Zombie Mage (3 page)

“You! Get his stinking mouth!”

Someone grabbed his mouth and clamped it shut.  He
felt a sharp pain as they pierced above his lip and began stitching.  He tried
to yell but his mouth was held too tightly.

“You like this, scum?”

He felt a drip on his forehead. The sack was wet with
something. 

His eyes flicked open and the room was dark.  Glancing
both ways, he was relieved to find the room empty.  There was no sack and no
people holding him down. It must have been a nightmare.  He rubbed his eyes and
reached for his mouth.

“Ummmm!”

It was still stitched shut. Whatever he’d just
experienced must have been a memory from his past; it was certainly no fleeting
nightmare.  Olligh sighed and leaned forward to look around.  He was in a
small, stone chamber and the only light came from a grille at the bottom of a
door in front of him.  Stone gargoyles, resembling twisted beasts with wings,
stood on each side of the door smirking at him. They looked familiar but he
couldn’t remember why.

 “Ah, so you’ve returned at last,” said a woman’s
voice from behind him.

Olligh turned but couldn’t see anyone, only a dirty
stone wall with an empty torch bracket fastened to it.

“Not that way, you silly old fool. You’re sitting on
me.”

Olligh gazed down and realised he was sitting inside a
long, open casket on somebody’s legs.  A decrepit old woman was stretched out
inside, her body merely skin and bone; her face was blistered and peeling
away.  Olligh stood, aghast.

“Umh humm uum?” he said, trying to ask who she was.

“Still got your mouth sown together, I see.  I thought
you might have at least managed to find a way to cut those stitches loose by
now.”

Olligh shook his head.  The old woman studied his
face.

“Lost your memory, have you?”

He nodded.

“I told you not to drink it, didn’t I?  I still don’t
know how you managed to fit that straw between your stitched lips.”

Olligh didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. 
He shrugged.

“You never listen to me, do you? I’ve told you before,
once you’ve had a taste of it they come and get you – never to be seen again.
That’s what happened to poor Harris.”

Olligh peered into another casket next to her, hoping
to find someone who’d be able to speak more sense, but it was empty.

“It’s a good job you didn’t drink all of it.  It
messes with your head.  It’s poison.  You see, I don’t think they want you to
remember.  They’d be happy if you went away and didn’t come back.”

Olligh sighed and walked over to the door.  He tried
the handle but it was locked.  Kneeling, he peered through the grille but could
only see a short passageway ending at another door.  A table and chair stood in
the passage with a lit lantern on it.

“Don’t fret. They’ll be coming back soon to see who’s
left.  They might even bring more with them. Others like us.”

“Umm?” Olligh asked.  He was intrigued that the woman
seemed to know so much.

“It’s just us two left here for now.   It doesn’t look
like Cuthbert made it back, either.  He’s been gone for days. I do worry about
him as well.”

The old woman clenched the side of the casket and
raised her head a little.

“Come here,” she whispered.

 Olligh warily stepped closer. He leaned forward,
close to a putrid boil on her chin, grateful he had no sense of smell.

“Did you know Cuthbert was digging?”

He shook his head.

“Oh yes, Cuthbert found a spoon, over in the corner
behind me.  He didn’t talk to me for weeks.  All I could hear was him scraping
away.”

Olligh stepped away from the casket to investigate but
the woman grabbed his arm tightly.

“I couldn’t help him dig – my legs don't work.  I
wanted to.  I really don’t like being stuck here.  Some days I wonder if it’d
be worthwhile just drinking the stuff.  At least it would numb the painful
memories a little.”

Olligh tugged his arm free and walked behind the
casket where he noticed one of the stone slabs was loose. The mortar around it
had been scraped and chipped away. A bent, rusty spoon lay on the floor next to
it.  He wondered why Cuthbert never finished the job. It didn’t look as though
it needed much more work to loosen it completely.  He knelt on the floor and
began scraping and tapping at the remaining mortar.

“Ooh, you’ve found the spoon.  Good. You won’t forget
to take me with you, will you?”

“Uhm uhm,” Olligh said, trying to say ‘no way’.  He
certainly didn’t find the thought of carrying a decaying old woman over his
shoulder desirable or comforting.

“Good, I knew you wouldn’t let me down.  It’ll be nice
to feel a cool breeze against my hair once again.”

Olligh carried on chipping away with the spoon,
smirking to himself.  The woman was obviously insane.  She didn’t have any hair
left for the wind to ruffle.  Eventually, he finished scraping the crumbling
mortar from around the slab and tried to push it out with his hands.

“Ummmm!”

The stone moved slightly but it wasn’t going anywhere
quickly.  He wondered if something was behind it, preventing him from pushing
it further.

“Are you managing?” asked the woman.  “I wish I could
help you somehow.”

Olligh decided it’d be most helpful if she'd just stop
talking.  Since chipping away at the slab she’d talked ceaselessly about how,
in her youth, she'd once enjoyed the great outdoors and, more importantly,
picnicking in the countryside.  He lay on the dusty floor and placed his feet
against the slab.   With all his strength, he pushed until it finally moved and
an opening appeared in the wall.

“How you doing?” asked the woman. 

Olligh wasn’t in a mood to reply.  It wasn’t as if he
could actually say anything other than a moan or groan.  Ignoring her, he crept
through the opening and crawled out onto some wet grass.  Looking around, he
realised he was in a graveyard.  A light drizzle touched his face and the early
evening sky looked gloomy and sinister.  He stretched and began to walk along a
gravel path, hoping to discover something that would help him remember more
about his past.   As he walked, he noticed a group of people approaching from
the distance.  One of them held a lantern and led the way through the
gravestones towards him. Olligh panicked, not sure if they’d spotted him or
not.  He didn’t want to meet his captors again, especially so soon after
escaping.  As he turned to run, he slipped on some mud and tumbled head first
into an empty grave.  He groaned and lay still at the bottom, hoping that nobody
had noticed him.  The voices were beginning to get louder.

“Aye, this be the one,” said a man with a rough edge
to his voice.

“Poor Horace – I’ll miss him ever so much,” replied a woman.
“Why did it have to happen to him, Roland?”

“Aye, it be a horrid thing for sure, young Eve,”
Roland replied, “but it be best if you try not to dwell on it.”

The shadows of people loomed over the grave, twisting
inside with the lantern light.  Olligh wondered if they were friendly or if
they’d try and kill him like the others.  He thought it best to not test his
luck on this occasion and shuffled over to the corner of the grave.

“I loved him, Roland, more than any other man,” Eve
said.  She was now at the edge of the grave. Pieces of loose dirt fell on top
of Olligh but he tried to ignore it.  He just hoped that nobody would look down
and spot him.  On the opposite side of the grave, other people murmured amongst
themselves.

“It’s a tragic thing, my dear and I don’t want you
blaming yourself over this.  In life, the gods have our paths mapped out and
there be nothing we can do about where they lead.”

Eve sobbed gently.  “I… I told him it was friendly. 
It looked over at us and licked its lips.”

“Oh, Eve,” said another woman. “This isn’t good for
you.  You can’t undo things.”

  “I know, Auntie, but I feel responsible.  I joked,
telling Horace it was just after our picnic but it wasn’t.  No, it was after
him. It watched with its beady eyes, waiting for him to climb over the fence-”

“Eve,” Roland said. “My dear, this be not the time nor
place to dwell on what’s happened.  It was a mad bull.  You were not to know
this.”

Eve snivelled and blew her nose. “Yes, Roland –
perhaps you’re right. It was a horrid, slobbering, evil bull and I’m glad it
was destroyed afterwards.”

“You two go ahead now,” Roland said. “Please descend
the coffin into the grave and we’ll say our final farewells. In doing so, I
know that Horace Hipkink will always be remembered, both in our hearts and
minds.”

Olligh smirked at the mention of the silly name, but
not for long.  The smirk turned to horror when he noticed the coffin being
heaved over the side of the grave.  It descended on ropes slowly towards him.

“Let’s take a moment to think about Horace and reflect
on the good things he did for our community,” Roland continued.

The coffin was now eased halfway into the grave. 
Olligh huddled to the side of the hole, hoping it would fit snugly next to him
when it reached the bottom.

“The children loved Horace and he often performed for
them in the village hall.  He was a wonderful entertainer who captivated his
audience, whether young or old.”

There was no room to escape the coffin.  It pressed
down hard onto Olligh and although he could just take the weight, he was most
uncomfortable.  A sudden thought horrified him.  What if they were to fill the
hole now, rather than later?  He didn’t want to be buried alive.

“His ventriloquism act with Dimple, the naughty bear,
was his favourite and most talked about act. He loved the bear so much that he
even requested for it to be buried with him on his death.”

“Ummm!” Olligh said as loud as he could.  He tapped
the side of the coffin with his free hand.

“He was particularly-”

Olligh slapped the coffin harder. “Ummh, Ummmh!”

“By the gods…” Roland said. “Did you hear that?”

People shuffled closer to the edge of the grave and
everything went deathly quiet. Olligh’s face was squashed sideways, pressed in
the wet earth.  Unable to move and change position, the coffin was beginning to
feel extremely heavy and uncomfortable.  “Ummm, Ummm!”

“It’s Horace!” Eve said. “He’s alive.”

“It could be Dimple the bear!” said a little girl,
excitedly. “Is Dimple really in there with him?”

“By the gods,” Roland repeated.  “This be a miracle.”

“Indeed,” remarked the aunt, “considering he’s been
dead for over a week.”

Eve leaned over the edge of the grave. “Is that you,
Horace? Are you alive?”

“Umh huh!”

“It’s him! He is alive-”

In all the excitement and wonder, Eve lost her footing
and fell into the grave.  She shrieked and landed with a heavy thud onto the
coffin, her weight crushing down on Olligh.  He groaned loudly.

“Are you hurt?” Roland asked.

Olligh thought it was a silly question. Obviously he
was hurt.  It felt as though Eve weighed more than the actual coffin itself.  It
then dawned on him that Roland wasn’t actually talking to him.

“Men, pull the coffin up! Eve may be hurt.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the coffin was slowly
hoisted back up.  Eve was sitting on it with a sombre expression on her face. 
She rubbed her leg.

“I’m fine.  I’ve just scraped my leg a bit.  I’m not
sure about Horace though – he’s groaning.  Perhaps he can’t breathe properly!”

“He’s probably hungry,” said the aunt. “He’ll be
missing his tripe and onions."

Olligh looked up, relieved to see they were moving the
coffin away from the grave to open it.

“It’s nailed shut,” Roland said.  “Does anybody have
something we can use to prise it open?”

“Be strong, Horace,” Eve said. “We’ll soon have you
out of there.”

Olligh stood and stretched, glad to find that his legs
were still happy to support him after his fall.  With everyone distracted, he
clambered out from the grave and hid behind some nearby bushes.  Nobody noticed
him as he crept behind the huddled group and out of sight through the graveyard
gate.  As he left, somebody screamed and the little girl wailed. Olligh
grinned. Obviously they’d managed to open the coffin and discovered that Horace
hadn’t actually made a remarkable recovery after all.  On the bright side, at
least the little girl could add Dimple to her teddy bear collection.

Olligh continued along a well-trodden path through the woodland. He
eventually reached a junction whereupon he had to decide which way to go.  To
his left, the trees thinned out and he could see a field and a farmhouse in the
distance while the other route continued deeper into the forest.  As he didn’t
particularly wish to bump into anyone along the track, he decided to head
towards the lone farmhouse.  If anything, he hoped to find something to help
remove the stitches and, if possible, also a change of clothing.  Looking down
at his dirty, tattered rags, he wondered why he was dressed as a tramp and if
he'd always worn such filthy clothing.