Britney was sitting up in bed watching iCarly.
Her bedroom door opened. “It’s time to turn off the T.V. and go to sleep,” said her Grandmother. You have a big, long day of school tomorrow.”
“Yes, Memaw,” said Britney. She lay down on her squeaky bed and pulled her purple and pink princess’s blanket up to her chin. She thought about her mother who had died in a bad car accident last Halloween, exactly one year ago. She wiped a small tear from her eye and waited for a little bit. She lifted up her bedroom window by its cold glass and climbed out.
She could see the steam of her breath in the chilly dark night. Britney was wearing her pink Hello Kitty pajamas and a fuzzy blue sweatshirt. She crossed her arms and shivered. The roses in her grandmothers’ garden were red and swirly looking in the white moonlight. She pulled a tiny pair of shiny silver scissors out of her sweatshirt pocket and clipped a Rose. As she held it between her fingers a thorn stuck her thumb. “Ouch!” said Britney. I poked my finger!” She sucked on her finger for a second wincing in pain. The blood tasted nasty.
She walked down a dirt road, through a dark tunnel of moss covered trees. A church steeple came in to view. She reached out and touched the rusted, black gates guarding her mother.
Britney found her mother’s headstone. As she knelt down on the grave the rose fell from her hand. She carefully picked the flower back up but some of the petals fell softly to the ground. “Oh no! I hurt my rose! I should make it better!” She shut her eyes hard until they hurt. “I can make a spell like Alex on my favorite show ‘Wizards’.” She quickly made something up. “This thing on the ground, so harmed and hurt, come back to life, so I can…” She thought hard, but couldn’t finish the spell.
Britney heard a sound like roots being pulled. She looked next to her mother’s grave. Something very long like a big, dirt anthill rose slowly out of the ground. The dirt moved aside and there was a sound like an old wooden door slowly creaking open. She gagged and coughed at a smell like old spaghetti and then held her nose. A zombie sat up in a rectangle box and he brought both of his arms up. He turned his head towards her and let out a long moan, “ahhhhhh”
Britney could see where his eyes and nose should be but they were just empty black sockets. He had no lips and he had a wide toothy grin; many scars covered his dry looking gray skin. “What did you do to your finger?” He said in deep gravelly voice. “I can smell the blood on it and it smells very good.”
“How can you smell with no nose? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I bothered you sir. I’m going to go now okay?” Britney said to the scary looking zombie. He moved a little and some of his white hair fell out. Britney got up and ran like the wind.
“Come back! I’ve been asleep for years and I’m very hungry,” said the zombie. He climbed out of the coffin and walked with a bad limp, dragging his foot sideways.
“Oh no!” She yelled back at him. “Please go away! I didn’t mean to wake you!” Britney stopped, closed her pretty light blue eyes and turned around. She wanted to help the man, but she was so scared.
Britney said the first thing that came to mind. “You want to come over to Memaw’s? We can heat up some fried chicken from last night?”
“Memaw’s? Who’s Memaw?” asked the old man while making a scraping sound on his chin with his bony fingers while thinking. He slowly kept walking towards her, dragging his back foot.
“That’s my Grandmothers,” said Britney while backing up, trying to keep a good distance.
The old man sat at Memaw’s shiny, round wooden table in the kitchen. “It smells like Spicy Cinnamon and warm baked Apples in here,” said the zombie.
“That’s freshly baked Dutch Apple Pie that my Memaw made last night,” said Britney. She tucked her hair behind one ear and opened up the oven, while looking cautiously back over her shoulder.
He put his delicate bony elbows up on the table. “That fried chicken sure does smell good. Looky here, why don’t we pop you in to the oven instead? I’m sure you’d be tasty to.”
Britney quickly spun around putting one hand on her waist. She scowled at the zombie with her radiant blue eyes, while pointing her finger. “Now see, I don’t want you saying anything like that. You be nice.” Britney opened up the oven again and turned sideways, so she could watch him, while getting the chicken out.
“I was only kidding,” said the zombie. He picked up a big fat greasy piece of chicken out of a pool of grease and bit in to it. The meat hung from his teeth. He put the juicy leg down and helped the rest of it back in to his mouth with the tips of his fingers. “It’s kind of hard to eat without lips and a tongue.” He finished the leg and then looked up at her. “Now what?
Britney shrugged her shoulders. “Go home I guess.”
“Can I take the rest of the chicken back to my grave?” He said, grabbing the bowl of fried chicken.
“Sure.” Britney rose up her arms and stretched and yawned. “I’m so sleepy. I need to go back to bed. I guess I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed in the first place.”
“The grave or I mean bed, is the safest place to be. I would recommend staying put. I know I am going to.” The zombie got up to leave, carrying his yummy fried chicken.
“Hey wait!” said Britney. She brought out her hand for a second and then brought it back. His hands looked to scary to shake. “Can you give my mother a hug?”
“Sure, I’ll see what I can do,” said the zombie. He turned around. “If you see me again, you don’t have to be afraid. I would smile at you if I could. I just don’t have any lips to do it with.”
Britney smiled at him, waved goodbye and then shut the front door.