Glass is the first thing we see, but then the solar powered lights start to kick in below and we catch our first glimpse of Harry for the new year. Next several small children with rags must clean the surface of the glass, removing the dirt, debris and insects which have collected on it since last year. Once they're done and the lights have had a chance to charge up everybody gathers around the lucid pit and stares.

It's been that way for as long as I've had memory. Although I'm told our taxidermy man did a superior job, stuffing only lasts for so long and each year Old Harry looks a little deader...

Until this year.

This year, after the tarp had been rolled back, the glass cleaned and the lights fully functional, we all gathered around that hole in the ground and stared stupidly downward into the depths of the lighted grave--and there was Harry, staring back up at us, his favorite pack of playing cards laid out in front of him, midway through a game of Solitaire. He blinked twice, coughed rather nervously, and said, "Hello."

Cousin Martha immediately fainted and her blubbery form struck the glass so hard I thought for sure it would crack and Harry's first guest in probably fifty years would suddenly "drop in". But there was no cracking, and Martha simply bounced a bit and rolled off to the side.

"The damn thing's alive!" Uncle Mortimer shouted.

"Let's get out of here!" Aunt Peg advised.

"Holy shit!" someone soliloquized.

Down below, Old Harry seemed to be taking the whole thing rather well. Unlike everyone else, he didn't look the least bit traumatized. In fact, he was so comfortable that he unbuttoned the front of his dress shirt to take in the noonday sun and I think he even farted. It was hard to tell what with the glass and all.

In time the screaming died down, the soliloquies ended, and I suddenly realized that I was the only one left standing at the top of McCormack Hill (Harry of course didn't count, because he was inside the hill, and he was sitting). No one had even bothered to drag or even roll poor Cousin Martha down the hill. I looked at her sympathetically.

"Ritual all screwed up now?" Harry asked peevishly.

I wasn't really sure if I should answer him or not.

"Cat got your tongue?" came the muffled croak from beneath the glass. I huffed.

"No, as a matter of fact; but it appears that the devil has got yours, you silly corpse."

"Not fair," he protested.

"I don't care," I said, and started walking away.

"You'll be back after sundown!" Harry called to me. I wasn't listening.

When I returned to the village a furious storm of spice cakes were a'cooking and strings of garlic had suddenly proliferated everyone's door. Old ladies were carrying crosses and old men were signing crosses at the old ladies. Hush-hushed wisp-whisperings floated through the smelly, spicy air. Our little village chapel was aglow with sacred candles burning and lines of people trying to stuff themselves inside like sardines. Everywhere I looked, everything I listened to; they were all moving lips and breathy words ridiculously stuffed like a banquet turkey with "Harry this" and "Harry that" spilling out all over the sides and staining the figurative tablecloth. In a rather large way their reactions pissed me off. After all, what the hell was the ritual for anyway? They wanted him to pop up and say hello and that's exactly what he did. There's no pleasing some people.

When I finally arrived home I found my mother bobbing up and down in front of a crucifix that we keep on the wall, with countless strings of rosary beeds dangling from her neck as if she were some kind of Neocatholic Mr. T. I urged her to stop but she simply mumbled something about damnation and Armageddon and slipped back into her religious trance. I grabbed some bread, cheese and a flask of water and headed for the back yard, where my father was nailing, pounding and sawing up a storm.

"Hey dad, what are you doing, building an ark in case it starts raining?"

"Shhh!" he shooshed me, waving his hand at me as if to repel a gnat. "Not now I'm busy!"

So I climbed on top of a nearby rock and passed the time by having a little picnic. I thought about Old Harry and tried to picture how he might feel, sitting down there in his hole. Would he be happy to know that the whole village was terrified of him?

"Hey boy, give me a hand with this!"

"Not until you tell me what you're doing."

"Makin' stakes!" he snarled."Now get your ass down here!"

I looked at my old man's "stakes". They were really just a bunch of sharp-looking fence boards. I don't think he or anyone else in my village ever had cause to actually make stakes before. Those things didn't look like they'd do any damage unless Harry just happened to jump off a cliff and sit on one of them. Still, I was intrigued.

"Just what do you intend to do with these things?" I asked as I helped him stack them. He looked at me like some sly ferret.

"Tonight we're goin' down to Old Harry's grave. We're gonna smash his glass and kick his ass. We're gonna stick him with stakes then douse him with gasoline and set the whole thing on fire. That's what we're gonna do."

"Who's 'we'? You and mom?"

"Heck no! She couldn't even walk across the room with all those rosary beads hanging from her neck. When I say 'we' I mean all the men of the village...and that includes you."

"Now let me get this straight," I said, "first you go there every year to pray for his revival, and.now that he's revived all you can think of doing is killing him? Have you ever thought of being nice to him? I'm sure he'd have some fascinating stories to tell..."

"Oh, suurrre," my dad mimicked. "We'll just hose him down and spruce him up then parade him down Main Street with his old dead ass sitting on top of a Hearse, waving to everybody like some prom queen. Then we could get in touch with all the medical journals and magazines like Coroner's Weekly and The National Eulogizer and tell them that we have an authentic zombie zipping about town, delivering benedictions." I tried to stop him but he was on a roll. "Then we could suck the embalming fluid out of him and stuff him with things like chicken livers and country potpourri, sew him back up again and maybe roast him over a fiery pit until he's golden brown, remembering of course to baste him at intervals. Maybe we could slap some ice cream on his dome and make a Harry a la Mode. Better yet, let's teach him to sing and dance. Heck, maybe we could resurrect a few more relatives and form a road show; you know, 'The Travelling Deadburys'. Ya, I suppose we could fucking do that, couldn't we!"

"No need to become nasty, dad."

He growled. "Old Harry's got to die...again. Bottom line."

The rest of the afternoon passed on with the same touch of lunacy that marked this April 30, and before I knew it the sun was sinking beyond the horizon. People began shuffling outside of their houses, carrying lanterns and torches. Some of them had stakes of their own, others were waiting in line in my back yard, where my dad was turning a decent profit selling his homemade stakes for the bargain price of five pounds a piece.

From my dirty bedroom window I could see the blurry silhouettes of madmen, clipping phone wires to insure privacy for their upcoming event. They looted our local hardware shop, coming out bearing axes, garden shears, hammers, pikes, and all manner of assorted pointy things. They marched through the streets like a doomsday militia, growling and taunting and probably pissing on some bushes to mark their territory. They gathered in front of a flaming mound at the village's center, drinking liquor and goading each other on. This was the lynching mob. This was Harry's Bastille Day.

I thought about that quirky old reincarnated corpse sitting in his underground pit, and I must say I felt pity for him. I was sure Harry was a nice enough man while he was alive the first time around, so who was there to say that Harry wouldn't be just as good this time?

A handful of moments later I had my bathrobe and a pair of slippers on and I was trudging through our earthy streets, heading for McCormack Hill. Night had fallen and the moon was thin. Stars were few.

Somewhere in a marsh bullfrogs were croaking.

I could hear the mob muttering and buzzing far behind me. The ground was soft but not wet. The smell of grass filled the air. The birds which usually sung were strangely quiet, however, and I noticed that even the frogs were clamming up as I began to ascend the hill.

When I got to the top a most unusual sight was there to greet me: the remains of Cousin Martha. She had been rudely ripped apart.

Immediately I turned and peered into that glass-covered hole, completely black now that the solar lights had no source of energy.

"Harry! You down there?"

No answer.

I began to scrutinize the ground, and I saw what could have been scraping footprints, but they didn't leave the apex of the hill. For some strange reason, I started to whisper.

"Harry, I know you're down there, damn it!"

There was a pause.

"So what if I am?" came the reply.

"You've been a very bad corpse!" I chastised. "You ate Cousin Martha!"

"Big deal. It was a freebie."

"What?"

"She was dead when I ate her. Died of a heart attack. Now piss off!"

"No. You cannibalized a relative. Do you think I'm just going to walk away?"

He sounded a bit defensive. "Look, I didn't eat all of her. She was too damn big. There's plenty left if you're hungry, just leave me alone!"

"But why did you do it, Harry?"

Another pause.

"I haven't eaten in forty-seven years. Gimmie a break!"

"Okay," I reasoned, "suppose I'm willing to overlook this. What proof do I have that you won't go and do it again, huh?"

His mood changed. "This is it. Tonight is a one-shot deal for me. I'll be dead again by morning." Harry almost sounded weepy.

"Uh, I hate to tell you this Harry, but you'll probably be dead way before morning. There's a mob getting ready to kick your old, rotting ass down there."

"I thought that might happen. That's why I grabbed a meal while I could. Nothing sucks more than dying on an empty stomach."

"I'll try to remember that."

I watched the moon for a while before Harry spoke again.

"Hey, how much longer you figure I got?"

"Well, maybe ten minutes, maybe a half hour. It all depends on how drunk they need to be to do the deed."

"I see. Well, as long as we've got some time, why don't we chat? Tell me who you are. Are we related? I bet you're wondering how I knew you would come back."

"My name is Sean McCleod. I believe you're my great great grandfather. And yes, how the hell did you know I would come back?"

"Firstly, it's a pleasure to meet you, dearest grandson. I'm sure a lot of things have changed since I was around, but I take comfort in knowing that such a fine looking young boy is related to me. Secondly, I knew you would come because you have a choice to make. The mob that is gathering in the village will not be capable of killing me. If they attempt to do so I'll tear them all to pieces. Only you are capable of killing me. You are my direct blood, albeit new blood, and I will die again by your hands only."

I thought about what he said for a long while. Then, "Why should I kill you if you're going to die after tonight anyway? Kind of defeats the purpose, I would think.",p> Old Harry let out a slightly audible yawn followed by an extremely audible belch. Apparently Cousin Martha wasn't agreeing with him.

"Abominations to God are like that, I guess." he said at length. "I never wanted to come back like this, but you damn people buried me in an aquarium and prayed for my resurrection each year, so The Hooved One got his jollies off by pumping five hundred milligrams of sunshine up my ass and sending me back. So here I am, my gas tank is getting empty and I only have about a hundred milligrams to go before I'm back in Limbo, playing celestial Solitaire with fucking Andy Warhol."

I was at a loss for words, but I managed to find a few anyway.

"No shit, huh?"

"None at all, kid."

I paced and scratched my chin, asking Harry for a few minutes to think. He had no choice but to agree.

Suddenly my concentration was disturbed by the distant sounds of the approaching mob. I could see them, far below, their torches raised high and their weapons at the ready. Would Harry really be able to tear them all apart? Should I pay five pounds for one of my dad's stakes and kill Harry?

There was no time to delve into deep levels of scheming, so I knelt down and heaved up that great plate of glass, my hand groping below for Harry.

"If you're going to kill me," he said, "you'll have to come down here first."

"I'm not going to kill you, you old fool. Now give me your hand so I can pull you up."

"Really?"

"No, I'm kidding."

He gave me his hand and I pulled.

The next instant me and Old Harry were scampering down the other side of the hill. He didn't smell too bad for a corpse and he ran even better. I guess zombies can really pick 'em up and put 'em down after all--once they've had the shit scared out of them, that is.

After a few minutes we heard the puzzled shriek of the mob after they found Harry's empty grave and Cousin Martha's blubbery remains. We managed to put a good deal of distance between us and them, though, and they never caught sight of us.

We ran through open fields and rolling meadows, where long reeds of grass whistled as we flew by. The peephole brightness of the moon turned the land into a peculiar shadow, and the thumping of our footsteps lingered behind us like a vague thought. I took Harry far out, and together we jumped the small stone wall which marked the border of our village. There we stopped, me to catch my breath and him to check that none of his limbs or digits had jiggled off. When this was done, he turned to me.

"Why did you save me?"

"I don't know. Besides, I didn't really save you, I saved the village. You would have ripped their heads off if they got to you, right?"

And then I saw an expression that I never thought a corpse capable of wearing: a blush.

"You didn't really believe that line of crap, did you Sean?"

I emitted a rather loud blurbitis vulgaris before saying, "I suppose you're not going to croak before morning either?"

"I believe the word is 'bingo'."

"And now that I've set your lying ass free just what exactly do you intend to do?"

Bad question.

Harry leaned over and took a bite out of me.