The Undead Roommate

Chapter 1: The Most Polite Undead in History

The deadbolt slid back with a metallic screech that sounded like a gunshot in the cramped hallway. Kewin kicked the door shut behind him, his boots heavy with the grime of the city’s hollowed-out suburbs. He dropped his supply bag—mostly canned beans and a singular, dented bottle of electrolyte water—and froze.

The rhythmic scritch-scratch of a sponge against porcelain echoed from the kitchen.

"Who’s there?" Kewin barked, his hand darting to the tactical knife strapped to his thigh.

"Almost… clean," a voice rasped. It sounded like wet gravel grinding inside a burial shroud.

Kewin rounded the corner, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. A creature stood at his sink. It was draped in the rotting remnants of a waiter’s uniform, its skin the color of a bruised plum. It was hunched over, industriously scrubbing a stained plate with a fraying sponge.

"What the hell are you doing?" Kewin hissed, raising the knife. "Get away from the sink!"

The zombie stopped. It turned its head with a sickening, audible click of vertebrae. Its eyes were milky, sightless orbs, yet it tracked Kewin with unsettling precision. "Grease. Very stubborn. Sorry."

"Sorry?" Kewin’s voice cracked. "You’re a walking carcass. You’re supposed to be trying to eat my brains, not doing the chores!"

The creature tilted its head, a strand of gray hair falling over a protruding, grayish cheekbone. "Brains? No. Too mushy. Sink needed… scrub. Soap gone. Used water."

"You’re hallucinating. I’m hallucinating. This is a stress break," Kewin muttered, stepping back, his grip tightening on the handle. "I’m going to kill you, put you in a dumpster, and go to sleep for a week."

"Wait," the creature rasped. It reached into its own chest—where a jagged, puckered hole exposed a pulsating, dark cavity—and pulled out something that hummed with a soft, bioluminescent blue light. It held the glowing crystal out, trembling. "Rent. For the sink."

Kewin blinked. "Is that... a core?"

"Crystal," the creature corrected, its voice devoid of malice. "Bright. Warm. Keeps… quiet. Please."

Kewin stepped forward, wary, and plucked the stone from the creature's cold, stiff fingers. The warmth radiated through his skin, a stark contrast to the stagnant air of the apartment.

"You’re giving me this for a sink?"

"I like the shine," the creature said. "My name is… Antang. I think."

"You think? You’re a zombie, Antang. You don't have a name, you have an expiration date."

"I am helpful," Antang insisted, reaching for another plate. "I have no hunger for flesh. Only… organization."

"You’re insane," Kewin breathed, though he slipped the crystal into his pocket, his mind racing with the black-market value of the thing. "If I let you stay, you stop the groaning. You stay in the kitchen. And you don't bite me. Ever."

"Deal," Antang said, scrubbing harder. "But I need… bits. Old cloth. Batteries. Things to hold."

"Batteries?" Kewin narrowed his eyes. "Why do you need batteries?"

"Keep the light," Antang said, gesturing to its own chest. "If the light goes out, the hunger comes back. You want me to eat you?"

"Hell no."

"Then bring batteries. And soap. The good kind."

Kewin leaned against the doorframe, watching the corpse meticulously dry a fork. The absurdity of it washed over him, drowning out the fear. He was cohabiting with a monster to keep his dishes clean.

"You’re the weirdest roommate I’ve ever had," Kewin muttered.

"You are… anxious," Antang observed, not looking up. "Your heart rate is 112 beats per minute."

"Don't monitor me. It's creepy."

"I am efficient."

"You're a hazard," Kewin countered, yet he found himself lowering the knife. He walked over to the counter and placed his supply bag down. "There's half a loaf of bread in there. Don't touch it. It's for me."

"I do not eat bread," Antang said. "I eat… memories of light. Batteries. Mostly D-cells."

"Great. I’m going to have to trade all my food for D-cell batteries just so you don't turn into a bloodthirsty maniac in the middle of the night."

"It is a fair trade. I cleaned the bathroom yesterday, too."

Kewin felt a shiver run down his spine. "Yesterday? You were here yesterday?"

"I hid in the cupboard. You were loud when you slept."

"I’m moving out," Kewin whispered to himself, though he stayed exactly where he was.

Suddenly, a heavy, rhythmic thumping shook the front door. Kewin froze. His hand flew back to his knife.

"Kewin? You in there?" A voice muffled by the thick wood came from the hallway. It was Milner, the neighbor from 4B, and he sounded pissed. "I’ve been hearing this weird, wet growling coming from your unit for an hour! If you’ve got a dog, you better shut it up, or I’m calling the scavengers to break that door down!"

Antang stopped scrubbing. The blue light in its chest flickered, turning a jagged, warning red.

"Hunger is returning," Antang whispered, his head snapping toward the door. "Too many people. They smell… loud."