Dude Go Back to Your Grave

By Shantnu Tiwari

It was a normal job for our heroes. Bury a dead dude, quietly and secretly. 

 

Except, nothing goes as normal with Blue and Shake.

 

The dead dude they buried comes back to life, and for some reason, he fancies a date with Blue.

 

A horror comedy story for people who love zombies and pizza.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shantnu Tiwari
• Release date: Nov 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533744920

Book preview

1

No zombie deserves to die like that.

Yes, I know what you are thinking. Since when did I become a zombie sympathiser?

I’m not.

But still, the way it was killed was cruel.

We don’t even know if it was a zombie, or just a lazy vampire. The details are hazy. All we know that it was not human; or at least, hadn’t been human when the psychotic inhuman she-demon girl paid it a visit.

OUCH!

Folks, I have been informed, on threat of violence, to not refer to that girl as a psychotic inhuman she-demon girl. I have further been informed that if I ever insult her again, my poor arm will be broken. Said arm is currently in an arm lock by said girl.

There, you have been informed.

Anyway, picture this scene.

The poor zombie-slash-vampire gets up in the morning. Well, our night, but morning for them. It’s still tired, yawns, and says, Hey man, before I go ahead and eat the flesh of some poor human, let me get some tea. ‘Cause even the undead like a strong cup, don’t they?

So this monster makes itself a strong cup of chamomile tea (guaranteed to ease tired bones and refresh the mind), and sits down on its sofa, sipping it slowly. The tea is scalding hot and would burn your and my tongue, but what’s the use of being an undead creature of the night if you can’t even drink scalding hot tea?

And so, there is this zombie, sitting on a big comfy sofa (I’m making all this up; I don’t really know if the zombie even had a sofa, for reasons you’ll find out soon). Its legs are up, its dead bottom is sinking into the soft cushions, the sofa is still new and has that new leather smell. You get the idea.

And that’s when the bell rings.

Your zombie wonders who it could be. It wasn’t expecting any guests.

And then someone knocks on the door. Hard. I mean, beat it down, American police style kick the door down to arrest the black kid who once walked a white neighbourhood hard. And the zombie is like, Take a chill pill, man. I’m coming. Again, I don’t know if the zombie talked (or could even talk) like a stoner. I’m making this up, modelling our zombie on Shake.

Shake says he