Diary of a Gay Teenage Zombie Read online

  Justin MacCormack

  DIARY OF A GAY TEENAGE ZOMBIE

  © 2014, Justin MacCormack

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  This book is non-strippable

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

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  This book has been thoroughly edited to remove any flaws and errors. If however you discover any, please contact [email protected] so that they can be rectified.

  DIARY

  OF A GAY

  TEENAGE

  ZOMBIE

  by

  Justin MacCormack

  Also available by Justin MacCormack

  About the Author

  Born in Glasgow, Justin MacCormack lives on the South coast of England in the city of Portsmouth with a collection of pet rats.

  Always someone with a keen interest in the dark side of narrative fiction, he has read and written an extensive collection of dark fantasy and horror fiction, and has earned a bachelor of arts in film and media.

  His hobbies include classic cinema, photography, and roleplaying games (of which he plays and runs regularly). He loves 'Vampire: The Masquerade', because he is a pretentious bastard.

  His literary influences include Neil Gaiman and Clive Barker. He grew up reading the Fighting Fantasy choose-your-own-adventure gamebooks and now runs the popular blog site http://fightyourfantasy.blogspot.co.uk/

  Justin enjoys mixing genres and defying established genre conventions, explaining that the most important thing is to make the audience feel. He can be contacted at [email protected]

  If you’ve ever felt that you just don’t fit in,

  this book is dedicated to you.

  Contents

  December 2013

  January 2014

  February 2014

  March 2014

  April 2014

  May 2014

  June 2014

  Discussion Question

  DIARY OF A GAY TEENAGE ZOMBIE

  December

  27 December 2013

  If my dad was able to understand me, I'd have a heart attack.

  It was Christmas two days ago, the last Christmas I'm going to have before I turn sixteen years old and am officially too old to really have any fun. You would think that to commemorate such a tragic affair, my dad would have done his best to pull together something special, like a car.

  Instead, he handed me a thick, brown leather book. "Jay," he said, "You're growing up now. Soon you'll be a man - you're already as tall as me. I know how difficult these years can be" - he couldn't have been more wrong about that! - "So I've got you this diary."

  I looked at the thick old book and I was stunned. What did he expect me to do with it? Write in it? By hand? Had he never heard of the internet? What's the point of keeping a diary if the stuff you write can't be read by everyone online? I smiled to him and thanked him, but really, I was so disappointed that all I could do was sit and play on my new X-Box for the rest of the day.

  Then, yesterday, I realised just what I could use this thing for. There are things about me that nobody knows. Things I don't want them to know. Things that make me different from everybody else.

  Maybe this diary won't be so useless after all.

  28 December 2013

  Mom woke me up early today (who gets up at eleven on a Saturday? Crazy people, that's who!) to head out to the shops. She wanted to grab some 'early January sales'. I think she's starting to lose her mind.

  I barely had time to finish my make-up this morning. Mom was banging on the bathroom door, shouting at me to get ready. She never acts like this when it's her own make-up that she's doing. I didn't even need to use make-up a year ago, anyway. It's only since what happened during the summer. If she ever saw me without my make-up, she'd have a fit. So would everyone.

  After trudging through the town centre for almost two hours, we went into one store and I finally caught sight of something I actually like; a lovely new pair of Ray-Bans. The pair of sunglasses sat in their glass shelf, all strong angles and sleek darkness, and I could just feel them calling to me. Ever since the 'incident' over the summer, sunglasses have sadly become a part of my daily wear. My eyes are probably the one part that's fairing the worst. But don't get me wrong here, this was a sexy pair of Ray-Bans in any case.

  So I hurried over and grabbed mom by the elbow, and showed her the pair. "Can I?" I asked. "It's ten percent off. Down to only a hundred and ten."

  Mom bought me a £3 pair from Tesco instead. Don't think she understands me, either.

  29 December 2013

  Sunday today. It feels kinda appropriate to write about this on the Lord's Day, I guess. Here goes.

  I first became what I am last summer, though it feels like it happened in another lifetime. Maybe it did, I guess.

  It was my first time, too. I had been on holiday with my family over the summer, and I'd been dragged by my family to our usual holiday spot of Florida. I must admit that, at my age, holidays with your parents are just the worst thing ever. It means that you're almost always under their supervision, except for the rare few moments when you're able to sneak away and meet some people your own age.

  The pier was the place to be, always has been. That was where I'd first seen him - my first love. Or he would be, if I could remember his name. I had saw him through the crowds of the arcade. He wasn’t much older than me, but his hair was cropped short, his ears were beaded with piercings. He wore a sleeveless Dragonforce t-shirt, his wrists were covered in studded leather bands, and he was jamming away at Virtua Fighter like a diva.

  It took all the courage I had just to go up and talk to him. To make a long story short, it wasn’t long until we were kissing heavily around the back of one of the pier’s cafés. I’d never kissed anyone before, I could hardly breath, my dick was running laps around the block. It was bliss. I was in heaven.

  Then it all ended when he bit a chunk of skin clear off my neck. He was sputtering, mouth plastered in blood and apologising. I was too busy clutching my bleeding neck and screaming. He ran into the crowd, looking utterly panicked and terrified (not nearly as much as I was, though) and I never saw him again. So much for first love.

  I padded the wound down with cotton wool, bandaged and plastered it up, and told my parents that I had cut it by leaning against a nail protruding from a piece of wood on the pier. The wound eventually healed over, but it still leaves a long, brittle scar.

  For the next few days I felt very sick. Fever, vomiting, the whole lot. I spent the rest of the holiday curled up under a blanket in the bed of my hotel room. I could barely think because of the fever, it was terrible and I felt like I was dying. I had no idea at the time that I literally was. My heart stopped beating at 1.27 in the afternoon, and hasn't beat since.

  I didn't want to dwell too much on the past, it makes me feel damn stupid. On the plus side, I've always been pale, so nobody has really noticed the difference.

  30 December 2013

  The hardest thing to admit? I still miss summer guy.

  31 December 2013

  I don't think I like New Years.

  Granny Liz arrived at three o'clock. She was the first guest for the evening, and because of her advanced age she travels almost exclusively by train, because roads give her jitters. Mom, dad and myself bundled into the car and drove down to Victoria Stat
ion to meet her. We pushed through the crowded groups until we eventually caught sight of Granny Liz, a tiny little figure hobbling along on two walking sticks, her little barking dog Precious in tow.

  Dad rushed forward to hug her, and noticed that she was holding a large and very heavy plastic bag, dangling from her walking stick. "Gran, what is that?"

  Granny Liz gave a soft, happy smile and said "Oh Tony, it's just some money for my grand-daughter's wedding."

  Dad looked at mom, then back at Granny Liz. Several other people looked at Granny Liz, including quite a few people who looked like they might enjoy mugging old ladies for a hobby.

  "How much did you bring?" asked Dad.

  Holding out the bag, Granny Liz opened it and said "Just a couple of thousand, hun." We both looked into the bag. A huge number of bank notes looked back at us. "Do you think it will be enough?" she asked.

  Several people shuffled closer to us.

  We hurried out of the station quicker than I could blink. Dad kept glancing behind him over his shoulder, which made him look even more suspicious. I was bundled into the back seat with Granny Liz, who sat her dog beside me. Precious took to snarling and barking at me angrily. Twice she tried to bite my arm clean off! Each time, Granny Liz smiled and laughed, "She's so playful" she said. Is it any wonder I've grown up to be an utter psychological mess?

  Granny Liz has spent the last few hours quizzing dad on every small detail of his last year, multiple times. "Yes Gran, mom sends her love. No Gran, I don't work at the plumbing company any more, they closed down five years ago." She then forgets dad's answers, and he tells her them all over again, all the while signalling mom to keep pouring Granny Liz some more wine.

  At about six o’clock, the moment I’d been dreading had arrived; Uncle Frank got here. And from the sound he made, I was sure that he’d already been drinking.

  After another half an hour, Uncle Frank had settled in and taken up residence on the sofa, and had taken a break from telling us about how lovely his seventh new-born child was to let us all know how much he disliked immigrants on a very, very personal level. "You want to keep an eye on him" he said to my mother, pointing at myself, "Let him wear all that eye-liner like that and he'll turn into a queer." My mother gave him a polite smile and nodded, as she always does with him. Even despite the fact that he's a homophobic, xenophobic creep, my mom loves him. She had missed him a lot, after all, he had only just got out of prison.

  As it approached midnight, I was starting to get hungry. That's the big problem with being, well, what I am. The Z-word. I mumbled an 'excuse me' and hurried into the kitchen to cook up a burger. When the hunger takes over and I start to lose control, any meat will do. So as I chucked a handful of mincemeat into a frying pan, I kept telling myself that if Precious tried to bite me again, I'd wind up biting her back. My cooking was interrupted by dad, who marched into the kitchen and barked "What are you doing?"

  "Making a snack" I said.

  "No time for that," he exclaimed, "It's almost midnight. You need to first foot!"

  I'd been hoping that dad would have forgotten about that stupid old tradition. Every year, he insisted that I recreate this pointless thing, purely to satisfy his Scottish ancestors. Dad hasn't ever been to Scotland, but he insists that, by Scottish tradition, the first visitor to a house on the new year should be a tall dark-haired man baring a bottle of wine. And given that I have dark hair, I'm the poor sod who has to do this.

  So he ushered me outside, pushing an old bottle of cheap red into my hands, and I'm sure it's the same bottle from last year. It's utterly freezing outside. He shuts the door, and I check my watch. I shiver, cold and counting down the seconds. Three, two, one, and I knock on the door. Dad yanks it open and cheerily shouts "Happy new year!"

  "Yeah, whatever" I grumble and hand him his bottle of wine.

  January

  1 January 2014

  I was woken up today by a blazing argument from the living room. I pulled on a t-shirt and shorts and stumbled downstairs to see Uncle Fred and dad having a huge row. Uncle Fred was insisting that dad lost his job at the plumbing company because of immigrants having taken all the jobs, but dad said it was because of the politicians having ruined the economy. I said that I thought it was because the director of the company embezzled all the money and ran off to the Bahamas with a twenty-year old supermodel, which was what the newspapers had said. They both told me to shut up.

  I am running out of foundation for my skin, and the shops aren't open until tomorrow. I'm going to need to ration it out. I don't like wearing make-up. It makes me feel like a cross-dresser or something. But in the months since I was bitten, my natural skin colour has grown less and less, well, natural. For the first few weeks it was just pale, and I could shrug that off. But around September, it started to turn grey. It takes about half an hour each morning to apply enough make-up for me to be able to pass for a normal, living person.

  I'd love to know how other people like me manage. I wish I knew if there even were other people like me. I've combed the internet back and forth, and can't find anything. It's not as if we have our own subculture, our own social networking websites or anything. If I met another one like me, I'd have so many questions. How many of us are there? How do we pass as normal? Why am I not stumbling around begging for the taste of brains? Wish I knew the answers to those questions. But the guy who made me what I am didn't stick around to tell me.

  Dad is going to be having a barbeque later this evening. On the plus side, this means that knowing my dad's cooking; I'll be getting some food which will be very undercooked, which is as close to raw meat as I think I can stomach.

  2 January 2014

  My aunt Claire arrived with her daughter Susan this morning to pick up Granny Liz. It was so early that Uncle Frank was still asleep on the sofa, snoring like a bull elephant. Susan gave Granny Liz a hug and, when Granny Liz gave her that bag full of money for her wedding, she broke down into tears. She didn't count it, and I'm willing to bet that at least some of it has wound its way into Uncle Frank's pocket when nobody was looking.

  Susan was so happy that she has decided to use part of the money to have a honeymoon in Venice. Granny Liz said "I've been to Venice, did you know that?"

  "Yes Granny, you told us all about it" I said.

  "It was so lovely, Frank." she said.

  "I'm Jay" I reminded her. At her advanced age, I guess that the memory starts to go a bit wonky.

  She shook her head and said "That's not a good name for a boy."

  Frank, who had just woke up, grumbled "I'll say" as he trudged upstairs to the bathroom.

  Trying to change the subject, I said to Granny Liz "I'm sure that Susan will love her trip to Venice."

  Granny Liz's eyes lit up, and she said "I've been to Venice, did you know that?"

  Two hours later, which felt like an eternity, Granny Liz climbed into aunt Claire's car with Susan. Mom and dad hugged Granny Liz gently, like she was a dry twig. Granny Liz cried and promised to see everyone again as soon as possible. It was all very emotional. When Uncle Frank left later on in the day, he said "Catch you later" to mom and then said to dad "You want to get that son of yours sorted out, or he's going to grow up to be a homo."

  The moment that me, mom and dad had the house to ourselves again, we all breathed a massive sigh of relief.

  3 January 2014

  Today I was out walking in the park. I saw two people walking their dogs. Both dogs were sharing an intimate moment, a big Doberman was trying to mount and hump the brains out of the other walker's tiny little Jack Russell. All I could think was how lucky the Jack Russell was. School starts up again next week and I'm going to be the only virgin in the entire year, again!

  4 January 2014

  This morning I came to the conclusion that I have the ugliest ears in the history of the human race. I’m not exactly Mr Spock or anything, but if these things were to drop off, it’d technically be a bit of a blessing.

  They do se
ll fake ears, right? In joke shops, I mean.

  5 January 2014

  I got some extra packets of meat from the corner shop today. I try to have a few close at hand during the school day in order to take the edge off. That makes me sound like a junkie. The problem is simply being surrounded by other people. No, by LIVING people. I get hungry. If I don't have at least one extra-thick ham sandwich before the end of first period, I start to look at the other kids around me as if they were just walking snack bars.

  Although there's a few guys in gym class that I look at like that anyway, but for another reason. Y'know, if I was a sexy type of undead, like a vampire or something, I'm sure I'd have some kind of supernatural power to bring any guy I liked under my charismatic control.

  Best I can hope for is to decompose over someone's shoes. How romantic.

  6 January 2014

  I spoke with CC today in art class. It's one of the few classes that I really enjoy, and Claire Chambers (CC) is one of the cooler people in school. She told me that over Christmas, her dad got so drunk that he threw up into his own aquarium and killed the fish.

  Sometimes I'm not sure I like it when she tells me these stories. But either way we do tend to stick together, and not just because we dress so much alike in various shades of black. She's a good friend, and she has a mean collection of banned movies.

  7 January 2014

  During lunch break, Scott Jackson swaggered up to us and asked us to guess what he got for Christmas. Both me and CC made a game of guessing ridiculous things. "A dead rat. Four postal stamps. Seven bags of sand. Twelve dustbins. Three codeine tablets. Two little sisters. A partridge in a pear tree."