"My icebox aint no trough," she said.

The rummaging stopped as the rump stilled.

Mary reached beside her and flicked on the light.

"Get your hands up and step away from the pie," she demanded.

She cocked the gun, to show the rump she meant business, which she most certainly did. A pair of big hands, caked with filth and every nail black with grunge, lifted as the stranger stood. He was as tall as the fridge, almost as broad, and looked like he hadn't seen the inside of a washtub in a good year. His black hair was greasy and short on his grubby neck. His black jacket was sore-fully tattered, too short for his long arms and covered in grime. He looked like he had spent the last hour rolling around in the pig pen. Smelled like it too.

"Now turn round, real slow like," Mary said. "One wrong move and I'll empty this here buckshot inta your butt."

When he turned to face her, Mary regretted having asked him to. He was a horrible site. The skin of his face not covered in blueberries had a sick green tint to it, like a moldy hide stretched taunt across his skull. His lips were thin, black lines pulling in a tight grimace from his blueberry stained teeth in an eerie half grin. His eyes were milky, dark marbles floating free in their sockets. In short, he was a monstrosity. A big, filthy, blueberry pie stealing monstrosity.

"Hey honey," it said through a mouthful of pie.

It was then that Mary recognized him as her big, filthy, blueberry pie stealing monstrosity.

"Rufus?" She dropped the shotgun and covered her mouth as her eyes flew wide with terror.

"Careful Mare Bear," Rufus said as he pointed to the clattering gun.

"But Rufus," Mary said through her fingers. "You're d-d-d-dead!"

"Well that's a fine 'how'd ya do.' Come down for a snack and you wanna kill me fur it?" Rufus frowned as he wiped the pie from his face. He stopped as he spied the berries on his muddy sleeve. Understanding came upon him and he felt duly guilty. "That pie was for church. Weren't it? I'm sorry, sugar. 'Aint no need to shoot me over it."

He stretched his black lips back, baring his teeth. Mary's stomach lurched at the gruesome sight. What should have been a sweet smile ended up a slavering snarl. Her knees wobbled and she grabbed a kitchen chair to steady herself.

"Roo, it 'aint about the pie," she said. "You was dead, honey. Stone dead."

"You been at my still?" Rufus asked, raising a half brow and cocking his head at her with a loud crack.

Mary sat at the opposite end of the table, far from her dead husband. "You been dead 'bout near two weeks."

"You sure you 'aint been at the shine?" His head was pounding, his guts were growling and she stared at him so hard it made his skin crawl. Or rather she made him feel like something under his skin was crawling. He jerked his chair from the head of the table, and the sound of twisting leather rose from his knees as he sat.

"Roo, we put you in the ground and everything."

Rufus looked down at his dirt caked hands and soiled suit. He realized he looked like he just crawled free from a hole in the ground. But that was to be expected because he had, indeed, just crawled free from a hole in the ground. "Well, that would explain a lot. I thought I fell asleep in the field and got all plowed over by Charlie."

"No Roo, you was dead. I swear it. Here..." she paused and slid a pie pan down the table. "Look at yourself."

Rufus lifted both brows to her as he lifted the pan to his face. In the dull metal he saw a monster staring back at him. "That 'aint me," he said. The monster mouthed his words and Rufus groaned. "Aww Mare Bear. What happened to me?" He patted his rotting face with a decaying hand.

"You don't remember? Charlie kicked you in the chest. Broke your chest bone and crushed your heart is what the Doc said."

"Dammed mule 'aint never been nothing but trouble." He ran his hand over the breast of his muddy suit, and felt it give where his heart should have been. He didn't dare open his shirt to look inside, for fear he might see inside his insides, and that would be too much insides for one man to bear. He looked back to his reflection and frowned. "Am I really dead?"

"Didn't you see your stone when you came up?"

"It was dark. Plus I weren't really looking for it, was I? You don't wake up in a hole and just assume you're in the grave, do ya?"

"I wouldn't rightly know."

"Speaking from experience, ya don't. And it wasn't like there was a whole lot of graveyard giving me a hint."

"Well, ya said ya wanted to lay to rest on the farm. Weren't no help that I had to rush the funeral."

"Why rush it? I wasn't going nowhere."

"In this summer heat you set to stinking right away."

Rufus lowered his gaze in a sudden bout of shyness. "How was it?"

Mary squinted at his odd question. "Well, it was kind a like... boiled fish heads, mixed with wet manure and week old eggs. 'Course you smell a lot less now, but I reckon----"

"I don't mean my scent, woman, I mean my funeral!"

Mary glared at him and pursed her lips. "I see dying 'aint done nothing to your temper."

Rufus hung his head.

"Besides," she added in a tender yet devious voice. "I don't rightly remember a whole lot about it. I were knee deep in grief over ya, Roo."

But Rufus would not be moved. "Ya don't remember nuthin?"

"If I'd a known you'd be back for a play by play, I'd 'ave took notes." Mary crossed her arms and returned her lips to their previous purse.

The couple fell quiet and stared at one another. Thirty years of marriage had seen them through a lot, but nothing prepared them for this.

"Sorry about the pie," Rufus said. "But I couldn't help myself. I got this powerful hunger, Mare Bear." As if on cue, a rumble rolled across the quiet kitchen and Rufus covered his belly with his big hands. "Why ya lookin' at me like that?" he asked. She was looking at him the same way she did when she thought she had caught him doing something wrong. Which was to say, she was looking at him the way she always did.

Mary clicked her tongue.

"What?" Rufus asked.

"Nuthin'," she lied.

"Ya clucking like a mother hen. That means ya got an idear."

Mary frowned. She didn't want to think of this dead thing as her Roo, but he sure acted like it. "Maybe you're one of those things they make them movies about. A zomblie."

Rufus scowled even harder as his stomach rolled again.

"You aint never seen a zomblie movie, have you Roo?" she asked.

Rufus shook his head and his neck creaked like a dry wind blowing across an old tombstone.

Mary had only seen one zomblie film, when she was much younger, but she was sure they all pretty much had the same plot. "Zomblies eat... people... the brains mostly..." her words trailed off. Rufus was lifting his nose, sniffing at the kitchen air like an old hound dog.

"Brains you say?" Rufus asked as he breathed deeper, enjoying a sudden delectable scent. He nosed around, wondering if Mary had something on a slow boil, until he realized it was coming from her. Rufus Mooney, despite his best effort to the contrary, began to drool.

Mary stared as the dead man raked his black tongue back and forth across his putrid lips. He was looking at her the same way he looked at her whenever he wanted that certain special something. Which was to say, he looked at her with hunger. She went white in terror.