He thought of answering her – and why not? All things considered, talking to a dead body seemed rational. Perhaps conversing with the deceased might be good therapy for dementia. Suddenly, thoughts of undead communication ceased.

The corpse of Stacy Clemmons moved.

“Oh God! Get me out of here!” His words were little more than dry, voiceless air moving past his lips. His throat felt constricted. Coils of paralyzing fear wrapped around his neck like an invisible anaconda, squeezing it tightly.

He sensed Stacy’s dead hands moving toward him. He felt her shift and move, slowly reaching for his throat. Not knowing her murderer, she would exact revenge on the only one available. Naked terror beyond imagination leapt into his mind, transforming his world of rational thought into a universe of lunacy.

Dan tried to scream, but only managed a hoarse gurgle. Stacy would kill him now. She would take his dead body and enjoy dark, morbid passions of necrophilic delight. He had scorned her in life, but now he belonged to her for all eternity. She would make him pay for his arrogant rejection.

He felt her turning. She would face him now and, perhaps, end his life with a kiss. Yes, soon he would feel cold, stiff lips pressing against his own. Her rotting tongue would invade his mouth and plunge down his throat. Choking gasps would be his last sounds as he struggled vainly to escape her embrace of rigor mortis. He could feel her cold, dead hands stroking his face. She would be his undead lover until the end of time.

His eyes squeezed closed in dreaded anticipation. The deadly kiss hovered, delayed. Why was she waiting? She whispered to him again and this time he noticed something odd.

“I hope she was worth it, you adulterous pig.”