The Living and the Undead

His back glistened like dew in the hot sun as he planted seeds in the holes he had dug. Summer had just begun, and it was time for George to start his garden anew. This day was a good one for George. With his wife Ellie gone and the day off of work, he could take some time for the things he loved- gardening and horror films. He smiled as he watched a squirrel dart up a tree across the fence, picturing what it would look like as a zombie.
With five rows of seeds now planted, his job was complete. He wiped his brow and looked towards the sky. The sound of steel-on-metal clanged in the air as he dropped his shovel against the solid side of the shed. As George turned towards the house, he noticed something in the corner of his eye. Something that made his blood boil like a teapot, something that he thought he had been rid of long ago. Zombies, bats, axe murderers- these were nothing compared to the monstrosity that stood before him. Its long stalks swayed in the air menacingly, as if to defy his authority over it and the green surrounding it.
It was the bane of George's existence- a weed.
George flipped around like a coin, jerked the shovel from its resting spot, and darted to the weed's domain. Not wanting to touch the offensive plant, he stabbed his shovel into the surrounding dirt, digging deep down as he stewed. He was about a foot down when he felt something squish. Curious, he poked it three more times, almost forgetting about the weed that sat above it. After one last poke something began to crunch in the ground. A hand, bluish-gray with yellow crusty fingernails, burst from the ground. As it gripped the ground, George leapt back in a mix of fear and excitement. He watched in awe as a wrinkled head revealed itself, a hole in the forehead and three gash marks on the top.
"What the hell'd you do that for?" he said. "Do I come up there and hit you on the head with shovels?" Glaring at John, he said, "Well, you're gonna pick me up out of here, aren't you? It's not as comfortable down here as you may expect."
A paralyzed John stared at him blankly. Finally, a dreamlike expression on his face, he gripped the gnarled hand and pulled the man- was it a man? - from the ground. As he observed the stranger's features- the wrinkles, the yellowed eyes, the matted hair- he came to a realization and was ecstatic with joy. There was no mistaking it- he had just met a zombie! His suspicions were confirmed when the zombie reached for the squirrel John had been observing earlier and bit its brains out (of course, there was no blood, as this is a PG story).
"Mmm... delicious," the zombie mused. "Anyways, all that banging me on the head you did earlier has given me one hell of a headache! Whaddya say you take me in your house over there so I can relax? I'm Charlie, by the way."
More than happy to get to know this crusty new face, George led the zombie into the house. As he entered, he noticed the musty smell of the zombie. He was not disturbed by the smell, of course, being a man, but he knew Ellie would be less than amused when she got back from her party. For now, though, he put off thinking about that, and instead treated Charlie to his favorite movie, Dawn of the Dead. The two hours flew by as they watched; Charlie was amazed by the special effects and George was amazed by Charlie.
It was 6:00 when the movie ended, and George suggested that Charlie take a shower. When he came down a half-hour later, George smelled the same musty smell as before, only now he heard another sound: the slow, dreadful clicking of keys in the door. George grabbed Charlie and shoved him in the closet, quickly composing himself as his wife walked through the door.
"George? What's that smell?" Ellie inquired.
"Nothing, honey, I was just uhhh... gardening!" he replied.
Ellie started walking towards the closet, taking off her coat. George jumped in front of the door. His wife gave him a curious look.
"Rats," he said. "Big ones. You don't wanna go in here, they'll bite you."
"Oh my god!" Ellie exclaimed. "Shouldn't we call Pest Control?"
Just then, they heard a loud sneeze as Charlie tumbled out the door and landed decayed-face-first on the carpet.
"Ughhh, the dust! Have you two EVER cleaned in there?" he asked.
Ellie took one look at him and let out a bloodcurdling shriek. Then she collapsed on the floor. George took her upstairs to bed, and he and Charlie finished the night with a few more zombie movies.
At 7:00 the next morning, George could be found outside in the garden once again. As he was covering the giant hole where Charlie had been buried, he noticed a glint in the hole. Leaning down to investigate, he smelled cleaner and felt something long and cold. Lifting it up, the dirt parted to reveal a collapsible mop. Curious, he brought the mop to Charlie, expecting some sort of gratitude. Instead, Charlie jumped back, frightened.
"AAAAHHHH! GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!" he screamed.
George was curious, but he didn't want to upset Charlie any further- he'd seen what had happened to that squirrel the day before. Instead, he collapsed it and put it away in his room. He and Charlie then went outside to work on the garden together. Charlie found the work highly enjoyable, and an extra squirrel was always around if he ever got hungry. Two hours later, George decided it was time to check up on Ellie.
He was pleasantly surprised to see the bed empty. All those pleasant feelings dropped away, however, as he walked into the bathroom. There, he found his wife on the floor next to the shower, crying a shower of her own as she sat there. Looking into the shower to see what the distress was, he saw several tiny yellow shapes in the tub. Peering closer, he saw five sharp yellow teeth with cavities in them lying on the shower floor surrounded by pieces of dead skin.
"How... could you... let that... thing... into our house?" she sobbed. "Dead people... don't... belong... in our house!"
"UNdead, Ellie, UNdead!" he replied matter-of-factly.
"Whatever," said Ellie, her watery tears being replaced by an icy stare. "Either he's leaving, or you are."
George was sorely disappointed as he found he had to kick his poor friend Charlie out. What had Charlie ever done to deserve this? Partly to prepare his friend for the outside world and partly to procrastinate giving the bad news, he stuffed a bag with some clothes and other supplies, as well as some money.
As George broke the news to him, Charlie saw Ellie in the corner glaring at them both. Sighing, he took the bag and walked out the door, looking sadly back at George before he closed it behind him. He was in the real world now.
He walked all day and all night, occasionally stopping to pick up a body part or two, marveling at how different the world had become since he had last been there sixty years prior. Finally, he had to stop to rest. He watched a crow fly back in the direction from whence he had come as he sat under a tree. Opening his pack to see what he could use to warm himself, he saw the mop. He closed his eyes as the flashback of his life that had played shortly prior to his death flashed before his eyes.
He was a baby, his mop cradled in his arms, tiny brooms, buckets, and sponges dangling over his head. The image faded, and he was a young boy, the mop swaying back and forth in his hands as he cleaned the icy floor of the kitchen for the first time. That turned to black, and he was in junior high, being chided by the other boys for being head of the Cleaning Club. Another fade and he was at the Varsity Cleaning Championship, the San Francisco sun gleaming off his gold medal as his mop dripped on the floor. Black again, and he was taking the gold at the 1922 Cleaning Olympics, beaming down at his adoring fans.
Back to black, and he was being bargained with by a man in a dark suit and angled cap, finally accepting the ten million dollar startup and million-dollar-a-month paycheck that would come with working exclusively for this man. A final fade and the mop crashed to the floor as he was staring at a dead body as a gun was raised to his head, and his life flashed before his eyes again.
After about an hour, Charlie finally became bored of watching his life over and over again, and finally came back to reality, tossing the mop about three feet in front of him. He tried to go to sleep, but was quickly disturbed by a sharp pain on his shoulder. Actually, it was both shoulders... then his back... and then the top of his head. Opening his eyes, he saw flying black feathers and jumped in fear as he realized he was under attack by crows! He started to run, but tripped and fell hard to the ground. Rolling around in agony, he managed to grab a stick to his side. He stood up and began using this to swing at the crows like a mace, batting them away like baseballs with feathers and beaks.
Before long, he was rid of the dark black pests. Relieved, he sat down and wiped the blood out of his eyes. He was surprised to see in his hands not just any old stick, but his own mop! This mop, the very object that had caused his first death, had now saved him from dying again! He wondered then- could one really die again if he was already undead? He quickly forgot all about this question, however, as an urge welled up in his heart like an ocean into a teacup. He pressed his mop decisively into the concrete and started cleaning, his forty years of janitorial expertise returning to him sixty years later.
He didn't stop cleaning. Charlie and his trusty mop walked America, cleaning as they went. Along the way, they amassed a huge following of environmental activists, inspired by his initiative to clean. Eventually, they looked much as a mass of zombies in one of George's favorite films would. The movement was broadcast widely on the air.
As they watched the TV screen, George said to Ellie, "I told you we should have kept him around!"