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Vivika's Musings

Oh, the horror!

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One thing I find quite common in fans of horror like myself is we were exposed to the genre from an early age. For some this was an exciting experience. For others, myself included, it was – not to put too fine a point it – horrifying.

Poltergeist, IT (the original series with Tim Curry) and Child’s play were just some of the movies I saw when I was arguably way too young. I was always an imaginative child so the scenes these movies presented, as corny as they may be now, played on my mind and formed lifelong phobias. Those lifelong phobias, I just happened to turn into a career.

Lets start with Pennywise. Released in the early nineties I was still in primary school when I first saw it. What stuck out most to me was the vibrancy of Pennywise’s red hair. It stood out to me against the duller, New England backdrop. The colours made him more eyecatching, more threatening. Even as a youngster I never saw clowns as anything less than nightmre fuel.

Then there was Chucky. The doll possessed with the spirit of an evil man. Another red head. As an imaginative kid with little to no real friends toys, stuffed animals and dolls were my most treasured companions. To see what a doll was capable of doing, at least by movie standards, was horrifying.

Cut to several decades later and I find myself still lost in that imagination. I do still have treasured toys and dolls, Pennywise and Chucky being one of them. I also sport vibrant (yes you guessed it) red hair. I knew there were some correlations between how my approach to creativity was shaped by these old horror movies as a child. However, it wasn’t until I started to write this blog I began to realise just how much.

The villainy, the vibrancy, the outldandish plots and the reactions from viewers were something that became embedded in my ambition. I came to enjoy writing material that made a reader shriek, gasp or become unsettled. I could have written happy little stories with lovely endings. I ask though, were would be the fun in that!?

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Vivika's Musings

EH!

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In my younger years I had the pleasure of seeing a lot of live music in my adopted home of Dundee. After a fifteen-year hiatus I paid a visit to the old venue known as ‘The Doghouse’. It was like nothing had changed. There were the same thrills. It was like no time had passed at all.

Before I get to that, first I’d like to mention Lexi Campbell, an amazing individual who I never had the pleasure of meeting. With their passing, a legacy of music behind. Mental health issues are something that can affect all of us, so Lexi’s family and friends made it a mission to raise awareness, supporting some amazing charities at the same time. The Lexfest event was something to be proud of. It was what drew us all back together after such a long time and I was glad to be able to enjoy the music that was provided.

Returning to my own experiences, fifteen years ago, on the music scene was an amazing band called EH! Their unapologetic presence on stage made them a standout. Ian, Sean, Paul and Andy had an excellent mash of indie and classic rock sounds. They had a vibe that was always captivating.

Image Credit: Tracey Stewart Thompson

That was then. In more recent times, things had gone quiet. People mature. Priorities change. Life gets in the way. Then recently word got out that they would be coming back together in support of Lexfest and some wonderful causes. Fifteen years is a long time. Many rehearsals would have to take place to see what still worked. Would they even be able to mesh again? Would it be the same with so many changes on the scene?

During the weeks prior to the gig, I found myself waking up most mornings humming the tunes like I did back then. I was excited to see it all again. I just couldn’t wait to recapture those moments.

The boys took to the stage after the long absence. I took a spot front and centre in the audience. The drums, the bass, the guitars and the bold vocals erupted. It was like they had returned home. They were exactly where they belonged. I had my young niece in my company, and even the younger generation found themselves absorbed.

Image credit: Kirsten Connelly

The music was incredible. They even introduced a new song, ‘Money don’t grow on trees’, which rang with poetry and held such power in the soft melody. I decided there and then it was my new favourite.

I know there were nerves all round within the band. They needn’t have fretted. Music touches the soul in a way nothing else does. It’s never gone. It is an entity that has tremendous power. It reunited us with old friends (missed you so much, Tracey!). It brought us together after all those years. As Ian would say, we formed a ‘wee community’.

I saw the good it did for Paul to get back to those drums again. Andy, you strive for perfection on that bass, and that’s the name of the game. From a fan though, I don’t think you realise how talented you are. Sean, I’ve never known anyone personally who can handle the guitar the way you do. It never ceases to amaze me. Finally, Iain, I missed your poetic spirit. You have an affectionate confidence that most of us can only aspire to.

It was great seeing EH! back on stage again. I look forward to gathering for the love of music all over again!

Main Image credit: Kirsten Connelly

For more information on Lexi:

https://www.thecourier.co.uk/fp/opinion/3212120/amie-flett-lexi-campbell-legacy/

Shady Shorts

Hotel of Vice

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A small restaurant in the Hotel de Vice is where the scene I now describe takes place. It was past midnight and the restaurant had long closed for dinner. The lights had been lowered. The waiting staff had all gone home. Only the Maitre’d remained behind. Three men were still seated at a table, laughing boorishly. Empty glasses and bottles filled the area and the one in the middle was opening another bottle of the Walden’s Eighty Five. He was a dark-haired fellow with an angular face. He laughed and smiled with his companions without any real joviality about him. He was a cold soul, marked by the way he gritted his teeth as he pulled the cork from the bottle.  

“She left in shame,” he was guffawing with his companions. “A tired old maid like that ought to think herself lucky. She wouldn’t have feigned shame so much if she hadn’t enjoyed herself.”  

This caused the boorish laughter to erupt again.  

“You’re awful, Nolan,” said one – Albert Chamberlain – who was greying before his time.  

“Awful? Don’t talk to me about awful. When we broke in there, she practically threw herself at me.”  

“She wanted to save her charges,” said the other. He was sounding sluggish, leaning forward, barely able to keep his eyes open. The Maitre’d hoped they would pass out or the story would urge the group to move on.  

Nolan slapped the drunkard on the back. He looked like he was going to vomit. Nolan passed him another drink.  

Looking across the hall he called, “you there! Any chance of supper up here, old boy? My companions and I worked up quite an appetite.” 

“The kitchen is closed, milord,” the Maitre’d replied. “It has been for some time.”  

Nolan slammed the bottle down on the table. “What kind of place is this?” he groaned. He knocked some of the glasses over. “Clear some of these, will you?” he snapped. He managed to find his humour again when he returned to his companions. “She didn’t want to protect her charges. She just wanted all the fun for herself.”  

Earlier that evening, Nolan and his company had broken into a hostel nearby. It was home to the devoted sisters of the Albans Order. Nolan had gotten it into his head that he really wanted to fuck a nun. The Mother had tried to fend them off on behalf of the novices. She gave herself to Nolan so the others may remain unharmed.  

“She was a feisty one too,” Nolan commented. “She spread her legs and she prayed.”  

“They’ll banish her from the order,” said Chamberlain. 

This amused Nolan all over again. “I hope they do. What use is an old slut like that to them now anyway?”  

The Maitre’d was struggling, listening to their nonsense. Luckily it was all interrupted by the ring of the telephone. 

“A call for you Lord Cibe,” he beckoned Nolan. “It’s your brother.”  

Nolan rolled his eyes. “Trust him to track me down.”  

He stumbled across the hall, took the receiver and clasped it to his ear.  

“Yes, Malcolm?” he asked. “I’m in the middle of something of a celebration. I won a bet this evening. What can I do you for?”  

The brother’s voice on the other end sounded far and hoarse.  

“Get out of there right now. I heard what you did. The whole God damn town is talking about it.”  

Nolan tried to play innocent. “I don’t know what you mean.”  

“They’re going to hang that nun for breaking her oaths,” said the brother. Nolan couldn’t care less about that revelation. “You’re on Penn land. Get out of there now!” he was warned. 

Nolan knew full well he was on Penn land. The alcohol had dulled his consideration of the consequences. His brother’s reminder sobered him. Malcolm didn’t say much more. He rang off leaving his brother to make a departure from the hotel.  

Before they could make their leave, another group entered the restaurant. Chamberlain recognised one of them as Claude Emmerson, the grandson of the Comte du Maurier and the son of Renaud Penn, Reginald. Reginald stopped to shake the hand of the Maitre’d. They shared some words; all the while Emmerson kept his focus on Nolan Cibe. The three remained seated as Reginald crossed the hall to them with his Loyal close. Chamberlain attempted to leave his seat. Emmerson gripped his shoulder and sat him back down. Reginald snatched Nolan by the hair and slammed his face onto the table. Albert Chamberlain tried to stand. Emmerson kept him seated. With his free hand Reginald picked up a bottle, smashed it on the table, holding it towards the others with a snarl. 

“Reginald. Leave him be,” he was instructed by his father who had just arrived on scene with Eric du Maurier by his side. 

Nolan spat a breath across the table, scattering some of the shards of broken glass. Reginald loosened his grip. He stepped into the shadow his father had cast. Renaud raised his right hand, which was wrapped in a great thick chain. He reached over and clasped Nolan’s chin with the left, looking into his eyes. He shook his head and released his grip again.  

WHACK! WHACK!  

Renaud brought the chain down on Nolan’s skull twice, causing his body to fall forward.  

WHACK! WHACK!  

Twice more and Nolan gave an audible sob, choked by the blood that ran down his face.  

WHACK!  

The strongest hit yet caused the sphenoid bone to crack. A final whack smashed the eye socket.  

Renaud took a breath and stepped back. Eric passed a napkin to him to wipe some of the blood and skull matter from the chains. Renaud dropped the sodden handkerchief in front of Albert Chamberlain. The drunkard, although quickly sobering, had fallen into a daze, swaying in his chair with tears in his eyes.  

“He didn’t have to die,” he whimpered.  

“No,” said Renaud. “He did not. A perfectly innocent woman didn’t need to be violated either. It means death for her so it’s only right it meant death for him too.”  

Chamberlain tried to stop himself looking at Nolan. He wasn’t quite dead yet. His lips were parting slowly as he continued to gasp his last.  

“You are going to take your friend’s body from here. You will clean any mess or damage you have caused. You’ll pay the Maitre’d Hotel handsomely for having to put up with your coarse behaviour as long as he did. More importantly you will never show your face around here again. If you do you will not find me as courteous as I am now.”  

Renaud and most of the Loyal departed. Reginald, Emmerson and some of the others remained behind to see that the task was carried out.  

Reginald indicated the tablecloth.  

“You’ll replace that too. It’s a fine cloth and those stains don’t come out.”  

Chamberlain and the drunkard were both shaken.  

“Cunts,” muttered Reginald under his breath. 

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Characters, Harbour House, Knock Knock

Character Profile: Kieran Mack

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Name: Kieran Mack

Occupation: Unemployed (technically)

Features in: KNOCK KNOCK ; HARBOUR HOUSE

“You’re all fecked.”

distillery
The Mack Distillery, located on Love Street in Bellfield.

Kieran is the eldest Son of MACK AND SONS brewery. However, his age didn’t make him the natural successor of his father, BRENDAN MACK. Instead the distillery will pass to second born son, PADDY. The reason for this is that of his brothers Kieran is the most erratic. He has shirked responsibility for as long as he can remember and truthfully he too agrees that the lead of the distillery should fall to the more capable son.

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Kieran will always stand by his family.

The Macks had their reserved table at the Knock Knock waiting for them when a long hard day at the distillery had drawn to an end. Kieran would be especially excited when he heard favourite Knock Knock girl would be on hand. They called her Big Diane (or Double D) and her party trick was being able to serve drinks from underneath her large breasts. For Kieran’s 25th birthday THE BARONESS had treated him to having Diane use her breasts to break water melons on his chest, Kierans favourite part of the party piece.

That’s not to say that Kieran isn’t without his merit. The Mack and Sons form such a tight unit because of their loyalty to each other. Kieran may be the first to cause a headache for them but he is also the first there on hand to help when trouble arrives on Love Street. He will follow Paddy’s lead to the death if need be and should anyone believe he is a weak link in the Mack chain they would be mistaken. Brimming with the Mack spirit of fighting to the end Kieran may let his mouth run away with him most times but he will not go down without a fight.

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Brendan Mack head of the Mack clan.

It is no secret there is a strong bond between the KNOCK KNOCK club and theMACK AND SONS brewery. The Macks have supplied the booze and the club supplied the entertainment. For Kieran the bond was stronger than that. For him it was an extension of an already large family. As his father always told him, “yer an eejit but yer family and family is what is important.”

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Coming Soon, Harbour House

5:02 Slaughter Time

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GLENN patted his shoulder.

“You’re doing alright, lad,” he beamed.

Scott Cross was pleased too. When he arrived on HARVESTER FARM the dawn had not long broken. Glenn, a burly, middle aged farm hand had seemed intimidating at first. As he laid down the law for Scott and the other boys. His booming voice and formidable stature caused Scott and the other boys to pay attention.

The choice for them had been Jefferson Hall Youth Correctional or honest hard work in the northern farm lands. In Scott’s case he had been prosecuted for car theft. It wasn’t uncommon in the Shanties – the part of town Scott hailed from. It was a way of life for the poorest in the city. He had taken his first joy ride at fourteen. Prosecuted at seventeen, prison was the next logical step. When lawyer, RONALD OWEN took note of the amount of youths coming through his office from the Shanties under similar circumstances he decided to use his influence and family name to set up a ‘steps to work’ program. He felt the boys would stand a better chance of becoming better citizens under the influence of men like Glenn.

His feet hurt, his hands ached but he did feel pride in his work. He had moved most of the milking herd from the east acre to their main plot. He even came to know three of the main milking cows – Debbie, Shelia and Angie. His favourite of the animals though was the large stud bull named Gordon. Like Glenn, Gordon seemed aggressive at first but after asserting his authority over the teenager with a wave of his horns he settled down.

Glenn was leaning on the fence watching the stud herd graze. Beside him was another farm hand named CURTIS. They had a beer each.

“All set?” Glenn asked.

Scott smiled. A coach was arranged to take the boys back to the Shanties bus station.

“If shoveling cow shit doesn’t scare you straight I don’t know what will,” Curtis commented. He would know. He had been brought from Coldford Correctional A.K.A The Boss on a similar program.

Glenn shoved Curtis. “Don’t you listen to him. You keep your head down, work hard and you’ll do well.”

“Have a beer,” Curtis offered, reaching into the blue cool box at their feet.

“He’s too young,” Glenn protested but in jest.

Scott was a typical Shanties boy. He had had his first taste of alcohol at twelve. Curtis threw a bottle to him. He caught it in both hands. He unscrewed the cap and allowed the amber fluid to sooth his throat. It eased his aching body. He sighed with relief.

“Mmmmmmooooo,” grumbled Gordon. He had lifted his head from his grazing and was shaking it disapprovingly at them.

“Shut up, Gordon,” Glenn called back. “You heard me object.”

Scott chortled at the way the farm hands spoke to the animals as though they were people. The mild herd and stud herd all given suitable names.

Gordon snorted but he returned to his grazing.

The sun spilled over the Harvester Farm in a blanket of warmth not seen in the city – especially not in the Shanties. It was quiet. The crying of the cows in the distance was much better than the noise of traffic. Standing between Glenn and Curtis, with a beer in hand Scott felt like a real grown up, a real man. He watched the way that Glenn leaned on the fence and did similar. Over in the paddock facing them was a solitary goat. He was skipping around merrily until the entrance to the meat herd’s enclosure on the west acre was opened and farm hands started leading a few selected out.

The little goat became agitated. He butted against his fence as though he was trying to stop the other animals being led to the slaughter.

“What’s happening?” asked Scott.

Curtis looked at his watch.

4:58

“He gets a little upset when the slaughter time approaches. It’s like he knows.”

“SLAUGHTER TIME?”

“We’re a dairy and meat farm, lad,” Glenn informed him. “We have our own slaughter sheds and butchers. Gary the goat there doesn’t like seeing his pals getting taken away.”

“Maaaaah!” Gary screamed.

WHAM!

He butted against fence, desperate to get the cows.

“Gary seems to know when there’s death in the air.”

5:00

Scott watched as the selected cows were led to the slaughter sheds. The abattoir machines would be fired up already.

5:02

The first of the herd was killed. 5:02 had always been the slaughter time on Harvester Farm – provider of the finest dairy and the finest meat in the Shady City.

Coming 2020

When the doctor bought over the Harvester Farm brand he was delighted at how well it could work along side his Harbour House project.

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OUT NOW

Julia Harvester is a nice girl. She is kind, sweet and used to being posed in all the best positions. She is the perfect artist’s muse. Click HERE to read the full story.

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Vivika's Musings

Taking PRIDE in What I Do.

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Since it’s pride month and in light of the celebrations I thought I would give a shout out to my LGBT friends. Hey guys! How are you all?

There’s been a lot of talk of the STRAIGHT PRIDE movement. (Yeah, I know. Have you seen the flag? What a mess right?) and whilst I’m happy to see anyone celebrate who they are they seem to have lost the point of why there is a PRIDE MONTH in the first place. For those in the back you may want to listen up. No one has ever been chastised for being straight, not in the way LGBT people are. Straight people don’t generally feel fear, experience persecution or have been told they can’t marry the person that they love. All this has been brought to the forefront lately and there’s probably nothing I can add here that hasn’t already been said so I will just leave it with this – in a world where love is already so limited I will never understand why we would want to make it even more difficult. In my personal opinion if it’s between two (or more – you never know) consenting adults then who the Hell are we to be telling people what they should and shouldn’t be doing.

Someone said to me lately, “I don’t mind gay people. I just don’t like it being flaunted in my face.” What exactly is being flaunted in your face? Love? Affection? Poor baby. That must be awful. Besides that to me is like saying, “I don’t mind black people as long as they sit at the back of the bus.” It’s an outdated mentality that has absolutely no right to belong in our modern age. Grow up.

I’ve been asked more than once in the past if I myself and am gay because I include LGBT characters in my books. Well no. I include those characters because as an author I feel it is my job to capture as much of the human experience as possible. As a cis straight woman it shouldn’t be beyond me to identify other beliefs and sexual orientations right?

So on that note. Happy Pride Month to my amazing LGBT friends, relatives and readers. Thank you for making the world that bit more vibrant.

Enjoy some of Vivika Widow’s thrilling novels that feature LGBT characters.

 

Click HERE to read MAESTRO and book your music lesson with Mr Baines.

Click HERE to read MUSE and join David as he tries to salvage his reputation in the art community.

 

Characters, Harbour House, Muse

Character Profile: Dr G Winslow

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“I promise it won’t hurt.”

Name: Dr Gregory Winslow

Features in: MUSE , HARBOUR HOUSE ; KNOCK KNOCK ; THE BOSS

Occupation: Surgeon General, CEO Harvesters Meat and Dairy.

muse_harvesterlogo_vivikawidow
The family farm became a city wide brand.

Dr Gregory Winslow is accomplished and well educated. There are many around the Shady City that owe their life to him. He is something of a wizard with organ transplants and one of his most grateful patients is Jacob Harverster, better known as the old Harvester. Jacob’s daughter, Julia , was so grateful to the doctor for her father’s care he was named one of the leading holders of the farm and with that control Winslow was able to help the Harvester brand grow and thrive.

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Winslow keeps a close watch on his investment.

Like many in the shady city Winslow doesn’t do what he does out of the goodness of his heart. He is in the business of saving lives but business is still business. Whilst saving lives can be a great thing the ugly truth is someone has to pay for it.

Harvester farm spread like a great smothering plant across the city with no one trimming away the rotting parts. The farm hands were worked harder but saw less benefits. Julia found herself in the doctor’s clutches. She couldn’t escape. She didn’t just owe him her father’s life, she owed him everything and the good doctor was going to make sure he had his dues. He felt a duty to protect Jacob’s livelihood whilst he recovered and so his daughter had her duties to perform too.

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Harvester Farm is a vast place with a lot of hidden gems.

Winslow has touched so many lives. From the simple farm girl who he has complete control over to a down on his luck artist. Winslow connects the two and as their stories collide, as artist and muse, a horrifying truth will be revealed as they desperately try to break free.

When Dr Winslow takes control of Harvester Farm he takes the farmer’s daughter too. Just to keep things running smoothly you understand.  Read free on Kindle Unlimited.

Characters, Harbour House, Muse

Character Profile: Glenn

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Name: Glenn

Features in: Muse , Harbour House

Occupation: Harvester Farm Hand

Glenn is a hard working man. No one can accuse him of being lazy. Providing for his family is of prime importance. His daughter, Susie, is all that matters. He takes his commitments seriously and he committed himself to Harvester farm back when Jacob Harvester was in control. He has worked the farm ever since he was a young man and has seen the old Harvester’s daughter, Julia, grow up like an uncle. He saw the farm blossom. He watched it fail.

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The Harvester farm became a brand under Dr Winslow.

The old Harvester became sick and it fell to Julia to decide its future. Glenn – like the rest of the farm hands – was always treated like family but decisions on the Harvester legacy was out of his depth.

muse_juliapose
Julia Harvester saw the farm hands as family.

Still, as difficult as things became, an overbearing investor changed the world around them. Glenn remained strong in his commitment. As long as Susie had everything she needed it didn’t matter what he had to do. Even when the investor began to push them towards new jobs, well out-with their duties, Glenn carried on. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t legal either but pride and family were at stake.

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Glenn is a hardworking man. Providing for his family is of prime importance.

Somewhere in the city resides a down on his luck artist whose path collides with Glenn’s as his search for inspiration brings him to the farm. As he sets his sights on Julia Harvester as his new MUSE it could be time for upheaval once again.

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Glenn is helpless in the take over of the farm.

Harvester Farm is a vast land. When an artist runs out of places to run from a childhood trauma it will be his next stop. The full story is available to read free on Kindle Unlimited

Vivika's Musings

Is your neighbour a monster? SURVIVAL HINTS AND TIPS

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Popular media would have us assume that around 80% of the population are either a werewolf, vampire, ghost or zombie.

Statistically you are more likely to be living next door to a centuries old vampire than you are to a non horror fiction writer. That sounds like pretty damning evidence to me so how do we combat this? Well here are a few tips that I have found quite effective:

VAMPIRES

Ah the blood sucking, immortal creatures that have been the subject of many different books and shows. In the elder days it was the young engaged couples travelling alone who really had to bother with this but thanks to the exploits of Dr Van Helsing, that variety of carnivorous fiend seems to be long gone. His little helper Igor chewing away on flies all by himself and disappearing back into the pages of Bram Stokers novel, mumbling about simpler times when a vampire master was in need of a lackey.

Nowadays, it is with the young teen girls that we have to concern ourselves. Just when father’s across the globe had enough to worry about their daughter dating now there is this inexplicable influx of young heart throb vampires keen on the young girls (who only look their own age). So parents, lock your doors and bar your windows because that pale faced yet handsome little blighter, who moved next door and is only seen at night, may just be planning on making your daughter his eternal companion.

TIP: Invite them for a dinner laced with garlic. Not Christian? Doesn’t matter, get those crosses up!

WEREWOLVES

Many cultures around the world have their own legend of the werewolf but we can get down to brass taxes and assume that we have adopted the Germanic folklore.

In a time when all one had to do was stay out of the woods on a full moon to avoid werewolves, the half man and half dog could co exist quite peacefully (providing the predator was well fed on deer and elks).

Nowadays, for three nights a month the rampant calling of werewolves can be heard from the city streets to the moors of England. Like the vampires the new breed of werewolf seems to have adopted a more boy band styled approach to his daily life. They may seem pleasant on the surface (a German Shepard dog can be too until it rips your face off) but they are essentially dangerous creatures, at least whilst the moon is high and fat.

If your neighbour disappears for three nights a month or if you hear strange calling from their home it may very well be that they are a werewolf. This also means that a vampire could be lurking nearby because apparently after a tumultuous courtship the two now get on famously and there can’t be one without the other.

TIP: Stock up on those silver bullets! (and a gun to shoot them would be helpful).

GHOSTS

Okay so these particular neighbours tend to be more nuisance house guests but all the more reason to be prepared for them.

If you pass a little girl in eighteenth or nineteen century dress on your way to the bathroom during the night, then it may very well be your house is infested with ghosts. Most people make the mistake of calling the priest in for an emergency exorcism but going by past experience that just makes them mad. So unless they are rattling their chains and keeping you up all night or unless they continue throwing tantrums or playing peek a boo to the point of distraction just leave them be. They won’t really take up much room and its not like they’ll eat you out of house and home.

Ghosts are nothing if not consistent. They seem to enjoy old fashioned costuming and that has changed very little over the years. You are still more likely to find a spirit of a Victorian Chambermaid than you are of Mrs. Prettin down the road who died just last week aged 92. Little kid ghosts can be the worst, especially if you have kids yourself. They will roll bright red balls up and down your corridors, sing creepy lullabies and follow you into every room.

TIP: If they are being a true nuisance the best thing is to just accept defeat and move. That is what many people have to do.

ZOMBIES

The end of time has been predicted by thousands of philosophers and holy men. The Mayans had their views. Nostradamus was certain of it. However, for some reason we seem to be at a huge risk of a zombie apocalypse. Maybe its all the nuclear material being passed around like a kids party or maybe its just that viruses are onto us. If it is a slipshod scientist dropping a vial in a laboratory or its a nuclear attack one thing will be certain… supplies will run out, all men will become gun toting action heroes and all women will be scantily clad and unable to function without said action hero (there are a few exceptions of course).

So if there is a rise in the brain eating mutant beings it is likely you will be at most danger from your closest neighbour. Perhaps that is where it all began … Patient 0 if you will. To ensure you are effectively protected make sure your doors are closed over (zombies can’t function door knobs) and secure yourself in an upstairs room (zombies have trouble with stairs too).

To prevent this you may want to keep a close eye on your neighbour. Do you see him/her scuttling about in a white lab coat at all hours of the night? Do you see strange packages being delivered at all hours of the day? if so there is a chance that you have a mad scientist in your midst and the chances are he already has a pet zombie.

TIP: Aim for the head.

MUMMY

Only really relevant if you live in Egypt, or close to a museum but lets face it these creatures have had centuries to wake up so its safe to say that they are in no hurry.

TIP: Learn to read Hieroglyphics.

So there you have it, my darlings. Those are my tips on what to do if your neighbour is a monster.

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