I sometimes wonder what it was, exactly, in my early childhood, my formative years, that so permanently and wonderfully warped me, that I would grow up to be the flaming Horror mark and fanboy (and creator, at the risk of blowing my own clarinet) that I am. I expect it was several things; watching SALEM’S LOT and HALLOWEEN at such an impressionable age, no doubt, were contributing factors. Seeing headless chickens played a part, too, a sizeable one. I grew up a farm boy, you see. I watched an uncle of mine preparing some chickens for the cook pot. You start by chopping the heads off the chickens with a hatchet. Lots of blood and feathers to be seen, but the most terrifying part, for a small boy, is that chickens didn’t die. Not immediately, anyway. They ran around the yard, flapping their wings, headless but with their hearts still pumping, and even after they exsanguinated they wouldn’t die politely. Being chased by a zombie chicken as a little boy, yeah, that probably had something to do with me turning out the way I did.
Have you ever heard about the world’s most famous headless chicken? His name was Mike. He has his own festival every year, and deservedly so.
If you are reading about these zombie chickens and thinking, why wouldn’t it work the same way with humans?—then you see the inherent Horror of the situation. Wholesome family entertainment for an imaginative country boy!