Zombies in the pub
The pub was crowded. It was always crowded, and the regulars were used to it. But tonight, there was something different about the atmosphere.
Everyone could feel it: an electric charge in the air that made them look at each other and wonder if they were alone in feeling it.
But then, from across the room, someone laughed, then another person laughed, and soon all of them were laughing.
They were still laughing when the zombies came in through the door.
The pub was dark and silent. There was a slight chill in the air, but it was nothing to worry about. Just another quiet night in the pub.
Suddenly, there was a banging noise from inside the kitchen. A man stepped out of the shadows and walked over to the door. He opened it slowly and peered in, squinting into the darkness of the kitchen. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he saw something moving on the other side of the room. It was a person—or at least, it looked like one; they were covered in blood and their eyes were glowing green.
The man backed away from the door quickly, shutting it behind him as he turned around to run away from whatever creature had come into his pub!
Zombies were everywhere.
The pub was packed with the undead, and they were making a terrible mess of the place. The stench of dead flesh was inescapable, and the smell of spilled beer wafted through the air. The zombies' ragged clothes hung from their bodies like they had been put on without any care for how they looked or fit.
It was a sight that I couldn't get out of my mind. They were all staring at me, with their sunken eyes and slack faces, as if they knew what I was thinking about them!
I wanted to run away—but there was nowhere to go.
It was just your typical day at the pub. I was sitting at the bar, munching on a piece of cheese, when I saw this guy walk in. He was wearing a suit, and he looked like he'd just been to a funeral or something—his face was pale and his eyes were red from crying, but he didn't look like he had been crying recently.
He sat down on a stool next to me and ordered a glass of whiskey. As soon as the bartender poured it for him, he slammed it back like it was water instead of alcohol. He took a deep breath, then started talking to me: "You know that movie The Return Of The Living Dead?"
I shook my head.
"Well," he said slowly, "there's this zombie flick where these zombies get into an old pub at night and kill everyone there."
I frowned at him and said, "That's not how zombies work."
"But think about it," he said. "If there were zombies in an old pub like that one day… how would you escape?"
I thought about it for a minute before answering: "I guess I'd try going outside."
It was a normal Monday night at the pub. The regulars had already come and gone, and the after-work crowd was just starting to trickle in.
The door opened, and a man entered. He looked around, then went to sit at the bar.
"What can I get you?" asked the bartender.
The man leaned forward and said, "I'll have a beer."
"What kind?" asked the bartender.
"A cold one," replied the man.
The bartender laughed, "Okay," he said, "Coming right up!" He pulled out a mug and poured some beer into it from the tap behind him. Then he placed it on the counter in front of his customer. "There you go," he said cheerfully."
"Thanks," said the man as he picked up his drink and took a sip from it. But when he lowered it back down again, there was something wrong: there were two more customers sitting next to him at the bar! And they were both drinking... blood!