Uncanny (A Very Undead Birthday)

Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything related to The Walking Dead.

Other Stuff: This is the final chapter of what has definitely been the weirdest fic I've ever written. The biggest inspiration for this story (besides "Walking Dead" itself) was Stephen King's Danse Macabre. I love analyzing elements of the horror genre, and I thought this show would be a cool medium in which to explore other creatures besides zombies. Thanks for the reviews, and enjoy!

Chapter 10: The Party

Rick Grimes woke up with a pounding in his head and piece of chocolate cake in his lap. As the world came into focus, he realized that he was lying on a lower bunk bed. Other people in the group were scattered around the room, socializing, and stuffing their faces with the same delicacy in front of him.

Oh right, the birthday party.

He had almost forgotten the night's strange events. And yet, the more he tried to remember the werewolf, the cornfield, the house with the lights, and the basement, the more it became fuzzy and unclear in his mind. Rick sighed and supposed it was for the best.

There was only so much terror a man could take in one night.

"Better eat that piece of cake, or someone's liable to steal it," came a familiar voice at his side.

He looked up to find Michonne flashing a rare smile at him.

"Good point," he said, and gratefully took the canteen of water she handed to him.

"Dad!" said Carl excitedly and ran over to them, hugging Rick. "Are you okay?"

"I'm just fine," said Rick softly, knowing that he would need at least thirteen more hours of sleep and possibly years of therapy to even begin to recover from this night. "How's Daryl?"

A hand from above him rapped at the metal bed frame connecting Rick's bunk to the top.

"I'm good, Grimes," came Daryl's voice. "You gonna eat that cake?"

"Yeah, dad, you really should eat it," said Carl, as if the fact that Rick hadn't eaten it was a devastating travesty. "I helped make it, you know. And Michonne contributed the pink candle."

"She did now, did she?" Rick said, teasing Michonne with his eyes. "A pink candle?"

Michonne actually pinched him before walking away. "Eat your cake."

"You know what? I think I will," Rick said, and opened his mouth wide.

Carol smiled at Hershel as he complimented her on the excellent cake.

"Well, thank you for suggesting that I make it chocolate instead of vanilla. I think the flavor turned out just right. Very rich."

Hershel nodded. "Was Maggie able to help you out with the ingredients, like I suggested?"

Carol paused, confused. "Well, no. You told me to find Merle to get chocolate, and that's where I—"

"Carol . . ." Hershel leaned in closer to her, examining her face as if there might be something wrong with her. "Did you say that Merle helped you?"

"Why, yes. He . . ."

And then Carol remembered that Merle had been dead for nearly a week. She put her right hand on her cheek, and her hand felt unusually warm, as if he was still holding it, gently. As if he might hold it forever.

"Carol?"

She was oblivious to the others as Carol saw Merle's figure some distance down the hallway. It wasn't wavy or black and white, like how she imagined some ghosts, but solid and clear in her sight. He was half-turned, his gaze fixed on Daryl in his bunk, his face masking emotion, grim but determined. A second later he looked at her, nodded, and walked away, his body dissolving into the darkness of the hallway.

"Carol?" Hershel's hand on her shoulder took her from the reverie, and she jerked her head back to the group. Maggie and Glenn were watching curiously and Daryl had stopped feasting, looking decidedly worried at her.

"I-I'm fine," she said, and moved quietly towards Daryl as the others continued chatting and feasting. Dixon knew something was amiss, and he kept an eye on her as she approached.

Carefully avoiding stepping on Rick, Carol hoisted herself onto the top bunk, sitting beside Daryl. She wasn't sure what exactly had happened while he had been gone, but she felt compelled to connect with him in some way. After Merle died, that hadn't really happened.

"Your brother," she said, finding courage to look up at Daryl, tears shining in her eyes. "He's looking out for us, and he's looking out for you."

Daryl paused, barely breathing, and then took Carol's hand tenderly, holding it close. "I know," he said.

"She really loves that music box," said Glenn.

Maggie squeezed his arm affectionately as she cleared away dishes. "Yeah. No one can pick out a present like me."

It was quite late and most everyone had gone to their individual rooms are collective bunks to finally get some sleep. Maggie and Glenn had generously volunteered to clean up and help with dishes duty, if only for the sole purpose of being able to splash each other with sudsy water.

During a zombie apocalypse, flirting gets creative.

Both Maggie and Glenn felt enormously content, perhaps for the first time in a great while. Even with the unsettling episode earlier that day, all had been forgotten in a blur of festivities and cake. Maggie smiled at the thought of Beth's reaction when she opened the box up and when she began twirling as the music played.

"I wonder," she said aloud, "whom that music box belonged to?"

Glenn shrugged, stacking plates on the counter beside her. "Probably a little girl."

"I wonder . . ." Maggie said again, and Glenn stopped.

"What?"

"Is she still out there?"

Glenn shuddered, remembering the ghost girl in his room all those years ago.

"I don't know," he said, "but the memory of her is."

Beth sighed contentedly and settled into her bed. The other girls around her were fast asleep. It had been an exhausting day, after all. And the party had been so unexpected! She had never imagined in a thousand years that her birthday could be as wonderful as this day had been.

She clutched the music box in her hands. Glints of moonlight streaming through her window reflected on the metallic case, illuminating its white flowers and making it glow slightly. Beth knew that it was the best gift she had ever received; she couldn't put it down.

But she had to go to sleep.

Softly, Beth crept to one of the large windows directly across from her bunk and set the music box on the ledge, walking away. Halfway back to her bed, however, she turned and scampered back to the music box, taking it and winding it up for one last time that night. The music played so quietly that she was sure it wouldn't wake anyone.

As the waltz gently played, Beth buried herself beneath warm sheets and immediately drifted into dreams.

And outside, a group of scruffy zombies suddenly ceased their repetitive moans and began to step in time to the music box's song, elegantly and gracefully. Though no one at the prison was privy to their performance, the zombies continued moving as long as the chimes rang out in the darkness, dancing by the light of the moon.

~Fin~