Broken Heart 7.5 - The Adventures of Zombie Larry by Michele Bardsley Page B

Mercedes, dumped the shovels into the trunk, and left.
     
Almost three hours passed before two gray hands popped out of the freshly turned earth like big ugly flowers. A few minutes later, Larry crawled out of his grave and leaned against his marble headstone. He straightened his damaged knees, checked to make sure his forehead eye was still affixed, then got up and shuffled toward town.

DO YOU FEAR WHAT I FEAR?
     
    “It’s haunted,” said Bryan O’Halloran.
     
    “Hel- lo , welcome to Broken Heart,” said Wilson Donovan. “Everything’s haunted. Just ask my mom.”
     
    Wilson’s mother, Patsy, would know. Like his own mom, Patsy had gotten Turned into a vampire. And she could actually see and talk to ghosts. She saw them everywhere; worse, they saw her. Plus, she’d once raised a zombie army, which Bryan thought was so beast.
     
    “Well, this house was haunted before the town got freak-a-fied.” They left the cracked sidewalk and walked through the yard, which was filled with itchy, knee-high grass. Bryan aimed his flashlight across the front of the tiny house. The beam revealed peeling gray paint, broken windows, and a sagging porch.
     
    This section of the neighborhood had long been abandoned. The streetlights didn’t work, the sidewalks were crumbling, and all the houses in the cul de sac looked like movie sets for horror movies.
     
    “You know the story, right?” asked Bryan. He approached the porch, stopping at the broken steps and peering at the front door. It was half-opened, offering a diagonal glimpse into the darkened room beyond it.
     
    “Lemme guess,” said Wilson, sounding bored. “Some dude killed his wife. With an ax. Then he buried her in the basement.”
     
    Bryan rolled his eyes. “What is this? The Goosebumps hour?” He laughed, mostly to cover how nervous he felt. For all the weird crap he’d seen—from his vampire mom to that zombie with the eye glued to his forehead—he was still creeped out by this place. They’d been hanging out at Wilson’s house, talking about Halloween and trying to top each other’s scary stories. Then Bryan had mentioned this place, and now they were on a ghost field trip.
     
    “What are you waiting for, dude?” Wilson punched his shoulder. “C’mon.”
     
    He jumped over the steps and crossed the porch, which didn’t look too steady. Still, no way would he let Wilson think he was a coward. He followed him into the house. They stood in the small living room, and Bryan flashed the light around.
     
    “It smells like ass in here,” said Wilson.
     
    The beam revealed a ratty couch and a broken coffee table. Obviously, they weren’t the first trespassers to venture here. Graffiti covered the walls and trash littered the nasty, hole-ridden carpet.
     
    “So what’s the story?” asked Wilson. He turned on his own flashlight and flicked it over the wall to examine the graffiti.
     
    “It was 1954. A widower and his two little girls move from Tulsa to Broken Heart. One day, the girls disappeared—somewhere between the bus stop and this house. Nobody every knew what happened to them. The father went crazy with grief and shot himself. Some people think he killed his daughters.”
     
    Wilson looked over his shoulder, his expression suggesting minor interest. “And buried them in the basement?”
     
    “Uh, yeah.”
     
    “Lame.” Wilson panned the light into the hallway. “Where do you think the basement door is?”
     
    “Probably in the kitchen,” said Bryan.
     
    “Let’s go.”
     
    Bryan reluctantly followed his friend into the kitchen, and yeah, there was the door that led to the basement. He had to admit this place was creepy. It smelled bad, too, like rotting meat. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him. Goosebumps pimpled his skin and the hair on the back of his neck felt electrified.
     
    But he couldn’t wimp out. Wilson would never let him live it down if he refused to go check out the