by Jess Howe

Created on: August 02, 2009

"BLAAAAAUGH... OH, /#$"#.'$I%$...!"

Crash.

The other zombies howled with laughter as Plourgh's voice trailed off in a string of expletives. It was the fourth day of taping, and the cooking show was going to go well if this kept up, Jlurth thought, wriggling the bone on his left pinky till it oozed and there was more sweet pain. He'd really had a stroke of genius bringing in people this week who had killed the contestants. Heh. _I will get the best ratings - I'll beat Demon Chess this week if it disembodies me_! This was so good, it made a person nauseous. Two of the boom guys had already hurled as their cameras swung them around in circles following Plourgh. "Cut! Send in the next miscreant!" he yelled over the din. The Undead Chickens - victims of some voodoo craze - were practicing for their commercial-break-time.

A cute little toad princess hopped in. Zayla had made the best rotten pizza that week, so she had a shave for that challenge. Jlurth dreamed of squeezing his head into her thigh, she was so luscious when she changed form. Zayla detested him, though. She scowled at the director as usual.

For Zayla he'd found the witch who'd cursed her, or who claimed to have done it. The cash paid to guests on The Decomposing Chef was pretty good, and his stupid producer Wee Wee didn't do background checks too often. So any loon who wanted badly enough to be able to pay his or her way into Heaven or Hell could get on, with a good enough story.

Jlurth winked at the toad who ignored him, awaiting her cue to start talking. He wondered if she was this bad to guys when she was alive.

"Phone call," remarked his agent Micha, handing him a dead cell. "Your bookie."

Jlurth spat a tooth at him. The bookie was an important contact to have in the Live world. You got yourself into a sorcerer's library, you were doing well. Silverfish knew that, and they charged a hefty fee, but the info these insects found was invaluable. So the zombie could take a little grief.

"Yah?"

The voice on the phone was soft and eerie, like the back-end of a light breeze that came just on the edge of a storm at midnight, one that only your primitive brain caught hold of. It was an important fact that no live human could consciously hear that voice, unless maybe he or she were a Tibetan monk or something. "We have found the answer to your problem. You must throw out your old compunctions and give everything to the Save the Children fund..."

"Stop that!" Jlurth howled

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