Dead Souls: 17 Terrifying ZOMBIE Tales of Personal Loss (Post Mortem Press: The Early Years) by Post Mortem Press

Author:Post Mortem Press [Press, Post Mortem]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Post Mortem Press
Published: 2020-09-14T22:00:00+00:00

Master Marvel’s Menagerie

Jessica McHugh

“L

ook alive, Margie. We have customers.”

She snorted awake: a rough, piggish snort that would've embarrassed her if anyone but Tommy heard it. They never knew when the customers would come, so he was used to rousing her suddenly, as well as what followed naturally, whether snort, yawn, or backwards tumble from a chair. He chuckled, but it wasn’t cruel. In fact, Margie was glad they could still chuckle after so many years in their profession. She sighed as she leaned against the counter and watched the two young men bounding through the parking lot, pushing and punching and laughing to each other. They were just like everyone else: always laughing on the way in.

The boys in varsity jackets rode in on their guffaws like conquering chargers, but Margie didn’t find the entrance offensive. Rather, she had grown to enjoy the misguided sense of adventure that lured in her customers. As different as they were on the whole, each patron shared one characteristic: morbid curiosity. It wasn’t an attribute that many could live upon, but it was her and Tommy’s lifeblood, or “toast and jam” as Tommy called it because “bread and butter” was too boring a term to describe their business. The boys looked clean-cut enough, the kind that might be in a fraternity---or the kind that might claim to be in a fraternity for the opportunity to venture down other unseen avenues. Margie had come to realize that about appearances: often, the cleaner the cut, the more fiendish the filling. But jumping to conclusions wasn’t her job, no matter how entertaining the leap. It didn’t matter what kind of men they were. They were in the shop, and the sign that boasted “Master Marvel’s Menagerie” had arrested their interest even from outside. They didn't go right for it, nor to the counter to inquire about it. Margie wasn't at all surprised. She'd seen it hundreds of times; no matter the curiosity, some people just couldn't be direct about their desires. They milled around the shop just as the varsity boys did, constantly glancing up at the sign and at the clerks that guarded the purple curtain beneath it. They made a full tour of the shop, pausing only at the animal action figures to make a monkey fight a lion. After a few growls and slams and giggling whispers, they called it a draw. They approached the counter with caution worn as a pompous cloak; it was the kind of fear that makes men act tougher than they are, like the clerks could never appease them but they might as well give it a shot. Margie and Tommy knew the attitude well, but they were well armed with their own.

“This is the place, isn’t it? It has to be the place. This is the only stop for a hundred miles,” said the boy with “Jack” stitched into his jacket.

“Been driving for quite a while, haven’t you?” Margie asked.

“It seems like forever. This is the place though,

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