This Nightmare Threads original story is a piece of fan fiction written about Peter Jackson's classic gorefest Braindead or Dead Alive depending on where you live. If you haven't seen it, do yourself a favor and go watch it right now, you won't regret it. This scene takes place when the Simian Ratticus first arrives at the Wellington Zoo and follows an unlucky zookeeper...
Date of the Dead - Part One
The manifest read:
Sumatra/New Zealand Export
Fergle looked in between the bamboo bars of the cage and then back down at the manifest. It still read “Quantity: 1”.
“That’s not right,” Fergle scratched his head and once again looked at the manifest and into the cage. The matter shouldn’t have been as confusing as it was for the volunteer stock boy. The manifest was definitely wrong because the quantity of Simian Ratticus was clearly two and not one. Although if one were to take a passing glance, one could understand the mistake because the two specimens were within intimate proximity due to the fact one had mounted the other and was furiously humping its crate mate.
He had set up the cage at the Wellington Zoo for one specimen and not two. Even if the accommodations had been adequate, it would never do to put these animals on display, especially in their current state. What if a child would happen to witness them in the act? Or the wives of one of the town aldermen? That would never do. He leaned in to take a closer look at the odd little beasties. They were ugly cusses. Fergle’s saint of a grandmother always taught him that God in all of his infinite grace, did not make mistakes, but the monstrosities before him made him question the truth of that teaching. He imagined if a drunken monkey had sex with an inbred rat and then God had thrown in an extra chromosome for good measure, it would be a close approximation of the creatures before him.
Although they walked on all fours, they had the body of a small monkey that grew up too close to an atomic testing facility, complete with boils and patches of missing fur. Their heads took after the rodent branch of the family, with skin stretched tighter than a weathered outback shepherd. The one on top had the look of madness in its uneven eyes. The one on the bottom didn’t seem to be enjoying itself too much. It wasn’t that what the other was doing to it bothered it. It sort of just looked bored. Fergle was figuring out how he was going to get the two apart when something grabbed him from behind.
“Don’t get too close to those buggers. They look about as healthy as a couple of Chinese whores.” Dale, the grounds supervisor of the zoo and Fergle’s boss, was returning from lunch. The smell of scotch wasn’t too overpowering today.
“H-H-Hi D-Dale,” Fergle stammered after catching the clipboard containing the manifest in mid-air. “The manifest s-says there’s only one, but there’s t-two in the crate.”
Dale snatched the clipboard from Fergle’s hands. “Well, they only charged us for one. So fuck it. I’ll make some calls and see if we can unload it and make a little scratch on the side. Don’t open your stupid stuttering mouth about this to anyone.”
“What d-do we d-do with it now?” Fergle asked, taking his clipboard back.
“Put it the bloody cage.”
“Like th-that? What if a ch-child sees?”
“Then separate them, you moron.”
Fergle looked blankly at the rat monkeys. It seemed quite rude to him to interrupt the two. He could imagine how it would feel if he were the one being forcibly stopped while in the act. Not that he knew first hand. He was tall and stringy and although he could be said to possess “boyish” good looks. His stutter and lack of confidence would cause him never to be considered a ladies man. But a job was a job, and he had to get it done.
He didn’t even want to think about touching the one on top with the look it currently had in its eyes. It might be more prudent to attack the situation by pulling the one on the bottom away from its attacker. In fact, it may even be grateful and assist in the endeavor. He grabbed the bottom rat monkey by the scruff of its neck but before he could yank it free the one on top swallowed his index finger. This was not just a bite; the rat monkey had swallowed Fergle’s finger and spit it out free of flesh like a man eating a chicken wing. Dale stepped to the front as Fergle withdrew in pain.
“Right hell! Do I have to do everything?” Dale snatched the one on top and yanked hard. There was a wet ripping sound, and Dale was left holding the top half of the rat monkey, still with the crazed look in its eye. The bottom half was still pounding away without missing a stroke.
“That does not solve our problem.” Dale took one last look at the rat monkey’s crazed stare and tossed it over his shoulder so he could attend to its still copulating lower half.
“That should do it. No kiddies will be going home with an eyeful today,” Dale said as he ripped off the bottom half. Inspecting his work, Dale saw that the member of the little bugger was still inserted into the creature, pumping away as fast as it could. Dale used a pair of scissors to remove the remaining offender. “That’s that, but there goes our dreams of riches. You get yourself home and clean yourself up.”
It took Fergle longer than usual to pack up owing to the fact that he was now permanently one digit down and due to the delay Dale beat him out. Fergle was about to turn off the lights when he remembered he didn’t have time to go home. He was to meet Cindy for sodas in less than half an hour. Fergle didn’t have a choice he had to get cleaned up at work. There was no way he was missing this date. He had had a crush on Cindy since grammar school, and now out of the blue, she asks him out. His heart began to race, and breath alluded him as he started to panic. He couldn’t let Cindy see his mangled hand. What if she were to introduce him to someone of import? Then what? He could not shake hands missing an index finger. And God forbid if Cindy wanted to go for a walk afterward and hold hands in the evening air? This would just not do.
Gloves. He needed gloves. Luckily, he knew just where to find a pair in the zoo’s lost and found. He stretched them over his hand and frowned at the glove’s empty finger where his index should have been. He needed something to stuff in there. A pencil? Nope, too long. A pen? Nope, too thin. What could he use? Scanning over the desk, his eyes caught some movement. It was the rat monkey’s penis still twitching. Fergle didn’t notice it before, but that bugger was hung for his size. His pecker was about the same size as his missing index finger.
Cindy had spent the whole day and the beauty parlor getting ready for her big date with Fergle. It’s not that Fergle Johnson was a catch by any stretch of the imagination. His only real quality was that he was one of the last eligible bachelors in town and Cindy wasn’t getting any younger. She was almost to the age where it didn’t look good being single. People would start to talk. Fergle Johnson was better than the alternative. She’d be damned if she was going to become a spinster at twenty-five. Cindy took a look in the mirror and was pleased with what she saw. “Fergle Johnson better appreciate the work I put into my appearance. Isn’t that right Princess?” Cindy’s white Pekingese barked back in agreement. In her opinion, Fergle Johnson should be incredibly flattered by the fact she spent the entire day making herself beautiful. Really, the only thing that got her through it was the thought of all the compliments her suitor would be bestowing upon her that evening.
“I must have lost a lot of blood,” Fergle said aloud to no one, in particular, seeing as he was the only one on the deserted street. “Because gosh, I’m getting tired.” It was a good thing Fergle was alone on the street, because he was, in fact, so tired, the entire thought would have sounded like “Arrrrgggrrhhh” if anyone would have been around to hear it. By the time he had reached Cindy’s house, he was nearly walking at a shamble, not even bothering to pick up his feet as he walked. It was the thought of Cindy and the prospect of holding hands with her at some point during the evening that kept him from going home and burying himself under the covers until tomorrow. He wearily raised his hand to ring her doorbell. He remembered the index finger of his right hand had a rat monkey’s penis in its place and decided to use his left hand instead.