Walk-Ins
It was two o’clock in the morning when the zombies came into the lobby of the Diamond Motel. Their skin was rotting and their flesh was torn, their eyes stared blankly and their mouths gaped. The night clerk stood terrified, rooted to the spot as they approached the desk.
“It’s okay, we’re not zombies,” said the tallest, who sported a ragged throat wound. He smiled. “Got you good, didn’t we? My name’s Bill.”
“I’m Carlos,” said another. “Sorry. Yeah, we’re just actors. We’re shooting a movie just up the road, in Pasadena.”
The clerk’s heart slowed as he surveyed the motley group. With a clearer head, and free of his initial terror, he could see the seams of the latex appliances, and the small spots where the makeup artist had missed. Despite himself, he smiled back. “Cute, really cute. So, do you guys need rooms?”
Carlos stepped forward. “Actually, no, but we were hoping you could help us out.”
A short while later, the gang of actors emerged from the motel. Their clothes were splashed with fresh bloodstains. Bill thoughtfully picked a shred of flesh from between his teeth.
“Stringy little guy, wasn’t he? But he sure helped us get into character.”
