MicroHorror

Bruce Waltemeyer was living the hermit’s life even before the dead started walking the earth. He owned a cabin in Nova Scotia, went to town once a month for supplies, and his few conversations with neighbors were strained. The worldwide nightmare had not increased his communicativeness. Waltemeyer would politely assist the few living islanders who made it to his barricaded front door, sharing food or ammunition, but under no circumstances did he let anyone inside. Even with society in ruins, Waltemeyer knew he would be judged harshly. In Waltemeyer’s basement, chained to a bed, was an undead girl. Thick chains restrained her limbs, and her body was warmed by eletric blankets. Her head was secured in a guillotine, activated by one push of a panic button. Waltemeyer had cheerleader outfits, nurse’s uniforms, bathing suits and other women’s apparel in the top drawers of a dresser, and knives and branding irons in the other. The undead girls usually lasted a month before Waltemeyer had to hit the panic button. It fit well with his still-monthly trips to town. In addition to scavenging supplies, he would now also find a new undead girl that fit the clothing. Waltemeyer had no one he wished to admit this to, but this was the happiest time of his life.