Memoirs of a Neurotic Zombie by Jeff Norton

I’d become a cannibal. But worse, I’d become a cliché. I’d become the very thing that everyone expected from a zombie: a people eater.
    As I raced under the night sky, I worried that maybe this was the start of my descent into rampaging cannibalism. Maybe all of the stereotypes about zombies were true and I was just late to the party?
    Maybe deep down, Corina and I were the same. On the surface, we maintained a façade of civility,but underneath we were monsters. Maybe we all were.
    This camp was clearly up to something evil, but what about all of us who’d tucked into the produce of that evil … the doughnuts? I wondered if the Canadians, who seemed so nice, knew they were eating children with every nibble of their favourite Nibblers. My head was spinning as I ran, and I wanted to unknow what I now knew.
    I suddenly felt very alone. I missed my parents – I really wanted to call them but I couldn’t. We had no phones and no contact with the outside world until we broke free of the camp’s confines.
    As I ran in the darkness, I worried about Corina too. I feared the hunger for humans would soon overcome her. She’d sucked blood and craved more.
    I hoped I was different.
    I’d accidentally ingested people and was repulsed by the prospect of eating anyone else (sugar-coating or not).
    I couldn’t stand by while Camp Nowannakidda turned campers into doughnuts. Somehow I had to stop the murderous conspiracy. But first, I needed to get out.
    I burst through the treeline and navigated a windingpath to find the campers in a big circle around a bonfire. They took turns holding sticks to the flames, melting marshmallows and chanting camp songs.
    That’s where I want to go.
    Back to my Ohio.
    Oh I how I long to go …
    Ho-oh-ohm .
    I spotted Corina in the crowd, not chanting. She sat on a large log with her arms crossed, looking bored. I sat down beside her.
    ‘So we’ve got a big problem,’ I whispered urgently.
    ‘Yeah, way too much camp cheer,’ she replied. ‘I can’t take this much enthusiasm.’
    ‘Where’s Ernesto?’ I wondered.
    ‘Doing an imitation of a chipmunk,’ she said, pointing over towards the raging fire.
    Nesto popped a few burnt marshmallows into his cheeks, puffing them out like the breed of rodent that everyone seems to think is adorable.
    ‘Chipmunks,’ I vented to no one in particular, ‘just rats with stripes.’
    ‘He’s stuffing his face while I’m … Adam,’ she leanedin to whisper, ‘I’m hungry. There’s so much life, so much tasty, juicy blood, and it’s right here.’
    ‘You gotta fight the urge, Corina,’ I said, having no idea how hard that might be. I like to think that I’m a bastion of self-control, but deep down I know I give into my neurotic urges all the time. Who was I to lecture Corina to do any different? ‘Because somebody else wants to gorge on these kids too.’
    ‘There’s another vampire here?’
    ‘No,’ I said, ‘this camp isn’t a camp at all. It’s a farm. A fat farm, getting us plump and ready to be turned into doughnuts.’
    ‘The fumes of the outhouse go to your head?’
    They did, yes, and if I ever made it out of Nowannakidda alive (well, intact ) I’d explore a nose-hair transplant because particles of campers’ poo were probably trapped amid my nasal follicles, but that’d have to wait.
    ‘I’m serious,’ I said. ‘I overheard the camp counsellors. We’re all supposed to be ingredients for the Can Nibble Donuts. Can Nibble … as in Cannibal .’
    ‘So that’s why those donuts taste so good,’ she said. ‘It isn’t the sugar, it’s the protein!’
    Ernesto bounded back from the fire, his face full ofsugary goop, and mumbled, ‘Hi Adam, did you have a good poo?’
    ‘I was just going to wash my hands!’ I said in my defence.
    ‘Sure, sure,’ he said, gulping down the marshmallows. ‘Isn’t this great?’
    ‘No, Ernesto. It’s all terrible. We’ve got to get out of here, get everyone out of here, before