The Zombie Next Door (2 page)

Back in his room, Leo flung open his closet door. He stepped over a pile of fake dinosaur fossils and kicked away some dried-up markers. Leo found the familiar button hidden behind his bathrobe. S
woosh.
The back wall of his closet slid open.

“Are you kidding me?” Leo couldn’t help yelling a little bit. He looked around the familiar room. It was the secret laboratory he shared with his good friend Roger. Like Leo, Roger was a twelve-year-old zombie scientist. Roger also happened to be half-zombie. Which was why Leo was so disappointed at what he saw.

Roger was asleep, curled up on a pile of lab coats. He was dreaming about a zombie antidote, most likely, because his greenish face was smiling a little.

Leo plopped down on top of a crate of beakers and waited. Roger only slept about an hour a week. But when he did, it was impossible to wake him up. “Like rousing the dead,” Roger would joke in his fake British accent.

Roger would know what to do about Mr. Smith, Leo thought. Or about how rotten Leo felt about Mr. Smith. Was it really his fault those vandals came? His parents said his “actions had played a role.” They called him “insensitive.” Then, for some reason, his mother called Chad’s mother and told her everything. Leo’s mother kept saying, “Un-huh, un-huh, un-huh.” Then she agreed that “those boys bring out the worst in each other” and hung up.

“No screens for two weeks,” Leo’s father said. His mother kept saying, “How could you? How could you?” That made Leo cringe.

Roger would help, though. Roger was so cool. Not cool-kid cool. But cool-as-a-cucumber cool. Roger had faced so many of his own problems that he wasn’t fazed by most things anymore. For one thing, Roger’s whole family had been wiped out by a zombie attack four years ago. And Roger became half-infected himself when one of the zombies licked him. Problems like that put things in perspective.

Leo remembered when he’d met Roger the summer after second grade. It was during a T-ball game outside the Rotfield Rec Center. Leo could sense there was something different about Roger, especially when his ear fell off with a big gust of wind. The floppy thing had fluttered through the air like a zombie butterfly. It landed practically right on top of Leo’s sneaker.

Leo didn’t know anything about zombies at the time. But he didn’t freak out. Even then, he was a zombie scientist at heart. That day, he brought Roger home and glued his ear back on. That was also the day they broke ground on their secret lab, and Roger moved in.

Roger felt safe in the lab. He and Leo both worried about what would happen if the wrong people found out about him. He could be locked away—or worse. So Roger barely ever left his cozy home. He spent ninety percent of his time doing experiments, anyway. He was “this close” to finding the cure to his own half-zombiehood, he said. “Any day,” he’d been saying for the past four years.
Talk about problems,
Leo thought.

“Why hello, old sport.” Roger must have woken up while Leo was deep in thought. Roger looked as refreshed as a half-zombie could. “Ahhhh,” he sighed, stretching and making all kinds of cracking noises. “Ooops,” he said as one of his fingers thudded on the floor. “Will you give me a hand with my hand?” Roger asked, waving a pinky in Leo’s face.

“Leo!” Roger’s grin faded as he looked at his friend. “My word, you look terrible. What’s wrong?”

And just like that, something snapped inside Leo. He started crying like a little kid, with gasping sobs and snot running into his mouth. In between sobs, Leo told Roger everything.

Roger whistled a little as Leo got to the end. “I can see why you feel bad,” he said. “I would too.”

With those few words, Leo officially felt a whole lot better. He straightened up and wiped off his face. Then he helped Roger put his finger back on. Once the glue started to set, he knew what he was going to do.

“I’m going to help clean up Mr. Smith’s yard,” Leo said. “I’ll get Chad to help too. We’ll make up for everything those vandals did.”

“What a grand idea,” Roger said. He sat still for a moment as he let the glue dry on his pinky. “There’s still one thing that’s odd though,” Roger said. “How did Mr. Smith know about your Z-News update in the first place?”

Hmmm. Leo hadn’t thought of that.

“Curious,” Roger said, shaking his hand to dry the glue faster. “Indeed.”

When Leo told his parents about his plan, both of them got all teary eyed. “What did I do to deserve such a wonderful son?” Leo’s mom said. It made him cringe, but in a good way this time.

Chad had been grounded from screens
and
dessert for one week. But his parents gave in on dessert when Chad told them about Leo’s plan. Even Mr. Smith smiled when they knocked on his door and told him the news.

The boys showed up in Mr. Smith’s yard first thing after school on Monday. Their first job was to un-TP the orchard. Mr. Smith showed them where the ladder was leaning against the porch. Chad hoisted it on his shoulder and swung it around, just missing Leo’s face.

“Whoa, let’s not have any Three Stooges injuries today, okay?” Leo said. Just the mention of Chad’s favorite movies made him laugh so hard his whole body shook. The ladder bounced up and down on his shoulders. That made Leo crack up.

It turned out that doing chores with Chad was a lot like doing zombie stuff with Chad—at least in one way. It was a total blast. That first afternoon, the two boys managed to unwind almost all the toilet paper from the apple trees. When they were done, Chad held out the giant white clump in his hand. “Need a wipe?” he asked Leo, grinning.

Chad and Leo started walking toward the alley to throw away the toilet paper in Mr. Smith’s garbage bin. They were on the far side of the chicken coop when Chad stopped short.

HHhhhhhhhnnnnnn.

“What was that?” Chad whispered. He put his arm in front of Leo to stop him. “Listen,” he hissed.

MMMMMmmmmmmmm.

“Mr. Smith?” Leo called, but the old man was nowhere in sight. Leo caught Chad’s eyes. They both raised their eyebrows as they thought the same question:
Zombies?
Leo didn’t want to say the word out loud, not here. But that sure sounded like zombie moaning, only quieter. Muffled.

SCCCCrrrrrrritch. Scccraaaaatch.

Now there were scratching sounds too.
It has to be mice or bugs,
Leo tried to tell himself. But another thought was interrupting this nice ordinary one.
Like fingernails scraping against the inside of a coffin.

Then there was a bump . . . or was it knocking?

Hnnnnnnnnnnnnn.

Leo and Chad exchanged another look as Chad pointed down. The sounds were all coming from under their feet. Leo could feel them vibrating up through the dry grass. He felt them go through the rubber soles of his sneakers and into his skin, then his bones. Those sounds went through his pounding heart, all the way inside his head.

“That’ll be it for today, boys.”

Leo jumped. Mr. Smith was standing behind them. He was just a silhouette against the gray sky. His violin dangled from one hand, the bow from the other. “Run along,” he said in his even way.

The boys waved slightly and took off for the alley. Leo looked back to see Mr. Smith raise the violin to his chin.

Squuuaaaaak-squeeeaaaaaakeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!

Mr. Smith’s awful violin music was worse than ever. The ear-splitting sounds rang out as the last streaks of sun faded behind the black horizon.

Leo was dying to talk to Chad about what they’d heard. He was dying to write about it on his Web site too. Were those zombie sounds? Where had they come from? But Leo pretended nothing had happened. He wasn’t going to spread any more rumors about Mr. Smith.

When the boys returned for work the next day, there was still plenty to do. In fact, it seemed as if Mr. Smith hadn’t made any progress at all without them. The old man was dozing on his porch when they showed up.

That day, Chad scrubbed egg goo and veggie slime off the house. Leo painted over the graffiti on the chicken coop.

Over the next couple of days, they picked up all the litter in the yard and hauled it away to the trash cans in the alley. They revived what plants they could in the garden and tied the limp vines onto stakes. Leo rode his bike to the hardware store to pick up a new pane of glass for Mr. Smith’s window.

Mr. Smith barely helped at all. He seemed to be either dozing on his porch or playing his squeaky violin. Leo tried to look on the bright side. The screeching music made it easier not to think about zombie sounds.

On Friday, the boys started to move the boulders back into the stone wall. Chad figured out that he and Leo could move the heavy rocks if they both pressed their backs against one side and pushed hard with their legs.

“One, two, three, heave!” Chad yelled. The boys grunted all the way to the wall. Then they stared at the wall for a long time trying to figure out which gap the rock fit into.

The boys were rolling an egg-shaped boulder when Chad stepped on something that cracked a little. “Hey, Leo, check this out,” Chad said. He pulled a silver chain from beneath his foot. The chain had a heart-shaped charm dangling from one end. The charm had swirls around it and bumpy edges, like a valentine.

“It looks old,” Leo said.

“It’s a locket.” Chad popped it open with one grubby fingernail. Inside was a brownish photo of a man’s face. He looked stern, the way people always did in really old photos. He had a beard and was wearing a top hat.

“I’m glad I didn’t live back then,” Chad said. “People always look so mad.”

“He wasn’t mad,” Leo said. “It’s because he had to sit still so long for the camera.”

“Are you sure?” Chad held out the photo for a closer look. “He looks like he’d like to bite my head off.”

Leo smiled. “Okay, maybe he was a little mad,” he admitted. “Look, there’s writing on the inside.” Leo peered at the fancy cursive inside the silver heart. “I think it says, ‘My darling Abigail, never forget me. Love, Archibald.”

“Abigail and Archibald could be Mr. Smith’s ancestors,” Chad guessed. “The locket is probably valuable.”

The boys decided to return it right away. They found Mr. Smith standing on the porch with his violin. Mr. Smith’s eyes grew wide for just a second as Leo handed the locket over to him.

“Thank you,” he said.

As he held out the chain to Mr. Smith, Leo noticed something he hadn’t before. The holes of the chain were clogged on one side. As he handed the locket over, some of the spongy green stuff came off in Leo’s hand.
Could be moss
, he tried to tell himself. But Leo had done enough operations on Roger to recognize flakes of rotted green flesh when he saw them.
Could be zombie skin too
.

The boys went back to rolling stones. They were glad when dusk came. “I hurt all over!” Chad said as he stretched his arms over his head.

Before heading home, the boys looked toward Mr. Smith’s house. A single light was on in an upstairs window. They could see the top of his head moving slightly from side to side. “Is he . . .
dancing
?” Chad asked, snorting a little at the idea. “C’mon.” The boys walked closer for a better view.

“No way!” Chad hissed. “Leo? Leo? Do you hear that?” Leo just nodded. He stood there, openmouthed. For Mr. Smith wasn’t dancing. He was playing the violin. But it wasn’t the usual terrible squeakiness. No, it was . . . Leo searched his brain for the right word. It was both sad
and
happy at once. It had smooth, deep notes and soaring high ones. It put all kinds of pictures in Leo’s head of waterfalls and mountains and birds. It was . . .
beautiful
.

That’s when Leo realized he didn’t really know anything at all about his next-door neighbor. He didn’t even know Mr. Smith’s first name. But that was no problem for a super, half-zombie researcher like Roger. In just a few clicks on his laptop, Roger had located Mr. Smith’s full name (Edgar P. Smith). He also knew the date he bought his house (1961) and how much he paid for it ($12,000).

“Interesting.” Roger tapped his fingers on his chin. “The deed to the house mentions a Mrs. Joline Smith as well.” Roger clicked some more. “Hmmmmmm. Ooooh. Wow. Now, that’s unexpected.”

“WHAT?” Leo reached to grab the screen from Roger.

“Ah-ah-aaaah.” Roger wagged a finger at Leo. “No screens, remember?”

“C’mon, Roger, tell us,” Chad begged.

“Well,” Roger began, “I’m not seeing a death record for Mrs. Joline Smith.”

“Yeah, but—” Leo began.

“AND,” Roger gave Leo a don’t-interrupt-me look, “I’m not seeing any record of divorce either. In fact . . .” Roger tapped some more. “Joline seems to have mysteriously disappeared on July 8, 1961—just two days after the Smiths moved in next door. Look at this article I found in the
Rotfield Sentinel
archives.”