Fried Zombie Dee-light! Ghoulish, Ghostly Tales by Susan Abel Sullivan
A
fun collection focusing on ghouls, ghosts, and zombies with an advice column
featuring dead letters from the lovelorn! You'll want to steer clear of Bubba's
Cafe after you find out what they serve, and if you teach Group X, you'll be
leery of job postings for Certified Zombie Instructors.
Quiver,
quake and chuckle at these quirky tales of the paranormal.
Fried Zombie Dee-light! Ghoulish, Ghostly Tales features pieces previously published in such magazines as Asimov’s
Science Fiction Magazine and New Myths eZine, a monologue performed on stage
with CAST Theater, as well as several never before published short stories, an
advice column, and even a song!
Wanted:
Certified Zombie Instructor
Fried Zombie
Dee-light! (song)
Giving Up
the Ghost (advice column)
Zombie
Hunting with my Mother
The Girl
Next Door (monologue)
Crushed
(poetry)
Finding the
Way Home
Praise for
Fried Zombie Dee-lights! Ghoulish, Ghostly Tales
“Delightfully fraught with humor and
the macabre, Sullivan's FRIED ZOMBIE DEE-LIGHT masterfully mixes the mundane
with the fantastic in her tales of the strange and ghoulish.”
—Heidi Ruby Miller, author of
AMBASADORA and GREENSHIFT; co-editor of MANY GENRES, ONE CRAFT
"Susan
Abel Sullivan's talent shines in FRIED ZOMBIE DEE-LIGHT!—a collection full of wicked
humor and quirky charm."
—Sherry
Peters, author of SILENCING YOUR INNER SABOTEUR
EXCERPTS FROM FRIED ZOMBIE DEE-LIGHT! (GHOULISH,
GHOSTLY TALES)
From “Wanted: Certified Zombie Instructor”:
Part
I: The Ad
Wanted: Certified Zombie Instructor
Pays $100/class
No phone calls
Apply in person, 10 pm, Friday, Oct. 13
Simon Sylvestri School
(formerly the old Chocolots Factory)
Ambrosia Birbaum just wanted to
earn some extra money to put herself through school. So when the college sophomore at Chicago U.
saw the ad on Craig’s list, her first thought was: Wow, a hundred dollars a class!
She only made $20/class teaching Zumba at SuperFit Gym.
Her second thought was: Certified Zombie Instructor? Surely they meant Zumba instructor. Or maybe they wanted a Zombie Fit
instructor? Either way, there had to be
a typo in the ad. But at a hundred
dollars a class, Ambrosia wasn’t going to dicker with them. Zumba, Zombie—there was no need to call the
whole thing off just because someone hadn’t proofed their ad.
From “Zombie Hunting with my Mother”
My mom's had a lot of time on her
hands recently, what with the recession and getting laid off from her job and
all, so she's taken up two new hobbies.
Southern cooking. And zombie
hunting.
It's almost midnight and we're
ransacking the tool box in the garage for lethal weapons. The garage is so junky, we can't even park a
car, let alone two cars in it. And the only light we have to work by is from
the spill through the door that leads into the kitchen.
My mother hands me a shovel. "Here, you can use this."
I just stare at her for a
moment. I don't remember seeing shovel
listed as an optimal weapon in Zombie
Hunting for Dummies.
From “The
Girl Next Door”
I live next
door to Kenny Gorman, and let me tell ya, the guy can't keep his holidays
straight. But there's somethin' else you
need to know about Kenny. He's one of
those guys that makes you go, "Ew! Get away from me!" I don't think he's ever been out on a
date. And everyone calls him the Gory Man. I used to make fun of him, too, but ever
since my accident . . . well, let's just say I see Kenny in a whole different
way nowadays.
So, I thought
it was kinda sweet when he gave me this Advent Calendar that he'd made in
Shop. Only, he confused Advent with the
Twelve Days of Christmas. The thing
looked like Picasso put it together. And really, Kenny needs to work on his
painting skills. The thing was
splattered bright red. But very seasonal.
B.M.A.--that's Before My Accident--I would have chunked the thing in the
trash and washed my hands about a million times. But things being what they were, I had this insane
curiosity to know lay behind the twelve little doors.
From “Finding the Way Home”
My daughter Alyssa warned me that
hanging the Stray Cats Welcome sign
on the front porch was a mistake.
“Mom, you have to be careful what
you send out into the Universe. Every
stray cat in the neighborhood is going to find its way home to you.”
And in a way she was right. When Dan retired, we left Atlanta for a
Victorian house in a small town, our only pet being Bobo the fat cat. A year later we had three more felines. I took down the sign at that point, but cats
kept showing up, needing a good home.
Which was all fine and dandy. But
what it didn’t explain was the dog.
About the Author:
Susan Abel Sullivan lives in a historic Victorian house with
two dogs, way too many cats, and a couple of snakes. When not writing she likes to get her groove
on by teaching Zumba Fitness ® classes.
She is a graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop for speculative
fiction. Her short fiction and poetry
have appeared in numerous online and print publications, including Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine, Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine, ASIM Best of Horror: Vol II, Beyond Centauri, New Myths,
AlienSkin, and Writers’ Journal. She is the
author of Cursed: Wickedly Fun Stories
from World Weaver Press and the forthcoming The Haunted Housewives of Allister, AL. She is currently writing a Young Adult novel
about the supernaturally challenged.
Website: http://susanabelsullivan.weebly.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/susan_abel
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