What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Zombier by Allison Wade Page A

her, following her like a cockroach that flees from the light.
    In a few moments, he had got incredibly closer.
    Amanda threw her bag on him, but he dodged with a jump. The books flew out, and the figure clung on the wall, made the hallway mirror fall. She didn’t even hear the noise of broken glass.
    She didn’t stop to think, just started to run again on the purple glass, on the hill, struggling toward the top, almost without breath, trying to scream for help, but no one was there. No one could hear her.
    It’s just a dream
, she told herself, feeling her legs heavier and heavier.
    It’s just a dream
, she thought when he grabbed her ankle making her fall to the ground.
    She tried to struggle, rolling on the grass.
It’s a nightmare, it’s just a stupid damn nightmare!
And the grass become stiffer and twisted, but also drier, softer, like her bed sheets.
    Now she was feeling the mattress underneath her body, and the noisy shriek of the alarm clock, but there was something else.
    Like an oppressive weight on her chest.
    She opened her eyes, and the creature was on top of her, a black deformed face, pointy teeth and bottomless eyes.
    He put his skeletal claws around her neck and started to squeeze, choking a scream in her throat.
     

Tea Time
     
     
     
     
    Angelica prepares the tea for her dolls, she’s a merry five years old in her fancy little dress.
    She doesn’t know the ugly things of the world.
    Her mom doesn’t tell her scary stories before putting her to sleep; everything is pink and happy for her, and everyone is good and smiles all the time.
    Angelica places the cups on the little table with the lace tablecloth; one for her, one for Matilda the rag doll, one for Tommy the furry bear, and one for her new friend that just came into the kitchen.
    Her new friend looks a bit shy, he doesn’t say a word; only his heavy breath resounds in the room. It’s like a pant.
    “What’s your name?” asks Angelica, but he doesn’t speak, and stare at her with his dark rounded eyes; he comes near the table.
    “You are furry like my teddy bear, I’ll call you Buddy,” says the little girl’s cheery voice. “Uhm… I’d like there were some cookies… mom? Why don’t we offer some pastry to Buddy?”
    Mom is sleeping and doesn’t answer.
    Buddy makes another few steps, lays his paws on the table, his sharp claws scratches the lace, leaving red stains on the white cloth.
    “Look at this! You get it all dirty. Mom will be really mad when she wakes up… you even stained her dress.”
    Buddy shows the grin of his long fangs, still dirty with shreds of food.
    “Here, drink your tea or it will get cold,” says Angelica. She’s sitting on her little chair and pretends to sip an invisible drink.
    She turns toward her mom, who lies on the floor, all dirty with red; she has strange slimy things coming out of her belly. And stares glassy-eyed to the ceiling. A dark puddle have spread around her.
    Angelica shrugs. Her mom will eventually clean up everything, after her nap.
    Buddy, hungry, jumps and flip the table, tossing around the plastic cups.
    He’s ready for dessert.
     

The Last Room
     
     
     
     
    At the end of the road leading out of town, there was an abandoned house.
    It was an old colonial house, all made of wood, with the horizontal planks once colored – God knows how, and now all scraped and washed out, of a sickly gray. With the crumbling porch and the cracked sloping columns, bent by the persistent dampness, the rotten steps of the entrance. The windows with broken glasses and unhinged shutters, leaning like unsteady teeth. The roof, too, was in a bad condition, with holes here and there.
    The whole house gave a feeling of unfitness and alienation, like something that was thrown to the present through the centuries and didn’t manage very well.
    No one knew who the owner of the house was, but everyone kept their distance, except some brave kids, that sometimes came to take a closer peek through