Infected with a viral story, and it was fun

Author's note: Got tagged by Randal with a story virus and surprisingly both Dragonwife and Wiggles left the house to go shopping so I had some time to get some writing done. Finally rabid Christmas consumerism actually was a help for a change. But the deal was this from I, Splotchy's site:

Here's what I would like to do. I want to create a story that branches out in a variety of different, unexpected ways. I don't know how realistic it is, but that's what I'm aiming for. Hopefully, at least one thread of the story can make a decent number of hops before it dies out.

Randal did his part and then tagged me, along with several others. So if this doesn't make any sense drift over to his excellent place and see the beginning. I hope Randal is cool with what I have done and I hope I followed the rules. But here it goes. As for tagging someone else the only person that might come close to wanting to do this I know,and hasn't already been tagged, is Zombieslayer.

Entering Arkham the banner overhead told of the annual Vegetarian Zombies Association convention with the group's motto underneath, “The living are friends not food.” Somewhere underneath the Disneyworld castle I figured the frost burned body of old Walt was spinning in his frozen capsule with the living dead so obliviously stealing something, however obliquely, from one of his movies and his incestuous domain that his acolytes protected so feverishly. The villainous corporate rat versus the living dead, the zombies just don’t know what they may gotten themselves into. However, happily it wasn’t my fight and I soon saw the bus approaching my destination.

We pulled into the bus station with an ease that seemed bizarre for the pretty young maniac that had piloted this contraption that was probably held together just with good intentions, duct tape, and maybe some sticky slime if the condition of the bus floor was any example. She collected her jacket as she adjusted her miniskirt that had ridden further up her thigh exposing a tattoo of some cute teddy bear eating the remains of a small child, the symbol of an old rock band whose music now was standard on the oldies and easy listening stations these days. I felt the old stirrings of youth and lust just under the surface of my ancient and stoic exterior, so much so that I focused my electric eye ever closer on the near busting cleavage her blouse barely contained. My mind began wandering and for someone like me that is always a mistake.

“So how about asking me about Dagon?” I heard her say which brought me back quickly to this particular reality. I looked up refocusing my eye to see her standing right next to me, her face cold and so lovely inhuman with her black hair flowing off the side of one shoulder.

“Excuse me miss?” I coughed out startled and embarrassed.

“If you want to do more than just look at the goods you have to come to our seminar. Dagon will not only show you the path to eternal glory and power but we have timeshares on the coast that frankly only foolish mortals would pass up.”

The vision before me now seemed tainted and spoiled. Dagon was nothing but a minor real estate deity hawking cheap condos and low financing, such a waste. After disengaging myself from her the best I could I made my way off the bus careful not to forget the small leather bag I was carrying and began walking through the bus station looking for the entity that I had to give the bag.

The whole spectrum of living, living dead, undead, possessed, phantoms, and spirits mingled in the dirty environment of Arkham’s bus station. My electric eye caught sight of some poor zombie, apparently here for the convention, on his cell phone trying to explain to his wife how he fell off the wagon and ate some living person. The sadness I saw in his eyes was awful, even the one hanging out the socket dangling by the crusty remains of his optic nerve. However, sitting off away from all the rest was some very pale fellow dressed in nice black slacks, white oxford shirt, black jacket and shoes holding a sign that said: Winford Picklesworth, the entity I was suppose to meet.

Walking up to him I quickly realized that Winford was a vampire. We exchanged greetings with me careful not to expose my neck and tempt the undead creature with my old but still valuable blood.

“Not to worry sir,” he politely said. “I’m just here to get my package from you.” Instantly I felt at ease with this creature of the night and didn’t know why. While for mortal appearances he looked around his late twenties to early thirties my experienced guess was that he had to be closer to three hundred.

“Well young man,” taking into account what I thought his true age was, “here you go. “I must say that while professionally I shouldn’t ask I’m curious to why so much would be spent to pay for an in person delivery?” As soon as the words left my mouth I figured the good undead man would go all vampire and do something like rip my head off.

“I’m so glad you asked.” Winford said as he took possession of the leather bag and opened it. “Because when I get a chance to praise the Lord to the unsaved I feel it is my duty to spread his word.”

In shock I recoiled to see him pull out a specially crafted cross and bible from the bag. It was then I realized that I had run across the strangest thing in at least three parallel universes. He was a member of “Vampires for Jesus” and the cross and bible I brought for him and been specially blessed by none other than big dude in Rome. Needless to say I got the hell out of there claiming that my electric eye was about to die out. As I walked away I couldn’t help but wonder where in the world did freaks like him come from?