It felt safe in Misty’s house, something familiar that never changed. Wall-to-wall thick orange shag carpet, dark wood paneling, even popcorn on the ceiling – with sparkles. The sparkles were pretty cool.

Misty, did you notice the zombie’s eyes? All pale and fogged over – like Mayor Frank? I think he might have been a zombie or maybe starting to turn into one.” “Oh, good. That’s a relief.” “Good? What the heck do you mean, good?” I said, still irritated with her. “At least he wasn’t trying to kiss me.” “He was trying to bite your head off. Isn’t that worse?” Misty just shrugged.

Yeah, I had to get in. The door was locked, so I grabbed a patio chair and viola! A glass of water.” “Wow, you’re my hero.” “Shut up.

Chapter 3 – Professor Smape.

My dad had a 1967 Shelby GT500 Fastback. Mint.

As we waited to enter, all the talk seemed to be about was how much they didn’t want to be in a house called Slipperen.

What’s that?” Misty asked. “It’s a supersized zombie juice bomb. It was your idea,” I said.

Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies. Now I know why.

Sorry. I don’t mean to sound superior. It just comes out that way because I am.

On the back stucco wall, above the dog’s water bowl, a huge stain of smeared blood and fur was all that remained of Snookums. It reminded me of my plate after I ate waffles with blueberry syrup, which until right then, was my favorite.