She wracked her brains for a few seconds and then it came back to her.
“That’s right. I remember now. You were at a barbecue at Tony and Judy’s last summer. From number twenty-three. They’re mutual friends.”
Trevor hadn’t recognized either Arnold’s face or name before but now, with his wife’s prompting, he too remembered.
“Of course, Arnold and – and – Gillian. Nice couple.”
Arnold was confused. Tracey was chatting to him as if he were a normal person, not a zombie. Surely she could see that he wasn’t exactly the same guy as she had met at the barbecue?
“Forgive me for asking, but don’t you notice anything strange about me?”
“Oh, you mean the greenish-reddish skin, the bone showing through your left hand, and the fact that you’ve only got one eye?”
Arnold nodded his head, a little nervous that any movement could lead to part of his body falling off. Tracey didn’t seem at all fazed by his appearance.
“Well, I’ve never met a zombie before – heard about them, of course, but always thought they were a myth. But people think that me and my Trevor are myths too, so I’m not too surprised to meet a real zombie. Admittedly, I didn’t expect to be having a chat with one in my own kitchen, but it takes all sorts.”
Arnold found the whole situation very surreal.
“You said me and my Trevor. Does that mean –“
Tracey chuckled.
“Yes, love. Trevor and I are both vampires.”
She went to the fridge and poured herself a small glass of chilled red wine.
“Trev and I met about a hundred and fourteen years ago when he turned me. We were dating – although, back in those days, they called it walking out – and Trevor got a bit carried away during a kiss and a cuddle and ended up biting my neck. Poor love was mortified. But I was alright with it to be honest – always been one for an adventure – and we’ve been together ever since.”
Arnold gestured towards the wineglass.
“So… if you’re a vampire, is that blood?”
Trevor laughed.
“My goodness, no. It’s a rather splendid Chilean Merlot. The experts say it should be served at around 60 degrees Fahrenheit but we prefer it chilled. No, we have to drink blood from a warm living human. It loses its restorative properties if it’s chilled.”
He paused for a moment.
“Are you sure you’re not thirsty, Arnold?”
“Positive, thanks.”
Trevor winked at Tracey.
“You will be.”
Tracey was never one to mince her words.
“Tell you what Arnold. You look a bit conspicuous in that get up you’re wearing. How about my Trevor finds you something more normal to wear? And, whilst we’re about it, we can check out the condition of your – um – condition.”
Arnold followed Tracey up the stairs to the bathroom while her husband went to the master bedroom to find something more suitable for the zombie to wear. Still shell-shocked at how helpful the couple was, he sat down on the toilet seat while Tracey unfastened the laces of his right boot. It took a little encouragement, but the boot was soon off. She looked at his foot.
“Not too bad, considering. A bit spongy, but it seems quite stable.”
She set to work untying the laces of his left boot. This one seemed to be more stubborn and determined to stay on his foot. She placed her own feet against the base of the toilet bowl to give her more purchase, gritting her teeth as she put extra effort into trying to remove the boot. Suddenly it flew free, and she fell over backwards with the boot triumphantly raised in her right hand.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
The boot had come off, but so had Arnold’s left foot. The vampire and the zombie sat blinking at the results of Tracey’s efforts.
Trevor appeared at the bathroom door with a change of clothes for Arnold; a pair of trainers, a pair of denim jeans, a belt, and a Grateful Dead T-shirt. He thought the T-shirt design was quite appropriate, but – greeted by a dismembered foot – he knew it would take a lot more than an ironic T-shirt to cheer Arnold up. He picked up the boot and its contents.
“I think I may have to cut the foot out. I don’t want to damage it any more than it’s already been damaged so I’ll take it down to the garage where I’ve got some tools. I won’t be a minute.”
Arnold felt a little embarrassed as Tracey helped him to remove the rest of his clothes and was grateful for the bath towel she handed him to protect what modesty he might still possess. He might not be a live human being, but he was still a kind of human being nonetheless.
After quickly checking the rest of his body, she stood up.
“It looks like I’ve got some good news for you, young man.”
Arnold found it strange to be addressed as young man by a woman who looked at least fifteen years his junior, but then remembered her saying that she had met Trevor nearly one hundred and fifteen years ago – so she was actually considerably older than he was.
“Good news? What can be good news? I’m dead, I’m decaying, and my foot’s fallen off.”
She bent down on her haunches and supported his left ankle in her hand.
“The good news, Arnold, is that your body appears to have stopped decomposing. You won’t revert back to how you were when you were alive – properly alive – but you won’t get any worse either.”
Arnold supposed that was good news. If he was going to stay one of the undead, at least he wouldn’t rot any more than he already had.
Tracey helped him to get dressed as Trevor returned to the bathroom carrying the missing foot, a roll of gaffer tape, and an industrial staple gun. He nodded approvingly at the ‘new’ Arnold.
“Cool.”
He put the objects from the garage on the bathroom floor and studied Arnold’s ankle.
“I reckon I can put your foot back on. It won’t be perfect – you’ll probably walk with a bit of a limp – but that’s to be expected of a zombie anyway. Zombie 101 – zombies shuffle, stagger, and limp.”
Placing the foot against the stump of Arnold’s ankle as if he was connecting two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, he pressed the two together.
“Tracey, if you could wind the gaffer tape around where the foot and ankle meet – nice and tight – and then I’ll staple the two parts together.”
Tracey did as she was asked. She stood up to admire her handiwork.
“Not bad if I say so myself.”
Once satisfied that the ankle and foot were bound together properly, Trevor picked up the staple gun.
“I don’t think this is going to hurt, Arnold, but, if it does, I apologise in advance.”
He lined up the tool and fired the first staple. He looked at Arnold’s face.
“Did you feel that?”
“Didn’t feel a thing.”
“Good. I’ll carry on, then.”
Soon, Arnold’s ankle was wearing a bracelet of almost forty staples. He could probably have got away with using half that number but Trevor wanted to make the join as strong as possible. He stepped back from the zombie.
“Try and stand on it.”
Arnold tried to stand up but was nervous about the foot giving way, so Trevor and Tracey helped him to his feet. Surprisingly, the repair job seemed quite strong.
Tracey cleared a laundry basket from the room.
“Try walking around a little.”
Arnold moved around the bathroom as much as the limited space would allow. He smiled, the first time he had done so since Trevor had bitten him.
“Thank you. Both of you.”
11
Out of politeness, Arnold sat at the table as his hosts ate their evening meal. The food – sausages, mashed potato, and baked beans – had been one of his favourite dishes when he’d been alive, and looked absolutely delicious, but he didn’t feel in the slightest bit hungry. He just felt envious that his hosts could eat it.