Lord Fabian

ratties in the rain

You got a job as a graveyard keeper, which turned out to be as quiet and relaxing as you expected. Until the zombie apocalypse hit.

Now you’re stuck with a horde of undead who’ve been lonely and deprived of affection for decades, perhaps centuries. They’re not out to eat your brains, but much worse - they’re courting you.

“Dear Mother, the ghoulish harem of suitors persists to this day. I’ve yet to find a cure for this damned plague of reanimation. At least I don’t have to shovel for new graves anymore.”

You put the pen down, then glance out the window. The decomposed face of one of your many admirers is grinning flirtatiously from behind the glass. You sigh.