Zombies in the House

by Zombies in the House

  The faces around him didn’t seem entirely convinced.

  ‘Look,’ Alex tried again, ‘why don’t we just keep an eye on things for now? We’re going to be visiting every day this week, so we might as well make use of the time.’

  ‘What, by snooping around, jumping to conclusions and getting into trouble?’ said Spit. ‘When we could be keeping quiet, laying low and getting back into Heaven?’

  Alex turned. ‘I never said anything about snooping or conclusion‐jumping.’

  ‘That only leaves –’ started Cherry.

  ‘Getting into trouble,’ groaned House, shaking his head.

  ‘Déjà vu,’ said Spit.

  5

  Hate Cuisine

  ‘You know,’ said Spit, as the gang approached the hospital the following day, ‘there is a reason they call it “visiting time”. It’s because that’s when people are supposed to visit.’

  ‘So?’ replied Alex.

  ‘So, why are we deliberately here after visiting time?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ said Alex, coming to a halt. ‘If there is something strange going on, it’s not going to be happening when there are loads of visitors wandering around, is it? If we go during normal visiting hours, then the hospital will be just that – normal.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Spit replied, ‘and then all we have to worry about is visiting a few people, eating grapes, then getting back to Tabbris and hopefully off up to Heaven. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m pretty keen to get home.’

  The rest of the team swapped shifty glances. Alex looked over at them. ‘You all seem worried.’

  ‘Not worried, exactly,’ said Inchy. ‘Just cautious.’

  ‘All right,’ said Alex, ‘here’s the deal. We go in there today and scout the place out. If we don’t find anything weird –’

  ‘What?’ said Cherry. ‘Like a nutter running the radio station, patients who actually want to be in hospital and nurses with pompoms?’

  ‘OK,’ Alex corrected himself, ‘if we don’t find anything definitely evil, then for the rest of the week we’ll just visit at normal times, get into Tabbris’s good books and get back home. Agreed?’

  ‘But what if we do find something definitely evil?’ asked House nervously. ‘What then?’

  ‘We can cross that bridge when we come to it,’ said Alex quickly.

  Cherry put her hands on her hips. ‘Just so long as you aren’t thinking of playing demon hunters again.’

  Alex smiled his most innocent smile. ‘The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.’

  ‘Then why were you up until midnight last night repairing your Patented Demon Tester?’ snapped Spit.

  Alex’s face fell. ‘Fine. If you want to be boring about it, I promise not to go hunting for demons without asking Tabbris first. Happy?’

  The gang nodded. Even Spit, though perhaps less enthusiastically than the others.

  ‘So, now we can go into the hospital. Any questions?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered House. ‘As it’s lunchtime, does that mean I – er, I mean we – get to eat?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Alex. ‘Come on. We’ll meet back here in an hour.’

  Taking care to avoid being seen by the nurses, the gang slipped into the hospital and split up. Inchy headed back to see Mr Kowalski; Cherry and Spit set off together; and Alex and House made straight for the nearest ward.

  As they pushed through the doors, the first sight that greeted them was a large trolley piled high with trays, plates and steaming dishes of food.

  ‘Ohhh!’ moaned House softly, his eyes brimming.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Alex. ‘You don’t usually get upset at mealtimes.’

  ‘I’m not upset, you numpty, I’m starving! And the sight of all this food just being given away…’

  ‘You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?’ exclaimed Alex. ‘It’s only three hours since breakfast, and you’ve had a snack since then.’

  ‘That wasn’t a snack, that was a “bridging sandwich”. They help me get across the huge gap between meals.’

  Alex shook his head, amazed at his friend’s extraordinary capacity for limitless eating. But then House was substantially larger than the average angel, even for his age. He probably needed the extra fuel.

  Gleefully, House practically skipped up to the trolley. But as he lifted the lid from one of the huge metal trays, his deep sigh of contentment turned into a choking gasp.

  Whatever was on the menu, it was no dish that House had ever seen before. Rather, it was an oozing and bubbling mix of sickly grey‐green shades. It looked as if someone had scooped a cowpat into a frying pan and left it to boil. It seemed to move of its own accord, almost as if it were alive.

  Alex felt his stomach churn. ‘What is that?’ he coughed, his hand covering his mouth and pinning his lips together as he did his best not to throw up all over the floor.

  Without a word, House grabbed a plate and quickly loaded it up. Holding it at arm’s length, he returned to Alex’s side.

  ‘Well?’ asked Alex. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but it’s got pastry.’

  Alex edged forward. ‘That’s not pastry,’ he said. ‘I mean, look at it – it’s… it’s grey!’

  House peered at the menu on the trolley. ‘Apparently it’s chicken pie,’ he said dubiously.

  ‘Looks more like gristle cooked in snot, then covered in wet cardboard,’ retorted Alex. ‘This could never be called a pie.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ said House, ‘but they seem to like it.’

  He pointed at the row of patients sitting up in their beds, enthusiastically emptying their plates. Spoons shovelled food into open mouths so fast that it seemed the patients weren’t able to get the stuff inside them quickly enough. Moans of extreme happiness filled the ward after every mouthful.

  House reached out a shaking hand and picked up a fork.

  ‘You’re not going to, are you?’ Alex asked, as they both stared at the contents of House’s plate. It wobbled slightly.

  Scooping up a forkful, House closed his eyes and raised it to his lips. Then it was gone. But it didn’t stay gone for long.

  ‘PHLEURGH!’

  With a roar, food sprayed from House’s mouth, covering Alex from head to foot.

  ‘Not good, then,’ said Alex, wiping his eyes.

  ‘There’s no way,’ spluttered House, ‘that whoever made this actually tasted it. Or if they did, their taste buds must be totally dead.’

  ‘Try telling that to the patients,’ replied Alex. ‘There is definitely something fishy going on around here. Let’s find the others.’

  ‘Ugh, this is rotten,’ said Spit the moment he and Cherry entered their ward.

  ‘True,’ agreed the Cherub. ‘I can’t believe Alex has got us snooping around again –’

  ‘No,’ interrupted Spit, ‘not that – this! Something’s rotten in here! This room! Can’t you smell it? It’s like something crawled under a bed and died. And by “something” I mean an elephant.’

  Cherry took a deep breath and immediately wished she hadn’t.

  ‘Ughhh!’ she shrieked, her face turning as green as parts of her hair. ‘What is that?’

  ‘Whatever it is,’ said Spit, waving at the rest of the room, ‘why haven’t they noticed it?’

  Cherry looked. Ten patients were all happily sleeping, reading or playing cards, seemingly utterly unaware of the stink.

  ‘They must be able to smell it!’ said Cherry, her hands clamped over her nose.

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ agreed Spit. ‘But none of them seem bothered at all. It doesn’t make sense. Perhaps they’re here for nose operations?’

  ‘Something weird’s definitely going on,’ said Cherry, edging back to the door. ‘This place smells, well, dead. Completely and utterly dead.’

  The geriatric ward was a bustle of activity again when Inchy arrived. Three patients were holding a skidding contest on the slippery, highly polished floor, wh
ile two more were wheelchair racing around the ward. And even above all the commotion, Inchy could still hear the clickety‐clicking of Lily’s needles as she put the finishing touches on what looked like a knitted pineapple. The diminutive angel tried to sneak past the end of her bed without Lily noticing, but it didn’t work.

  ‘Inchy, my dear! It’s so nice of you to pop in again! You can help me with my next project. I’m going to knit a canoe.’

  ‘You can’t knit a canoe!’

  ‘Everyone said that about a Sunday lunch, but I proved them wrong, didn’t I?’ Lily gestured proudly. On top of her bedside cabinet sat her knitted roast chicken with all the trimmings. Inchy had to admit that it did look very convincing, even if Lily was clearly as mad as a hatter.

  ‘Yes, I see,’ he agreed, taking a nervous step away from the old lady. ‘Well, I’d love to help, Lily, but I need to talk to Mr Kowalski.’

  ‘Who’s he, then?’ asked Lily. ‘A doctor?’

  ‘No, he’s another patient,’ said Inchy. ‘Remember? The one in the corner bed?’

  ‘After I’ve done the canoe, I think I might knit a television next,’ said Lily, ignoring Inchy. ‘There’s nothing worth watching on a real one nowadays. Well, see you later.’

  Relieved to have escaped, Inchy turned to leave, but was immediately accosted by a second patient wearing a plum‐coloured dressing gown that made him look like a giant bruise.

  ‘Hello there, little man. Weren’t you here yesterday? You do know it’s not visiting time, don’t you? You’ll get into trouble if those lovely nurses find you.’

  ‘I’m here to see Mr Kowalski,’ said Inchy.

  The man smiled vacantly.

  ‘There’s no one here by that name,’ he said, his voice drifting slightly, as if his mind had suddenly got interested in something a long way away and gone off to see what it was. ‘Perhaps you’ve got the wrong hospital.’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ said Inchy, a strange feeling creeping up his spine. ‘I met him here yesterday. You must remember him. He’s from Poland. He’s…’

  But before Inchy could finish, the old man had wandered off, almost like he’d forgotten about him completely. Fear rising, Inchy hurried down the ward to the corner bed. The curtains were tightly drawn around it.

  Inchy cleared his throat. ‘Mr Kowalski?’

  Silence.

  ‘Mr Kowalski, it’s me, Inchy. We met yesterday.’

  Still silence.

  With a gulp, Inchy took hold of the curtains and swiftly pulled them open.

  The corner bed was empty. But not just empty – it was completely bare. The sheets had been stripped to leave nothing but a fading grey mattress and a tired‐looking pillow. No tablets or glasses of water stood on the bedside table, and no books or magazines were tucked into the bookcase. There was no sign of Mr Kowalski.

  It was as if he’d never existed at all.

  6

  Just What the Doctor Ordered

  ‘Perhaps we’re being too suspicious,’ said Cherry, sitting on the ground to double‐check that her studs were in nice and tight. ‘About the hospital, I mean.’

  It was the day after their hospital investigation and the gang were getting ready for some football practice, pulling on boots, changing into shorts or, in the case of Spit, not doing anything that could be interpreted as being at all enthusiastic.

  Already booted up, House was practising his skills. He flicked the ball up, caught it on his chest, volleyed it with a carefully placed knee, then hooked it left to Alex.

  Or at least that’s what he tried to do. Instead, he knocked the ball up, leapt for it wildly and sent it spinning high into the air, narrowly missing a startled magpie. He glanced around sheepishly, hoping no one had noticed. Everyone had, but no one said anything.

  Except Spit.

  ‘Well done. Really, I mean it. After all, if any of us had tried to do that, we would never have managed it. But to do it without even trying? That takes talent.’

  ‘It’s all right for you,’ said House, looking frustrated. ‘You’ve got used to this Earth gravity stuff. I haven’t.’

  ‘It’s no different for you than it is for any of us,’ replied Spit. ‘Gravity is gravity.’

  ‘But House is almost twice your size, Spit,’ Alex replied, supporting his friend.

  ‘Yeah,’ said House, ‘and that means I’ve got twice the gravity to deal with.’

  Inchy opened his mouth to tell House that wasn’t strictly scientifically true. But then he saw the look on House’s face and decided against it. Spit lapsed into a moody silence. House said nothing either but ran off to recover the ball.

  Alex turned to Cherry. ‘Do you think we’re being too suspicious?’

  Cherry shrugged and started to jog on the spot, warming up.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘What do you reckon, Inchy?’ asked Alex.

  ‘Well,’ said Inchy, ‘something has to be going on. There’s no way all those patients could forget Mr Kowalski in just one day. That’s impossible.’

  ‘I hate to say it, but do you think he might be hanging out with Gabriel already?’ said Cherry. ‘You said he was pretty old.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ replied Inchy. ‘He did have a bad cough, but he seemed really strong and fit. And besides, that doesn’t explain why everyone had forgotten about him. You’d think the nurses would remember someone if they’d just died.’

  ‘Could he have been sent home?’ asked Alex. ‘That’s what happens when people get better.’

  Inchy shook his head. ‘He said he didn’t want to leave his friends in danger. I can’t imagine him leaving willingly.’

  Spit finished tying his boots and pulled himself up from the ground. ‘Am I missing something?’

  ‘Oh, we’re just talking about the usual,’ said Inchy. ‘You know – hospitals, disappearing patients, the possibility of evil plots, that kind of thing.’

  ‘There’s no proof that there’s an evil plot at the hospital,’ said Cherry, alarmed.

  ‘True,’ said Spit, rubbing his hands together. ‘But there’s no proof that there isn’t, is there?’

  Alex looked at Spit, surprise alive in his eyes.

  ‘You mean even you think something’s up? Mr Sceptical, who doesn’t believe in something unless it bites him on the bum?’

  ‘Look, I may be sceptical, but I’m not stupid. We all know something about that hospital isn’t right. The question is, what?’

  Cherry put her hands on her hips.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Who are you, and what have you done with Spit?’

  ‘Oh, ha ha,’ deadpanned Spit.

  ‘We need more information,’ mused Alex. ‘Whatever’s going on, it could just be weird human behaviour, or it could be something worse.

  We have to uncover some hard proof one way or the other.’

  ‘The problem we’ve got,’ said Inchy, ‘is that we only ever get to go to the hospital for an hour each day, otherwise Tabbris will get suspicious. And the last thing we need is him finding out what we’re up to and giving us a ten‐hour lecture about how he wouldn’t have been allowed to get away with our sort of behaviour when he was a trainee angel, and then never being allowed back to Heaven.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Cherry. ‘It was pretty easy to investigate Dante at school when we were there all week.’

  ‘We need a plan,’ mused Alex.

  ‘A plan?’ echoed Spit. ‘Another famous Alex plan? The kind that got us into this whole stranded‐on‐Earth mess in the first place?’

  ‘My plans are works of pure genius,’ said Alex, sounding wounded.

  ‘Well, can we come up with a plan after practice?’ asked House, obviously bored with the conversation.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Alex. ‘Perhaps playing will help me think of a good idea.’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything,’ muttered Spit.

  Half an hour later, Alex’s score was Goals: 3, Good Ideas: nil.

>   It was his turn in goal while the others were playing two‐on‐two: Cherry and House against Inchy and Spit. Inchy and Spit were two–one up, but House and Cherry weren’t giving in.

  Cherry had the ball.

  ‘Man on!’ bellowed House as he saw Inchy charging towards her.

  Cherry caught sight of Inchy and let him get right up to her before neatly stepping left, dodging his tackle by millimetres.

  Alex grinned, enjoying the battle playing out in front of him. To his left, House was waving his arms to catch Cherry’s attention. Inchy had wheeled round and was now chasing after her. And Spit was right in the middle, between Cherry and the goal.

  ‘Spit! Stop her!’ yelled Inchy.

  Spit raced forward.

  House saw what was about to happen – Spit was going to hold Cherry up while Inchy sneaked in from behind to steal possession!

  Well, not if House had anything to do with it. With a grunt, he pushed himself into a sprint. It wasn’t graceful – when Alex ran, it was like watching an elegant cheetah; with Spit, a stealthy panther. With House, it was more like an angry hippo.

  Still Cherry was oblivious to the danger. She could see Spit ahead and, beyond him, the goal. All she had to do was get past him. But unseen behind her, Inchy was gaining all the time.

  And it was at that minute that Alex had a brilliant idea.

  ‘I’ve got it!’ shouted Alex. ‘What we need is –’

  But before Alex could finish, Inchy slipped round from behind Cherry and neatly stole the ball. A second later, ploughing up the ground like a tractor, House slid across the pitch and slammed into his tiny friend.

  Inchy flew high into the air and turned a complete somersault before thumping back down to Earth with a sickening crunch.

  ‘Inchy? Inchy!’

  House pulled himself up from the ground as Alex, Spit and Cherry raced over to join him. They all stared down at Inchy.

  ‘I never realized legs could bend that way,’ said House.

  ‘They can’t,’ replied Spit.

  ‘Oh, Inchy,’ said House, ‘I’m so sorry. What have I done?’

  Cherry turned to Alex. ‘What were you screaming about?’