It wasn't until he'd joined the circle and gotten his paper plate of charred meat and heartburn-inducing sauce that he thought to check.
Undead, all of them. Skeletons. They didn't realize he'd picked up on them.
“This is pretty good,” he said, taking a bite of the barbecue. “Where'd you guys pick it up?”
“We know a man named Bill,” one said, his voice somehow at once guttural and hissing.
Another nodded sagely. “Bill makes the best barbecue.”
He stared at the nameless lumps speared over the fire. The zombie turning the spit grinned at him.
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“Bill makes the best barbecue.”
Gold, sir. Pure gold.
I must confess that it is an old, old line. Originally mine, of course, but from many years gone. (This was roughly a scene from a Hunter game, and a player did indeed do pretty much what the guy in this story did. He really regretted not checking BEFORE eating the mysterious barbecue meat.)
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