Oban had made hundreds of silly mistakes in his past, but this time, he was determined to get it right. Preparing his weapons, his mind wandered over the myriad events in his life that had been messed up by his accidental bumbling.

Kind-hearted and well meaning, clumsiness and a tendency to get things wrong had been his curse. He remembered as a child, trying to make porridge for his parents, he had read that he needed to boil milk. Dutifully, he had filled the kettle to its brim with milk, and waited for it to boil. Obviously, the kettle had been ruined, and the smell of burnt milk lingered for days. A small mistake, but a precursor for things to come..

Two days before his high school end-of-year ball, he had overheard his classmates talking about dressing ‘fancy’ for the big night. Rather than asking for confirmation, he had ordered his clothes and spent the night sat in the corner dressed as Elvis as his friends danced the night away in their tuxedos.

Then there was the time Kate had asked him to put her lottery numbers on for her while she was at work. Keeping her money in his wallet, he had smiled all day at the thought of presenting her with it when her numbers inevitably failed to appear, and easing her disappointment. She had failed to see the funny side when four of her numbers came up.

On it had gone, one mishap after another, some small and some not so small, until it seemed that everything he did was destined to go wrong. Sometimes it seemed to him that his life was one long Laurel and Hardy skit, but that was about to change. When the dead started to walk, both he and Kate had dismissed it as nonsense, as so many others had, it was just too unbelievable. When the first of the ghouls had appeared at the end of his street, moaning and staggering along the road like poorly-made meat puppets, he understood that he’d been mistaken once again.

Kate had been at work, and he had spent two days frantically trying to call her and make sure she was safe. Finally realising that he wasn’t going to be able to reach her, he had gritted his teeth and formulated his plan to go and get her himself. No mistakes this time, no misunderstandings or clumsy misfortune. He was ready to do battle with the undead, and if he had to dispatch every single one of the shambling monsters that stood between him and Kate, so be it.

Most of his neighbours had either been eaten, or had risen to join the ranks of the undead, and around fifteen of them were milling around the front of his house, seeming to sense the fresh meat inside. Peering through the drapes, he could make out Adam and Sammi from next door, intestines pooled around their ankles, Adam absent-mindedly chewing on a severed foot. This was it. Time for action. Time for him to prove to the world what he was really made of.

Picking up his weapons, he prepared to fight, and approached the front door. No mistakes, Oban, he told himself. Not this time.

Opening it wide, he saw multiple pairs of dead eyes swing greedily toward him, and he stepped out to meet them, garlic and crucifix in his outstretched hands.