Our zombie moved in on a Sunday, sometime between 3 and 4pm. I'd been out doing some shopping at Asda – fighting the usual queues - and the zombie was there when I came back.

I say zombie - that's not the right name for it; I don't know what it is really called. It was dressed not unfashionably, but looking a bit shabby. I guess it must have been dead - there was a faint whiff of decay about it, not unlike a stuffed animal; and it made no effort to communicate, not even responding to external stimulus (I tried surreptitiously poking it with a knife once – it went in quite deeply between the ribs).

Megan, our daughter, was thrilled – the zombie was always around to sit in on her tea parties; it never had something else to do or somewhere else to be. She would happily prance around serving it imaginary cake (although it never ate) and poured it invisible tea that went cold in the tiny china cups.

Carol, my wife, was less pragmatic, and didn’t like to talk about it. She seemed confused and got this weird look on her face when I spoke of our zombie. It caused a bit of a strain between the two of us, if I’m honest.

I was never really sure what it was here for, or what it wanted. I would sometimes find it silently standing outside the shower when I reached for a towel, or catch a glimpse of it in the mirror behind me as I checked my tie before leaving for work. Carol, conversely, hadn’t spoken to me for days and seemed to be deliberately distancing herself from me.

After a week or two of it being in the house I noticed that it had started to favour my wife; trailing her around the house with its soft, shuffling steps; or standing or slumping close by. It resembled her too in a way - being roughly the same height, and even managing to mimic some of her mannerisms in its way of standing or looking around.

So the zombie stayed with us, until last Wednesday; when there was bit of a sea-change. The morning I came downstairs to find my wife’s head on the kitchen counter.

That put a strain on the day, so I called in sick to work and told Megan to stay in her room and play whilst I thought about what to do. I wasn’t able to find Carol’s body (no doubt eaten), but I thought her hair looked nice spilling over the counter.

Even though things aren’t quite the same now, Megan seems to have adjusted well. She’s a smart kid, and the fact that we’re missing our zombie hasn’t escaped her.

Carol’s face isn’t holding up as well as I had hoped. The stitches don’t show any more but the colour isn’t good, and the edges where the knife slipped are quite ragged.

But we’re getting on much better now.