A Little Peek

I’ve been doing a lot of writing and I’m more than a little excited about Undertaker finally hitting the blog this month. As such, here is little peek ahead at a section from Chapter 3. Enjoy.


Her eyes were milky, decomposed and decaying in their sockets. Dirty blonde pigtails were covered in dirt and dried gore as she clawed and scraped at the little hole in the fence she’d wedge herself into. The one where she was stuck, lashing out at anything that passed her like an undead landmine waiting to explode. I could barely feel anything at that point. Not the heat baking my bare feet on the asphalt as I stomped towards her. Not the piece of rebar in my hand, the rough ridges cutting into my palm. All I could feel was that red hot rage burning in my spine, aching in my head and making tears well up in my eyes. She snarled and gnashed her teeth at me, reaching with broken fingers for my ankles.

She was my age, maybe a little younger. She’d had parents, maybe a brother or a sister who had played with her on hot summer days when there was nothing else to do. There were blue flowers on the dirty dress that covered her tiny body, matching ribbons struggling to keep her pigtails up. She was a girl just like any other I’d met in my brief life. Well, she had been. Her throat was gashed open, a broken tooth lodged in her carotid artery from the day she had lost her life. The gray, bloated skin was black in molding blood that had caked around the wound. No matter what she was or wasn’t or had wanted to be, all she was now was just another monster trying to end my life and I couldn’t take it anymore.

I swung the rebar into those hungry, dead eyes. I swung it over and over again until they were obliterated into nothing. Still, she kept growling, that guttural rumble that echoed from the throat where the gases of rot and decay inside her gut were escaping through her larynx. I screamed. I cried. I swore with words I’d only ever heard said by others before, curses I could never possibly explain as the rage climbed higher and higher, added weight to every blow. Turning the rebar in my hands I shoved the end down into the middle of its face until the flesh ruptured open, the bone cracked. The thunderclap of skull smashing under the power of my rage was a faint echo compared to the angry clamoring on the other side of the fence as hundreds of other bloated, rotting bodies screamed to take her place, to take her chance at causing chaos in the sanctuary of my home.

I was deaf to all of it, deaf until William began to sing their song.

I fell to my knees as I heard the little ghoul’s voice calling from the willow tree in the grassy yard behind me where my little brother lay dead.


About Danno

Dan Lee is a freelance writer, critic, independent author and publisher, as well as a horror culture correspondent. His articles, interviews, editorials, and fictional works continue to run on several sites and publications. He is also one of the resurrectionists behind the return of the Nashville Zombie Walk (2017).
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