Jingle Brains

Trigger warning: gore and physical violence are used in a humorous way. Another warning: there are vampires vaping.

I was a young boy... Once. Now I’m a young zombie. Proud, intelligent, and dead. Very dead. So dead I have managed to hit the reciprocal part of the universe and start life anew by being undead.

So it goes.

The Macabre Plant spewed its toxic fog into the clouds creating a mist of green and black vomit for a sky. It was a permanent state for Dead City. At least the birds loved it. Well, they didn't complain (and they always complained).

The plant ran all year round, but the last month of the undead year had it running overtime. It sat forever in the distance to my shack, towering over Dead City.

Decorations bedecked the streets. Not the holly jolly lights or the fancy-pantsy tinsel. These were more moribund. Bones - chipped and dipped in BBQ sauce for the extra scent. Brains - fake, because real brains were rare enough. Instead of tinsel, we had stringy flesh and rotten intestines dangling from twisted lamppost to slightly-less-twisted lamppost. Whatever animal wandered in, it never wandered out. Unless it was a cat. None of us liked those damn cats.

“Meow,” they’d say while hissing and clawing at whatever flesh they could find on my scratching post of a leg.

“Piss off,” I’d reply. I would try and kick them, but I've already had to replace my leg five times. And then there was that tabby which took my eye for lunch. I wanted it for lunch, but they were so much faster than a zombie with one proper leg and someone else’s leg.

So it goes.

The Macabre Holidays had started in Dead City. If I attached my right ear, I could hear the singing of the neighbours.

"She knows where my booze is. She knows where my ribs are. So give ‘em back, for goodness’ sake!"

That was Pete. I could tell because he always sounded like his voice box was hanging out. Which was weird because he didn't have one.

When I attached my left ear, I heard the parade marching the streets. Like every festive season, they didn't have a route, so everyone taking part went wherever they wanted, and half of them always went home.

But the banging of calcium-flavoured symbols echoed about as much as they could, the pumpkin drums had all been eaten - so at least they were quiet - and the brass band, who played in life about as well as they did in death, snogged their trumpets.

They marched for the festivities, but ostensibly it was for King Dead. His birthday was today. His birthday was whenever he wanted it to be, but today was the only date it never changed.

So it goes.

Coming from the street on my left outside my shack, a knackered zombie waddled. "Braaaains," he murmured on repeat. "Braaaains."

"Hey Fred," I said. "You doing okay? Been a while."

"Braaaa- Oh, hey Mort. What's cracking? Are you going to King Dead's party later?"

"Yep-yep."

"Awesome. Don't forget to bring a gift. I've got him some Zombie Frankincense." He continued walking. "Braaaains."

Zombie duty. You had go around saying "brains" all day while walking slower than a snail. It's a tough old world out there.

Again, to my left, a blob of ragged white floated down the street.

"OooOOOooo," she said. "OooOOOOoo."

"Hi, Janet," I greeted her.

"Mort, hi! I'll see you at the party."

"What are you bringing?" I asked.

"Ghost Gold." She held up her hands – her white non-existent hands.

"I can only imagine how great it looks."

"Catch you later, Mort sweetheart."

Ghost duty. Not as hard as zombie duty, but you had to be a ghost to do it.

At least it wasn't vampire duty. They had really sucked all the fun out of that one, what with their flying and long fancy cloaks. I had a cloak once. Where's my fancy flying ability?

I sighed. This part of the year always made my bowls shift and drop, and I had to keep putting them back in. It was also hard to move in the morning when my bodily juices kept freezing. It's not like there's much pumping around inside me. I used to have blood - now I excrete all sorts of things. And it has nothing to do with my diet!

I sighed once more. I had to head to the party soon, so I thought I might as well trundle my way over there now. I grabbed my gift wrapped in used toilet paper, and headed out.

I hoped King Dead wouldn't have us play stupid games again, like pass the flaming head. Or even worse when he had us take out our own hearts and made us eat them. I prefer fresh meat and organs. Not whatever is inside me, which always tasted awful. But BBQ sauce made everything taste better, and I couldn't help but grab one of the hanging bones and start eating. It's a good thing I didn't have to worry about my dentist bill anymore. Or stomach bill. Was that ever a thing? I found myself getting more detached from the living world as life didn't go on.

The house wasn't a castle, but it was the best damn house in the city. Why? Because it had a door with hinges. And they worked! Damn, what I wouldn't give for that. My shack needed glue every day just to stay standing. When I couldn’t find glue, I had to use sticky substitutes and now there was a weird smell in my home.

Inside was dead with music and flashing lights. There were twelve wraiths rapping, eleven vampires vaping, ten skeletons singing, nine banshees boogieing, eight mummies multiplying, seven liches lapsing, six ghosts gagging, five revenants, four ghouls, three head-banging Dullahans, two voodoo dolls, and a king on a high chair.

"Your Deadness," I greeted him with the utmost respect.

The two-foot-tall king hopped off his chair. The lollipop swivelled from side to side in his mouth.

"Silly Mort. What did you bring me?"

"Only the best for His Royal Fleshiness." He had the most flesh out of all us zombies. Maybe that's why he was king. One wouldn't think he were dead, were it not for the hole in his forehead. His blue paper crown covered the exit, but not so much the entrance.

"Tell me. Tell me." He bounced with giddiness. If anyone else did that, they'd fall apart, and in a crowded place like this, someone was bound to steal an arm or two.

“I brought some myrhh–” I coughed and cleared my throat free from the BBQ bone I had munched on the way. "Sorry. A bit of bone in the throat. I brought some more brains."

King Dead's smile showed his missing molars. He ripped apart the wrapping paper, briefly complementing the job, and opened the box. His smile faded. "These aren't real brains," he said.

"Of course they are, Your Zombiesty. Fresh, real, human brains. Brian had them on sale yesterday. I thought only of you when I saw them."

The music stopped. The singing halted. Even the stupid vampires had to turn my way.

"Oh, Mort," someone said. "Not again."

King Dead had tears in his eyes. "Silly Mort," he cried. "These are plastic. Plastic!"

"What?! No, that can't be! He had them on sale. He assured me they were real brains."

"Brian sells sex in a box,” said Fred. “Oh, hey Mort. Didn’t realise it was you.”

“Hey Fred,” I mumbled.

The day was lost. Ruined. It wasn’t even my birthday, and yet I had destroyed any chance at ever enjoying one again. Why couldn’t I have come back as one of them flying zombies?

But now I knew what was coming. King Dead pointed his stubby sausage finger at me.

“Jingle brains,” he commanded.

“Please. Not this year, too.”

“Jingle brains!” the king screamed.

The stitches circling my head popped open. They got the ice cream scoop, licked it clean from what could only be leftover raspberry, and dipped it in my head. Out came the brain and my dignity.

They took my brain up to the belfry and hung it on the clapper. After it fell and plopped down the stairs a few times, they used glue and dug it in the clapper’s tip. In my head, the king placed a little hand bell and put the top back on.

“Enjoy the rest of the party, silly Mort,” he said.

“Thanks, Your Deadity.”

The party continued. The numbers grew. I sat in the corner, wishing I was alive again as my ears chimed.

I had lied when I said I was proud. I had lied when I said I was intelligent. But I hadn't lied when I said was dead. And now there was nothing but a jingle in my head.

My brain rung with the bell's toll to let Dead City know it was King Dead’s special day. No doubt they heard the squishing and squelching of my brain, too, as it hit the bronze. I was going to have a huge headache in the morning.

So it bloody goes!