It was past midnight and my brain hummed with a thousand ideas that popped through my consciousness. as my brain was on fire and my fingers danced over my keyboard. I had started my book; my great work of fiction, something that would propel me to the heights of literary stardom, to fame and all that it held. As my hands drove my masterpiece forward, something caught my eye.
A shadow outside my window. It was a mere will-o’-the-wisp that caused me to stop. It was a windy night and my old house groaned with each heavy gust, my windows rattled as every icy blast pushed inside, fluttering my manuscript pages to the floor. I cursed as I bent down to retrieve them, yet my nerves pothered inside, and a feeling of unease rose.
I organised my papers but was distracted by a mistake I had made. With my pen I changed ‘zombie’ to ‘combi’, It was a silly mistake and something I would correct later on my computer. I was cold now; biting blasts scudded through the ill-fitting windows and doors, letting every flurry of chilled air freeze the room until I was forced to fetch my jumper. This was a strange, frosty wind given the lateness of the year, but the weather was doing unusual things nowadays.
I was back at my old desk looking out over the sparse woodland that lay beyond my garden. From the window, for I never drew the curtains, the trees danced eerily in the darkness; they clumped and huddled together for succor and sodality.
A shadow moved slowly across my view, blacker than night. A deep, fathomless blackness that froze me to my chair. Then, as if by some clockwork wizardry, its head turned and looked at me. I will never forget those deadpan, orb-like eyes that caught me in their gaze. I was transfixed. Held by that malevolent stare that pulled at my strength and devoured my resolve.
It, for it was not human, carried an axe, its steely blade glimmered in the moonlight. I could see it was tall, taller than my six feet. I felt its foul, offensive evil burn into me, devouring me. Its unnatural head turned slowly forward like some tortured colossus, then it groped its way toward my door.
I was transfixed with fear, yet somewhere, deep within, I found the strength to raise myself and race to the front door. I was just in time to see an axehead splinter its wooden pane. Then another fearsome blow landed next to it. My door would break apart under such an onslaught. Another blow, this time the door panel fell in and the axehead along with part of its shaft came through.
Seeing my chance, and with strength I did not think I had, I wrenched the axe out of its hands and pulled the axe inward. Now I could protect myself. Yet this fiend was not deterred. It began to tear at my door with its fingers, not caring what injuries it caused itself. Bloodied hands prised and ripped at the second pane, pulling chunks of wood away, forcing his limb inside.
I could see it clearly now, its skin pale as bleached paper, with multiple blotches of bloodied rings like a fresh canker; atop. My stomach churned as the smell of decaying flesh hit my nostrils. Its whitened eyes stared blankly at me through the splintered gap, it was driven by some frenzied desire for food, for flesh, for me.
With the axe in my hand, I gave a mighty swipe at its arm, it gave a hideous groan as his limb, now severed, fell inside my door. Oh! The stench! The foulness! Still, it kicked and ripped with its feet and good arm until its head burst through. Somewhere, deep in my subconscious, I remembered the only way to kill a zombie was to decapitate it. So, wheeling the axe once more, I brought it down on its neck.
Its head rolled off and the rest of the body fell backward.
Back at my desk I closed my laptop, sat down on my office chair and pushed myself backward, relaxing. I had completed my first chapter and what a chapter it was. Zombies from Hell. I had lived through the chapter firsthand, lashing and fighting as if the zombie was really at my door! I laughed at the ridiculous thought. I was still giggling to myself as I made my way to bed.
I stumbled over something in the darkened hallway. I looked down and there, in the shadow light, was a bloodied head lying at my feet, and next to it an arm.
‘My God!’ I murmured softly, ‘It was real.’
And with that an arctic wind bit deeply into my bones.
© Tropical Writers Inc 2026