Certain moments come during our turbulent teenage years that mark us, change us. That first kiss, our first car, moving away from home, moments that are etched in our minds for the remainder of our lives. And so it was with me, and my introduction to the world of shambling, rotting, gut munching undead.

It all started one crisp autumn evening closing in on the Halloween season. My aunt had promised to adequately compensate me if I would mind her snot nosed little brats for the evening. She was planning a trip away for the night, and needed me to stay over until  the following morning. Not wanting to be without entertainment once the kids were shuffled off to bed, I headed to my local video store to scour the aisles. Being a fan of horror for years, I always searched out the bloodiest, sickest gore flicks. The most lurid video boxes drew me like a moth to the flame. However, inexplicably, I had not yet dipped my toes into the zombie genre. Luckily, the store had all three of the classic Romero flicks in stock that night, and on a whim, I snatched them up and rushed to the counter determined to change that situation forthwith!

The hours dragged as I waited impatiently for the time when I could safely tuck the kids in for the night. All I could think about was the promise of the horrors to come once I started the ‘Dead’ marathon. Ignoring the whines and cries of my young relatives, I herded them into their room promptly at 9 PM, making dire threats to their safety if they dared to peek their heads out for anything less than a desperate emergency.

Finally, armed with a giant bottle of cola and large bowl of popcorn, it was time to begin…

Seeing as we are all fans here, I will not bore you with the details. We have all witnessed the unraveling of society and people’s sanity. The slow march of the rotters as they inevitably overpower all the survivor’s fortifications. The copious amounts of Karo syrup blood and latex body parts spilled across the screen. Of course, I was hooked from the moment I first heard Johnny utter the phrase “They’re coming to get you, Barbara!”. Until the end credits rolled on ‘Day of the Dead’, I did not move from my comfy viewing spot, except for the occasional bathroom break, to refill my soda, or to change tapes. I sat in the dark for a while, the TV broadcasting nothing but snow, while absorbing all that I had recently witnessed.

To say that from that moment on my life was changed forever is no hyperbole. I watched every zombie movie (good or bad) that I could lay my hands on. I bought books, toys, games, t-shirts. Anything and everything that had to do with the undead. For years, I even had recurring apocalyptic dreams in which I was one of the last humans left in a world full of zombies. Obsessed does not quite convey the depth of my addiction. My friends and I have been involved in heated discussions over the finer points of zombie lore including slow versus fast, voodoo versus science. Many beers have been imbibed while discussing our survival procedures, and best means of defense against the oncoming horde. Luckily, I have found so many like minded individuals who share my predilections, both online and in the real world.

All thanks for my twisted world view must be given to Uncle George and his equally twisted mind. He surely made me the sick man I am today. And I really wouldn’t have it any other way!










2 Responses to “Autopsy”

  1. Ruth says:

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