Zombies For Breakfast Part Two

 

By the time the boys and Uncle Knud got back for lunch, Aunt Maren had swept and dusted the whole house three times over. She even took care of the deposits of zombie dust that she had been trailing. Ma was doing her traditional singing in the kitchen as she prepared lunch. Grandma tried to join in the music but was only capable of adding a contralto drone that complemented Ma’s singing remarkably well.

Before lunch was over, all present could hear the familiar puttering sound of the returning Model T. When Oliver came in the back door, Reuben announced, “You have been replaced! Your reputation of being the hardest worker on the farm is a fading memory.” Uncle Knud waved in acknowledgement of his achievement with a flutter of his crackling fingers.

Oliver gave a deferential nod towards his Uncle. “I am pleased to yield my exalted position to you, good sir.”

“These people are just marvellous,” exclaimed Morgan. “I bet we can get them to work right through the night, and they don’t even need to eat.”

“You would make my mother a slave?” growled Ma with increasing volume.

“Not slaves,” Morgan defended himself. “They do it out of love. It’s service. Look at how happy it makes them.” While Uncle Knud appeared possibly pleased with himself, it was difficult to confirm the true attitude of the three zombies. Their faces continued to sag and their eyes remained milky-blue.

“Even if you were right,” Oliver said to Morgan, “they won’t last long. See for yourself.” He gestured towards Uncle Knud. The old gentleman had become focused on reattaching two of his fingers. They had both dropped off on the table. He repeatedly snapped them back to his hand, only for them to drop off again.

“They won’t last long at this rate,” confirmed Alice. “I won’t even get to show them to Joanie,” she said with regret.

Morgan sighed, “So what do we do? Just set them in the corner and ask them to become part of the furniture?”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” said Reuben as he evaluated his grandma. “They aren’t so bad looking.”

“Now you apologize to your grandmother!” said Ma.  “These are fine looking people!”

“That’s exactly what I was trying to say, Ma,” laughed Reuben. “You always know just the right words.”

“I think they need rest and respect,” said Oliver. “And I believe that I know just what to do.”

“Put them down for a nap?” exploded Reuben.

“I’m thinking something for more than an afternoon. I was just at the cemetery. They need to go back.”

 

Grandma had never had a ride in a car before. She looked skeptical. It took Ma some careful persuasion to get the old gal into the front seat. When Uncle Knud got in the back, he beckoned for Rufus to join him. The neighbor’s dog had followed them home and was waiting outside the house in hopes of another game.  It was only a few miles to the cemetery. All the way Rufus had his head out the window on the one side of the car and Uncle Knud out the other side.

The cemetery workmen were just finishing up the job as they Model T pulled in. During the night, the great tree had come down in the wind, knocking over three tombstones. The tree was neatly  cut up and hauled away. The men had stood up the grave markers, but left the disturbed soil untouched. They had even transplanted a small tree of some eight feet tall to a new place a short distance from the middle grave.

“Should we have brought shovels?” asked Morgan.

“I’m guessing not,” mumbled Oliver. “Let’s see what they do.”

The three zombies climbed out of the car and moved straight towards the graves. Before stepping into the disturbed earth, Grandma gave her daughter a gentle hug. Each of them in turn gave dusty hugs to the mortals. Reuben stifled a cough as he did so. Uncle Knud shook the hands of each of the boys, temporarily reattaching his two fingers after each handshake.

They each stepped into their graves, turned to face East and slowly sank down through the soil. Rufus jumped from the window of the car just in time to get one last pat from Uncle Knud. When the three sank out of sight, the graves smoothed themselves out as if nothing had happened. Rufus yowled to the sky and lay on Uncle Knud’s grave.

“Come boy,” beckoned Oliver to the dog. “Come on, we need to get you home.” He tried to pick him up. Rufus growled, bearing his teeth.

They all shrank back, uncertain what to do. An invisible dust devil erupted in the new tree, launching a broken branch out across the grave and into the back seat of the Model T. The dog happily jumped from the grave and into the car. They all quickly jumped in and closed the doors before Rufus could take the stick back.

As they pulled away, all shouted a farewell to the three, and Oliver whispered, “Thanks Uncle Knud.”