Oliver Twist and ZOMBIES

by Jonathan Wood

Oliver’s feet quaked.  He felt the dead weight of of the other boys’ eyes upon him.  In his cold clammy palm he held the short stick that he had drawn.  His nerves were deadened as he lurched up the aisle, his empty bowl clutched in the other hand.

Mr Bumble, the beadle, looked down upon with disdain, as a gentleman might were he to find the rotting corpse of a mouse lurking in his salad.

“Yes, boy?” he said.  “What is it, boy?”

“P-p-p-please, sir,” Oliver’s voice wavered.

“What is it, boy?  Out with it boy!”

“P-p-please sir,” Oliver’s failing voice, hitched, paused, then continued, “may I have some more?”

“More?” roared Mr Bumble.  “MORE?”  He swelled with indignation.  That a boy in his care, one with the good fortune to benefit from the graces of he, the Beadle, should ask for more, more than God Himself had seen fit to give the boy, why the thought angered him beyond all reason.  He built up for one more explosive ejaculation of the word-

However, he got no further, for at that precise moment, the boys leaped up as one, fell upon his and feasted upon his brains.

THE END