by R. L. Stine
I blinked a few times, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the gray light. Squinting across the street, I saw someone. Someone in the graveyard.
I struggled to focus my eyes. A string of clouds stretched over the moon, casting the graveyard in deep shadow.
Then the clouds rolled past, and the ground brightened again.
And I saw the figure dressed in white, some kind of flowing white gown.
What was he doing among the tombstones? Was he dancing?
His arms rose up and down. He appeared to float in the white gown. Float along the crooked row of graves.
“Help meeeee.”
As he uttered the shrill cry, he continued his eerie dance.
I realized I’d stopped breathing. My eyes on the ghostly figure, I forced myself to take a deep breath.
My hands gripped the windowsill tightly, as if I’d fall through the floor if I let go.
I struggled to calm my mind, to stop the frightening thoughts that whirred past.
A ghost. A ghost or a zombie dancing in the graveyard.
Was it one of the zombies that chased those kids? A zombie all in white?
And then the moonlight grew even brighter. And everything became clearer, like a camera finding its focus.
And I saw the face of the dancing ghost. Saw it clearly. The pale eyes. The white hair.
Grandpa Mo.
I stopped breathing again. I gripped the windowsill so tightly, my hands ached. I lurched backward, away from the window … away from the frightening sight of my grandfather floating along the tombstones.
Then I spun around and ran down the hall to my parents’ room. “Mom! Dad!” I screamed. I pounded their door with my fist.
After a few seconds, the door swung open. Dad poked his head out, blinking, his hair down over his eyes. “Kenny? Are you okay?”
“It … It’s Grandpa Mo!” I choked out. “Hurry. You’ve got to come. He … he’s in the graveyard.”
Dad blinked some more. “What time is it?”
“It doesn’t matter, Dad,” I said. I tugged at his pajama sleeve. “Grandpa Mo is in the graveyard. We have to get him.”
Dad shook his head hard, as if clearing his mind. “My slippers,” he said. He disappeared for a few seconds. Then he hurtled out into the hall, in his striped pajamas, bedroom slippers on his feet.
The two of us ran out of the house. I knew Grandpa Mo was in trouble. Something strange was happening to him. His wailing cries for help repeated in my brain.
Dad and I ran across the street. His slippers made a clack-clack sound on the pavement as he ran. I realized I was barefoot. The street felt cold under my feet. But I didn’t care. I just wanted to reach Grandpa Mo — before something terrible happened to him.
Dad and I ran under the trees at the edge of the graveyard. Above us, the leaves whispered and rattled.
The moonlight sent darting shadows all around us. The ground was hard dirt and weeds. Something scratched the bottom of my left foot, but I didn’t stop.
Grandpa Mo was at the far end of the row of tombstones. His white robe glowed in the moonlight. He was twisting around, his eyes rolling in his head.
I ran up to him, crying his name. “Grandpa Mo! Grandpa Mo!”
He turned his face toward me, but he didn’t seem to recognize me. His eyes were so pale, they appeared solid white. His chin trembled. His hair fluttered above his head in the steady breeze.
Dad came running up to us, gasping for breath. He took Grandpa Mo by the shoulder. Grandpa Mo stared blankly at him.
“Pops, you shouldn’t be out here,” Dad said. “Come with us. Kenny and I will take you home.”
Grandpa Mo nodded. But I still wasn’t sure he knew who we were.
He was wearing his white bathrobe. Dad saw that it was coming open, so he tightened the belt for Grandpa Mo. Without another word, we led him back to the house.
Mom and Tricia were waiting in the kitchen. We sat Grandpa Mo down at the kitchen table. “Mo, I’ll make you a cup of that green tea you like,” Mom said.
My grandfather nodded. He had one arm on the table. He rested his head in his hand. “I had a dream,” he said.
Dad sat down next to him. “A dream?”
Grandpa Mo nodded again. “I dreamed the zombies came for me again. They pulled me out of bed. They forced me out into the dark night. They … they …”
“Take it easy, Pops,” Dad said, patting Grandpa Mo’s shoulder.
“I dreamed I was in the graveyard,” the old man said. “I dreamed I was dancing along the graves. They forced me, Sal. They forced me to dance along the graves.”
Grandpa Mo rubbed his chin. It made a dry, scratchy sound. He raised his eyes to my dad. “Isn’t that a strange dream? Dreaming I was in the graveyard?”
Dad glanced at Mom. Like he didn’t know what to say. He turned to Grandpa Mo. “It wasn’t a dream, Pops,” he said. “Kenny and I … We found you there. Remember?”
“It was a dream,” Grandpa Mo insisted. “I dreamed I was in the graveyard.”
Tricia pulled me into the hall and whispered, “Well, that’s something new. Grandpa Mo must be a sleepwalker.”
“A sleepwalker?”
“He was sound asleep and dreaming,” Tricia whispered. “He walked to the graveyard in his sleep.”
I squinted at Grandpa Mo at the kitchen table. He had the teacup between his hands, but he wasn’t drinking the tea. He was still blinking and shaking his head.
I thought about what Tricia had said. But then another idea flashed into my mind.
“What if he wasn’t dreaming?” I whispered to Tricia. “What if it was real? You know, some zombies have mind control. It’s in the TV show and the game. What if zombies used their mind control to force him to the graveyard? What if he’s telling the truth?”
Tricia raised a fist — and clonked the top of my head with it.
“Hey — why’d you do that?” I cried.
“To knock some sense in your head, Kenny. Don’t start believing this stuff.”
I gazed at Grandpa Mo, so pale, his white hair wild above his face, the teacup trembling in his hand. His eyes had a faraway look. They seemed to be seeing things we couldn’t see.
I gazed at Grandpa Mo — and I didn’t know what to believe.
Something is wrong here, I told myself. There’s something I don’t understand.
What if he is under some kind of spell? What if the zombies control him now?
Was I being crazy?
Was I letting my imagination run away with me?
I hoped so. But … for the first time in my life, I felt a little afraid of Grandpa Mo.
The next night after dinner, the zombie patrol met for our first adventure. We met in front of Alec’s house because I was afraid my parents might find out about it.
There were six of us, including Alec and me. The other four were all guys from our class. Munroe Ferber, Travis Costanza, Sammy White, and Jeremy Bodner.
Jeremy kept us waiting about twenty minutes. He said he had to sneak out through his bedroom window because his parents would never allow him to go out like this at night.
Munroe told his dad he had to do a class project: gazing at the stars. Munroe is a short, stumpy kid with big, round eyes and a funny, deep croaky voice. He says he hates it when kids call him by his nickname — Frog.
Travis and Sammy are best friends who live somewhere on the other side of the graveyard. These guys all joined the patrol, I guess, because they’re huge fans of The Walking Zombies. And because Alec and I promised we’d get on TV.
We hung out behind Alec’s garage, not talking much. I think everyone was a little tense.
When Jeremy finally arrived, everyone started to talk at once.
“Are we really doing this? You really think we’ll see zombies?”
“Aren’t we just doing this to get on TV? Alec told us we’ll be on the news.”
“Why don’t we just go to my house and play The Walking Zombies? I have
the new beta version three that hasn’t been released.”
“Awesome. How did you get it?”
“I’m not allowed to tell.”
“What do we do if we see some zombies?”
“Scream.”
“Run?”
“Hit them in the head with a shovel.”
“We don’t have a shovel.”
“Guys, let’s get it together,” I said. “It’s getting late. Let’s start our patrol at the graveyard.”
“Why? Do we really have to go in there?” Sammy asked. He was a big dude. He was at least a head taller than me. But he had a whiny voice, and he seemed to be the biggest chicken.
“It just seems like if you want to see zombies, you should start at a graveyard,” I said.
The others agreed. We started to walk along Ardmore Road toward the cemetery entrance.
It had rained for most of the afternoon. The ground was muddy and soft. The lawns glistened under the light of the low half-moon. We stepped around puddles on the street.
Sammy strode up beside Alec and me. “Are you sure this is going to get us on TV?” he demanded.
Before I could answer, Travis chimed in. “I think we need uniforms. I mean, like totally awesome zombie patrol uniforms.”
“Sweet,” Jeremy said. “I saw these Navy SEAL uniforms. With these awesome boots. Maybe we could get someone to copy them and —”
“We can’t afford uniforms and boots,” I said. “You don’t need uniforms to hunt for zombies.”
Alec nodded his head in agreement.
“What if we just have some cool T-shirts made?” Jeremy said. “There’s that place at the mall that does T-shirts really cheap.”
“They could be black with ZP on the front in red,” Sammy said.
“No. They have to be FVZP,” Travis told him.
I stared at him. “FVZP? What does that stand for?”
“Franklin Village Zombie Patrol.”
A dark SUV rumbled past. A kid stared out the back window at us. He stuck his tongue out as he passed. The tires splashed rainwater over the curb.
The half-moon disappeared behind a heavy curtain of clouds. Everything grew darker, like the lights going down in a movie theater. We had reached the entrance gate to the cemetery.
“We should definitely have membership cards,” Travis said. “And maybe a secret handshake? It could be something like this.” He grabbed Jeremy’s hand and pumped it up and down.
“Whoa! Stop right there!” I cried. I trotted to the front of the group. I turned to face them and raised both hands to signal halt. “You guys have a bad attitude,” I said. “Do you want to find some zombies or not?”
“No. We want to get on TV,” Munroe answered.
The other guys laughed.
“Well, we’re not going to get on TV because of our uniforms or our T-shirts, or our membership cards,” I said. “We need a story to tell. We need to find some zombies. Something to tell the news reporter.”
“I stepped in a puddle,” Jeremy said. “Look. My jeans are soaked.”
“It’s going to be muddy in the graveyard,” Sammy said. “Maybe we should patrol somewhere else.”
“It got too dark,” Munroe muttered. “What happened to the moon?”
“I brought a flashlight,” I said. I pulled it from my backpack. “Come on, dudes. No more talk. We have to start the patrol in the graveyard. The TV news guys will love it.”
“Follow Kenny and me,” Alec said, “and stick close together.”
They grumbled a little more. But Alec and I ignored them. We tugged open the iron gate and made our way into the graveyard.
I gazed up at the sky. The clouds were heavy and black. The moon was lost behind them. I clicked on the flashlight. It was a halogen flashlight and it shone a bright white circle over the rows of graves.
Alec and I started to follow the light down the first row of graves. I aimed the white beam from stone to stone. These graves were old, and the stones tilted back as if blown by the wind.
My shoes sank into the soft mud as I walked. I tried to ignore the cold water that seeped into my socks.
It was silent here. The only sounds were the soft plop of our footsteps in the mud. The only thing moving were the tall, old trees. Their branches quaked and groaned overhead.
I gazed up. I wished the moonlight would return. But the sky seemed to grow even blacker.
Alec stumbled over a raised tree root. I grabbed him before he fell. He steadied himself quickly. His eyes followed my beam of light.
“I don’t see anything.” His voice came out in a whisper. “Nothing moving here.”
We turned at the end of the row and followed a low hill to the next group of graves. My light swept up and down the crooked tombstones.
“The dead are sleeping soundly tonight,” Alec whispered.
I turned the light on him. It was a cold October night. But he had drops of sweat across his forehead.
I suddenly pictured Grandpa Mo in this graveyard late last night. The sleeves of his white robe flying up as he danced between the tombstones.
No. I’m not like Alec. I don’t believe in zombies. No way. I just want to have a little excitement.
Alec and I climbed the hill, slipping on the wet grass on the path. A gust of wind made the trees shake and rattle all around us.
I suddenly remembered the other four guys. I didn’t hear them. They must have fallen behind.
I spun around. “Hey, dudes? Let’s stick together, okay?”
I couldn’t see them.
“Hey, dudes? Munroe? Jeremy?” My voice came out muffled against the wind. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted again.
No reply. No sign of them.
I shone my light down the hill. I swept it back and forth.
“Where are they?” Alec asked, his voice shrill with worry. “They couldn’t just disappear.”
“Come on,” I said. I motioned him down the hill. We retraced our steps. I kept the light darting from side to side.
“Hey, guys!” I shouted as loudly as I could. “Where are you? Come on. This isn’t funny. Where are you?”
No answer.
A chill tightened the back of my neck. My mouth suddenly felt dry.
I turned to Alec. Even in the darkness, I could see the fear on his face.
“S-something happened to them,” I said.
He nodded. But he didn’t say a word. He stood beside me, breathing hard.
And then we heard loud, frantic scraping. We both turned — and gasped when we saw something climb from behind a tall gravestone.
Alec saw it, too. He squeezed the arm of my jacket. We both stumbled back and tried to hide behind a fat tree trunk.
The tree smelled damp and moldy. I didn’t care. I grabbed on to it. Hid behind it. And watched the creature slither out from the grave and make its way onto the grassy path.
What was it? It was moving so slowly, as if waking up from being dead. It turned and began to lope down the hill.
My heart pounded. I had to force myself to breathe.
“What is that?” I whispered.
“The light,” Alec whispered back, lifting my arm.
I’d forgotten I was holding it. I raised the flashlight and aimed the beam at the creature’s back.
As soon as the light swept over it, it spun around.
I stared at its face. And gasped.
“Trevor!” I choked out. “Hey — Trevor! What are you doing here?”
“I don’t believe it,” Alec whispered. “Your weird next-door neighbor.”
He waved his hands in front of his face, shielding his eyes.
I lowered the beam of light. Alec and I walked over to him. “Trevor? Hi. Remember us? Kenny and Alec? I live next door?”
He nodded. “Hey,” he said softly. He pulled up the black hood of his hoodie.
“What are you doing here?” Alec repeated the question.
“What are you doing out here?” Trevor shot back. He
didn’t smile. His eyes studied us coldly.
“We … started a patrol,” I said. “To … uh … hunt for zombies.”
He thought about it for a moment. “It’s like a game?”
“No,” Alec said. “For real. Did you see the news story about those high school kids? They say they were chased by zombies from this cemetery.”
Trevor shook his head. “But … it’s a game, right? I mean, do you really believe in zombies?”
“Well … yes,” Alec said.
I checked out Trevor’s hoodie and jeans. They weren’t covered in mud. He hadn’t climbed out of a grave. He was just walking behind the gravestones.
But why?
“Did you see four other guys out here?” Alec asked. “They’re in our patrol.”
Trevor shook his head again. His face seemed to disappear inside the hoodie. “No. I didn’t see anyone.”
He squinted at us. “You really believe there might be zombies in Franklin Village?”
“Maybe,” I said. “We just thought we’d patrol at night and search for them.”
“But that could be dangerous,” Trevor said. He leaned toward us. His eyes darted from Alec to me. “That could be very dangerous.”
A chill rolled down my back. He had suddenly changed. His voice deepened. And his words sounded like a warning.
Or a threat.
I took a step back. Under the black hoodie, he had a menacing look on his face.
“We’ll be careful,” I said.
“You should be very careful,” Trevor said.
Another threat?
“Do you want to join us?” Alec blurted out. “Join our zombie patrol?”
“I don’t think so,” he answered quickly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“We’re just going out on patrol a few nights,” I said. “Maybe you could come along….”
“No, I can’t. And I think you should stop … before you get in trouble.” He turned and started down the hill, taking long strides, hands in his jeans pockets.
“Hey, wait!” I shouted. “What were you doing here?”
“Taking a walk,” he called back. Then he vanished into the darkness.