DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters or events of the film "Shaun of the Dead." That honor belongs to the very lovely and very talented Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright. I also do not own any of the characters or ideas of the television series or film "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." That honor belongs to Joss Whedon, who is equally lovely and talented. And he should be commended for making a girl collect comic books again. I mean, have you seen the new issues of "The Astonishing X-Men"? Okay, sorry to distract you. Get on with your reading...
Several hours later, having spent the cash on videogames and looking at the new Star Wars DVD boxed set on the shelf with suitable contempt, Shaun was at the pub. Not the Winchester, of course.
Even if it hadn't been undergoing major renovations from Z-Day damage, he could never go back there. The flood of good and bad memories would have drowned him. And if he'd felt like drowning things, he would have popped Tomb Raider into his Playstation and let Lara Croft die of lack of oxygen on level three.
No, much better to drown his sorrows in a pint and a game of pool. At the moment, he found himself behind the eight ball. Literally. It would take a carefully-planned, brilliantly-executed trick shot to get the cue ball around it and on track to hit the two ball in the corner pocket.
Shaun lost focus only long enough to realize that the jukebox was playing "American Woman." He briefly thought about how no song could escape an Austin Powers soundtrack unscathed. He then returned his focus to the pool table.
He patiently aimed, took the shot and watched in horror as the white ball went flying across the room on a kamikaze mission to crack the cranium of some innocent bystander. To his relief, and surprise, a short brunette turned quickly and caught it mere inches from her head.
"Um, wow, I'm really, really sorry about that," he quickly stammered an apology.
"That's okay," she smiled. "But I'd say that counts as a scratch." She tossed the ball back to him and continued on her path to the bar. Why did she look familiar to him? Unable to answer that question, he turned back to his game.
"Shaun, is that you?" a female voice interrupted.
He turned to the blonde, slender figure of a woman. She looked familiar as well. "Uh, yeah, hi."
"It's me, Melanie. One of Liz's old workmates," she said enthusiastically. "Cheeky thing, you don't remember me, do you?"
"No, no, of course I do, Melanie. You...worked with Liz."
"Exactly. I haven't seen you in ages. You still working at that appliance store?"
"Yeah, yeah. I thought about leaving, but they gave me this promotion that made it worth my staying."
"Oh, really? That's nice. You still with Liz?"
"Um, no, not so much. We're sort of...on a break. Sorting things out, y'know."
"I see. I'm sorry to hear that." She paused, thoughtfully tilting her head. Shaun inexplicably felt like a piece of meat being inspected. Where did that feeling come from? "Y'know, I always had a little crush on you..."
Meanwhile at the bar, the short brunette took a seat. "Pint of Newcastle, please," she requested, fumbling through her pound notes for the right amount. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked a mess.
Sleepless nights had left her brown eyes bloodshot and baggy, the English weather had played havoc with her dark brown hair, and the ensemble she had chosen of jeans and a grey sweater was only a slight improvement on the record store uniform she'd been wearing a few hours ago.
At least she still had her reflexes. If she hadn't prevented that guy's cue ball from colliding with her skull, she would have had an even worse headache. And that guy at the pool table, hadn't he been in the store earlier? Post-breakup CD selling guy, she remembered. In the mirror, she saw him talking to someone at his side but didn't see anyone there.
"Can you believe he didn't call a foul on that?!" a male voice at her side loudly interrupted.
"Sorry?"
"A foul?! And that guy was clearly offside."
It was then she looked up at the TV to notice the game to which her neighbor was referring. "Oh, soccer. I don't really follow it."
"Soccer?" he said, with a laugh. "That is football, sunshine."
"Well, it's soccer in America."
"Right, right. Next, you'll be telling me that chips are called 'French fries' and lifts are called 'elevators'." He took another sip of Guinness. "I'm Ian."
"Sara," she replied, shaking his hand.
"So you been over here long?"
"No, no, just a few weeks. Still adjusting, y'know." She continued to look from the mirror to the pool table. Yes, post-breakup CD selling guy was talking to someone. No, she did not have a reflection. Definite lack of reflection. Or were her tired eyes playing tricks on her?
"What brought you here?"
"Other than my massive crush on Colin Firth?"
"Other than that, yeah," he laughed.
"I got a job and was transferred here to London. I can't complain really. At least now I don't have to wait years for the new series of 'Coupling' or 'McCallum' or something like that."
"You get those shows across the Pond?"
"Of course. We're not completely uncivilized." She stole another glance at the pool table. No one there. No sign of them at all. Panic seized at her.
"Well, if you ask me, with a very few exceptions, most of our programs here are total—"
"Shit!" she cried.
"Exactly."
"No, I wasn't...I just...I have to go. Sorry." She hopped off the stool and ran to the door.
"Bloody Yanks," he muttered and went back to his Guinness and football.
Meanwhile, Shaun was being led out of the pub, down the street and into a dark alley. "Are you sure this is the way to the Tube?" he asked, a bit drunkenly.
After Melanie had started talking to him in the pub, he started to remember her. Remember the things he'd liked about her. Remember the time they'd fooled around at Liz's office party. For some reason, he didn't feel like being alone tonight. And for that reason, he'd accepted her invitation to a party. But for still another reason, he was feeling uneasy.
"It's a shortcut I know," she replied, leading him further down the dark, foggy alley.
"Look, Mel, it's really nice of you to invite me," he said, stopping. "But maybe I should just go home."
"Not yet, Shaun." She grabbed hold of his collar and pushed him against the wall. She brought her face close to his, uncomfortably close.
"Wait, wait. I just got out of a long-term relationship. I'm not sure I'm quite ready for this."
Mel sighed. "Right, Shaun, you were never that good at foreplay. So let's just go to the main event." In an instant, her face transformed into a hideous mask of wrinkles, yellow eyes and sharp fangs.
He didn't even have time to scream before she sunk her teeth into his neck.