Norman and Norma at the End of the World: Bowls & Bodies

The late afternoon sun hung lazily over Woodsham-on-the-Wold, casting long, mellow shadows across the bowling green. It was Thursday, which meant Norman and Norma were in their usual spot: Norman in his flat cap, Norma in her lilac cardigan, both with their favourite bowls polished to a shine.

“Well,” Norma said, adjusting her glasses and squinting down the immaculate stretch of grass, “I suppose I should warn you in advance that I’m going to win again.”

Norman smirked. “You only won last week because that pigeon distracted me mid-roll. Not exactly a fair victory, my love.”

“Excuses, excuses,” she replied, setting her bowl with the precision of a surgeon, and watching it roll smoothly, curving just as she’d planned.

It was then that Norman heard it — a faint, wet shuffling from beyond the hedge. It was the sort of noise you’d expect if someone was dragging a bag of custard along a gravel path.

Norma, without looking up, sighed. “Tell me that’s not another one of them.”

A head appeared over the hedge. Well, part of a head. The left side was more a vague suggestion of skull, with a few teeth clinging on like stubborn tombstones.

“Afraid so,” Norman muttered, straightening his back and picking up the jack. “Looks like this one’s had a rough morning.”

Within seconds, the hedge was rustling with more movement — three, maybe four zombies, all…