Zombiekins 2(3)

She grabbed Zombiekins out of Stanley’s hands before he could answer. There was a low growl from under the couch where Fetch had taken cover.





“Ooo, him scary,” Rosalie said.

“Yeah, well, it’s sort of a ‘zombie’ stuffed animal,” Stanley explained.

“‘Zombie’?” Rosalie said. “Why him ‘zombie’?”

Uh-oh. How was Stanley going to answer that one? He didn’t want to scare her. But, on the other hand, he didn’t believe in sheltering her from the facts of life, either.

“Well, a zombie is a reanimated corpse that’s been revivified by witchcraft or transformed by the bite of another zombie,” Stanley explained.

Rosalie stared back at him blankly.

“But don’t worry,” Stanley added, “this isn’t a real zombie. It’s just a stuffy with a sort of macabre, half-dead appearance.”

“Oh,” she replied.

She gave Zombiekins a long, thoughtful look.

“Him still scary,” she concluded at last.





4





AN HOUR LATER, STANLEY WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF doing his homework when Fetch appeared in his bedroom doorway, barking at him.

“Not now, Fetch,” Stanley said. “I’m too busy doing homework to play with you.”

“Woof!” Fetch barked again, more urgently. “Woof! Woof!”

Most people assumed Fetch was dumb just because he was always doing things like licking frozen fire hydrants and peeing on the rug. But Stanley knew Fetch was smarter than everybody thought. If only his family had named him Fido or Spot, maybe he wouldn’t have flunked out of obedience school and things might’ve been different. As it was, no wonder the poor dog had been confused with everybody yelling “Sit, Fetch!” and “Stay, Fetch!” and “No, Fetch—NOT ON THE TEACHER’S SHOE!!!” at him all the time.





Fetch barked again, then pointed with his paw down the hall. For some reason, Stanley got the feeling Fetch was trying to tell him something.

“What is it, boy?” Stanley asked. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Fetch put his front paws to his throat and rolled on the ground like he was choking himself. Then he stood on his hind legs and walked with his front paws stretched out before him like Frankenstein. Then he pointed down the hall again.

Fetch was trying to tell him something—Stanley was almost sure of it.

“What is it, boy?” Stanley asked again

Fetch sighed and rolled his eyes. Even Lassie’s family was never this thick. Finally the dog gave up and took Stanley’s hand in his mouth.

“Do you want me to follow you?” Stanley asked as Fetch dragged him out into the hall. “Is that it, boy?”

Fetch led Stanley down the hall and stopped outside the playroom door. Stanley could hear strange noises coming from the other side—a sort of strangled gurgling sound . . . .

Slowly, he turned the knob . . . pushed the door open . . . and . . . SOMETHING JUMPED OUT AT HIM!!!





It had dead sunken eyes—gray rotting flesh—blood dripping from a mouth full of fangs—a pink sequined dress with matching tiara—

Stanley jumped back. Fetch yelped and peed on the carpet.

“Look, Stanley,” the ghoulish apparition said, “I a zombie princess!”

It was Baby Rosalie, wearing an old rubber Halloween mask with her princess outfit.

“I having a tea party!” she said. Then, with a strangled gurgling sound, she pretended to sip tea from an empty teacup.

Seated at a doll’s tea table on the playroom floor was Zombiekins. Across the table was Whimsy the Pfoo, a teddy of his sister’s that went around wearing nothing but a sweater.

“Hugs are cuddle-wonderful,” Whimsy announced. “Have a huggsy-wuggsy day. . . .”

Zombiekins just sat there silently, one eye fixed straight ahead and the other hanging loosely by a thread.

Stanley looked at Fetch. Maybe his dog was pretty dumb after all. He turned to go back to his room—and suddenly felt something warm and wet soaking through his sock . . . .





5





THAT NIGHT, WHILE STANLEY AND HIS FAMILY WERE sleeping in their beds, something strange and unexpected happened in the playroom. . . .

The room was dark and eerily quiet. Nothing stirred but a curtain that shivered now and then in a cold night draft. In the deep midnight stillness, the ticking of a clock down the hall seemed to echo like a banging gavel through the upstairs rooms. (And it was a digital clock.) A full moon shone in through the window, and as it rose in the sky, hour by hour, a shaft of moonlight crept slowly across the floor . . . .





Until in the deepest, darkest part of the night, its moonglow shone at last on a heap of toys in a corner . . . .