‘Look we’ve been over and over this,’ said Mrs Tupelo. ‘You put your arms out like this, you lurch about and you go uuuurgh. OK? Got it?’
Maisie sat sullenly at the table, staring at the oozing slab of brain in front of her.
‘When did you ever see a zombie dancing?’ said Mrs. Tupelo. ‘Feeding on human flesh, OK. Going uuuurgh, fine, that’s traditional. It’s what we do in this family.’
‘But I don’t like human flesh.’ Maisie picked at the food. ‘It’s all gooey…’
‘Yes love, well that might just be because it’s brains mightn’t it… Look, just eat a little bit of it and you can have some of the other stuff, what was it again?’
‘Uuuuurgh,’ said Mr Tupelo abruptly, as a rat crawled out of an eye socket. (He was, largely, ignored.)
‘And what’s all this about dancing?’ Mrs Tupelo said as Maisie moved the brains around her plate.
‘I’ve told you. I want to join a contemporary dance troupe,’ Maisie said, quietly defiant.
‘Maisie, your father didn’t get a machete embedded in his skull just so you could go prancing round in a leotard.’
‘You want to make us a laughing stock?’
‘I don’t care!’ Maisie cried out, tears stinging her eyes as blood spurted out of her ears. ‘I don’t want to lurch about going uuuurgh! It’s boring! I just want to dance!’
She ran from the room, slamming the door behind her.
‘Maisie. Maisie!’ Mrs Tupelo called after her. She turned to her husband. ’Graham. Can’t you talk to her?’
Graham looked at his wife. Her left arm fell off.
‘Uuuuuuurgh!’ he said.