Manuscripts Burn


MANUSCRIPTS BURN

"Manuscripts don't burn"
- Mikhail Bulgakov

Hi, I'm horror and science fiction author Steve Kozeniewski (pronounced: "causin' ooze key.") Welcome to my blog! You can also find me on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and Amazon. You can e-mail me here, join my mailing list here, or request an e-autograph here. Free on this site you can listen to me recite one of my own short works, "The Thing Under the Bed."

Monday, May 31, 2010

Fiddler's Green

Imagine if you will, a starry night in southwestern Oklahoma just after the Civil War. Nestled in the shadows of the Wichita Mountains is a battery of smoothbore cannon camped for the night. As the campfires dim and the flasks of rum and lemon are empty, the conversation turns to the life hereafer. A rugged old section chief is surprised to learn that all present have not heard of the special destiny of Redlegs. As the young artillerists listen intently, he shares with them the Legend of Fiddler's Green.

The section chief explains that the souls of the departed eventually end up in Heaven or Hell. Heaven lies about six miles down the dusty road to eternity, and Redlegs get there by turning left at the first crossroad. From this same junction, Hell is about eight or nine miles straight ahead. The road's easy to identify, it's the one paved with good intentions. A little way down the road to Hell there's a sign pointing to a trail that runs off to the right of the main road. It reads "Fiddler's Green - Artillerymen Only."

Then the section chief teaches them the following poem:

Halfway down the trail to Hell,
In a shady meadow green,
Are the souls of many departed Redlegs.
Camped near a good old-time canteen,
And this eternal place
Is known as Fiddler's Green.

Though others must go down the trail,
To seek a warmer scene,
No Redleg ever goes to Hell,
'Ere he's emptied his canteen,
And so returns to drink again
With friends at Fiddler's Green.

The campfires die out, and the Redlegs doze off to sleep, knowing Fiddler's Green awaits them and all thier cannon-cocking brethren in the life hereafter.

Friday, May 28, 2010

The Hussar 7

***And enjoy the grand finale of The Hussar. Something new on Monday, probably commemorating Memorial Day. After that, who knows? Maybe shut this blog down for once and for all.***

Jacques de Ris was a young greenhorn but he was not stupid. He was an idealist but he knew he'd been beaten. His regiment had been cut down. He was the last hussar. Somehow he'd have to get back to France and rejoin the army. And let them know that the river Vonne was now under British dominion.

The safest way to get back to France was to sneak through the forests. It wouldn't really be far to Paris once he'd thrown the Britons off his track by going through woodland. He patted his horse and goaded it on through the dark forest.

An owl hooted. The trees billowed under the influence of the wind, casting shadows that looked like great claw reaching out to grab de Ris. The sun occasionally broke the forest's canopy, but her light was not enough to ward off the darkness of this forest.

De Ris came to a bend and turned. A huge regiment of British cavalry stood there, searching for him.

"There's nowhere to run, hussar!" yelled the lead horseman.

Jacques de Ris pulled hard on the reign, and his horse turned full about. After the 180 degree turn the horse took off like a torpedo in the other direction. The horse was at it's fullest speed and de Ris had to lean forward hard to stay on the beast.

"Charge!"

The entire regiment of Byron's troops gave chase. The billowing beasts of muscle and sinew they rode upon pounded the ground into dust as they stampeded after the Frenchman. Jacques spurred his mount onward, forcing it as hard as it could go.

The horse almost stopped in surprise after a moment, but de Ris kept spurring it on. Then Jacques saw what the horse had been startled by. A whole legion of cavalry was directly in front of them. He could tell by the banners the standard bearers flew and by the beat of drums that this was an English legion. In the forefront of the legion, astride a great black horse, sat Lord Byron.

"Come on, French pig!" called Byron, "I've got my eye on you."

Byron waved his sword, motioning de Ris to come forward. He almost stopped, but the regiment behind him would've pounded him into a pulpy mess under their hooves had he stopped for even a moment. A plan formed in his head.

"We've got you on both sides. You might as well surrender and not be killed...right now, anyway."

He only had one chance at this. Jacques pulled his rifle from the saddlebag. He leaned as far to the right as he could without falling off the saddle. In one swift movement he flung his rifle to the left, kicked his horse hard to the left, and dove to the right. When he hit the ground he rolled and rolled until he was out of the way of those pounding hooves. The eyes of the Englishmen watched his rifle fly into the air and didn't even notice him jump off his horse.

The regiment behind him smashed into the legion in front of him full force. Like an elemental force they swept through their own legion. Total chaos ensued as the English were swept up under the wave of their own troops. Before anyone knew what happened they had routed themselves, and horses pounded off in every direction.

De Ris got up and scrambled to run. He tripped over his own feet and got back up. A bayonet pointed straight at his head. A man like an Olympian god with one eye stood there.

"Get up you French dog," said Lord Byron.

The hussar was unaccustomed to tromping through rocky terrain on his own two feet. The man who called himself Lord Byron had taken his horse, as the lord's own had been killed in the rout de Ris had caused. About twenty of the British cavalrymen had survived and now tromped along behind the lord, their heads hung low. Actually about twenty-one had survived; Byron had shot the leader of the regiment that crashed into the legion.

"Where are we going?" asked de Ris, "Why don't you just kill me now?"

Byron had been holding his rifle a few feet away from the hussar before but now he rode up alongside de Ris and jabbed his bayonet into his side.

"We're looking for a nice clearing. You and I are going to have a duel. Now giddyup."

Byron poked de Ris hard with his bayonet, cutting the little hussar. They tromped along until they reached a spot Byron thought was fine.

"Stop here. Cut the pig's bonds and give him a musket. Do it!"

One of the British troops took a knife and cut the ropes that held de Ris' hands together in front of him. He handed him a flintlock musket.

"Yours is loaded," said Byron, loading his own musket.

"What's this all about?" asked de Ris perturbedly.

"It's about this," Byron pointed at his eyepatch, "You gave it to me in our last little skirmish, remember?"

Recognition crossed de Ris' face.

"That's right, me. You've robbed me of my honor, and now I'm taking my revenge."

"You English dogs have no honor."

"On ten, shoot. One. Two."

De Ris clenched his fist...

"Three. Four."

..and fingered the trigger...

"Five. Six."

...felt glory well up within him...

"Seven. Eight. Nine."

...and suddenly he knew what it meant to be a hussar.

"Ten!"

Shots rang from both sides of the small arena. One man fell. It was Lord Byron. The bullet had pierced his good eye and left him bleeding.

"Hussar! Hussar!" called out the lord.

De Ris walked over to the downed lord. He was in his death throes.

"Lord Byron," said de Ris, trying to sound respectful but having trouble hiding his contempt.

"Listen to me, boy. I lost one eye by accident. But I went blind because I wanted revenge. I want to tell you: I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," said de Ris, not knowing what else to say.

A smile crossed Byron's face. He died. De Ris stood up, and walked away from the dead Briton. He mounted his horse and spurred it. The horse plodded slowly away from the dueling field. None of the British troops tried to stop him.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

The Hussar 6

Lord Byron lay on the doctor's bed. His eye was damaged. He grabbed the doctor by the scruff of his neck.

"Is the eye blind?" he screamed, a fire in his remaining bloodshot eye.

The doctor nodded ruefully.

"Then give me a knife. And get an eyepatch."

Lord Byron took the dangerously large knife the doctor handed him. He clenched his teeth hard and dug the knife into his damaged eye. With a swift upward swift he cut it out. Blood spurted from the cavity. He put the patch over the crater where his eye had been.

"Dispatch the whole army. I want them scouring this countryside inch by inch. Find that hussar!"

Monday, May 24, 2010

The Hussar 5

***If you kids care about these sorts of things, I strongly recommend you read Joseph Conrad's Nostromo. And not just because we're distantly related. Simply brilliant, and when you're engaged in something as dense as a Conrad novel, you're damn engaged. The only thing I can compare it to is Dune, only about 60 years prior.***

The French were scattered. There was no where to run. The constant pounding of the battery served to shatter the nerves of the few hussars who held their positions. Lord Byron himself came through the haze, swirling through the mists of battle like a demon of fury and might.

Left, right, up, down, like a monster Byron swung his saber, cutting down the hussars like so much wheat before a scythe. The chaff fell; the wheat stood.

In the corner of the battle, shooting and stabbing wildly, trying to come to grips with what had happened, Jacques de Ris stood his gorund. Only the mercy of Providence saved de Ris, for no hussar had horns as green as his.

Through the swirling fog and mud and blood the unholy Lord Byron spotted the last standing hussar. He smiled and motioned to his troops.

"Don't touch him. He's mine."

Byron put the spur to his horse and charged at de Ris, screaming an unearthly war cry. De Ris put a bullet in a British footslogger, then turned to see the British marshal charging at him. In an instant de Ris brought his musket to and shot. Byron fell from his horse, unseated in pain.

"After him!" screamed Byron through the white flashes of pain.

The British troops gave pursuit as de Ris sped off at full gallop into the countryside. He was out of sight before the Britons could catch him.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

The Hussar 4

Jacques de Ris was the youngest hussar in his regiment. He'd been in the French army for two months, and had seen one day of battle. That day was yesterday. A stunning victory in your first battle would be enough to make any soldier cocky. De Ris was fantastically cocky.

"Just let 'em try to come back. We'll slaughter 'em just like yesterday! Won't we boys?"

No one in the regiment said a thing. They silently went about their work. Even de Ris' obsequiousness was dragged into the dirt by the air of fear. De Ris involuntarily shivered.

De Ris was always nice to his horse. He walked to his mount and stroked it. It was a fine animal, and it seemed totally oblivious to the soldier's mounting anxiety. Petting the fine white horse made him feel a little better.

It didn't make sense to the inexperienced hussar why his men would be in bad spirits. What made them think the Britons would even attack? And if the British shopkeepers did decide to attack, who was to say they wouldn't be scattered and trounced upon like yesterday.

Jacques hopped onto his mount and pulled a looking glass out of the saddlebags. He scanned the horizon for a moment.

"The English are no where in sight," he said to himself.

As if Providence wanted to contradict him, a huge force of British troops, including a good sized battery and some cavalry, came over the ridge of Mount Brunwage, off in the distance.

"Britons!" yelled de Ris, "I've got at least five battalions in my sights, coming over the mountain!"

The dragoon suddenly snapped into action. Piffling chores were dropped and horses were mounted. The officers rallied the soldiers, and the hussars scrambled to line into ranks. Bayonets bristled and gleamed in the hot noonday sun.

The grim certainty of battle gave sobriety to the drunk and even greater tension to the tense. The air became thick as whipped butter. De Ris gripped his rifle as though gripping it would help him keep a better grip on life. The British troops charged.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

The Hussar 3

***Ah, yes. Lord Byron. Presumably this was written before I knew who the poet was. Or else I had heard the name and had no idea what he was. Enjoy. Or more likely, don't enjoy.***

The captain trotted up the steps to Byron's fortress trepidatiously. You either trotted up the steps to Byron's fortress trepidatiously or ecstatically. This was because bringers of news were either rewarded or killed, depending on what sort of news it was they brought. The captain was bringing bad news.

There had been a terrible defeat today on the Vonne River. The defeat was almost devastating. The division at the river had been commanded by a colonel, but their over commander was the marshal, Lord Byron. Byron demanded news from every division of his army.

Knowing what they knew about the way Byron treated messengers, the officers usually shot dice to see who would get to go to Lord Byron...or have to go to Lord Byron, depending on the situation.

The captain had lost the dice shooting. Lost by one! Can you believe it? The difference between the major's five and his four meant his death. The captain reached the door into Castle Byron.
"I'm here to see Lord Byron," said the captain to a guard.

The guard nodded and pointed up the steps. The captain took them two at a time, reaching Byron's chambers in record time.

As he was reaching the chambers another man was coming out of the chambers. The man was holding a badge. It was the rank insignia of a colonel. The badge that the man was wearing at the moment was that of a major's. The major had just gotten a promotion. Some good news from the front was it's cause, the captain assumed.

The captain stepped into Byron's chambers.

"Lord Byron?" he called.

"Yes, come in."

The voice dripped like honey, but had the backing of a bee's stinger. The captain shivered and stepped into the room. The captain saluted.

Byron was a handsome man. His carved features gave him the looks of an Olympian god.

Something sinister in his eyes, something about the way he acted, something made him seem evil, despite his features.

"News from the Franco-German border, m'lord," said the captain in strict military fashion, "A dragoon has defeated our troops there. We've been routed. The colonel has ordered a tactical retreat. We've taken a new position at Mount Brunwage and are preparing to counter assault. The colonel requests reinforcements."

Byron nodded with understanding. He brought from under his robes a dagger.

"Take a look out that window, captain," said Byron, gesturing to a picture frame window, "What do you see?"

The captain walked to the window and looked out, shaking quite badly now.

"I see soldiers, m'lord."

"What are they doing."

"Drilling, m'lord."

"Why are they drilling, captain?"

The captain was a bit taken aback by this question.

"To do well in battle, I suppose, m'lord."

"That's right. Troops don't drill to do poorly in battle. So why did I bother drilling your troops?"
Byron threw the dagger with all his might at the captain, catching him in the back. The captain stumbled forward, through the window, and plummeted like a rock. Byron heard a sickening thud a few moments later. He motioned to one of his couriers.

"The remnants of a division of our troops are at Mount Brunwage. I want those troops slaughtered to the man. Ready five battalions and send them to replace that division. I'll be going personally. We're going to counter attack a group of French hussars."

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Viricide

Hey, boils and ghouls, sorry about the dropped ball yesterday, but I was up past one last night playing this and totally forgot. We'll pick up our story in medias res on Wednesday.

Friday, May 14, 2010

The Hussar 2

It was a stunning victory that day on the river Vonne. A dragoon had managed to stop a large English charge. The river Vonne was on the Franco-German border, and easily accesible to English troops. So though a victory had been won today, dread set in on the staunch hussars on the Vonne.

"Do you suppose they'll be back tomorrow?" asked the young, inexperienced hussar, Jacques de Ris.

No one in particular answered. They all knew the answer. Nothing stopped the English war machine. They'd be back tomorrow. They might even be back later tonight. They'd want revenge for their fallen comrades.

The sun slowly set over the river, dazzling the river with a pyrotechnics show the likes of which none of the hussars had ever seen. Night fell like a blanket over the landscape, and stars began to dot the sky. Fear fell like a blanket over the men's hearts, and uncertainties began to dot their souls.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

The Hussar 1

***Quality, quality writing. Extra-high exposition factor for your enjoyment.***

"He who seeks revenge keeps his own wounds green."
- Francis Bacon

The greatest Emperor France has ever known was named Napoleon Bonaparte. Forged from the chaos of the French Revolution, Napoleon became an iron hard leader of France. From the dregs and slums that had been France he molded a new nation and a new army This army was truly the finest and the largest ever known to man.

Not even Caesar's military at its peak matched Napoleon's army, and the greatest troops of Napoleon's army were the hussars. These mounted soldiers were the finest cavalry ever known. Adorned in tall, plumed shako hats, and colorful ornamented uniforms, the hussars represented everything strong about the military.

So with mighty infantry and great dragoons of hussars, Napoleon set about the grandiose plan of conquering the world. Only one as bold and strong as Napoleon could have conquered the world. In the early nineteenth century, Napoleon's troops set about conquering all of Europe.

There was one thorn in Napoleon's side, one wrench in the works, so to speak. This hurdle to jump, this obstacle to vault, this impediment to Napoleon's greatest plans was a nation. This nation was England. England's navy was even stronger than France's, and it's army was very strong. Only Britain stood in Napoleon's path.

As we all know, Napoleon did not conquer the world, but made a fine effort of trying. And so our story unfolds as a bold young hussar prepares to face the wrath of the British army.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Preface: The Hussar

Hey, kids. Thus ends The Neighbors are Zombies. Are you thoroughly surprised it didn't win the contest for which it was written? Are you all clamoring now to have a pilot made? Yeah, I'll keep holding my breath for that campaign to get started.

Anyway, I'll be honest with you: I don't know what road to take for the future. Don't worry, this site won't go away anytime soon. I have plenty of more manuscripts to burn. The only thing is, the manuscripts I am knee jerk ready to post up here read a lot like the ones I've already posted, and follow a lot of the same themes. I guess I was a bit of a one-note writer in my younger days. I was all ready to start posting this very day a script for a zombie-themed Western. Then I thought to myself, "Damn, son, you just posted a script about zombies."

It was much the same when I was going to post The Neighbors Are Zombies right after TTROTBM!!! A tongue-in-cheek horror script immediately following a tongue-in-cheek horror script? Booooring. Variety is the spice of life, right?

The other thing I'm contemplating posting is very similar in it's themes to Eternity Burning, and I kind of feel like some of the things I wrote in those days came from a very dark place. "Hate," the centerpiece of EB, well, I can't believe I wrote that once. And I'm reluctant to dive back into that side of the pool.

Anyway, as I said, I feel like I'm at a crossroads with no clear direction. There is always the option to totally revamp what this site is about. Go into a more standard, "I'm a struggling unpublished author and here are my thoughts on the Kindle" mode. Or is the Kindle passe already?

So, for right now, I'm going to do what all great men do at times such as these: stall. I ransacked my files for a nice little delaying tactic, and, wouldn't you know it, I found a pretty good one. Here's a nice little relic from the past, and the very first appearance of the character who would one day become French leaper driver and general cock o' the walk Jacques de Ris. Jacques' initial appearance was as a Napoleonic hussar, and he had his own antagonist and everything. You may note some similarities between this story and a similar showdown that eventually made it's way into The Last War. Unless you're a moron. Or you just don't care. But, yes, I plagiarized myself. A LOT.

So, enjoy THE HUSSAR. It should kill a week at least. Then I think I may put the next manuscript up to a popular vote, although if the past is any indication of audience participation, I may have to decide on the next manuscript by fiat anyway. Let me know in the comments or via e-mail if you have a preference based on the manuscripts I described above, or if you think the blog should just go in a different direction altogether. Meanwhile, starting Wednesday and for a few precious updates, enjoy THE HUSSAR.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

The Neighbors Are Zombies 14

***Sorry for the day late business. Somehow Friday just slipped my mind. Anyhows, enjoy the triumphant final entry in The Neighbors Are Zombies saga.***

EXT. THE FULTON LAWN - DAY
(JESSE, GREG, LOUISE, EDGAR, ANNE, MARY, H.P., BABY, BO, BULLET)

THE ZOMBIE FAMILY IS ON THE FRONT LAWN, WEARING SUNGLASSES AND FAR TOO MANY LAYERS FOR A NICE SUMMER DAY. ANNE IS TRYING TO SQUIRT SPF 75 SUNBLOCK ON H.P. WHO IS NATURALLY STRUGGLING.

ANNE

Stop squirming or your skin is going to come off.

H.P.

Mom!

JESSE COMES RUNNING TOWARDS THEM. HE LOOKS EXCITED.

JESSE

Come on, Zombies! The party's out back.

THE ZOMBIES BEGIN TO LUMBER BACK TOWARDS THE BARBECUE. BO AND BULLET ARE HIDING IN THE BUSHES IN THE ZOMBIE LAWN AND THEY STICK THEIR HEADS UP TO LOOK OVER THE FENCE AT THE FULTON BARBECUE.

RED

A barbecue and I wasn't even invited. I ought to arrest the whole lot of them.

BO

Look. There are my creations.

THE ZOMBIES WALK BY.

RED

Time to take them down.

RED PULLS OUT A PISTOL AND COCKS IT. SUDDENLY THE LAWNMOWER COMES PUTTERING UP THE LAWN TOWARDS RED AND BO. RED TURNS AND, STARTLED, EMPTIES HIS WHOLE CLIP INTO THE LAWNMOWER, BUT IT DOESN'T STOP.

RED

It won't stop!

RED AND BO DIVE OUT OF THE WAY. THE LAWNMOWER PUTTERS FORWARD A FEW MORE FEET AND COMES TO A STOP, OUT OF GAS AT LAST. RED STANDS UP. ALL THE BARBECUE GUESTS ARE HANGING OVER THE FENCE, LOOKING AT HIM. LOOKING AROUND, HE SEES THAT BO HAS RUN OFF. HE PUTS HIS PISTOL BACK IN HIS HOLSTER.

RED

Well, Fulton, I found your lawnmower.

GREG

Wow, detective, and here all these years I've been calling you an incompetent blowhard who never solved a case. But here you solved one.

RED

Yeah, well, just doing my job.

GREG

Why don't you come over and join the barbecue.

RED

Yeah, I think I will.

THE BARBECUE IS A HUGE SUCCESS. H.P. IS PLAYING WITH SOME OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD KIDS, AMUSING THEM WITH HIS ANTICS AND TRICKS THAT ONLY A ZOMBIE COULD DO. LOUISE FULTON AND ANNE ZOMBIE SIT FOR A LONG TIME DRINKING MARGARITAS AND DISCUSSING THEIR FAMILIES. THE BABY IS A HIT WITH EVERYONE. EDGAR SHOWS GREG A MUCH FASTER WAY TO DIG HIS GARDEN. RED TURNS OUT TO BE THE BEST LIMBO CONTESTANT IN TOWN. HE TAKES HIS LIMBO TROPHY AND POINTS AT ED.

RED

Hey, Zombie.

EDGAR

Yes, detective?

RED

I've got my eye on you.

EDGAR

I've got my eye on you, too.

RED LOOKS DOWN. OF COURSE, EDGAR'S EYE IS IN RED'S POCKET. HE PULLS IT OUT AND TOSSES IT AWAY. FINALLY THE CAMERA SETTLES ON MARY AND JESSE WHO ARE SITTING UNDER A TREE TOGETHER.

MARY

Well, I've got to admit, Jesse, you were right about helping us to fit in.

JESSE

Oh, this is just the beginning. Wait until you get to school!

MARY

I'm looking forward to it.

MARY LEANS OVER AND KISSES JESSE ON THE CHEEK. THEN SHE JUMPS UP AND RUNS OFF. JESSE REACHES UP AND TOUCHES HIS CHEEK.

JESSE

I'll never wash...ewww.

HE PULLS HIS HAND AWAY AND IT IS COVERED WITH GOO. BO, MEANWHILE IS SKULKING OUT OF SIGHT. HE WATCHES THE ZOMBIES AS THEY MINGLE.

BO

Enjoy yourselves for now. You will be mine again soon.

BO TURNS AND WALKS AWAY, BUT HE TUMBLES INTO A DITCH.

THE END

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

The Neighbors Are Zombies 13

INT. THE ZOMBIE HOUSEHOLD - DAYBREAK
(JESSE, MARY, ANNE, H.P., BABY, EDGAR)

JESSE SQUEEZES OUT OF ANNE'S GRASP AND RUNS LIKE A MADMAN.

ANNE

Jesse, wait! You don't understand!

JESSE MAKES A MAD DASH FOR THE BACK DOOR. H.P. IS THERE, STILL DRESSED AS A SPACEMAN. HE POINTS HIS GUN AT JESSE.

H.P.

Die, living boy!

JESSE NEARLY FALLS OVER HIMSELF AS HE TURNS AROUND AND RUNS BACK AND DIVES BETWEEN ANNE'S LEGS AS SHE TRIES TO SNATCH HIM UP, THEN TOWARDS THE FRONT DOOR. AT THAT MOMENT EDGAR WALKS IN.

EDGAR

Honey, I'm home.

JESSE TRIES TO RUN PAST EDGAR, BUT ED SNATCHES THE BOY UP WITH ONE ARM.

EDGAR

What's this, dinner? Honey, you'd better call the medical school and tell them this cadaver isn't done yet.

JESSE WRIGGLES OUT OF ED'S GRASP AND RUNS UP THE STAIRS. HE SEES MARY COMING OUT OF HER ROOM.

MARY

Jesse?

JESSE

Stay away, you monster!

MARY

Wait, I'm not a monster! You don't understand.

JESSE DUCKS INTO THE BABY'S ROOM AND CLOSES THE DOOR. HE SEES THE CRIB.

JESSE

Oh, God! They eat babies. Come on, little guy.

JESSE REACHES IN AND GRABS THE BABY. HE MAKES FOR THE WINDOW AND LOOKS OUT. THE GROUND IS A DAUNTING DISTANCE AWAY.

JESSE

I don't know, little guy. Do you think you can bounce?

JESSE LOOKS FOR THE FIRST TIME AT THE BABY. IT IS SUCKLING ON A PACIFIER. IT TAKES OUT THE PACIFIER AND BEARS ITS TEETH. HE DROPS THE BABY AND GRABS A CHAIR TO FEND OFF THE BABY LIKE A LION TAMER. SUDDENLY, THE ZOMBIES BEGIN BANGING ON THE DOOR. JESSE STOPS "TAMING" THE BABY LONG ENOUGH TO YELL AT THEM.

JESSE

Stay away! You won't eat me!

DURING THE BRIEF INTERVAL THE BABY KNOCKS JESSE OVER. THE BABY BEGINS TO CRAWL UP JESSE'S BODY TOWARDS HIS HEAD. THE DOOR BREAKS IN AND THE ZOMBIES STAGGER INWARDS. JESSE BEGINS SCREAMING AND SCREAMING. SUDDENLY THE BABY STOPS CRAWLING AND RESTS HER HEAD ON HIS CHEST AND SUCKS ITS THUMB.

MARY

You can hold her for a little while if you want. She seems to like you.

SLOWLY, JESSE STANDS UP, HOLDING THE BABY AT FIRST GINGERLY, AND THEN TENDERLY.

JESSE

What's going on?

ANNE

If you're done running all over our house you can come downstairs and we'll talk. I think I have some tea somewhere.

ANNE WALKS OUT.

H.P.

So this is a real human, huh? Can we eat him? I'll bet they're better fresh.

EDGAR

H.P.! Come on!

EDGAR GRABS HIS SON AND DRAGS HIM OUT OF THE ROOM. JESSE LOOKS UP AT MARY.

MARY

You shouldn't have been looking at me through the window.

JESSE

Why, because I'd discover your secret?

MARY

Because it's not polite! But now that you know, I guess we'd better tell you everything. Come on. Since the baby's taken a shine to you, you can bring her.

THEY WALK DOWN THE STAIRS AND INTO THE KITCHEN. THEY SIT DOWN.

JESSE

I just don't understand. Why are you guys here?

EDGAR
(sighing)

Jesse, none of us look quite right. We have to go out after dark so no one freaks out. Except for Mary. Mary is what we call "passing" - she can pass for human. We came here so she could have a chance at a normal life, going to school and everything else that an ordinary girl would do. We hope to build a life here.

JESSE

I'm sorry. I...I misjudged you all.

ANNE POURS JESSE SOME TEA.

ANNE

I hope it's all right. I'm not used to making living food.

JESSE

So you guys really...eat people?

H.P.

Well you eat cow.

EDGAR

We don't kill anyone. Not anymore. We get all our food from the medical college. Perfectly legit, I promise.

JESSE

So you used to kill people?

MARY

Jesse, you have to understand, that wasn't us. We were under the control of this evil magician called a Bokor...

JESSE

Bo?

ANNE

You know him?

JESSE

He...he's here. With our sheriff. I...I told him about you.

EDGAR STANDS UP.

EDGAR

We have to go. We have to leave. It's not safe for us in Willberry anymore.

JESSE

Wait, no, wait, don't go. This is my fault. Let me make it better. I feel bad. You guys aren't bad people, you're just...

ANNE

Dead?

JESSE

Yeah. Listen, I can convince everyone in town that you're normal people.

EDGAR

That'll be helpful. "Hey, did you know the Zombies are perfectly ordinary people?"

JESSE

That's not what I meant. I mean, I can help protect your secret. I mean, I already know about you. If you go somewhere else, you'll have to start all over, and you'll have no one to trust. Here I can help you fight Bo and Bullet and I can keep the neighbors from going all village mob on you. And Mary can have her chance at being normal.

ANNE AND EDGAR LOOK AT EACH OTHER.

ANNE

Ok, Jesse. We'll put our trust in you.

JESSE

Great. I promise I won't let you guys down. First step to being an ordinary family...barbecue.

Monday, May 3, 2010

The Neighbors Are Zombies 12

EXT. THE FULTON LAWN - DAYBREAK
(JESSE, GREG)

JESSE COMES RUNNING UP TO THE HOUSE. GREG IS ON THE PORCH. HE STANDS UP AND INTERCEPTS HIS SON.

GREG

Where did you run off to?

JESSE

The police station. I told Detective Bullet everything, and he believed me.

GREG

Detective Red Bullet is as cracked as your fat Aunt Fanny's glass toilet.

JESSE

But dad...!

GREG

No buts. Now I talked to Mrs. Zombie and she told me to bring you over now to apologize.

GREG GRABS JESSE AND STARTS TO DRAG HIM OVER TO THE ZOMBIES' HOUSE. OF COURSE, JESSE IS SQUIRMING LIKE A CAT. GREG KNOCKS ON THE DOOR. SLOWLY, CREEPILY, THE DOOR OPENS AND ANNE IS STANDING THERE. SURPRISED BY HER APPEARANCE, GREG TAKES A STEP BACK.

ANNE

Greg?

GREG

Uh, yes.

ANNE

Hi, I'm Anne Zombie.

THEY SHAKE HANDS.

ANNE

And this must be Jesse.

JESSE IS QUAKING, TERRIFIFED, TRYING TO HIDE BEHIND HIS DAD, BUT OF COURSE HIS DAD IS TRYING TO THRUST HIM INTO THE CLUTCHES OF THE ZOMBIES.

ANNE

Don't worry, Jesse. We won't bite.

GREG

Well, then. Jesse, you come right back as soon as the Zombies are done with you.

GREG THRUSTS HIS SON TOWARDS THE DOOR. ANNE DRAWS HIM INSIDE, A LA A BLACK AND WHITE ZOMBIE MOVIE, WITH HANDS DRAGGING THE SCREAMING VICTIM INTO A DOORWAY.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Hiatus

Sorry, I'm living it up this weekend. Forgot to even tell you there'd be no post on Friday. So enjoy Wednesday's and keep salivating until Monday...sorry. Cheers!
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