Norman and Norma at the End of the World

Episode 2: A Pump and a Thump

In the quiet remnants of what had once been the picturesque village of Woodsham-on-the-Wold, the sound of birdsong had been replaced with the occasional moan, shuffle, and enthusiastic thwack of undead skulls meeting garden tools.

It was a Tuesday. Probably.

Norman, a wiry man in his late seventies with thick grey eyebrows and a passion for practical socks, was knee-deep in grease and grumbling. His latest obsession: fixing the old well pump that had stubbornly refused to produce anything but brown gloop and the occasional worm.

“Bloody thing,” he muttered, tapping at the pipe with a spanner. “Easier getting sense out of Geoff from the post office. And he’s got half his head missing.”

A loud thud sounded behind him. Without looking, Norman called out, “Norma? That you or another bloody Girl Guide risen from the grave?”

Norma, his equally spry wife of 54 years, appeared with her usual calm authority and a blood-streaked cricket bat in one hand. In the other, she held what looked suspiciously like a severed zombie ear, which she promptly dropped into a bucket already half-full of similar trophies.

“Morning, love,” she said cheerfully. “The vicar just tried to bite my ankle again. Took the scenic route into the rhododendrons after I gave him a good wallop.”

Norman didn’t look up from the pump. “Still wearing his cassock, is he?”