First Time Zombie Fucker
a Now That’s Fucking Hardcore! story
by Nicola C. Matthews
I know it’s clichéd as hell, but it really was a dark and stormy night. Well, there were thunderstorms earlier in the evening. Now the ash grey clouds had parted and a full moon had risen over the land, giving the charcoal colored landscape a luminescent glow. I was partially thankful for the rains from earlier. It would make my task of raising the dead a bit easier.
This would be my first time to ever attempt such deep magic. Up until now, I had only dabbled in the dark arts, mostly conjuring up elemental spirits and dishing out hexes to the skanks on the cheerleading squad. Raising the dead, well now, that was a whole new level of magic for me. I had been practicing, though, rising up the beloved pets for the neighborhood kids. So far all that had went smoothly. A human being, though, that’s a horse of a different color. I hear it can get pretty tricky. I had pulled everything off the net that I could find, but I still wasn’t sure I could pull this off.
I hadn’t planned on performing this task myself. I had originally asked Anita Blake, sanctioned vampire hunter and certified necromancer, to do the raising for me. That hadn’t gone so well. The bitch said that me wanting to raise my dead boyfriend from his eternal slumber for one last fling wasn’t a good enough excuse to perform the type of magic that was required.
“Whatever,” I had said, “Not my fault you are losing your nerve. I’ll just do it myself.”
Given her reaction to my request, I guess it’s a good thing I hadn’t been totally honest with her. The guy I was about to have claw his way out of the earth wasn’t really my boyfriend. His name was Ashton, and he had been a serial killer.
Why was I about to risk my life to raise up a man who had spent the last decade and a half of his terrifying the entire countryside? Aside from the fact that it was Friday night and I was bored out of my skull, zombie fucking was the latest craze among the teenagers of the country. Call it a rite of passage if you want, but these days you weren’t considered a part of any group until you had officially fucked a zombie. In other words, if you weren’t a zombie fucker, you weren’t anyone. And let’s face it, I was sick to death of everyone falling all over themselves simply because Lisa Kripsky had fucked not one but three zombies in the last six months. Fucking showoff.
So here I was, staring down at the plain headstone marker that merely read “Ashton Jones.” That was it. No birth date, no death date, just a name. But what do you expect for someone who had tortured and killed hundreds of people? The bastard was lucky to even have a marked grave.
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WARNING: contains mature content & links to external adults only forum. Not intended for readers under the age of 18.