The Karaoke Duo Vs The Karaoke Zombies

By Edwin Stark

A terrible zombie epidemic troubles the fair city of Nosfort, Massachusetts; normal law-abiding citizens suddenly become mindless creatures bent on performing heinous acts like burglarizing and ringing doorbells (and then running away). Seems that a supervillain known as the Golden Zombiemaster is behind this plague.

Fortunately, Fermata Girl and The Man With The Mike, the Karaoke Duo, are willing to try their hand in putting a stop to this arch-villain’s wicked plans to take over the city. Will they prevail? (Tune in same time, next week to find out).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edwin Stark
• Release date: Nov 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301576937

Edwin Stark

Hello, my name's Edwin Stark, and I was born in Caracas, Venezuela. That's South America for the few geographically-challenged ones out there. I suppose that somehow the stork had just stumbled out from a pub while it was delivering me, (it was confused to say the least) and mishandled my humble persona, leaving me stranded in this unlikely place. Having German ancestry, I spoke that language as a toddler, but my Mom had the misconception that I'd fit better here if I spoke Spanish, so that tongue was lost during my growing years. I grew up dreaming crazy tales and was my teacher's pet when it came to composition class—but not in deportment: that was for certain—and as I grew up I tried to get noticed as a writer by submitting to every magazine and writing contest available in my home country. No such luck; the publishing market in Venezuela is utterly locked out: you can only see your words in print if you're already a notorious politician or a TV celebrity. Since I wasn't in the inclination of becoming a serial murderer to achieve notoriousness and get published, the need to rethink the approach to my writing career became a must. Eventually, I decided to switch languages and start writing in English. I was already proficient in that language... but was I good enough to tell stories in that fashion? I then started to write short stories, effectively dumping my native language. I wrote nearly 200 short stories during a period of about eighteen months, slowly learning the nuances of story-telling in another language than your own. I already had the benefit of having the knack of telling a tale; I only had to adjust. 190 of them short tales certainly sucked; 10 were really neat, but the important thing was the learning process. These ten tales eventually made it into Cuentos, the short story collection which became my third book. I succeeded so well in tearing myself apart from Spanish, that almost everyone I meet online says: "I CAN'T BELIEVE ENGLISH ISN'T YOUR FIRST LANGUAGE!" So far, I wrote four books: AI Rebellion, a rather preachy cyberpunk thriller that still shows the struggle of switching languages (and I only recommend people to read it if they're on an archeological mood, as in if they're interested in seeing my progress as a writer), Eco Station One, a very bizarre and funny satire, the aforementioned Cuentos, and The Clayton Chronicles, a rather cookie-cut vampire tale. All these are available for the Kindle reader on Amazon, in paperbacks and all e-book formats in Smashwords.

Book preview

THE KARAOKE DUO

Versus

THE KARAOKE ZOMBIES

By Edwin Stark Copyright 2012

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents

AUTHOR’S NOTE

CHAPTER 1: FERMATA GIRL

CHAPTER 2: ZOMBIES LIKE TO SHOP AT STIFFANY’S

CHAPTER 3: COMMISSIONER FATMANINCHARGE

CHAPTER 4: NIGHTLY WATCH

CHAPTER 5: THE GOLDEN KARAOKE ZOMBIEMASTER

CHAPTER 6: THE NARROW ESCAPE

CHAPTER 7: FERMATA GIRL WANTS A SHOWER

CHAPTER 8: EVIL INTERMEZZO

CHAPTER 9: A CASE OF THE BLUES

CHAPTER 10: FERMATA FALLS IN LOVE

CHAPTER 11: EDWARD STALKS

CHAPTER 12: REMEMBRANCE IN CRESCENDO

CHAPTER 13: FERMATA CONFRONTS THE TRUTH

CHAPTER 14: HEELS OVER HEADS

CHAPTER 15: THE ESCAPE

CHAPTER 16: THE CONFRONTATION OF EPIC PROPORTIONS

CHAPTER 17: THE LABYRINTH

CHAPTER 18: THE FINAL SHOWDOWN

EPILOGUE

DEDICATION

AUTHOR’S NOTE

For my own evil purposes, I moved the dedication to the end of the book (I’m the bad guy archetype after all; all my plans backfire on me and I never get the girl, go figure). I’ll keep this Author’s Note brief and short; it’s scientifically proven that no one ever reads them, anyway.

I wish to thank Steve Meretzki for all the fun and wit he spent in the development of the Superhero League of Hoboken PC Game nearly twenty years ago; it wasn’t wasted on me… I must have played that silly game at least a dozen times…

If you enjoy The Karaoke Duo Vs The Karaoke Zombies, you’d do well if you grab a copy of Eco Station One; the humor there is quite similar… yet a bit different. Also, I’d appreciate if you wrote a small praising review on Amazon or Smashwords, or in wherever place you bought a copy.

If you want to be up to date with my latest shenanigans, you can follow me on Twitter as @TheEdwinStark.

CHAPTER ONE: FERMATA GIRL

A single, brilliant beam of light shattered the stillness of the night, and Sheila Freemont was abruptly awakened by its reflection on her wall mirror, which cast a shard of its radiance directly on her features. She tried to bury her face under a set of three goose pillows, but to no avail; the beam still managed to find a way to play its entire intensity all over her eyes. She sighed and tossed the pillows away.

Okay, okay… I’m awake… so skip it, she mumbled under her breath.

She slid from underneath her crumpled bedspreads, jumping out of her warm bed. Cursing the cold mahogany floor, she walked to the mirror, grabbed it with both hands and pivoted the darned thing around so its reflective surface was facing the wall. In the process, Sheila had twisted so badly the single wire from which the mirror hung, that it had nearly snapped in half. Disgruntled, she noticed that the mirror still shed some reflected light over her bed. Heavens, she had even tried to bury the &%$@$!! object three feet under ground in her small backyard garden, and it still managed to wake her up with the reflected light of the Karaoke Duo signal, a harp snapped in half which looked as if it had been drawn by a hedgehog on methadone.

She had a small guilt trip; here she was grumbling about the Duo’s call sign, and it was only doing what it was supposed to do: waking her up. For Sheila Freemont, a brilliant twenty-something law student, was only the real-life-counterbalancing part of her crime-fighting secret identity: she was Fermata Girl, the only female member of the Karaoke Duo, the crime-fighting team that was now the rage all over the small town of Nosfort, Massachusetts.

Which meant that her crime-fighting partner was just a male, indeed, doh!

His name was Edward Strongbox, a very creepy-looking dude of about forty-five she had met a few months ago at the Cranberry Club on Main Street, during one of its Wednesday Special Karaoke nights. He was a very odd guy, who was mildly successful writing pornographic novels under the pen name of Miss Pinklesworth. Sheila never felt comfortable around him; she had the distinct impression that he was writing a very spicy novel behind her back, surely with her as the main naked character.

She walked toward her dresser and opened the top drawer, revealing her crime-fighting costume, a Kevlar-lined Spandex tight that left nothing to the imagination. She undressed, getting out of her Ninja Gorilla nightgown, and donned her armored costume.

After a few months of deliberation about the proper place to hide her outfit—after all, she was still living in her parents’ house—she decided it was for the best to keep it in plain view. Fermata Girl was becoming the very next hit for the coming Halloween, selling like wildfire in the local Toys’R Here, so that became a very good excuse when Sheila’s mom suddenly stumbled upon it while cleaning her room.

It’s my Halloween disguise, Mom, Sheila managed to stutter, while her mom stared at her in a very crass, wry way. Of course, it didn’t help much that the costume was sitting next to a pack of prophylactics, which undoubtedly painted a very damning picture—at least in Sheila’s mom’s mind—about the manner in which Sheila expected to spend her next Halloween party. There’s a downside to the ‘Be prepared’ motto, you know.

Finally dressed in her bulletproof disguise and stiletto-heeled boots, Sheila tiptoed out of her parents’ house, hoping she wouldn’t wake them. However, she was dismayed to discover her dad in the kitchen. She held her breath until she realized that he was sleepwalking again, and he was only frying some pickled cucumbers in his sleep. Sheila watched silently while her dad added some banana slices and mayo to the fried pickles sandwich he was making. He switched everything off and sleepwalked back to the main bedroom, mumbling something about greasing something under his breath.

Sheila walked silently across the living room, and was in for a very nasty surprise when she opened the front door. It was late September, and the night air temperature outside was a strong reminder that it definitely wasn’t the right season to fight evil only dressed in a skimpy leotard, mask and boots.

She went outside, anyway, holding the keys of her little Honda in the right hand, and walked in the direction of the garage. It was only when she opened the automated door that she recalled that her second-hand car was at the shop for repairs. Well, so much for the idea of entering the vehicle and setting its calefaction to full blast so she could warm to its heat.

Sheila was so busy rubbing herself for warmth that she forgot all about slapping herself in the forehead. She was only a law student, and she was constantly struggling to make do with her monthly budget, so she didn’t own an alternate means of transportation. She was having a hard time of it, having to supplement her income yelling ‘Do you want some fries with that?’ into the takeout mike of the local Pollo Pronto, a fried chicken outlet located on Main and Elm. And taking her parents’ car was out of the question; they’d raise the roof in one heck of an altercation if they ever found out: her mom had tied a thin nylon fishing line between the bumper of the family car and her right big toe; any attempt to tamper and/or sever that tale-telling connection and use the vehicle would be noticed immediately.

Now, Sheila’s recollection of her side job at the Pollo Pronto gave her the glimpse of an idea. The store manager, a graying fifty-year old man with a lecherous smile (well, it was always a lecherous grin whenever he was addressing her in conversation), had found out that her car was on the fritz, and had allowed her to take one of the outlet’s delivery motorbikes, an aging Vespa painted in the company’s official colors, a blindingly bright yellow with the words ‘Pollo Pronto’ etched on the side in some angry red lettering.

Okay, so she may make it after all, but the thought of traversing Nosfort’s freezing streets at one o’clock in the morning only dressed in a flimsy—albeit armored—leotard made her shiver a bit more.

She glanced up at the sky, looking at the Karaoke Duo call signal, completely at a loss about what to do next. Suddenly, she remembered that the delivery box of the Vespa bike contained one of the Pollo Pronto uniforms. That may fix the cold issue a bit.

So, five minutes later Sheila Freemont, a.k.a. Fermata Girl, was speeding along Nosfort’s cold and dark streets on a puttering old motorcycle. She had overcome the more pressing issues at hand, but she was greatly discomfited with the way these problems had been solved. Somehow, she felt that going to fight crime on a rickety Vespa and dressed up in a giant, feathery chicken costume was more than a bit undignified.

* * *

She arrived fifteen minutes later at their rendezvous point, and Edward Strongbox was already there, waiting for her with a bored expression on his features. He looked up from the weird gadget he was fiddling with as he finally noticed her approach. Of course, it was hard not to notice the approach of a girl dressed in a Big Bird-like attire, and who was riding something that was little more than a noisy, glorified moped. One of his eyebrows arched sarcastically.

Darn it, he oughtn’t do that! Shelia thought. One fine example of the kettle calling the pot black!

Poor Edward; while she had succeeded in achieving the perfect super-hero image from the word go—with her fuchsia leotard/mask combination and her golden stiletto boots—he was still trying different attire amalgamations to gain his ultimate hero appearance.

This is what he was wearing tonight: an old, gray wrestler’s leotard (which was a bit smelly), boxing gloves (with the tips cut off so he could manipulate things with his fingers), hiking boots and a Viking’s helmet on top of his head. The left horn of the helmet had snapped in half, leaving a clipped stump. Directly underneath the helmet, Edward was also wearing an aviator’s cap, with goggles and all.

Over the wrestler tights, this ludicrous-looking man had also donned a pair of boxer shorts, imprinted with an incongruous Valentine’s heart pattern. The boots were of the Thunderclap brand, which was at least the more classy detail of Edward’s garments.

Also, he still had issues with finding his proper crime-fighting moniker. She had chosen Fermata Girl as hers, with that musical notation for a pause as the insignia that was emblazoned across her chest, stitched in a tasteful embroidery which she had spent weeks sewing.

Meanwhile, Edward had not been able to come up with something better than ‘The Man With The Mike’… which had been painfully etched with childish scrawls on the belly of his old wrestler’s tights with a magic marker. He was also unshaven, sporting a grizzled week-old beard that made him look much older than his well-conserved forty-five years.

Edward was incredibly fit and trim for his age nonetheless. He wasn’t a tall man; he was about five-eight but next to Sheila’s petite height of five feet sharp, he seemed to tower above her, in spite of her stiletto heels.

Sheila parked the old Vespa bike at the entrance of the alley they had agreed upon as a rendezvous point, leaning the vehicle against the northernmost corner. According to Edward, it was a great spot to meet due to its closeness to Sheila’s home and its secluded nature. She walked toward Ed, rubbing her arms to stay warm.

Oh, feeling cold again, he said, looking a bit sad.

No brown fudge matter, Sherlock, Sheila snapped back.

Here… put this on… Edward said while he offered her a gilded belt. I made it for you.

Sheila grabbed the belt and examined it for a while. Its chromed buckle had her insignia carved on front. It was quite lovely. It was amazingly heavy, though. She shrugged her shoulders and then donned the apparently worthless piece of apparel.

Oh! she managed to exclaim, as she was pleasantly surprised by a steady warmth that seemed to radiate from the belt. In fact, she felt so warm now that she had to get rid of the chicken costume. It’s so divine, Edward! And you made it for me!

Edward assumed the accustomed ‘Awww-shucks’ stance he always made whenever Sheila deigned to compliment him. You complained about the weather getting colder and colder during our two last missions—so I thought to do something about it.

Sheila felt another of her customary guilt trips; Edward acted so much like a macho jerk on occasions, but it was because of moments like this that she had to fight the urge to reach for him and give him a well-deserved hug… smelly tights or not.

Suddenly, a Chinese coolie came out from the secluded alley, pulling a rickshaw. There were two passengers sitting on the man-powered vehicle: a sailor and a woman dressed in a very cheap red dress, kissing passionately. Sheila followed them with her eyes until the cart disappeared around the next corner. Before that happened, her knowledge of comparative human anatomy had increased tenfold.

What was that? she inquired.

"What was what?"

Sheila stared back at Edward for some long moments. Then, she shrugged the whole incident off. She glanced up; the searchlight with their team’s logo was still shining, painting odd patterns on the clouds above their heads.

I think we better go to the office of Commissioner Fatmanincharge now, she suggested. Poor guy is liable to have kittens if we keep him waiting too long.

Edward made a bored moue. Let him have some kittens, then, he said jestingly. Maybe if he breast-feeds a few cats he can lose the excess weight he’s carrying on his bones.

Sheila was about to burst into guffaws when three mimes stepped out from the out-of-the-way side streets. They were silently performing ‘The Walkyria Aria’ from Wagner’s Ring of The Nibelung Opera or something like that.

What’s going on tonight? This was supposed to be our secret meeting place—because no one walks through it, she exclaimed.

What do you mean by that, Fermata Girl?

Wha— she started to say. She abruptly silenced when the entire Nosfort Metropolitan Orchestra walked out from the isolated alley, noisily tuning their instruments. She cocked her head endearingly; her left eyebrow rose in an intrigued arc.

Sheila was making dainty jumps due to sheer frustration.

What the hell is going on, Edward? I have seen less people passing by at the Port Authority subway station in New York!

You’re right, Sheila, Ed said, taking hold of her arm and leading her away. We better be on time for our appointment with Commissioner Fatmanincharge.

She cast a stubborn gaze at the dark, lonesome alley. Presently, a small gaggle of people—if we can consider the entire passenger list of a Boeing 747 ‘small’—walked out from it, holding carry-on luggage in their hands.

Now she wasn’t so sure of wanting to know what was going on…

By the way, she braved asking. How are we going there? It’s not at a walking distance, you know.

Edward eyed the Pollo Pronto delivery bike mistrustfully. He shook his head and said: By bus.

"By Bus?!?!" was all that Sheila managed to say before the powerful pull of his right hand made her consider it best to keep her mouth shut.

* * *

During the bus ride, Sheila reminisced about how Edward and she had met, six months ago. To be honest, she found it was the only way to escape the terrible embarrassment she felt while standing in the aisle, under the curious gazes of all the other passengers. It was bad enough to feel conspicuous, dressed in her more than revealing Fermata Girl costume; it was even worse to stand next to Edward, who at the moment looked