Zidday

Everyone has become used to the dead rising on a regular basis. In fact, for you and your staff, the cycle has become quite predictable. That's why it was so much of a shock when a few of them woke up early and got the drop on you.
Nobody was quite ready when the first ghouls stumbled into the foyer of your office. There were no barricades on the doors or windows, no stockpiled medicine ready to use, and certainly no hired security to help. The screams of your receptionist downstairs were the only warning you got, and once the panic set in, organised resistance was impossible. The next five minutes were some of the worst of your life, and ended with you locked in your personal study, frantically trying to fish your dad's old revolver out of its hiding place in the bottom desk drawer. The note next to what little ammunition you find reminds you that you were supposed to order more.
When the bitter fight to the death outside your office finally winds down, a peek through the blinds shows that while none of your people made it, most of the zombies are defeated, too -- bludgeoned by improvised weapons, trapped under overturned desks and pushed through broken windows. Only one shambling corpse still shows any signs of movement. With the utmost care, you tiptoe out of your office to deliver the killing blow.
Yet, this zombie has one more blow for you, and the last guttural words it utters before your trembling fingers can pull the trigger are "it's... pronounced... 'zidday'..."
*BLAM*
This October, the stakes have never been greater.

The dead will walk among us in:

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