Judy and Garland hadn't meant to invite zombies to their party. When they had sent out the invitations, the night after mom and dad had left, they had certainly given no indication that this was to be a 'flesh fest', that cannibalism was acceptable party conduct or that murder in the dark should be played out in the most horrible, gruesome, vomit-inducingest way possible. No, they had intended their party to be in the best of taste, respectable and well-mannered; so it was no fault of theirs that the zombies had made such a horrid mess of things. "Most grizzly" sighed Judy, clutching at the seams of her pinafore. "Most abhorrent" agreed Garland, nodding his sensible well-mannered head. The party had started well enough. They had found the old tartan picnic rug at the bottom of the clothes chest and had laid it out in the middle of the living room in anticipation of any orange juice spillages or toiletry emergencies. With their trim little fingers they had baked gingerheads and shortmen, following the recipe from a dusty voodoo spell book their parents kept hidden in the mouth of the bear-skin rug. When the guests arrived, Garland had stood at the door with a china finger bowl, seeing to it that every guest had washed their fingers before they entered the living room. The finger bowl was very ancient and had been in the family for years. It was painted ruby red and emerald green and was inscribed with the image of two dragons, head over heels, engaged in crazy dragon love. Both Judy and Garland thought the bowl was very funny and deliciously naughty. They hadn't let any of their guests see the bowl, with their stupid tubby faces and high flabby foreheads. Judy snorted profusely at the recollection of them - the nasty brutes! "Yes, the zombies were much cooler" agreed Garland. Neither of them had seen zombies before and they had been thoroughly impressed. Half-way through the party the zombies had paraded through the front door in their finest military dress. The standard-bearer was at the front and he had immediately thrust the tip of his flagpole through the head of an annoying, spotty child called Wheezy Gerkins. Crunch! Splatter! Munch! Oh how the goo had flown! Judy smiled a sharp, toothy grin with the recollection of it, showing her gums. Yes. That had been the first death, but more soon followed. The zombies had paraded in with shiny brass buttons and black marching boots. Each of them had carried a musket and each of them wore a beefeater's hat. They looked like giant cotton buds which had been used for cleaning chimneys, with nasty chunks of yellow-coloured wax stuck to their faces and their arms. "Some of them", laughed Judy, "looked positively mouldy!" With a-one and a-two and a-left and a-right they came until two hundred of them were assembled on the tartan picnic rug. "Officer Brains" choked the head zombie (or at least that's what Garland says he heard), "Officer Brains, begin the last gluttony". And, with a circus-full of moanings and groanings, the zombies had begun to eat. It had taken twenty minutes in total and the sound was deafening. Judy and Garland had very much expected one of their neighbours to come to the door, or even a police officer - such was the sound. When the zombies had had their fill and were all tuckered out to the last, they had stood up most politely and filed out of the front door; though some, the smaller, more energetic zombies, had leapt out a nearby window. It was at this precise moment that Judy, who had been inspecting the blood-splattered glasses of podgy James Bean, heard a 'beep beep beep beep' and went into the kitchen only to discover that amongst all the excitement she had left the gingerheads and shortmen in the oven and they had burnt to a crisp. She took a pair of oven gloves from next to the stove, took out the baked goodies and deposited them, very neatly, into the bin. Back in the living room, Garland had pushed the shattered torso of some measly toddler off his father's smoking chair and had sat down to read the Sunday Times. But now was not the time for casual lollygagging, Judy told him (with a frown and a grimace) now was the time to grab a dustpan and brush and clean up the mess. So: Large flakes of crumbling skin were assembled in crisp, little piles in moccasin shoes, tupperware containers and elephant-foot umbrella stands. Severed limbs were juiced, dried and pickled. And Gerkins' large intestine was taken out of the lampshade and deposited, in a neat and tidy bundle, on the front porch. So, while the living room was still a little scuffed and frayed around the edges, all signs of the bloodshed which had occurred so magnificently only moments before, were few, far between, and unlikely to be noticed by their soused parents, who no doubt would come home "on a bun". When they had finished all this and had left the dishcloths in the sink for decontamination, Judy and Garland sat on the bear-skin rug so treasured by their parents and played snakes and ladders with the remnants of their dead friends.