The Zombie in the Basement by Anthony Giangregorio

 
     
    CHAPTER 1
     
     
    IT WAS LATE afternoon in the middle of the cul-de-sac in Melrose, Massachusetts, a small town set in the heart of New England. It was a place where almost everyone knew everyone else and the Main Street still had a local hardware store, a bakery and a garage with just one mechanic.
    It was a place Ricky Meyers called home.
    Though only ten, Ricky was wise beyond his years. He knew all about the history of his town and had done more homework and extra credit projects in school about the town than any other kid.
    Yes, sir, he loved his town and was proud to be a part of it.
    “ Car!” someone yelled and everyone got out of the street as Mrs. Miller drove by. She waved to the boys and her son, Eric, then pulled into her driveway a few houses down. All the kids ran back into the street to continue their game of stickball.
    Ricky left the sidewalk and stepped out into the street, waiting for the ball to come to him. But after five minutes later and still no ball, he got bored and drifted off into a daydream.
    “ Hey, Ricky, hey stupid, wake up! Jimmy’s gonna hit the ball!” a voice cried out, waking Ricky from his stupor. He snapped awake immediately, looking around himself. He was standing at the edge of the cul-de-sac, right where the circle met the rest of the street that led to Mount Vernon Street, which then led to Main Street.
    He was in the outfield, or what you called an outfield when you were playing stickball in the street. His friend Jimmy was at bat and Eric, his best friend, was the pitcher. All around him, the rest of the neighborhood kids cheered and laughed. Eric wound up the pitch and threw it over the plate, or what they were using as home plate, which was the top of a metal garbage can.
    The ball flew straight and Jimmy lined up his shot, swinging for all he was worth.
     
    The stick connected with the ball and sent it flying into the air. Ricky watched as the ball sailed over his head and kept going. It bounced onto Mount Vernon Street and then onto the sidewalk, but it still kept going. After bouncing on the sidewalk, it jumped through the wrought iron fence lining the land of the house behind it. It rolled in the tall grass and came up a few feet from the house.
    But this wasn’t just any old house where the ball landed. This was the house that every neighborhood had. This was the house that had tall grass, overgrown shrubs, peeling paint on its facade and newspapers piled high on the porch.
    This was Melrose’s very own haunted house, or as close to one as you could get. This was the house no one went to on Halloween, and if you were selling candy for a school field trip, this was the house you bypassed.
    “ Oh, great, Jimmy, you hit it into old man Rollin’s house,” Eric said in a frustrated voice.
    “ Hey, don’t blame me for my awesome arm. I can’t help my own strength,” Jimmy replied as he rounded the bases, waving his arms in the air as he jogged in slow
    motion, like he was a famous baseball player.
    “ All I know is if it goes in old man Rollin’s yard then it’s an automatic homerun.”
    “ That’s because no one wants to get it if it goes in there,” another kid said as he watched Jimmy land on home plate again, his buddies patting his back.
    Eric was upset though. “But that’s my last ball. I guess that’s it for today, guys.”
    Jimmy shrugged. “That’s okay. I should go home, anyway. It’s almost time for dinner.” As if on cue, another voice rang out. It was one of the other kid’s mothers calling their son home for dinner. Some of the other kids scratched their heads and looked at one another. With no ball, stickball was over and everyone was tired and hungry. It was almost five o’clock, and after getting home from school, and going right out to play, stomachs were rumbling and homework had to be done. One after another the kids all floated away until it was only Jimmy, Eric and Ricky standing together in the middle of the wide