Ambrose Bierce, great American writer and lycanthrope has been living in exile on an island in Figi hoping to avoid the attention of the evil Saint Germain. His decade of peaceful living is disturbed by the arrival of a biographer, Joyous Jones, and then a horde of zombies. Trapped on an island as the zombie horde closes in, help arrives from an unexpected quarter; the Wildside fey.
"A lot of people have been wondering what happened to you," I said, playing along. What the hell--it was a bit loony, but I was on vacation and determined to have a good time.
"I know. But it would have ruined the fun if I told them the truth... then," Ambrose answered, sinking gracefully into a cross-legged squat. His increased proximity amplified the number and size of goosebumps on my arms. "Now would be another matter though. I've been thinking that perhaps people would like to hear about what actually happened. And it should be safe enough with all my nearest and dearest finally dead."
"You were right about keeping quiet, I think. People adore a good mystery. And just disappearing was so much more appropriate literarily, given your choice of material. High school kids that might have forgotten you keep reading your stories as they look for clues about what happened."
