Zombiekins 2(13)
Mackenzie watched, mesmerized, as the weird stuffy dragged itself along the floor, weaving through tapping feet, chair legs and music stands. It seemed to be heading straight for her, and as it got closer, she heard a faint noise under the racket of her classmates’ playing:
Stump!—scri-i-i-i-i-itch . . . Stump!—scri-i-i-i-i-itch . . . Stump!—scri-i-i-i-i-itch . . .
Soon the creepy-cute bunny monster had crossed the room. When it was almost at Mackenzie’s feet, she bent down to pick it up. . . .
20
SHORTLY BEFORE LUNCH, STANLEY SLIPPED OUT OF class to search the school again while Miranda stayed behind to watch Felicity.
He didn’t find Zombiekins, but he did run into Knuckles’ class down in the gym. He knew it was them by the horrible noises spilling out into the hall, like the sounds from some medieval torture chamber: Howls of pain . . . Shrieks of terror . . . Loud whaps of slapping flesh . . .
They were playing dodgeball.
Personally, Stanley hated dodgeball. He didn’t approve of games that involved targeting children with dangerous projectiles. At least, he didn’t approve of games that involved targeting him with dangerous projectiles. But Stanley’s gym teacher Mr. Straap said dodgeball was “character building” and made his class play it at least once a week.
Stanley halted outside the gym, listening to the horrifying racket: Foul curses and bitter threats. Battle whoops and warlike grunts. Desperate pleas and demonic laughter.
Obviously the sixth graders were enjoying themselves.
Stanley snuck onto the gym stage through the side entrance and hid behind a stack of gymnastic mats. It was the sixth graders, all right. The gym was a seething battlefield. Stanley winced as he watched one boy take a ball in the face from point-blank range.
“Owww!” the boy wailed, pinching his nostrils to stem the dripping blood. “I tink my doze id boken!”
“Walk it off, Toppleover,” said Mr. Straap. “You’re holding up the game.”
But Knuckles was nowhere to be seen.
Stanley knew then that something awful must have happened to him. Knuckles wouldn’t have missed dodgeball for anything.
Stanley slipped out into the hall again and was on his way back to class when something caught his eye. Around the corner from the gym was the Science Closet, where they stored stuff for science classes. Normally the room was kept locked at all times because teachers didn’t want children getting into things and learning about science without supervision. But now Stanley noticed the door was open a crack. . . .
He gave the door a tiny, cautious push. . . .
It swung open with an eerie creeeeeeak—they always do—and Stanley took a deep breath and stepped inside . . . .
The room was windowless and dark, and the junk scattered on the floor and crammed onto shelves cast weird shadows on all the walls. Stanley took a few steps in—then jumped back when he felt a cobweb brush against his face. . . .
Fortunately, it turned out to be just a butterfly net hanging from a shelf.
Unfortunately, when Stanley jumped back he got tangled in a real cobweb. He thought he felt something large and hairy crawling down the back of his shirt. . . .
Stanley stood in the middle of the room, too afraid to move. All this spooky description was creeping him out. Then he thought he heard something . . .
Da-dum . . . da-dum . . . da-dum . . .
A steady thumping, like the music before something really bad happens in a scary movie . . . Stanley froze, listening as hard as he could. . . .
Da-dum . . . da-dum . . . da-dum . . .
He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but it was definitely getting louder—and faster!
Da-dum—da-dum—da-dum—
Stanley felt a surge of terror—and the ominous music accelerated!
Dadum-dadum-dadum-dadum—
He wanted to scream but he was struck dumb with terror. The noise just kept building and building. . . . He didn’t know which way to turn or where to run. . . . It seemed to be coming from right under—
Oh. Right.
Stanley put his hand on his chest.
It was just his heart beating.
He relaxed a little and the thumping quickly subsided.
But still, he was so creeped out he decided to get out of there. He turned to go—and that’s when he saw it!
Stanley felt woozy and had to lean up against the wall.
Oh, poor Knuckles! No matter how rotten he was, he didn’t deserve this!
Stanley was flooded with memories of all the things he would’ve missed out on if it weren’t for Knuckles: The recesses spent buried upside down in snowbanks. The nights padlocked to the bicycle rack. The time he slalomed face-first down three flights of stairs lashed to a skateboard with skipping ropes. (Kids still talked about that.)