|An unorthodox Santa, courtesy of Selfridges' Xmas window display|
A cautionary tale for everyone attending a fancy dress party tonight?
The zombie shuffled down the garden path. At this distance from the house the sounds of the party came in snatches. Music and laughter and someone singing off key. A chilly moon lit up trailing bloodstained rags and heavily shadowed eyes in a deathly pale face. And the tell-tale red glow of the illicit cigarette.
He jumped when I stepped from behind the tree.
'Hey - didn't see you there. Wow, same costume. Yours looks great.'
Fancy dress. Don't you just love it?
I pulled him towards me and began to eat.