Scones for the dead

The bell had rung four times before Sissy, the maid, answered the door. At the threshold was a zombie. Well, not really a zombie. Sissy sussed it out when he tipped his bowler hat.

“Pardon the intrusion. I’m looking for someone called the Mistress.”

“Do you fancy brains,” asked Sissy as she reached for something obscured by the door.

“Heaven’s no,” rattled the the dead man.

“Alright then,” Sissy chimed and invited him inside.

“Mistress! Corpse for tea.”

Mistress stood up from the table, delicately putting down her tea cup. Though she thought Sissy’s announcement was odd, she was certain it was only an observation of the gentleman’s character.

“Oh my,” said Mistress. “What business might a dead man have with me?”

The dead man bowed politely. He held a newspaper that was opened to the classifieds. Circled in red ink was an ad that read:

Room to let. Twenty five acres. Standing stones, mystery hole, full bath. Friendly pooka.

Mistress smiled, “Scone?”

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