Russell Brandt, still in his work uniform, stood over the oven. A big, juicy steak was grilling nicely in a well-oiled pan. He gave the saucepan at the back a stir with a wooden spoon, which boiled away furiously. Bits of broccoli and carrot swirled up and down like drowning seamen trapped under a heavy current.
His white shirt, now un-tucked, was creased around the bottom from being stuffed down his trousers all day. His black-and-red striped tie hung loosely around his neck. He knew there was no point in wearing one but he liked to look presentable at dinner. It made Mrs. Brandt smile.
Russell gave the steak a prod with a pair of BBQ tongs. “Perfect.” It was more than well-done, practically charcoal. He picked it up with the tongs and placed it on a bed of lettuce leaves that had been stacked up on his plate. He quickly drained the vegetables and had himself a large portion alongside his steak.
He placed his plate on the top shelf of a three-tiered serving cart. On the middle and bottom shelves were two more plates, both accompanied with steaks, but unlike Russell’s these two were rare; so rare that they bathed in a pool of their own juices.
The Brandt family had a beautiful living room. It had burgundy wallpaper with white skirting boards and a golden glass chandelier dangling from the ceiling. Family photos were pinned to the walls. A large cream sofa faced a television. It was plugged in but it didn’t work. A lovely dining room joined onto the living room. Mrs. Brandt and their 10 year-old daughter Angel sat at the table like statues. A couple of jugs and empty glasses sat around a candelabrum in the centre.
Russell rolled in from the corridor with the serving cart. “Dinner’s ready, my loves.” He put his hearty meal at his end of the table. He looked around the dimly-lit room, then at his watch. 5:45pm. “I always find it hard to adjust to this time of year. It gets dark so early.”
Russell drew open the curtains. The windows were boarded up from the outside, so what little light was left from the October sun squeezed through the gaps. Russell took another look around. Unsatisfied, he lit the candles fitted to the candelabrum.
He placed the other two plates in front of his wife and child. He took a moment to admire his family. “You both look so beautiful this evening.”
In the candle-light it was easy to see that his family was anything but beautiful. Both of them had puss-yellow pupils, shattered teeth and decaying flesh. Mrs. Brandt had a hole in her left cheek. Angel’s blonde hair was thick with dirt, and she was missing half an arm. Their dresses were caked with dried blood, probably the same clothes they died in.
Mrs. Brandt and Angel were zombies. For Russell’s convenience he had shackled them to their chairs with chains. Their heads lolled lifelessly, rolling from left to right, unless meat was near-by. They perked up whenever Russell passed by them, eager to take a chunk out of him. With the two plates of raw meat in front of them, sitting in a shallow puddle of blood, the zombies came to life, groaning and chomping.
“Calm down,” Russell said as he unlocked the padlock that held a thick chain around his wife’s waist. As soon as the chain unravelled Mrs. Brandt’s face was in the raw meat, gnawing away like a great white shark. Angel’s grunts became higher pitched.
“I’m coming, baby.” Russell rushed round and unlocked his daughter. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
But Angel didn’t care; she was face-deep in her bloody treat. She got that from her mother.
Russell seated himself. His food was still hot. He tucked a serviette into his shirt and flattened it out. With a big grin on his face he tucked into his well-done steak.
