Sweat Zombies: A Short Story

By Raymund Hensley

A lovesick alcoholic joins a fitness center and gets more than he paid for. Pain, sweat, tears, zombies....No one said getting over depression would be easy. A horror comedy short story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raymund Hensley
• Release date: Apr 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301951635

Raymund Hensley

Raymund Hensley is the author of Filipino Vampire.

Book preview

Sweat Zombies: A Short Story

by Raymund Hensley

Join my mailing list at raymundhensley.blogspot.com

CONTENTS

DON'T TAP ON THE GLASS

CHAPTER ONE

Exercise To Exorcise

CHAPTER TWO

Zombies On Treadmills

CHAPTER THREE

A Pirate's Life For Me

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BOOK PREVIEW

How I Met Barbara The Zombie Hunter

DON'T TAP ON THE GLASS

I wish that old lady would stop looking at me.

She was on drugs and had the eyes of a badger. I ran on that treadmill with my heart pounding in my ears. I had to focus on my workout. I had to concentrate. Forget about that crackhead outside trying to be sexy. She grabbed her crotch with her left hand and made little jumping movements and fondled her tongue and hollered sensual, gladiatorial sounds. All that passion made me shudder. I hated being up front. Just yesterday, three rich, Japanese women stopped at the window, pointed at me, laughed with their hands over their lips, and scurried away on their high heels. Why were they giggling? What did I do? I knew what they were talking about....

He'll never have a chance with erotic, successful, Asian women like us, says Lady #1.

I'd rather stick my face in an overzealous alligator than kiss that guy, says Lady #2.

Forget them. Focus on your exercise. On most days, you'd find me running near the back wall. That day was different. See, I was there for Nikki. She was on the center treadmill, five down from me. The plan? Go treadmill-hopping and get next to her. Just keep running, I thought. Don't look at her. Say nothing. Play it cool. Let her get used to your presence first – your scent.

Two men stood outside the window and looked at Nikki. They dressed like they were going to a hip, douchebag club – with their tongues hanging out, their tilted baseball caps, their white dress shirts, their blue jeans, their white shoes. They longed for her. Ah! This was perfect. They had her attention. It was time for me to get closer....The old crack addict in the blue church dress wobbled closer to the window and gazed up at me. She smiled and got nasty – drilled her right hand in and out of her mouth. She was determined. Her wooden teeth fell out and shattered on the pavement, some ricocheting off the window. Still running, I blurted:

Good Lord! Help us sinners!

I turned off the treadmill and sucked in air. The crackhead shoved in a new set of teeth and made a kissy face and massaged her breasts. The fitness center's security guard was standing nearby and eating a piece of cake with chopsticks. I reached out to him.

Herb, can't you do something? Jesus, Mary and Jerome...I'm a disturbed paying customer.

He shrugged.

I'm on break. Can't you see I'm trying to learn how to eat cake with chopsticks? I have that Japan trip next month. It'll be great. I'm gonna buy so many panties from vending machines. Did you know they're from real high school girls?

I shook my head.

You idiot. That's a myth. Not to mention severely gross. Pervert Hell's waiting for you.

I heard tapping on the window. The old woman's mouth was on it – tongue dancing and leaving behind trails of spit. She banged her fists on the glass. "I love you! I love you, boy!"

My eyes got real wide with shame. I looked around, then pointed to myself.

Me?

She kicked at the window.

Just give me a chance! Don't judge me until you've sampled my wares!

I jumped back, sure that she'd crash through. Then Nikki howled in frustration and jumped off her treadmill. The place shook a little. That's what happens when you're seven feet tall.

I can't work under these bestial conditions!

Herb rolled his eyes and groaned. Stop your bellyaching, Nikki. Get back on that treadmill and do what you do. He put his cake down and sauntered over to the window. He waved his hands around and spoke like an angel, like he was talking to a venomous snake.

Easy, lady. You better leave before I call the cops.

The old woman looked appalled.

Peace be with you.

She smiled, bowed, and skipped down the sidewalk, singing Skip to My Lou.

I heard demanding voices. The two douchebags from earlier were at the front desk, asking about Nikki. The receptionist smiled and