But Cleo had been negligent in just one aspect of her duties. Her mother had taught her every knot that every fisherwoman had ever known, and when to use them. But in her dozy state, poor Cleo had tied the bag with a quick release slipknot instead of the double secure one she had intended to.

From inside the netting, a slippery, slimy set of slow, meandering tentacles hauled one of the Zombie Clams out into the baking air. They weaved and tasted at the air.. And they could sense something delicious nearby… something fresh…

They wormed their way over Cleo’s blissful sleeping face, feeling for movement, for life.
“Ah….. what is that?” she mutters as the tendrils massage her face, leaving behind cold lakewater in their wake..
“WHAT?” she screams, suddenly awake… but it’s too late.
The Zombie Clam pulls itself up over her head, and its fleshy pink lips slam shut over her screaming face with a gross slap.

Cleo tries to yell as she realises just how stupid she’d been, but the Clam’s flesh smothers her. What was she thinking taking a nap over her catch? She should have known better than that. Now she was on her way to a painful and embarrassing demise.

A thin trickle of burning goo poured over the top of her head as the Zombie Clam started to digest poor, foolish young Cleo

“Aaaah.. Aaaaah. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!”