out the sickly crunch of tearing flesh and snapping sinew. Winston's back arched, his re-animated musculature straining against the stake. Then, his body flopped. Wizened bones clattered against the cobbles. "Darling Winston. I'll find out who did this to you, I promise. And I'll make them pay."