The Undertakers Read Free

fist. Bits of flaky skin fluttered off of her, covering the floor like weird confetti. There were beetles following her with every step she took. They seemed to be feeding on the confetti.
    I glanced around at the other kids. None of them looked nervous, except for Brian, of course, who hadn’t studied.
    They didn’t see that she was a corpse. They didn’t even seem to see the bugs!
    â€œThere will be no talking,” she said. “Your eyes will be on your papers. Forget the clock. Focus only on the test.”
    â€œYou okay?” Helene whispered.
    I nodded miserably, wishing I could confide in her but realizing that her remark about Ms. Yu had been just a joke—one of those things that, yesterday, we’d have laughed about and then forgotten.
    Helene wouldn’t believe me. No one would.
    The telephone on the wall beside the door suddenly rang.
    I actually let out a little startled yelp. A few of the kids around me chuckled.
    â€œYou don’t look okay,” Helene remarked dryly.
    Her speech interrupted, Dead Woman Yu moved to the phone using an ungainly shuffle that sloughed more little gray skin flakes off of her decaying body. They left a gruesome trail across the tile floor that the beetles seemed to love.
    Lifting the receiver in one bony hand, she uttered the phrase that, as always, earned her a laugh from the class: “I am Yu!”
    I didn’t join in the merriment. Neither did Helene.
    The corpse flashed the class an annoyed look. Then she listened to the voice on the other end of the line. As I watched, her withered and blackened body grew stiff—no pun intended. She turned her head and looked right at me.
    It’s Mr. Pratt! He’s called the school to tell Mr. Titlebaum and Ms. Yu that I can see them—that I can see them all!
    Without really knowing why, I glanced at Helene, who met my eyes.
    Amazingly, she whispered, “Don’t panic.”
    Our deceased math teacher replaced the receiver. “William Ritter,” she said, “you are to report to Mr. Titlebaum’s office immediately.”
    I didn’t move—couldn’t move.
    The corpse’s rotted eye sockets narrowed. Something that looked horribly like a smile flashed across her skeletal face. “Did you hear me, Mr. Ritter?”
    â€œY-yes, ma’am.”
    Moving in slow motion, as though trapped in a nightmare, I collected my books and stood, ignoring the dismayed look on Brian’s face. The classroom was as quiet as a graveyard. The other kids somehow sensed that something very bad was going down.
    My dead math teacher watched me march slowly toward the door.
    As soon as I’m in the hallway, I’ll run for the nearest exit. I’ll get home somehow—walk, or hitch, if I have to. I’ll tell Mom what’s happening. I’ll make her believe me.
    But as the classroom door closed behind me, I knew that wouldn’t be possible.
    Dead Man Titlebaum stood twenty feet away at the end of the corridor to my right. To my left, two more zombies were waiting. I didn’t know who they were, although both wore janitors’ overalls. They were the juicy kind, like the assistant principal. Together their three sets of lifeless yet malevolent eyes burned hungrily into me, their dripping, decaying bodies blocking any hope of escape.
    â€œThis way, William,” Mr. Titlebaum commanded. He waggled one swollen purple finger at me.
    I clutched my books to my chest, paralyzed.
    â€œP-please…” I felt a tear trace down my cheek. “I…want my mom.”
    â€œ No . Mom . Boy ,” the assistant principal said, this time speaking in that same strange way that Old Man Pratt had—without moving his lipless mouth. “ Go . On . And . Cry.”
    Suddenly I found myself praying that I was crazy. Crazy had to be better than what these things had in mind.
    The zombies advanced.
    I knew I ought to run, but my legs wouldn’t