I Was A Gay Teenage Zombie

By Alison Cybe

"Y'know, if I was a sexy type of undead, like a vampire or something, I'm sure I'd have some kind of supernatural power to bring any guy I liked under my charismatic control. Best I can hope for is to not decompose over someone's shoes. How romantic."

And you thought it was hard coming out as gay... Jay was a perfectly normal teenager, like any other awkward, antisocial, gay teenager. Until he was bitten by a mysterious zombie boy.

Now, Jay has far more on his mind than he can handle. Not only is he struggling to keep his troubled family together and deal with his unfulfilled love for the hottest guy in school, he also needs to keep in check his urge to devour human flesh. All the while making sure his decomposition doesn’t show. As if he wasn’t already enough of an outsider...

This unique story offers a fresh and exciting new twist on the young adult LGBT coming-of-age comedy horror tale. Shockingly aware and witty, this thrilling tale by acclaimed horror and dark fantasy author Alison Cybe dishes up side-splitting laughter, stomach-churning horror, heart-rending drama and everything you'll need to know about growing up when you just don't fit in.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deep Hearts YA
• Release date: Jul 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463942710

Alison Cybe

Alison Cybe is a fantasy and horror author with multiple books/short story publications under their belt. They work as a freelance writer for tabletop RPG publishers, with other work featured in numerous horror and sci-fi/fantasy publications. They have a degree in Film & Media with a minor in sociology and media, they are non-binary with pronouns they/them.They were born in Scotland and has written extensively on inclusion and positive representation within gaming communities in particular with relation to LGBTQ+ and transgender visibility in gaming publications and blogs. Their interests include celtic mythology, transhumanism, model kits and pet rats.

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I Was a Gay Teenage Zombie

Alison Cybe

Copyright © 2019 by Alison Cybe

Cover design copyright © 2019 by Story Perfect Dreamscape

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Published July 2019 by Deep Hearts YA, an imprint of Deep Desires Press and Story Perfect Inc.

Deep Hearts YA

PO Box 51053 Tyndall Park

Winnipeg, Manitoba R2X 3B0

Canada

Visit http://dhya.deepdesirespress.com for more great reads.

I Was a Gay Teenage Zombie

December

27 December 2013

Mom woke me up early today to head out to the shops. Who gets up at eleven on a Saturday? Crazy people, that’s who! She wanted to grab some early January sales. I think she’s starting to lose her mind.

I barely had time to finish my make-up this morning. Mom was banging on the bathroom door, shouting at me to get ready. She never acts like this when it’s her own make-up she’s doing. I didn’t even need to use make-up a year ago, anyway. It’s only since what happened during the summer. If she ever saw me without my make-up, she’d have a fit. So would everyone.

After trudging through the town center for almost two hours, we went into one store and I finally caught sight of something I actually like; a lovely new pair of Ray-Bans. The pair of sunglasses sat on their glass shelf, all strong angles and sleek darkness, and I could just feel them calling to me. Ever since the incident over the summer, sunglasses have sadly become a part of my daily wear. My eyes are probably the one part that’s fairing the worst. But don’t get me wrong here, this was a sexy pair of Ray-Bans in any case.

So I hurried over and grabbed mom by the elbow, and showed her the pair. Can I? I asked. It’s ten percent off. Down to only a hundred and ten.

Mom bought me a £3 pair from Tesco instead. I just don’t think she understands me.

28 December 2013

And y’know, I don’t think my dad understands me either.

It was Christmas three days ago, the last Christmas I’m going to have before I turn sixteen years old and am officially too old to really have any fun. You would think that to commemorate such a tragic affair, my dad would have done his best to pull together something special, like a car.

Instead, he handed me a thick, brown leather book. Jay, he said, you’re growing up now. Soon you’ll be a man; you’re already as tall as me. I know how difficult these years can be. He couldn’t have been more wrong about that! So I got you this diary.

I looked at the thick old book and I was stunned. What did he expect me to do with it? Write in it? By hand? Had he never heard of the internet? What’s the point of keeping a diary if the stuff you write can’t be read by everyone online? I smiled to him and thanked him, but really, I was so disappointed that all I could do was sit and play on my new X-Box for the rest of the day.

Then, yesterday, I realized just what I could use this thing for. There are things about me that nobody knows. Things I don’t want them to know. Things that make me different from everybody else.

Maybe this diary won’t be so useless after all.

29 December 2013

Sunday today. It feels kinda appropriate to write about this on the Lord’s Day, I guess. Here goes.

I first became what I am last summer, though it feels like it happened in another lifetime. Maybe it did, I guess.

I had been on a holiday with my family over the summer and I’d been dragged by my family to our usual holiday spot of Florida. I must admit that, at my age, holidays with your parents are just the worst thing ever. It means that you’re almost always under their supervision, except for the rare few moments when you’re able to sneak away and meet some people your own age.

The pier was the place to be, always has been. That was where I’d first seen him - my first love. Or he would be, if I could remember his name. I had seen him through the crowds at the arcade. He wasn’t much older than me, but his hair was cropped short, his ears were beaded with piercings, he wore a sleeveless Dragonforce T-shirt, his wrists were covered in studded leather bands, and he was jamming away at Virtual Fighter like a diva.

It took all the courage I had just to go up and talk to him. To make a long story short, it wasn’t long until we were kissing heavily around the back of one of the pier’s cafés. I’d never kissed anyone before, I could hardly breathe, my dick was running laps around the block. It was bliss. I was in heaven.

Then it all ended when he bit a chunk of skin clear off my neck. He was sputtering, mouth plastered in blood and apologizing. I was too busy clutching my bleeding neck and screaming. He ran into the crowd, looking utterly panicked and terrified, not nearly as much as I was, though, and I never saw him again. So much for first love.

I padded the wound down with cotton wool, bandaged and plastered it up, and told my parents I had cut it by leaning against a nail protruding from a piece of wood on the pier. The wound eventually healed over, but it left a long, jagged scar.

For the next few days I felt very sick. Fever, vomiting, the whole lot. I spent the rest of the holiday curled up under a blanket in the bed of my hotel room. I could barely think because of the fever, it was terrible and I felt like I was dying. I had no idea at the time that I literally was. My heart stopped beating at 1:27 in the afternoon, and hasn’t beat since.

I don’t want to dwell too much on the past, it makes me feel damn stupid. On the plus side, I’ve always been pale, so nobody has really noticed the difference.

30 December 2013

The hardest thing to admit? I still miss summer guy.

31 December 2013

I don’t think I like New Year’s.

Granny Liz arrived at three o’clock. She was the first guest for the evening, and because of her advanced age she travels almost exclusively by train, because roads give her jitters. Mom, dad and myself bundled into the car and drove down to Victoria Station to meet her. We pushed through the crowded groups until we eventually caught sight of Granny Liz, a tiny little figure hobbling along on two walking sticks, her little barking dog, Precious, in tow.

Dad rushed forward to hug her and noticed she was holding a large and very heavy plastic bag, dangling from her walking stick. Gran, what is that?

Granny Liz gave a soft, happy smile and said, Oh Tony, it’s just some money for my grand-daughter’s wedding.

Dad looked at mom, then back at Granny Liz. Several other people looked at Granny Liz, including quite a few people who looked like they might enjoy mugging old ladies for a hobby.

How much did you bring? asked Dad.

Holding out the bag, Granny Liz opened it and said, Just a couple of thousand, hun. We both looked into the bag. A huge number of bank notes looked back at us. Do you think it will be enough? she asked.

Several people shuffled closer to us.

We hurried out of the station quicker than I could blink. Dad kept glancing behind him over his shoulder, which made him look even more suspicious. I was bundled into the back seat with Granny Liz, who sat her dog beside me. Precious took to snarling and barking at me angrily. Twice she tried to bite my arm clean off! Each time, Granny Liz smiled and laughed. She’s so playful, she said. Is it any wonder I’ve grown up to be an utter psychological mess?

Granny Liz spent the next few hours quizzing dad on every small detail of his last year, multiple times. Yes Gran, mom sends her love. No Gran, I don’t work at the plumbing company any more, they closed down five years ago. She then forgets dad’s answers, and he tells her them all over again, all the while signaling mom to keep pouring Granny Liz some more wine.

At about six o’clock, the moment I’d been dreading had arrived; Uncle Frank got here. And from the sound he made, I was sure he’d already been drinking.

After another half hour, Uncle Frank had settled in and taken up residence on the sofa and had taken a break from telling us about how lovely his seventh new-born child was to let us all know how much he disliked immigrants on a very, very personal level. You want to keep an eye on him, he said to my mother, pointing at myself, Let him wear all that eye-liner like that and he’ll turn into a queer. My mother gave him a polite smile and nodded, as she always does with him. Even despite the fact he’s a homophobic, xenophobic creep, my mom loves him. She had missed him a lot, after all, he had only just got out of prison.

As it approached midnight, I was starting to get hungry. That’s the big problem with being, well, what I am. The Z-word. I mumbled an excuse me and hurried into the kitchen to cook up a burger. When the hunger takes over and I start to lose control, any meat will do. So as I