The Power Glove

He shuffled slowly towards the little house located almost at the far end of the street, right opposite the playground where he imagined taking his soon-to-be first child someday. He had thought about the child ever since he heard the news, naturally. It was like a different part of his being had been opened up the very instant his wife had sat him down and told him she was expecting their love-child. A part of him that had always been there, but had just at that point activated and been brought out from the obscurity of his mind. He had hugged her, his loved wife. She had cried of joy, and he did likewise. Even since they were young they had never quite been sure if they would ever want to raise a baby of their own, but both knew what the answer was now. There was simply no question about it.

He shuffled closer, still thinking about the baby growing inside his childhood-sweetheart’s bloated belly. The night had fallen like a dark blue blanket, bringing with it a cool breeze. The coolness of the summer nights was one of the reasons he used to enjoy taking walks around the neighbourhood when the sun had fallen. He and Erin would walk down the street, holding hands, often laughing together and giving each other little kisses. They would walk down the street, pass the grassy hill on the left, enter the gravely trail and follow it until they came out right next to the local gas station. They would then go inside, buy each other an ice cream and then walk back the same way, still holding hands. Still kissing. Her lips against his were a blessing he would never grow tired off, he knew. He loved her, alright. He always had, and he could bet his right leg he always would, until the day he died. He had.
His lifeless body homed in the bright blue house he knew so well. He was watching with his eyes, which he knew was absurd since they at least felt like they had decayed quite a bit. His legs were torn and shards of flesh hung from both of them. Several wounds were so deep they revealed the bone underneath. Despite this his walk remained brisk, which made him even more scared. He could see with his eyes how the house came closer and closer but he could do nothing to stop himself from approaching it. His mind and consciousness had separated completely from his body, and his body was now fast approaching the house in which his wife was currently sound asleep. He tried to scream for her, to alarm her, and make her flee. His voice was only a low murmured groan coming from the deepest regions of his throat. He screamed for her, wanting to form words but his mouth would not allow it. He groaned, far too low for her to hear. Terry Wright’s mind did everything it could to prevent the remains of Terry Wright’s body from entering the house because he knew what would come and he feared it like nothing in his life. He groaned once again, barely making a human sound at all. A small shard of relief flowed through him when he saw the bedroom light go on.

His arms stretched for the window and started to pound it, cracking it in several places. Another groan escaped his mouth, but this was not one he wished to produce. This was a carnivorous howl that he recognized well. He had himself heard it earlier that night, and it had ended with him having a crimson red humanoid creature grabbing his neck, pulling him towards its rust-smelling jaws and letting its razor sharp teeth dig into his soft skin. He had screamed, and he had felt a stream of blood shower from his neck. He had fallen to the ground and the ghoul had then thrown itself over him, biting every inch of skin its teeth could reach. A gargling sound was the last thing he heard before his vision had gone dark and a slight sense of relief had come upon him. He thought about Erin before he had expired, and the baby she held inside her. He might have cried, he did not remember if he had. He had woken up later with a sharp emptiness in his entire body. His body was covered in teeth-marks, blood and wounds from nails clawing at his pale skin, but none of this he could feel. He remembered having lifted himself up with his hands, but having done so against his will. He could see perfectly fine what his body did, he just couldn’t control it. Around him were no people at all, which he felt a great relief. At this point it was sinking in what had become of himself, he was a wandering ghoul himself now. The walking dead. Destined to devour living humans, transforming them to his own ranks until somebody had the mercy to destroy his body completely. The terror he felt at that moment knew no boundaries as his body slowly started its – as of that point – aimless wander. Terry’s dead body had started walking out from the cellar it had revived itself in, stumbling up the stairs and headed into the dark summer night. No strong lights were to be seen as most people would have pulled their shades or turned in for the night at this hour. Except the one house at the far end of the street. He remembered thinking “No, no, anywhere but that house. Please don’t make me-…”, almost screaming it in his own head. But there was absolutely no use, because his damaged body had started its frightful shuffle towards the bright blue house at the far end of the street, right next to the playground, with the name Wright on the door and the love of his life most likely watching TV inside.

His pounding on the window forced Erin to get up and walk into the hallway. The window was now nearly broken, and Terry wanted to shout from the top of his lungs for her to run away. Or for her to cut his head of and then burn his remains in a funeral pyre on the backyard lawn. He could do neither. Only groan. She entered the hallway, turned on the light and saw him. Terry noticed the immediate terror in her eyes, and he knew what she felt. Erin screamed and ran back into the living room, slamming the door behind her. The window broke, and Terry climbed inside on broken legs. His arms stretched out into thin air as he moved across the hall towards the living room door. Inside he could her panicking sniffling. His monstrous body slammed itself against the wooden door until it gave weight and he could hear Erin rushing from behind it to the far end of the room. As the door was wide-open she could see her panting, tears in her eyes and panic painted over her, otherwise so wonderfully pretty, face. Her lips trembled and she clutched the wall behind her, screaming at him.
“Get away! Go away!! Terry! What are you?”, he could make out from her yelling. She cried for help, but there was none he could give her as his body uncontrollably continued across their living room, arms still stretched towards her. Terry felt no hunger, only a hopeless wish to wake up from this nightmare. He wished that he could stop, turn around and walk away. He wished with every bone in his body – especially the bones that his wife now had just noticed – that he could save her from himself. But he was out of luck, and so was she. She ran, of course. She ran into the kitchen and he could hear a slammering of silver ware.

“A knife! Cut my head of with the knife!”. The thought struck him with relief. His fear was that she would not be able to get close enough without him getting a sample of her soft body first. She was, after all, pregnant and had been for some time. He hoped though, he could always count on her he knew. He hoped.

Erin did come out with a butcher’s knife, indeed. The sense of irony struck him as well. He had picked out the knife on their monthly visit to IKEA, and she had opposed the purchase at first.
“When will we ever, ever, need a big butcher’s knife? You barely eat meat as it is.”, she had enquired.
“I juft fink it’ff knife”, he had said.
She had laughed and slapped him lightly for the horrible pun. He had apologized, but none was needed. His puns had gotten worse over the years, but she still sort of enjoyed them, knowing a little part of him would disappear if she ever forced him to quit it. She loved his wide smile when he waited for her to moan and produce her trademark “Har-har” and then fake-slap him before planting a big kiss on his lips. The horrid pun was worth every little kiss they helped producing.
She threw the knife towards him, screaming as she flung the silvery blade at him. She ripped out several more knives from the drawer, almost cutting herself in the process. Terry’s bloodthirsty body was now fast approaching and he hoped, hoped, hoped. She stumbled further into the kitchen and grabbed a fire extinguisher from behind a cupboard. She ran towards him, shrieking, slamming the big red device in his face. He felt no pain, only more relief.

“AGAIN! AGAIN! GET MY FUCKING HEAD OFF!” his mind applauded. His body was not amused. It tried to raise itself, during which he could hear Erin rush into the hallway and collecting something. At that moment he knew what is was, and he felt more relief rushing over him. The thud from the floor, the dragging noise across the carpet. No mistake could be made. She had fetched the axe. And as his crunched head turned towards her, he could see her face covered in tears, red as a tomato. She raised the axe above her head.

“I love you Erin. Take care of our girl…” he thought, hoping it would somehow be picked up by the most obscure regions of her mind. Like she had picked up his wish for her to get the axe and use if on him. Like they had so often been able to know almost instantly what the other had wanted from them, just by looking into each others eyes. Terry hoped that Erin, the woman he swore to love until death did them apart, would remember him as the human being who gave her foot massages, cuddles when she was sick and fetched her tea when her legs could barely carry her. Not as the bloody zombie, lying on their kitchen floor, clawing at her feet with disfigured nails covered in dark red blood. She looked onto him.

“I love you too…” she said before bringing the axe down on him.