What can I say about Zachary? His first name starts by a Z, unlike his father. He symbolises the end of the alphabet, the end of culture, the end of love. Zach poses as a dreary dead end, the final error of an answer which no one wants.
What can I say about that ghoul? He was a child, loved and cherished. His father prioritised him above all else, left him his entire fortune (in the nightmare) yet it doesn’t explain the way he turns out to be.
When his own father found him plundering his grave, he fails to understand his son for he had given everything to him. Yet Abraham will not get any respect for whatever he gave. Zach is soulless, heartless, materialistic to the core. Zach can eat his own parents without remorse. He became a ghoul.
How to discuss with Zach in his state is an impossibility. He is a killer with a gain and aim which render your murder negligible compared to his fast feasting reward with your bones.
Of course Zachary is a metaphor for the worst, we encounter in our century. Explained or not, Zach is a threat which will cull without a reasoning heart, swearing to whoever, just mass murdering.
Zachary is a brainwashed fool, a ghoul, a killer: no longer a son, nor a human. Zachary meets a deadly end, the one he gave to many. However we will meet him again as his ghostly father will haunt the living in order to save his eldest son from becoming a ghoul, desperately seeking to lift the curse of Wilton Town.
Trying to fix up the part of his flapping scalp, Zachary winked at his father with a cocky smirk as he answered, -I am not too worried for them two, for the less we are the more we feast. Apart for that missing bit of brain now don’t you think I look dashing and very well preserved, dad? I will let you into our little secret to great longevity: we eat people dead or alive, the fresher the better.
-Do I truly look like a happy meal to you?
-Not as very well conserved as I expected, I am afraid. I thought your money would have bought a decent coffin with tin like quality attached to it. Yet I am very much mistaken, you are pretty much rotten all over. Your bones might still make perfect toothpicks for dirty nachos.
-When I thought this little silver baby with it’s vintage golden content was the most precious thing I could grab from your grave, I come to the realisation that your good old bones taste like cheese straws so full of marrow they are.
-Guys! Snack time! Cheese straw bones down here!