First Time Zombie Fucker
a Now That’s Fucking Hardcore! Story
by Nicola C. Matthews
© 2011 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 Lisa Kripsky being fawned all over by the popular crowd all because she had fucked not one but three zombies in the last six months. Fucking show-off.
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.
I checked my watch. It was nearing midnight. Time to get started.
I tossed my duffle bag full of magic tricks onto the headstone. The rope around my waist tightened a bit, the goat on the other end giving a soft bleat as I pulled him forward. I think it knew that something was not right, that its life was rapidly approaching its final few minutes. But I couldn’t think of that right now. I had to prepare.
I rummaged through my bag and pulled out the metal stake and small hammer. I drove the stake into the ground next to the headstone and staked out my sacrifice. All the websites I had consulted said that a chicken would work in most instances, but the longer the person had been dead or the longer you wanted them above the earth, the greater the blood sacrifice needed to be. I wasn’t about to take any chances. Ashton had only been dead a few years by my reckoning, but I wanted him ‘alive’ and kicking for a good three hours.
I figured if I was going to fuck a zombie, I might as well enjoy myself. Judging by all the photos I had seen, Ashton was one seriously hot, albeit seriously deranged man. That was of little consequence. The spell that I was using had a built in safety device that would not allow the raised dead to inflict harm onto the living. Well, it was designed so that it couldn’t inflict deadly harm to the living. I liked my men a little rough around the edges, if you know what I mean, and Ashton was about as rough around the edges as they come. But so long as he didn’t try to draw blood, I would be fine. And that had been one of Ashton’s favorite things to do, whip his victims until they bled. If he tried that, the joke would be on him. My blood is what would send him back into the grave, so if he tried anything he would immediately return to the earth from which I had called him.
Now that the goat was secured and bleating softly into the night, I pulled out the blessed sea salt and drew a huge circle around the grave. I had checked the blueprints of the graveyard and lucky for me, Ashton was planted securely away from the other graves. I was able to draw a really nice sized circle, big enough for us to play in and without fear that I would accidently raise up another body that was buried nearby.
I tossed the bottle of salt back into the bag. I dug around some more and brought out the little wooden bowl, the small packets of ingredients for the incantation, the ceremonial sacrificial silver dagger, and the printed spell that I had found on NecromancyMadeEasy.com. Satisfied that I had everything, I poured all the ingredients in