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Zombie
Cinderella |
Cinderella
stared down
at the
parchment
invitation
in her hands
with dismay.
All
marriageable
women in the
kingdom are
invited to
the Prince's
Courtship
Ball, where
he will
choose his
new wife.
The timing
of it was
perfectly
lousy. Two
days ago,
she'd have
been able to
go to the
ball. She
would have
impressed
the prince
with her
pretty
blonde hair
and her shy
demeanor,
and he would
have chosen
her over all
the other
marriageable
maidens in
the land.
But two days
ago, one of
her evil
step-sisters
had hit her
over the
back of the
head with a
shovel and
tossed her
into the
rubbish-pile
and covered
her with
compost.
Cinderella
hadn't
ironed her
favorite
dress right,
and it had
made her
step-sister
quite
furious.
Step-Mama
hadn't been
pleased
about
Cinderella’s
unfortunate
‘accident’
at all. It
was the
waste of a
perfectly
good unpaid
servant, and
those were
terribly
hard to come
by. And so,
before
Cinderella
had even
been dead
for a full
day,
Step-Mama
had hired
the local
necromancer
and risen
her
step-daughter
back from
the dead,
with quite
amiable
results. The
girl had
returned
with none of
that sassy
attitude and
toiled
endlessly
for her
family’s
benefit.
It was a
win-win
situation,
really.
Cinderella's
life had
pretty much
continued
uninterrupted
after that,
save for the
smell that
seemed to
follow her
around, the
gaping wound
on her head
that still
oozed upon
occasion,
and her need
to eat raw
flesh. But
she could
still cook,
and clean,
and help her
sisters into
their
corsets, and
Step-Mama
was pleased.
Having
Cinderella
back was
well
worth the
price of the
necromancer's
rather
costly
services.
Of course,
no one had
factored in
that the
prince would
be
interested
in seeing
all
marriageable
ladies of
the kingdom,
or that
Cinderella
would even
want to go
to the ball.
They had
tittered
behind their
gloved hands
when
Cinderella
picked up
the
invitation.
And when she
gestured to
her own
chest,
questioningly,
they shook
their heads
and laughed.
Not
Cinderella.
No ball for
her. That
would simply
not do.
So her
stepsisters
had put on
their best
gowns and
ridden off
with
Step-Mama in
the family's
finest
carriage.
Cinderella
had stayed
in the
kitchen and
mourned. Now
she would
never see
the handsome
prince and
marry him.
It made her
sad. She'd
tried
chasing down
a live
chicken for
her dinner,
but
rigor-mortis
had set into
her hips and
she couldn't
stagger fast
enough to
keep up with
it. Unhappy,
Cinderella
returned to
the kitchen
and settled
for chewing
on the dead
mice hanging
out of the
mousetraps
in the
corner of
the kitchen.
As she
ate, she
stared at
the pretty
invitation.
The
occasional
moans of
displeasure
erupted from
her throat,
mixed with
gas from her
decaying
innards.
A burst of
light
flashed in
the kitchen,
and she
raised her
arm to
shield her
eyes.
Something
cracked and
went loose
in her arm,
but it still
functioned
well enough,
and she
peered
around her
hand.
A small, fat
woman in a
bright pink
gown stood
there,
coughing. A
glittery
wand flashed
in her hand,
and she
waved the
other one to
clear the
smoke in the
room.
"Cinderella,"
she cried
out. "Are
you hear, my
dear?"
"Braaaaains,"
said
Cinderella,
shuffling to
her feet.
She wanted
to say
hello, but
nothing else
seemed to
come out. "Braaains."
The fairy
godmother
took a step
back. "Oh,
my." She
stared at
the figure
of the girl
before her,
and adjusted
a small pair
of
wire-rimmed
spectacles
on the tip
of her nose.
"You're
Cinderella?"
"Braiiins,"
Cinderella
said in a
small voice,
agreeing.
"Oh dear."
The fairy
godmother
pocketed the
wand and
pulled out a
small book,
licking the
tip of her
finger and
flipping
through it.
"The guide
doesn't say
anything
about the
undead."
Cinderella
waited. The
small woman
pursed her
lips a few
times, and
even turned
the book
upside down
once. Long
moments
passed.
Then,
finally, the
fairy
godmother
shrugged. "I
suppose the
rules still
apply after
all.” She
tilted her
head and
bouncy
little grey
sausage
curls
wiggled atop
her head.
“My name is
Muffin. I’m
your fairy
godmother,
and I was
sent here to
grant your
wish, my
dear. What
would you
desire?"
Muffin gave
a great
flourish of
her wand as
if to
demonstrate
that she
meant
business.
Poor
Cinderella
knew that if
she opened
her mouth,
only one
word would
come out. So
she picked
up the
invitation
and showed
it to the
fairy
godmother.
The fairy
godmother
peered at
the
document,
her eyes
moving back
and forth as
she read. "I
see," she
said at
last. "You
want to go
to the ball
and meet the
prince?"
Cinderella
moaned in a
sound that
she hoped
was
agreement.
There was a
pause, and
then the
fairy
godmother
sighed.
"Well, my
dear, I'm
going to be
very honest.
You smell
absolutely
awful, and
I'm not sure
that you
qualify as
marriageable
if you're
undead. But
if it's your
wish, I'll
help you."
She wrinkled
her nose.
"First,
though, you
need a bath
and a
hairbrush."
#
Two hours
later, the
fairy
godmother
had done
everything
she could
for poor
Cinderella.
Dressing her
had been
quite an
ordeal, and
rather
taxing on
poor
Muffin’s
nerves.
First came
the bath and
the
grooming. It
was a bit of
a futile
exercise, as
no amount of
magical
scrubbing
could quite
shake the
rancid smell
of
Cinderella’s
putrifying
flesh from
her skin.
The
solution,
Muffin
decided, was
lots and
lots of
powder. She
covered the
poor girl in
it from head
to toe.
“It’s all
the vogue in
Paris, my
dear,” she
explained,
fluttering
her fingers
over
Cinderella
as she
dusted her
skin.
Once that
was done,
there was
the matter
of her hair,
and the
gaping
scalp-wound
that no one
had bothered
to even
disguise.
Muffin had
to count
backwards
from a
thousand (so
as not to
lose her
lunch) as
she teased
Cinderella’s
blonde hair
into a big
bouffant
large enough
to cover the
head wound.
To help hide
the ‘problem
area’, she
waved her
wand and a
big fluffy
bow tied
itself over
the pouf of
hair.
A gown of
ice blue
silk was
next, of
course.
Muffin
decided on
an empire
waistline,
so as to
hide
Cinderella’s
bloating
middle. The
zombie
looked quite
pleased at
the dress,
and tried to
twirl as she
gazed in the
mirror, but
Muffin put a
stop to that
right away.
“If you fall
and break
something,
my dear,
powder won’t
cover it.”
The shoes
turned out
to be the
most
problematic
of all.
Since poor
Cinderella
spent all
her waking
hours (which
was all
hours,
really)
since her
death on her
feet, most
of the blood
in her body
had pooled
to them, and
they were
quite
bloated.
However, she
could not go
to the ball
without
shoes.
Muffin
picked up
one of the
dainty glass
slippers and
eyed it
critically.
“I’m afraid
we have a
bit of a
problem, my
dear. The
wand will
only order
things in
your last
known size,
and these
won’t quite
fit.”
Crack!
She looked
down and saw
Cinderella
break off
her big toe.
Crack! The
matching one
on the other
side went as
well. Crack
crack! The
two pinky
toes on each
foot went
next, and
after that,
the zombie
picked up
the shoe and
slid it on
with a wet
slurp.
“Success,”
Muffin said
in a faint
voice, and
fanned
herself.
Thank God
she was off
the clock at
midnight.
Dressed and
ready to go,
Cinderella
smiled at
her fairy
godmother.
She looked
like quite
an
acceptable
vision of
loveliness –
powdered,
her hair
teased and
perfect, and
her dress
beautiful
enough to
match any
courtier at
Versailles.
Now the girl
just needed
to keep her
mouth shut
to hide her
rancid
breath.
”Ready to go
to the ball,
my dear?”
“Braaains.”
“Oh, my.”
Muffin
pursed her
lips.
“Perhaps you
should
refrain from
talking, my
girl. You
should work
on
incorporating
an air of
mystery. Men
like that
sort of
thing.”
The zombie
smiled shyly
in
agreement.
“Now.” The
fairy
godmother
glanced at
the window.
“Is there
another
carriage in
the stable?
No?” Of
course not.
Nothing this
evening had
been easy.
Muffin went
outside and
pulled her
wand back
out of her
purse. She
scanned the
courtyard
and spied a
vegetable
patch
nearby. “Get
me a
pumpkin, my
dear.”
Cinderella
returned, a
few minutes
later,
half-rotten
pumpkin in
hand.
Perhaps the
poor thing
gravitated
towards
wrongness
now. Ah
well.
“Mice?”
The zombie
pulled out a
half-gnawed
rodent from
a pocket of
her silk
dress. It
seemed that
Cinderella
had been
saving a few
snacks for
later.
Muffin
blanched and
took the
mouse
between her
forefingers
and waved
her wand at
it, and then
the pumpkin.
A few
moments
later, a
carriage and
horse stood
at the
ready. She
just hoped
that no one
would take a
closer look
and notice
the dead
look in the
horse’s eye
or the fact
that the
interior of
the coach
smelled like
rotten
gourds.
Cinderella
extended
both of her
arms and
began to
shamble
towards the
coach with
delight. “Braaaaains!”
Muffin’s
smile
faltered as
she waved
goodbye to
her charge.
“Have a
lovely time,
my dear. And
remember,
you want an
air of
mystery.”
The zombie
groaned
something in
response,
and as she
stepped into
the
carriage,
something
snapped. The
fairy
godmother
didn’t stick
around to
see what it
was.
She needed a
stiff drink.
#
She was
still
drinking at
the fairy
godmother
bar -
Stardust -
when her
boss came up
to her the
next
morning,
newspaper in
hand.
“Muffin?”
She glanced
up at him
blearily,
pulling her
mimosa
closer to
her. “What
is it?”
The
newspaper
plunked down
on the bar
counter,
sticking to
the wet
rings left
from her
previous
drinks. A
quick glance
at her
boss’s face
told Muffin
that he was
not pleased,
so she
leaned over
to read the
headline.
ZOMBIE ON
THE LOOSE AT
FAIRY TALE
BALL.
HANDSOME
PRINCE
KILLED,
RISES FROM
THE DEAD.
Oh, my. That
Cinderella
knew how to
get her man.
“What does
this tell
you,
Muffin?”
It told her
that the
Fairy
Godmother
Handbook
needed
chapters on
undead. It
told her
that true
love always
found a way,
even if it
involved
eating the
brain of
those you
loved.
It certainly
told her
that men
were stupid,
if the
prince was
fooled
enough to
let
Cinderella
get close
enough to
chew on him.
But she
suspected
her boss
wouldn’t
want to hear
any of that.
So Muffin
picked up
her drink
and peered
up at her
boss,
squinting
through her
glasses. She
took a slurp
of her drink
before
thinking out
her answer,
quite
carefully.
“I think it
tells me
that I need
a vacation.” |
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