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Zombie Girl


It feels like it’s been such a long week. Was I bathing in blood only last Sunday? I guess time moves differently when it feels like you have so much to do and so many projects to work on. I’m working on a lot of exciting stuff that I hope to be able to share with you all someday soon!

In the meantime, here’s another installment of “The Cockroaches Waltz At Midnight.”

With Screams and Axes,



The Cockroaches Waltz At Midnight

“Thank you,” Art said as he was handed a chipped china plate heaping with meat loaf, mashed potatoes, green beans and gravy. “This looks good.”

“How was work today, Dearie?” Mrs. Steven asked him.

“Bad,” Art said, salting his potatoes. “I got fired.”

“Too bad,” she said.

“Keep your chin up, Sonny,” Mr. Steven boomed, slapping Art on the back. “Something will come up, I’m sure of it.”

Art didn’t feel much like speaking about his former job anymore and set to eating his dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Steven made chit chat with each other, discussing whether it would rain and what their favorite flavor of Jell-O salad was. That’s when Art noticed something crunchy in his meatloaf. Art pulled something out of his mouth. It was the top half of a cockroach. The head looked up at Art. The Stevens burst out laughing as Art dropped the cockroach on the tablecloth. Then more of the insects appeared, crawling out from under the serving bowls and scooting on the table cloth. They kept laughing at him, Mrs. Steven wiping tears away with her napkin. Art got up and stomped up to his room. “Fuck those crazy people.”

When Art climbed the stairs to the attic, he noticed that his door was wide open. He knew that he had shut it when he left for work. He entered the room, flicked on the light, and watched the cockroaches scatter. He looked around for signs of a disturbance. Not that he had anything to hide from the Stevens, or anything anyone would want to steal, he just found it unsettling that those cockroach eaters were snooping around in his room while he wasn’t home. Everything looked untouched. Art sat down at his desk and reached for his guitar. When he picked it up, he stopped it examine it more closely. His guitar was missing every single one of its strings.

Published inHorrorZombie

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