Restless are the Dead

I shall endeavor to relate this tale as truthfully as possible, although I cannot be one hundred percent certain it is not the distorted memory of a dream.  I believe it did indeed happen, and that memory will now serve as a conveyor of reality, because the reality I now relate transcends any workings of my limited imagination.

Return with me now to a series of two mornings a mere three weeks ago.  My life had become much more crepuscular,* in that I was much more alert and energetic during the time just before sunrise.  It is an eerily peaceful time, a befitting time, a time of westward moon
and uncommon stars--an anticipatory time for the day’s new sun.  Waking up often at three was common, and it set the stage for what was to come as I stood outside in the predawn twilight.

In the dead quiet and Earth-wide stillness common at such an hour, I heard a most peculiar scraping and shuffling sound from the front street.  As I was on my walkway in the back yard gazing at the constellation Scorpio, I turned and walked down the driveway to determine the source of this aberration.  Right away I saw this form, a human form, but I did not know anything more definitive.  The form’s gait was labored, its head was tilted, its arms held at odd angles.  Through diffuse light from pole lamps here and there, I
discerned a cold pale face, a pained face, a face which projected the specter of death.

As this predawn mystery continued up the street, I felt weak-kneed, and as I lost my balance, I braced myself against the house’s vinyl siding.  A salient chill overtook me, from my lumbar region to my neck, even my legs.  What in the world did I just witness?  Zombie, I thought, a corpse in stroll ousting the peaceful ante meridian of an innocent bystander.

The morning sun peered orange above the horizon, chasing away not only the darkness, but my fear and my self-pity as well.  Zombie, indeed!  Perhaps some drunk, or derelict, or a fraternity prank.  I wore a thin mask of embarrassment and had a good laugh.  Then as the day wore on, I again regarded its fleetingness.  Daylight gave way to distant suns, constellations, and shooting stars.  Early morning twilight, once again, and once again, that sound from the street.

Only this time, the sound commanded the attention of the living.  There were many zombies!  I did not count, I only noticed.  A throng, a crowd, all marching, shuffling, wickedly walking my way!  Rationality gave way to icy spears of fear piercing fiercely.  All I could think was a zombie revolt, or a zombie revolution.  I would have dismissed such nonsense of thought but for the fact  I had to run to my garage and lower the door before they could get me.  An hour later, the sun was up, they were gone, and answers remain elusive.

But I keep looking for answers, for an explanation.  I could keep at it, I suppose, or perhaps I will soon toss up my arms in the realization that it is unanswerable.  Maybe I’ll just go away.



532 Words
Writer's Cramp
1-27-16

*crepuscular...pertaining to twilight.