want to be on the lunch menu, so I ran into the living room, crouching behind the sofa. The basement door burst open, and Grandma scurried through. She seemed a lot bigger. She glanced at the guy who'd bitten her, then began to search around for me. When she found me, she scowled.
"Would you like some hard candy, Randall?" She reached into the pocket on her house dress, what Josh called her candy pocket because it was always filled with peppermints or butterscotch drops. She held out some bloody pieces of candy. "Come give Grandma a kiss, you can have some."
She took a few teetering steps toward me.
"Randall!"
It was Josh, from the basement. I clenched my fist and reached over for the couch cushion. I gripped it like a medieval knight would grip his shield, holding it by the plastic furniture guard. I was determined to knock Grandma over and get my little brother.
"Josh! I'm coming, buddy!"
"There's a man down here!"
I looked for the zombie from the closet, and he was gone. I'd been so focused on Grandma I hadn't seen him go down the stairs.
"Naughty boy, Randall. Messing up Grandma's sofa." Grandma let the bloody candy fall from her hands. "No peppermints for you."
"You're not my grandmother," I said.
"When I was a little girl, children respected their elders. Now come here, and let Grandma eat you."
Then she charged at me. I braced myself under the cushion and ran full force into her. We connected and the impact knocked both of us down. I landed hard on my butt. Grandma's false teeth had come out again, skittering onto the plastic rug runner, stopping next to cabinet where she kept the bird feed. Grandma scurried after them, and I ran down the stairs—
—my bad foot landing on the broken bulb again, making the pain double.
Biting back a scream, I searched around for Josh or the old man zombie.
"Josh! Where are you!"
The basement wasn't that big, but neither Josh nor the old guy was around.
The laundry room!
"Josh!"
I limped across the concrete floor, and opened the door to the laundry room. The old man was poking at the dryer with his fork.
"Hey!"
He looked up at me, the duck in his mouth squeaking. I thought fast.
"Walmart called," I said. "You got the greeting job. It starts today."
He spit out the rubber duck and made a face. "I fought in Korea, sonny. Private Phil Johnstone won't take no pitiful minimum wage."
Then he lunged at me. I dodged to the right and the fork scratched my cheek. Then I pushed him out of the room and slammed the door, propping the ironing board under the knob.
Josh was where I guessed he was, inside the dryer. He was sobbing. I felt so bad. He didn't deserve any of this. I pulled him out.
"It's okay, buddy. We're safe in here."
But as zombie Phil began to bang on the door, I questioned my own words. Both the door, and the ironing board, were old. I didn't think they'd hold up to too much pounding.
I sat down with Josh, holding him. His whines grew louder with each hit on the door.
BOOM!
The walls shook and dust flew out everywhere.
BOOM!
The door's hinges began to rattle, the screws coming out.
BOOM!
The ironing board began to buckle.
BOOM! BOOM!
Two bangs. Grandma had joined the zombie party.
"Randall! Josh! It's bedtime, put on your jammies!" she crowed. "Grandma will tuck you in and read you a story!"
"Cat in the Hat!" Josh said, trying to stand up.
"Shh," I told my brother, holding him back. "That's not Grandma, Josh."
"Then who is it?"
"It's…"
What was I supposed to say? That our Grandma had joined the ranks of the living dead and wanted to feast on our flesh?
"Has Grandma become a zombie?" Josh asked.
"I… I think so."
"I thought zombies weren't real. Like Santa Claus. Or Jesus."
"I don't know, Josh."
"If she bites us, will we become zombies?"
"I don't know."
"Was Jesus a zombie?"
"What?"
"He was supposed to rise from the dead, right?"
"Josh, Grandma is trying to eat us. Can we save the religious discussion for another time?"
"I'm just
"Would you like some hard candy, Randall?" She reached into the pocket on her house dress, what Josh called her candy pocket because it was always filled with peppermints or butterscotch drops. She held out some bloody pieces of candy. "Come give Grandma a kiss, you can have some."
She took a few teetering steps toward me.
"Randall!"
It was Josh, from the basement. I clenched my fist and reached over for the couch cushion. I gripped it like a medieval knight would grip his shield, holding it by the plastic furniture guard. I was determined to knock Grandma over and get my little brother.
"Josh! I'm coming, buddy!"
"There's a man down here!"
I looked for the zombie from the closet, and he was gone. I'd been so focused on Grandma I hadn't seen him go down the stairs.
"Naughty boy, Randall. Messing up Grandma's sofa." Grandma let the bloody candy fall from her hands. "No peppermints for you."
"You're not my grandmother," I said.
"When I was a little girl, children respected their elders. Now come here, and let Grandma eat you."
Then she charged at me. I braced myself under the cushion and ran full force into her. We connected and the impact knocked both of us down. I landed hard on my butt. Grandma's false teeth had come out again, skittering onto the plastic rug runner, stopping next to cabinet where she kept the bird feed. Grandma scurried after them, and I ran down the stairs—
—my bad foot landing on the broken bulb again, making the pain double.
Biting back a scream, I searched around for Josh or the old man zombie.
"Josh! Where are you!"
The basement wasn't that big, but neither Josh nor the old guy was around.
The laundry room!
"Josh!"
I limped across the concrete floor, and opened the door to the laundry room. The old man was poking at the dryer with his fork.
"Hey!"
He looked up at me, the duck in his mouth squeaking. I thought fast.
"Walmart called," I said. "You got the greeting job. It starts today."
He spit out the rubber duck and made a face. "I fought in Korea, sonny. Private Phil Johnstone won't take no pitiful minimum wage."
Then he lunged at me. I dodged to the right and the fork scratched my cheek. Then I pushed him out of the room and slammed the door, propping the ironing board under the knob.
Josh was where I guessed he was, inside the dryer. He was sobbing. I felt so bad. He didn't deserve any of this. I pulled him out.
"It's okay, buddy. We're safe in here."
But as zombie Phil began to bang on the door, I questioned my own words. Both the door, and the ironing board, were old. I didn't think they'd hold up to too much pounding.
I sat down with Josh, holding him. His whines grew louder with each hit on the door.
BOOM!
The walls shook and dust flew out everywhere.
BOOM!
The door's hinges began to rattle, the screws coming out.
BOOM!
The ironing board began to buckle.
BOOM! BOOM!
Two bangs. Grandma had joined the zombie party.
"Randall! Josh! It's bedtime, put on your jammies!" she crowed. "Grandma will tuck you in and read you a story!"
"Cat in the Hat!" Josh said, trying to stand up.
"Shh," I told my brother, holding him back. "That's not Grandma, Josh."
"Then who is it?"
"It's…"
What was I supposed to say? That our Grandma had joined the ranks of the living dead and wanted to feast on our flesh?
"Has Grandma become a zombie?" Josh asked.
"I… I think so."
"I thought zombies weren't real. Like Santa Claus. Or Jesus."
"I don't know, Josh."
"If she bites us, will we become zombies?"
"I don't know."
"Was Jesus a zombie?"
"What?"
"He was supposed to rise from the dead, right?"
"Josh, Grandma is trying to eat us. Can we save the religious discussion for another time?"
"I'm just
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