The Horror Megapack_ 25 Classic and Modern Horror Stories ( PDFDrive )

Not a sign of life. That blasted brain could not absorb a new impression.
“Plato, honey, can’t you hear me?”
Finally, grey and trembling, the woman turned to Connell.
“Mr. Walt, I can’t do nuthin’. Plato’s dead.”
Connell realized that Amelia’s persuasion had made less impression than his
own authoritative voice.
“Untie us, Amelia,” he said.
She had scarcely reached the chair when Plato’s ponderous hand lashed out,
flinging her into a corner.
“Mr. Walt,” said the woman, as she struggled to her feet, “I’m goin’ to the
village to get help. That devil don’t know I’m here, and I’ll get some friends.”
She stepped into the hall. Connell renewed his struggles. Once or twice
Madeline contrived to jerk her chair a fraction of an inch toward him, but a
zombie leaped forward, bodily picked her up, and set her in a corner. They did
nothing to thwart Connell’s struggles against his bonds. The orders had not
covered that.
Finally Connell contrived to spread the knotted strands of clothesline.
“Hang on, darling,” he panted. “I’ll be clear in a second.”
“But what good will it do?” moaned Madeline. “They’ll block you before—”
“Maybe I can toss you out the window, chair and all.”
He knew that he had no chance against his grisly captors, but anything was better
than waiting for that deadly brew to receive the missing ingredients that
would make them living corpses. Connell heard footsteps and relaxed his desperate
efforts. His blood froze, and a stifled oath choked him.
It was Amelia. She had a small parcel wrapped in paper. Damn her, why hadn’t
she run to the village like she’d said she would?
“Plato, honey,” she pleaded, “I brought you somethin’ good.”
“For God’s sake, go to the village!” shouted Connell.
“That would be wasted effort,” said a sardonic voice.
Ducoin crossed the threshold, accompanied by Aunt Célie and several zombies.
His sinister presence, and the living dead seemed to freeze Amelia with horror.
She had lost her chance to make a break.
“I guess we’ll have a number three zombie,” murmured Ducoin.
The living dead now blocked the doorway. Aunt Célie lifted the lid of the
kettle, and added a pinch of powder from a small packet. She stirred the
villainous potion, and drew off a cupful and held it to Connell’s lips.
“You might as well drink it,” said Ducoin. “If you don’t—” His gaze shifted to