Zombie Joe

Zombie Joe just moved into the house next door (there goes the neighborhood). We would have brought him a welcoming gift, but just our luck we were all out of brains.


He sits on his front steps of his dilapidated house with a forlorn, and sad look on his, now, green face. His yellow eyes lost in thought.


One could only imagine what horrors took place at the time of his death, and one never went close enough to find out.


At a distance he seemed like a nice enough fellow, but screams echoed from Zombie Joe's house nightly, becoming a reminder of how different (he truly is).


Two weeks after he moved in--it happened. Cats began to disappear from the neighborhood. Fluffy the neighborhood favorite went missing first.


Folks began pointing fingers at poor Zombie Joe immediately, but I kindly reminded them Zombies are cannibals. 


Mrs. Baxter, who lived directly across the street, is to put it bluntly an animal hoarder (hardly one to talk). The majority even thought it fitting if some of her cats, did disappear, which happened the next day. Goldie her favorite went missing first, followed by Sylvester, and then boots. We all tried to calm her down, but she was inconsolable. 


Yesterday afternoon, we found her huddled under Zombie Joe's shrubs (not the smartest move), but she insisted that he had her beloved pets and no amount of talking would convince her otherwise.


We should of seen the writing on the wall, but what could we do. We almost stopped her too, but we didn't. It wasn't that we didn't like Mrs. Baxter; we just didn't like those damn cats. 


Two days went by and no sign of Zombie Joe or Mrs. Baxter. FInally, I drew the short straw and made my way to Zombie Joe's door. I paused to knock, when the door opened. I wished I could say there was a breeze that blew that door open, but I knew that wasn't what happened. Someone or (something) opened that door.


Walking into the middle of the living room, I saw a trail of blood leading to the kitchen. Most people would have lit outta there, but my curiosity drew me to follow that trail, where it led I had no idea, but I had to know. 


Zombie Joe laid in the middle of the floor, his right tightly around Mrs. Baxter's cat, Goldie. He lay severed from the waist; his intestines spilled onto the floor. 


Mrs. Baxter stood over him ranting. "You let my cat go now."


He pulled Goldie to his mouth and took a bit, and looking at Mrs. Baxter it was obvious he had bitten her too. Her hair stuck straight up, and her red painted lips, now directly under her nose. Her skin, already peeling back exposing her teeth.

Hissing could be heard all around me when I noticed--not only was Mrs. Baxter a Zombie, but all her cats too. The strangest part is that even though severed at the waist, he still had Goldie gripped firmly in his right hand.


Oh great, not only would we continue to have a zombie for a neighbor, but one that was hoarding cats too, not just any cats, but a horde of zombie cat's.


WARNING: DO NOT GO NEAR YOUR NEW ZOMBIE NEIGHBOR'S HOUSE AND CERTAINLY DON'T LET ANYONE ELSE EITHER. THERE ARE WORSE THINGS IN LIFE THAN A CAT HORDER, MUCH WORSE.