Mick Living-Dead?’ Mr Grimsweather peered up from the ancient leather-bound rollcall book and surveyed the class maliciously. ‘Anyone seen Mr Living-Dead?’ ‘He’s away, sir,’ droned Geoff Dandyline. ‘Religious holiday.’ ‘Religious holiday,’ hissed Grimsweather. ‘When’s he back?’ ‘Not till next year, sir.’ ‘Next year!’ thundered Grimsweather. ‘It’s only October! What does he think this holiday is?’ ‘Extended zombie Christmas break, sir,’ replied Dandyline, his grinning buckteeth reflecting the overhead fluro lights and nearly blinding the rest of the class in the process. ‘It’s a zombie thing.’ ‘Zombie thing,’ muttered Grimsweather. ‘I’ll give him “zombie thing”. Extended zombie Christmas break. Why does it take zombies so long to celebrate Christmas?’ Dandyline grinned again and his monstrous teeth slid out his mouth like a beggar’s bowl at a G8 Summit. ‘It takes them a long time to warm up, sir – being dead and all. Zombie thing, sir.’ ‘Shut up, Dandyline!’ A forbidding silence descended on the class.
