What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Zombier Read Online Free Page B

and throbbing; we were just a temporary illness.
    I cut my leg while I was going for wood. It’s a bad wound, and I lost a lot of blood. Maybe I need stitches, but I’m too far away from any hospital and I cannot drive. Or maybe I do not want to. I cured myself with what I had at home, but the cut is infected.
    I already feel the fever rising and the words on the page become confused. Maybe that’s why I decided to start writing, to leave a worthless piece of paper that nobody will read in a remote place where no one will ever come.
    I know how these things end. My little show on this earth is about to close. Besides, it was inevitable.
    I would like to have done more, to live more intensely, but I’m too tired. This new world makes us grow old quickly.
    Now I’ll stop writing, I don’t feel so lucid, I’m going to lie down for a bit. Maybe I will go on tomorrow, if I’ll have something else to say.
    If I won’t wake up blind and dumb and mindless and only able to wander aimlessly.
    Creeping
.
     

Folklore
     

     

Merry Christmas
     
     
     
     
    When she saw the red drop leaking from the package, she knew that Santa Claus had granted her wish.
     

The Countess’ Collection
     
     
     
     
    “This way, Claudette,” said the Countess of Saint Claire.
    The anxious newly hired maid followed her into the dark room.
    “And this is my favorite. You should dust once a day and pay attention not to break anything!”
    The room was cluttered with shelves; on top of them were neatly placed several glass jars. Every jar was filled with a transparent liquid, and inside them were floating human fingers. A feast of indexes, middle fingers, pinkies, and ring fingers. Even some thumbs.
    Claudette turned white.
    “I had to fire the maid we had before you, because she was no longer able to hold the duster,” continued the Countess, casually.
    “Was she too old?” guessed the girl with trembling voice.
    “No, she ran out of fingers.”
    Claudette gasped.
    “But don’t worry, I won’t repeat the same mistake. I’ll leave you the right hand.”
     

Blue Ribbon, Pink Ribbon
     
     
     
     
    Moss was pacing nervously in front of the bedroom door.
    Back and forth. To and fro.
    From the inside, came suffocated the screams of his wife. The time had come, after nine months of hopeful waiting.
    A piercing scream, heartbreaking, and then the silence.
    After a few seconds, the cry of a newborn.
    The midwife came out, wiping her bloody hands with a rag. Moss went toward her.
    “So? What ribbon should I hang?” his tone was anxious, impatient.
    The woman, old, with silver hair and a wrinkled face, had a grave expression that made him turn pale. The death blow was given by her words, “She’s a girl.”
    Moss stepped back, shocked, shaking his head, reaching out until he found a chair and collapsed on it. “It can’t be...”
    On the table of the living room, there were two ribbons, one pink and one blue. The woman took the pink one and gave it to him. “You must hang this to the window. The inspector knows that your wife was near full term.”
    “I can’t! I’ll put a blue ribbon. We will deceive him!” Moss had the eyes out of their sockets. He looked crazy.
    “It’ll be useless. He would like to check...”
    A tiny voice interrupted the dialogue, attracted by the noise. “Dad? My little brother is born?” The five-year-old girl crossed the hallway and went to hug her father’s legs. He looked at her with tears in his eyes, caressed her hair. “It’s not the time yet, honey, go back to your room.”
    The little girl, though reluctant, nodded and left them by themselves, in silence.
    Moss once again looked at the midwife, his gaze blank, defenseless.
    “We could hide her. We’ll tell that she’s born dead,” hazarded the old woman.
    “But how could we raise a child this way? Without anyone knowing? And, however, the inspector would like to see the body, he would feed it to the tiger anyway. There’s nothing