Why I Quit Zombie School

by R. L. Stine

  “Don’t move too fast,” she repeated. “Walk like a zombie. Stumble sometimes. Stagger to class. Bump into the wall once in a while. Don’t show off by raising your hand in class. Don’t try to be the first one to answer Miss Whelan’s questions. You have to act like you’re undead, Matt.”

  I stared at her, shivering from the chills rolling down my back. “You mean — I have to act like a zombie?”

  She nodded.

  “No. I can’t,” I whispered. “I’m out of here. I’m leaving now. I’m not even going to pack.”

  She squinted at me. “Escape? Do you really think you can escape this place?”

  “It’s pitch-black out,” I said. “I can run. No one will see. I can run to the highway and then —”

  Franny shook her head. “Did you see the crows outside? They’re not normal crows, Matt. They’re trained to guard the school grounds. You won’t get ten feet before they start screeching in alarm. No one has ever escaped.”

  I stared hard at her, my whole body trembling. I could see she was telling the truth. There was no escape.

  “So … I have to convince everyone I’m a zombie?” I whispered.

  She nodded again. “If I can do it, you can,” she said. “If they find out we’re alive, they’ll kill us!”

  14

  I hurtled up to my room. I grabbed my cell phone. My hand shook so hard, it took me three tries to call home.

  Dad picked up on the third ring. “Hi, Matt. How’s it going?”

  “You — you enrolled me in a zombie school!” I blurted out.

  Silence on the other end.

  “Dad? Can you hear me?” My voice came out tight and shrill. “The kids at this school are all zombies!”

  I heard Dad snicker. “It’s Matt,” he told my mom. “We put him in a school for zombies.”

  I heard them both laugh.

  “You’ve got to listen to me this time. Please!” I begged.

  “Talk to your mom,” Dad said. “She’s been really missing you.”

  He handed her the phone. “Hi, Matt. We were just talking about you. Really. We —”

  “Mom, I’m in danger,” I said. “I’m not kidding. I’m in danger.”

  “Well, Dad and I will be there next weekend,” she said.

  “Next weekend?”

  “It’s Parents Day,” she said. “We’ll be there Saturday morning. We’ll take care of what’s upsetting you.”

  “No, you won’t,” I said. “Saturday might be too late. This school is a zombie school, Mom. The kids are all zombies.”

  “Are you making any friends?” Mom asked.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but I started to choke. Didn’t she hear what I was saying? Didn’t my words mean anything to her?

  “I can’t make friends, Mom,” I said, sighing. “The kids are all dead. They are the living dead. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yes, I do, Matt,” she replied. “You mean you are unhappy being away from home and in a new school. But you’ll get used to it.”

  “Huh? Used to going to school with dead people?” I screamed.

  “Please lower your voice,” Mom said. “Once you make some friends, you’ll feel right at home.”

  “I’ll be dead,” I said. “If I try to make friends …”

  “Your dad wants to know if you tried out for the soccer team,” Mom said.

  “Tomorrow,” I said. “I’m supposed to try out tomorrow, but —”

  “Well, good luck. Let us know how it goes, okay?”

  I sighed again. Was I getting anywhere? No. Did she hear a word I was saying? No.

  “We’ll see you bright and early Saturday morning,” Mom said. “Bye, Matt.”

  “Bye.” I clicked off the phone.

  “Bright and early?” I muttered. “Just in time for my funeral.”

  A knock on my door made me jump.

  “Who is it?” I called.

  But the door swung open without an answer. Angelo and three other big, tough-looking boys burst into the room.

  “We just found out about you,” Angelo said.

  15

  I jumped off my bed and tried to back away. But I bumped into the dresser and nearly fell over.

  “Listen, guys —” I started. “Please —”

  “We just found out about you,” Angelo repeated. “We just found out you were the allstar player on your old soccer team,” he said.

  “I — what?” My heart was pounding so fast, I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

  “Mikey here knows a guy who went to your school,” Angelo said. He tapped Mikey on the chest. “That guy said you set the school records on your old team.”

  “Well … yeah,” I said. I began to realize they were going to let me live. “I scored five goals in one match. But I had a lot of help. I mean, the whole team was really good.”

  “So you’re trying out for Coach Meadows tomorrow,” Angelo said.

  “Yeah. Sure. Okay,” I said.

  “We’re not giving you a choice,” Mikey said. The others all laughed. “We want you on our team.”

  “No problem,” I said.

  Just don’t kill me!

  “Wayne didn’t revive,” another kid said. “So we need new flesh.”

  “Right. That’s me,” I said. New flesh. “See you tomorrow after class.”

  They turned and marched out.

  I stood there trembling. Was I going to be the next great zombie soccer star?

  “Matt, go in and play forward,” Coach Meadows said. He didn’t look like a coach at all. He was bald and had a thin, saggy face with droopy eyes and drooping cheeks.

  He was skinny as a broomstick and a little stooped over. The whistle around his neck hung down to the waist of his gray sweatsuit.

  “I know you can kick,” he said. “I want to see good offense, too.”

  He motioned me into the practice game. Two teams — one in black, one in red — were already warming up.

  I pulled on a red sweatshirt and jogged onto the field. We lined up, and Coach Meadows blew the whistle to start the match.

  The red team kicked off to the black. The kick didn’t go far. A black-shirt player kicked it upfield to a teammate. They kicked it back and forth to each other, running toward our goal.

  But they moved so slowly, I jumped in front of them and stole the ball. I dribbled it between my feet, then passed off to Angelo in the corner of the field.

  My kick was too hard. Angelo couldn’t get to it, and the ball bounced off the field.

  Angelo tossed the ball inbounds. The other players lurched toward it. But I got there first. I dribbled it halfway down the field.

  I looked for someone to pass it to. But the players on both teams were far behind me. I was all alone with the goal in front of me.

  That’s when I glimpsed the sidelines — and saw that everyone was staring at me. Staring hard.

  At first, I thought it was because I was playing so well.

  But then I remembered Franny’s warning — and I knew why they were watching me with such unpleasant looks on their faces.

  Don’t move too fast. Walk like a zombie.

  That was Franny’s advice. And here I was, showing off my skills. Showing off how fast I was.

  I was so much faster than the other players, they were starting to suspect me. Starting to suspect that I was alive.

  I deliberately stumbled. I let the ball roll away from me. And I fell facedown onto the grass.

  A black-shirt player caught up to the ball and began moving it the other way.

  I pulled myself to my feet slowly. I turned and started toward the ball.

  Slow down, Matt, I told myself. Take slow, lurching steps.

  The other players were all moving in slow motion. And now so was I.

  I glanced at the sidelines. Coach Meadows had a smile on his droopy face.

  I was fooling him. I was fooling everyone.

  Slow … slow …

  The ball was loose. I moved in t
o kick it downfield.

  I gave a hard kick. I saw the red-shirt player in front of me. Saw his mouth open in surprise.

  I didn’t mean to kick him. But my shoe slammed hard into his leg.

  I heard a sick craaaack.

  The boy uttered a gasp as his leg cracked.

  And then I screamed as the whole leg came flying off.

  16

  The leg bounced to the grass. The boy’s sneaker made a soft thud as it landed. The leg lay flat on the field.

  The boy stood there on one leg, gazing down at it. His eyes were wide with shock. “I … don’t … believe it,” he murmured.

  My stomach lurched. I spun away. Dropped to my knees. Covered my face with my hands.

  “Oh, noooo,” I moaned. “What have I done?”

  I stayed down on the ground with my face covered for a long time. I wanted it all to go away. Everything. This horrible school. These frightening kids.

  When I looked up, the boy was being carried away on a stretcher. He was on his back, and he held the leg up high in one hand. He waved it at the sky like a trophy.

  I felt sick. I struggled to keep my lunch down. The ground spun in front of me.

  I realized someone had a hand on my shoulder. I gazed up to see Coach Meadows beside me.

  His face seemed to sag even more. His eyes were sad. He reached out his hands. “Stand up, Matt,” he said.

  He helped pull me to my feet. My legs were shaky. I thought I might fall right back down.

  I pictured that leg lying on the grass.

  No blood. The leg cracked off, but the boy didn’t bleed.

  “Don’t worry, Matt,” the coach said softly. “Stop thinking about it. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “But —” I started. My words caught in my throat.

  “These injuries happen all the time,” Coach Meadows said.

  “They do?” I choked out.

  He nodded solemnly. Behind him, the other players stared at me blankly. They didn’t react at all to a guy losing his whole leg!

  “You looked pretty good out there,” the coach said. He rubbed his bald head. “Actually, you looked very good.”

  Until I kicked a player’s leg off.

  “Let’s call it for today,” Coach Meadows said. “Go to your room, Matt, and don’t think about soccer. They took Davey to the Reviver Room. He’ll be back in time for practice tomorrow.”

  “He will?” I said. “Oh. Uh … good.” I didn’t want to act too surprised. I had to act like the other players.

  Coach Meadows blew his whistle. His whole body sagged, as if it took all his strength to make it work.

  “Tomorrow at four!” he announced to everyone. He flashed me a thumbs-up and slumped toward the back of the school.

  Most of the players started to jog up the hill with the coach. I walked slowly after them.

  But Angelo and his friend Mikey stepped up to block my way. They both eyed me suspiciously.

  “You’re just ner vous — right?” Angelo said.

  “Uh … yeah. I’m kind of ner vous,” I replied.

  Mikey scowled at me. “You’re tense and pumped up,” he said. “That’s why you ran so much faster than us?”

  I swallowed hard. My mouth suddenly felt dry as cotton.

  I didn’t want to be caught. Saturday was Parents Day. Maybe my parents could get me away from here before the zombie kids realized I wasn’t one of them.

  I just had to be careful. Very, very careful.

  “Uh, yeah,” I said. “Whenever I’m really pumped, I act like that. You know. Almost like I’m alive. But I’m not. I’m still dead, see. I mean, still undead. Whatever. Really.”

  That didn’t come out right.

  The two big hulks didn’t move. They continued to study me, their faces frozen with scowls.

  Mikey motioned to the field. “You were very fast,” he said.

  “Just nerves,” I said.

  Angelo squinted at me. “Dude, when did you die?” he asked.

  “Recently,” I said. “Very recently.”

  They both nodded.

  “Catch you later,” Mikey said.

  They both jogged off toward the school.

  I stood there shaking. I realized I had sweat pouring down my face.

  This is what REAL horror is like, I told myself.

  I swore to myself if I survived this school, I’d never go to another horror movie.

  I just had to make it till Saturday. Saturday morning, my parents would arrive. Could I convince them to take me away from here?

  Could I convince them to save my life?

  17

  Saturday morning, I woke up early. I skipped breakfast and waited at the front of the school for Mom and Dad to arrive.

  It was a gray morning with dark clouds low overhead. From time to time, lightning flashed in the black clouds. Thunder rumbled far in the distance.

  Perfect for a horror movie.

  In my head, I kept running over and over all the things I wanted to tell my parents. I knew it would be hard to make them believe my story.

  So I knew I had to show them I was telling the truth. I planned to give them a tour of the school that would convince them beyond a doubt that we were surrounded by zombies.

  The night before, I’d looked for Franny. I wanted to ask if her parents were coming, too. I wanted to ask if she was as desperate to get out of this zombie school as I was.

  But she was studying with a group of girls. And I didn’t get to talk to her.

  I paced back and forth in the front hall. Most kids were still in the Dining Hall having their breakfast.

  Finally, I saw my parents’ car curling up the long driveway. I shoved open the doors and rushed out to meet them.

  A light rain had started to fall. By the time my dad parked the car, I was fairly soaked.

  But I didn’t care. It was Escape Time.

  First, we had a lot of hugs. My parents kept saying how much they missed me, even though it had only been two weeks.

  “Jamie misses you, too,” Mom said. “But she’d never admit it.”

  “Where is Jamie?” I asked.

  “She had too much homework. She had to stay home,” Mom said. “She’s in high school, you know. They give a lot of homework.”

  I sighed. “Here, too.”

  We started to walk to the front entrance. “How’s school going?” Dad asked. “Better than the last time you called?”

  “No,” I said. I stopped them on the front walk. “I really need you to listen to me. I need you to believe me. Everything I’ve told you about this school — I’m not making it up.”

  They both groaned. “Please, Matt. Don’t start with that zombie nonsense,” Dad said. “Let’s have a nice day together and talk about real things.”

  “Wait. Wait,” I said. I blocked their path to the front doors. “Let’s make a deal,” I said. “Just give me a chance to prove my case. Okay? I mean, just keep an open mind.”

  “But how can we —?” Dad started.

  I put my hands together like I was begging. “Just let me take you around this morning,” I said. “Let me show you some things and let you talk to some kids. That’s all. Just don’t make up your minds till after lunch. Is that okay?”

  They exchanged glances. “This is crazy,” Mom muttered. “You’re keeping us out here in the rain. For what? You really want us to believe there are zombies in this school?”

  “I’m going to show you,” I said. “If you’ll give me a chance.”

  Silence for a long moment. “Okay,” Dad said finally. “Deal.”

  “And then you’ll drop the whole zombie nonsense?” Mom asked.

  “Open mind,” I said. “Remember? You’re keeping an open mind?”

  I turned to the school entrance. I saw the principal, Mr. Craven, step out to the top of the stairs. A flash of lightning made his bald onion head glow.

  I turned back to Mom and Dad. “Okay,” I said. “There’s Mr. Craven. Remember him? Ge
t ready. Here’s your first clue.”

  18

  Rain pattered on the walk as we made our way to the front steps. Mr. Craven had a big smile on his round, pale face. He had his hands in the jacket pockets of the baggy gray suit he wore every day.

  I knew he was eager to give Mom and Dad a big greeting.

  “Now be sure to shake hands with him,” I told them. “He’s a zombie, so his hands will be ice-cold. Dry and cold. That’s because he’s dead.”

  Mom frowned at me. “The man probably has bad circulation.”

  “Yes. Very bad circulation,” I said. “Because he’s dead!”

  “Ssshh. He’ll hear you,” Mom whispered.

  I heard a clatter of shoes on the walk. I turned to see a big black umbrella. A man and a woman were hunched under it, jogging quickly toward us.

  Visiting parents.

  They passed us and climbed the stairs to Mr. Craven. Craven’s smile grew wider. He greeted them warmly and shook their hands. He waved them into the building.

  We were right behind them. “Get ready,” I whispered.

  “Hello, Krinskys,” Craven said warmly. “Hurry. Get out of the rain.” He held the door open and waved us inside.

  Mom and Dad started into the school. “No — wait,” I said. “Shake hands. Shake his hand.”

  Too late. We were inside.

  The other parents closed their umbrella and shook it out. Mom and Dad wiped rainwater from their hair. Two more parents burst in behind us.

  “Mom, Dad — don’t you see how pale the other parents are?” I asked.

  They frowned. “It’s a dark, rainy day, Matt,” Dad said. “Everyone looks pale.”

  “Welcome, everyone. Welcome,” Craven gushed, ignoring the raindrops running down his bald head.

  “He seems perfectly nice,” Mom whispered.

  “You are welcome to wander around the school,” Craven announced. “It is Saturday, so our students will be relaxed and casual.”

  “They’re so relaxed, they’re dead,” I whispered.

  Mom shushed me and gazed at the zombie principal.

  “If you are hungry from your trip, breakfast is still being served in the Dining Hall,” Craven said.

  “Yes! Breakfast!” I cried. I wanted my parents to see the disgusting stuff these undead kids ate. And the gross, sickening way they ate it.