Chapter One

It took Malcolm Drake no time at all to realise he was a zombie. But, then again, having your right arm drop off as you’re trying to hammer your way out of your own coffin would bring anyone to the same conclusion, whether they had half a brain or not. Luckily, Malcolm had just more than half a brain left.

Cursing under his breath, he laid back in the confines of his hard, oaken casket (where were the silk-lined cushions? Cheapskate parents...) and glowered into the grain of its lid. How had this happened? How had he gone from being an energetic, lively fourteen year-old to a tired, deathly thing rotting away reluctantly? Life wasn’t fair!

Just when it felt like the wood was beginning to smoulder under his baleful glare, Malcolm blinked as memories came flooding back. TJ! His mood darkened at the very thought of his best friend (make that ex-best friend), and the stupid bet...

“What’s the matter?” TJ sneered as he skidded his steel-blue BMX to a halt beside Malcolm. “You’re not chicken, are you?”

“’Course not,” Malcolm said as he eyed the huge jump ahead of him. “It’s just...well, it’s impossible, isn’t it?”

“Nah, it’s simple! Done it before – tons of times, actually...on ‘Zero-Gee BMX’...”

“So in a video-game, but never in real-life?”

“It’s possible, I promise! Nothing to it, really... you just hit the ramp as fast as you can, and flip the bike three times before you hit the ground. If you get a good run-up you should land it easily.”

Malcolm couldn’t tear his eyes from the ramp. It didn’t look possible, even if he strapped rockets to the back wheels. He gulped, “I’m not so sure about this, TJ... what if I get hurt?”

“M, would I let you get hurt? C’mon mate, don’t worry so much about it – I promise you, it’s going to work!”

That ramp still looked deceivingly too low, the bike too slow. But, then again, TJ had been biking since he could crawl (or so he said), and he knew a possible stunt when he saw it, right?

...Right?

“Okay, TJ,” he sighed finally, taking the handlebars from his mate with shaky, clammy hands. “If you’re sure...”

“Nothing to it, I promise! Just back it up, pedal as fast as your spindly little legs can, hit that ramp and flip that baby, triple-style!”

“...My legs are not spindly!”

“See how focused you are, catching that? Now, just put that dedication into your performance, and it’ll be amazing! Go for it!”

So Malcolm had gone for it...

After that, it had all been a blur (either that or the rest of the memory had resided in the missing parts of his brain). As far as he could remember he’d nailed the first two flips perfectly. As he was righting himself, a niggling thought in the back of his head (which he sorely missed) had yelled at him that he would never make a third, but his pride had yelled at it in return, telling it to shut its trap and egging Malcolm on for the grand finale.

The last thing Malcolm remembered hearing was TJ’s cries of concern. “Not my bike! It’s not even my bike! Oh, my big brother’s gonna kill me...”

The last thing that went through Malcolm’s mind was Stuff the bike, what about me?!

Well, that was a lie – that was actually the second-to-last thing to go through his mind. The last thing that had really gone through his mind had been the back wheel of the bike. Nothing to it, my smelly butt!

Growling, he fumbled around for his missing arm within the tight confines of the coffin. How long had he been dead then, he wondered; had it been days, weeks, months, years? Please don’t let it be years, he needed what muscles he had left to just get out of here – he didn’t want to be a skeleton!

His fingers brushed against the stump of his right arm and he clasped it as tightly as he dared (he wasn’t losing his fingers, too!). Squeezing it past his chest, he tried holding it to his shoulder-socket, and waited. To his surprise and disgust, a hairy black spider crawled out from under his skin and began stitching the two back together with its fresh web. The whole job took no longer than five seconds, and when it was finished it scuttled up his arm, which could already feel it’s prickly legs, and over his mouth and onto his nose.

“Yer welcome, by the way!” it chirped haughtily before crawling up his left nostril.

Malcolm wasn’t sure if it was the sight he’d just witnessed, his current predicament, or that fact that he could feel every itchy step the spider took up his nose, but something deep inside of him demanded he be sick, and the gags were quick to comply. However, instead of throwing-up all manner of internal messiness, he couldn’t manage anything more than sputtering out a cloud of dust that smell distinctly of vinegar. What kind of life was this?

Then, from somewhere seemingly far off and yet extremely close by at the same time, a voice...

“I’m pretty sure this is the one...”

“Really?” No, two voices! “It ain’t much to look at, is it? Poor chump must’ve ‘ad really cheap parents... just three days buried, and already it’s infested with woodworm!”

“...Actually, I think they were there before it was made.”

“Huh, like I said – cheap.”

“You can’t choose your parents,” the first voice sighed sadly.

“Yeah... they’re like bad ‘abits in that respect, really.”

“You can choose your habits,” argued the first voice.

“Really? You mean I don’t have to scratch me bum and pick me nose with the same finger?”

“Ugh...”

“Ohhh, no, you’re right!” the second voice cried with dawning realisation. “A different finger, then...it all goes to the same place, anyway.”

“I dread to ask where that might be... look, shall we just knock?”

“After you, Guv’nor...”

“I keep telling you to stop calling me that, I chose my name for a reason.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a long-winded old fart. Just you wait,” added the second voice, “I reckon the kid will agree with me.”

“Hmm, we shall see...”

This statement was closely followed by a sharp rapping just level with Malcolm’s head, but before he could even begin to fathom what could possibly knock on a coffin six-feet under the ground without first removing said dirt, a head appeared through the grain of the wood, it’s nose going straight through his.

“Oh, now really! It’s awfully cramped in here, I must say!” it blustered, pulling back slightly until it was separated from his face so that all Malcolm could see was its watery eyes, wrinkled nose and chapped lips...oh, and the wood. He could see right through this strange man.