Broken Heart 7.5 - The Adventures of Zombie Larry (2 page)

“Well, this house was haunted before the town got freak-a-fied.” They left the cracked sidewalk and walked through the yard, which was filled with itchy, knee-high grass. Bryan aimed his flashlight across the front of the tiny house. The beam revealed peeling gray paint, broken windows, and a sagging porch.

This section of the neighborhood had long been abandoned. The streetlights didn’t work, the sidewalks were crumbling, and all the houses in the
cul de sac
looked like movie sets for horror movies.

“You know the story, right?” asked Bryan. He approached the porch, stopping at the broken steps and peering at the front door. It was half-opened, offering a diagonal glimpse into the darkened room beyond it.

“Lemme guess,” said Wilson, sounding bored. “Some dude killed his wife.
With an ax.
Then he buried her in the basement.”

Bryan rolled his eyes. “What is this?
The
Goosebumps
hour?”
He laughed, mostly to cover how nervous he felt. For all the weird crap he’d seen—from his vampire mom to that zombie with the eye glued to his forehead—he was still creeped out by this place. They’d been hanging out at Wilson’s house, talking about Halloween and trying to top each other’s scary stories. Then Bryan had mentioned this place, and now they were on a ghost field trip.

“What are you waiting for, dude?” Wilson punched his shoulder. “C’mon.”

He jumped over the steps and crossed the porch, which didn’t look too steady. Still, no way would he let Wilson think he was a coward. He followed him into the house. They stood in the small living room, and Bryan flashed the light around.

“It smells like ass in here,” said Wilson.

The beam revealed a ratty couch and a broken coffee table. Obviously, they weren’t the first trespassers to venture here. Graffiti covered the walls and trash littered the nasty, hole-ridden carpet.

“So what’s the story?” asked Wilson. He turned on his own flashlight and flicked it over the wall to examine the graffiti.

“It was 1954. A widower and his two little girls move from Tulsa to Broken Heart. One day, the girls disappeared—somewhere between the bus stop and this house. Nobody
every knew
what happened to them. The father went crazy with grief and shot himself. Some people think he killed his daughters.”

Wilson looked over his shoulder, his expression suggesting minor interest. “And buried them in the basement?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Lame.”
Wilson panned the light into the hallway. “Where do you think the basement door is?”

“Probably in the kitchen,” said Bryan.

“Let’s go.”

Bryan reluctantly followed his friend into the kitchen, and yeah, there was the door that led to the basement. He had to admit this place was creepy. It smelled bad, too, like rotting meat. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him. Goosebumps pimpled his skin and the hair on the back of his neck felt electrified.

But he couldn’t wimp out. Wilson would never let him live it down if he refused to go check out the basement.

“That’s weird,” said Wilson. “This whole place is falling apart, but this door is nailed shut.” He ran his fingers along the doorjamb. “We can’t get in this way.”

Relief flooded Bryan. Any excuse not to go down to the basement was okay by him. “I’m bored,” he said. “Let’s roll.”

“Don’t be a chickenshit. We’ll go outside. Maybe there’s a window or a ground entry.”

BANG!

Both boys nearly jumped out of their skins.

“What the hell was that?” asked Bryan. He spun around the dilapidated kitchen. The light bounced from ceiling to floor.

“Ooooooooooooooo.”

Bryan’s heart kicked into overdrive and his palms got sweaty. Fear rollercoastered through him. He looked at Wilson. His friend was as white as a sheet, his eyes as wide as dinner plates. “It’s nothing,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“Ooooooooooooooo!”

Knock, bang, knock, bang.

“I’m out!” cried Wilson.

They bolted from the house, sprinting over the steps, and kept on running all the way down the street.

A minute later, Tamara LeRoy and Jenny O’Halloran popped out from their hiding places in the cabinets.

“Boys are stupid,” said Jenny.

Tamara smiled. “Eh. They have other uses.”

“Yuck.” Jenny turned on her flashlight and moved it around the kitchen. “You really think that guy killed his kids?”

“No,” said Tamara. “I think it’s a dumb story.”

They examined the dusty counters. “Hey look.” Jenny picked up a battered business card. “Larry Stotten.” Her eyes went wide. “That’s my zombie!”

“I told you, Jen, you can’t keep a pet zombie. Your mom doesn’t even like cats.”

“Maybe he’s looking for his daughters,” said Jenny. “We should help him.”

“It’s been more than fifty years,” said Tamara. “I don’t think that’s a mystery we can solve.”

Jenny crossed the kitchen and examined the basement door. “That was smart of you to nail the door shut. It sure freaked out the boys.”

“I didn’t nail it shut.”

Tamara and Jenny shared a look.

“Time to go,” whispered Tamara.

“Zombie alert,” said Jessica O’Halloran. She plopped down next to Patsy on the couch and stuck her hand into the bowl of popcorn. New residents to Broken Heart would never have so casually taken a seat next to the queen of two paranormal species, much less pawed her popcorn. But Jessica had known Patsy practically her whole life, and often still asked her for a haircut. Prior to Patsy’s prophesied role as leader over all, she’d been the town’s beautician.

“It’s Larry, isn’t it?” asked Patsy. She never took offense of Jessica’s casual treatment of her. Actually, she preferred it over all the fawning she got from people who wanted her to decide crap about their lives. She wasn’t Oprah for God’s sake.

“Nope.
Some dead chick in a pink nightie,” said Jessica. “But Larry’s out there, too. I think there’s a zombie argument going on.” She shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “I find it ironic we’re watching
Shaun of the Dead
.”

“I’ve raised a zombie army,” said Patsy, “and that part where the zombies start ripping out that guy’s stomach still squicks me out.”

“Eh,” said Jessica. “Once you’ve hacked off someone’s head, zombie eating habits aren’t that exciting.”

“You ever known our zombies to eat brains?” asked Patsy.

“I’ve never known them to eat anything. It’s not like you can’t run away from a zombie. I’ve seen snails outpace them.”

Patsy sighed. “Well, I better get out there and see what’s going on.”

She stood up, and Jessica did, too. Together, they went to the front door, and opened it. Larry stood in the front yard, dressed in his business suit, his wispy hair done in a come-over. He was moaning angrily at the female zombie in front of him. She was in a pink nightie, just as Jessica said, but had no shoes. Her blonde hair was up in curlers.

“Seriously,” said Patsy. “Did she get buried that way? Who goes to their grave in a nightgown and hair curlers?”

“Maybe the mortician got lazy.”

Larry pointed at the female and then jerkily swung his arm toward the road. He did this gesture several times.

“I think he wants her to leave,” said Jessica. “Darn. I shoulda brought the popcorn. Zombie soap opera is kinda fun.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” said Patsy. She marched across the yard and thumped Larry on the shoulder. “Hey! How many times I gotta bury you?”

“Uh!”
Larry turned toward her, his one good eye focusing on her. The eyeball Superglued to his forehead was looking a little… disgusting.
“Uh!”
He pointed at the lady and again, pointed to the road.

“Dude.
Do not tell me zombies have territory. Or is she your wife or something?”

“Uhhhhhhh!”
Larry actually shook his head.

“Uh,” said lady zombie. She pointed at Larry.
“Uh!”

“I need a freaking translator,” said Patsy.

“It’s hard for them to form words,” yelled Jessica from the porch. “Their mouths don’t work well.”

“Thank you, Nurse,” groused Patsy. “C’mon, you two, get outta here. Go shuffle over to cemetery and get back into your graves like nice zombies.”

To her surprise, both zombies crossed their arms and glared at her.

“You know what?
Fine.
Wander around town. I don’t give a shit anymore. But get off my lawn.
Now.”

“Uh,” said Larry. He turned and shuffled to the driveway.

His female friend followed him. Her moans sounded like irritated nagging.

Patsy returned to the porch.

“You gonna let them wander around town?”

“You suggested it, remember?”

“Ah,” said Jessica, “zombie lurve.”

“Shut up. C’mon. We’ll do shots every time Shaun kills a zombie.” Patsy went inside the house.

Libby Monroe Genessa stood in her front yard and stared at the object sticking up from the snow. She blinked a couple of times.
Backed away.
Scooted closer.
Closed one eye and waved her hands.

Nope. It was still there.

“Ralph!”

Her husband, already on the porch hanging up a Thanksgiving wreath, waved at her to wait. She hadn’t quite gotten over hanging up a Turkey Day wreath. Christmas wreaths, she could understand.
But Thanksgiving?
What was appropriate for one of those? Heaps of stuffing dotted with cranberries with turkey legs hanging off? Alas, her husband’s version of a Thanksgiving wreath was merely a circle of twined limbs with fall leaves on it.
And in the middle hung a little wooden sign saying “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Still.
Turkey legs.
Nom, nom, baby.
The dragon inside her snorted with approval. She had been a vegan for a very, very long time. Then she got… um, gifted with a dragon soul,
and
she married a vampire. Her views on consumption of meat had changed drastically. She suffered tremendous guilt when giving in her to her carnivorous cravings… she did. But, her daughter, who was certainly all
dragon
, had to eat meat. And so Libby had slowly introduced meat into her own diet while pregnant and in no time at all became a bacon whore.

Since she’d grown up on the road, raised by parents who were seriously devoted paranormal investigators, she hadn’t experienced the insanity of holiday celebrations. They hadn’t really celebrated anything, unless it was a successful investigation. Then her dad would pop for a trip to IHOP.

“That’s a leg,” said Ralph, who’d finally joined her. He slid his arm around her and placed a kiss on her temple. She still got giddy when he did stuff like that. She loved him deeply, and it was a good thing, too, since they were pretty much married for the next five-hundred years. Vampires who did the wild thing were hitched for a century, but dragons were committed for a half a millennium. She hugged Ralph, and then together, they stared at the leg. It was clothed in black pants, and a shiny black shoe.