A Trilogy of Terror by Parker Sheaffer

[Al Norris]

A Trilogy of Terror
by Parker Sheaffer

Dwimmer-crafty

Daffid sat perched on the highest limb of the oak tree, his arms holding onto the rough support while his slender legs dangled below. He liked being up here, high in the air, where he could pretend that he was a bird and could fly away from the farm and all its troubles. Eight-year-old boys were never meant to shoulder such sorrows as had been laid upon him. Up in the tree, shielded by its thick cover of leaves, green changing to gold, Daffid could hide from the sight of the adults below. He closed his eyes and imagined that he was riding a dragon, sailing over hills and rivers with the wind ruffling his copper colored hair. By concentrating on his fantasy, he hoped to ignore the real drama taking place below. His idyll was broken by his aunt’s voice calling to him.

“Daffid, come down now. I know you’re up there. Get on down here and don’t break your neck doing it,” the stout woman shouted, her stern voice tinged with an undertone of kindness. “Don’t make me send Jairod up to get you.”

“Frang!” he muttered, but not loudly enough for her to hear. Even trying times such as these were not an excuse for such language. There was no use ignoring her command. He had to descend and face his duty. Still, there was no rush and so he slowly came down until he reached the lowest branch. He intended to drop to the ground but his aunt reached up and plucked him like an apple. Her arms felt as strong as the tree limbs as she held him and pressed him to her bosom.

“Ah, little one, we must go in now, before it’s too late. She is waiting for you,” she said softly. Taking his hand in hers they went into the rustic cottage, the place which had been his home for the past two years. He remembered the first time he had come here, also in his aunt’s company. His parents had just been killed and he was without a home. While he could have gone to live with his aunt and uncle and five cousins, his grandmother had offered her less crowded home to him instead. Her home was small and old, a half-timbered structure that leaned a bit so that it always seemed to want to fall over, despite the strength of the beams. The thatched roof was gray with age, and weeds and flowers sprouted from it here and there. Sometimes, in the sunlight, it looked to Daffid like a floral wreath, the sort that girls wore in their hair in the springtime. The inside of the house was always dim, with only a few small windows to allow the sun to shine through, but there was always a fire in the hearth and candles glowing on the table. The first thing Daffid noticed when he entered the simple home was the smell. There was a pleasant fragrance of roses that never seemed to fade over the years, and as he smelled it now for perhaps the last time, the scent made his heart ache.

His room was up the narrow stair, a low space under the roof, but it had a window with small panes of glass held together with strips of lead. The glass was blurry and it distorted the view of the world outside, but Daffid liked the way the shapes of the trees would shift as he moved his head from side to side. His room was small and warm and had been a good place to dream.

Now he and his aunt passed by the stair and she ushered him into the room at the back of the kitchen, and there she left him. An elderly woman lay in her bed, a thick quilt covering her up to her neck. At first, she seemed to be asleep, but when Daffid approached her she opened her eyes and smiled weakly at him. Daffid found it hard to look at her and cast his eyes on the floor instead. He clasped his hands behind his back and ground the toe of his shoe nervously on the aged floor. His stomach was hurting and his eyes stung with tears. His tongue refused to move as he struggled for something to say to the dying old woman.

She reached a thin little hand from under the cover and said, “Daffid, take my hand. Don’t be afraid.”

With a shaky cry, he took her hand. It felt cool and dry in his, like old parchment. “Granny…,” he whimpered.

“I know, Son. It’s hard for you. First your parents and now your old granny is leaving you alone again. I’m sorry. It’s been a real joy having you with me these past two years, Daffid. I wish I could stay longer. You are the only child of my youngest son and you look so much like him that sometimes I think he’s back again.”

“Don’t go, Granny. Please don’t go,” Daffid pleaded tearfully.

“Oh, Child. You know it’s just nature. Everything has its time, and this is mine. Don’t cry for me. You are going to be just fine. Granny sees these things, you know. Now listen, Child. While we’re alone and before the others come in, I have something to give you. Open that wardrobe and take down the box on the top shelf. That’s right, the little plain box. Now, open it up,” she instructed him, her voice growing even weaker.

When he opened the box, he saw inside an amulet made of gold wire twisted around a jewel the size of his thumbnail. The gem was deep red in color and as smooth and round as a river pebble. It glistened and seemed to glow from within. It was the most beautiful thing Daffid had ever seen. Attached to it was a leather thong so that it could be worn around the neck.

“Put it on, Child, it’s yours now. This is a piece of magic that’s been in our family for a long, long time. Now, listen close to me, Daffid. There’s a hard time coming, and it’s coming soon. I need for you to be ready for it. I see a gate that’s opening from another world, a bad world. There’s a creature coming through the veil, a wizard of some sort, and he’s dwimmer-crafty. That means he has magic power and can hide himself behind another image. Most folks won’t recognize him, but you will, so long as you wear this. Hide the stone under your shirt and don’t let anybody know you got it,” the old woman said, before sinking back into her pillow, her strength spent.

Daffid was fascinated by the jewel as he draped it around his neck. He ran his fingers over it and felt a warmth radiating from its depth. Momentarily distracted, he didn’t notice his granny’s collapse. When he looked back at her he saw her eyes closing.

“No,” he cried, “Granny, don’t go, don’t go.” He took her hand and felt how limp it had become. When the others came after a few minutes they found him kneeling by her bed, crying with a heart wrenching earnestness. His uncle picked him up and carried him back out while the women tended to the old woman’s corpse.

The boy had not understood his grandmother’s words and so he forgot them in the middle of his grief. His aunt and uncle’s farm was a few miles away, and even though it seemed to be filled to the rafters with children, they made space for one more, small boy. Daffid shared a bed with his chubby, younger cousin, Miik, who always pressed up against him during the nights, as if trying to keep warm. There was ample food for everyone and his aunt was a very good cook, but Daffid’s sadness left him without an appetite for a while.

 He had grown accustomed to having the jewel under his shirt and often forgot about it, except at times when he most missed the old woman, and then he would fondle it and remember her. After a week on the farm his aunt told him that it was time for a bath. She had filled the wooden tub with water heated in the fireplace and, one by one, she scrubbed all the children. Wet boys and girls stood in front of the fire, wrapped in thick towels, trying to get warm and dry again. By the time Daffid’s turn came around, the water was looking rather brown, but he stripped off his shirt and draped it over a chair. It was the first time the others had seen the amulet that he wore and they were excited and curious about it. Several children tried to touch it until his aunt shooed them away and took the necklace from around Daffid’s neck.

“What in the world is this?” she asked. “Where did you get a ruby? It looks real so it must be worth a fortune, worth more than this farm.”

Daffid said, “It was a gift from Granny,” and he reached to take it back.

Holding it out of his grasp, his aunt said, “I had better hang onto this for you. I’ll put it in a safe place until we decide what to do with it.”

“But, it’s mine,” he protested.

“You’re only a child. Children can’t take care of such things. We will keep it for you.”

Daffid was angry but held it in. He took his bath silently while his aunt examined the amulet. Then he dried himself, got dressed, and left the room. He peered through the window, watching and hoping to see where she put his treasure. Luckily, he saw her lift a stone from the hearth and take out a small box. She placed the gem inside and hid it once again under the stone. Daffid sighed and turned away, satisfied that he at least knew where it was kept.

It was a few weeks later that a Gypsy troop came through and parked outside the village, a short way from the farm. They were a colorful and happy group, and they danced and sang and made merry every night. The children were fascinated by the exotic travelers and wanted to go and see them. The adults knew that Gypsies had a bad reputation for stealing chickens, pigs and sometimes children, but while everyone had heard the rumors, few really believed them. The novelty of having something new in the neighborhood drew farmers and their families from miles around, as well as most of the villagers, to trade with the Gypsies, to watch their entertainments, and to hear their stories.

Some of the women visited the fortune tellers to hear their futures or to get various potions. Some of the men visited the young women privately in their gaily painted caravans. Silver crossed many palms in both places.

Daffid went with the rest of his cousins and his aunt and uncle in the evening, after their work was done. He found the noise and bright colors to be uncomfortable to him. There were too many voices, all talking and laughing too loudly. The music hurt his ears and the garish paint of their caravans and their dyed clothing bothered his eyes. One Gypsy man kept staring at him and he made Daffid feel afraid. Every time Daffid looked around, the man was standing nearby, watching him and frowning. More than once he felt a little dizzy so he held onto his uncle’s shirttail for comfort. His uncle saw his uneasiness and kindly placed a big hand on his shoulder.

Miik and the other children were having a jolly time, playing with the Gypsy children and the children from other farms. Miik came trotting by, holding hands with a very pretty little dark-haired girl. They were laughing and singing some song that Daffid had never heard before as they ran off into the shadows. His aunt took his hand and led him to a caravan that stood slightly apart from the others. An elderly Gypsy woman sat outside by a small cook fire. His aunt told him, “I think I will have my fortune told. Won’t that be fun? They say she is very good at seeing the future.”

Daffid felt immediately alarmed and said, “No, don’t. Something feels wrong.”

Pausing in her tracks, his aunt looked at him curiously and said, “Mama had the sight. I wonder if you have it too. Maybe I don’t care to learn about my future.” She smiled at him as she reconsidered.

“Can we go home soon?” he asked. “I don’t like it here.”

“I can tell you don’t like it. Maybe you’re right. Let’s round up your cousins and head for home,” she said. The night air suddenly had seemed rather chilly to her.

As they were leaving, Daffid saw the dark man following them until they got back in their wagon and drove away. That night he almost welcomed his cousin’s touch as they snuggled under the covers.

The Gypsies seemed to be in no hurry to move along and a few could be seen walking through the woods or wandering along the roads in the community. Daffid was surprised the next day to find Miik playing with the little dark-haired girl from the caravans. Miik pushed her on the wooden swing while she laughed with delight. Miik giggled and seemed to be having fun. Daffid smiled at their play and started to join them until something caught his attention. Across the lawn, at the edge of the woods, a figure moved behind a tree. It was the dark man who had followed him that evening at the Gypsy camp. Now he glared at Daffid with a fierce look that frightened him to his toes. Daffid turned and ran back into the house and told his uncle who stepped outside to look. By that time the man was gone.

That evening, as Daffid lay in his bed, he thought about the man and the menace he seemed to exude. It was then that he remembered his grandmother’s words of warning about a wizard coming through some veil. What was it she called him? Dwimmer-crafty? Suddenly he remembered that he was supposed to be wearing the amulet she had left him. Slipping out of the bed, he slowly he went downstairs, trying hard to avoid the boards that squeaked. Silently he raised the stone on the hearth and drew forth his necklace and placed it back around his neck before sneaking back upstairs.

The next morning Daffid awoke to find his aunt banging busily around the kitchen. Breakfast was on the table and she said, “Hurry and eat, Daffid. I need you and the children to help me this morning.”

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Have you forgotten already? Tonight’s the harvest festival. It’s All Hallows Eve and we are all going to the village square to celebrate. I have to cook a ham, roast a lot of potatoes, and bake a couple of pies. I need for you to bring in some more firewood and a couple of buckets of water.”

Daffid had forgotten about the party. It was something he always looked forward to and enjoyed. There would be lots of food and dancing and entertainments. The harvest festival was the only time of the year when the children were allowed to drink some watered-down wine. He especially liked the warmth of the big bonfire that was lit at midnight. Everyone gathered in a circle around the fire and held hands. It gave him a good feeling of belonging, of being part of some large and ancient tradition. He started toward the door but his aunt told him to sit and eat first.

It was a busy day for all of them. Daffid’s aunt and uncle wanted to be proud of their farm so the girls helped their mother cook while the boys helped to groom the horses and clean the wagon. They decorated it with swags of wheat and corn and squashes, and made it look very attractive. By late afternoon the food was prepared and packed and the family was ready to ride into the village.

Daffid was excited to see how pretty the houses looked when they arrived. Everyone had decorated their homes, as well as the village square, and in the large field at the end of town was stack of wooden logs and tree limbs that was more than twenty feet tall. It towered over everyone and Daffid knew it would make a bonfire to remember.

Tables were set up and all the women began to put out bowls and platters of food. Each one took pride in their cooking and hoped to outshine their neighbors. The men gathered around a table that held a large keg of beer and they talked happily to each other about their farms. The children gathered in groups, some playing tag, or hide-and-seek, or other games, but Daffid just wandered around, looking and watching and enjoying the day.

Soon, the work, the drinking, and the playing caused everyone to get hungry and the time to eat arrived. Dishes were shared by everyone, and everyone stuffed themselves until they could eat no more. They sighed happily as they sat back and rested.

It was at this time that the Gypsies arrived. They parked their wagons nearby and wandered in on foot. Daffid was filled with dread when he saw the dark man, especially when he saw that he was looking directly back at Daffid. The two stared at each other for a few minutes until Daffid slipped back into a group of adults. He saw his aunt with several other women cleaning up after the meal. She was too involved for him to interrupt her work. His uncle was nowhere in sight. Daffid was deeply frightened, even with so many adults around him, and he wondered why. He knew that nothing could harm him with all of his neighbors to protect him, but still he felt a rising sense of panic. He had lost sight of the Gypsy man and that frightened him more, so he began to look for him. It would be better to know just where he was lurking.

He couldn’t see very well through the crowd so he stood up on a bench. Looking over the heads of the others he scanned the area for his nemesis. Men were drinking more and talking loudly, women chatted happily as they went about their chores, and everywhere was a background noise of children’s laughter and squeals. Daffid gasped when he saw something horrible. His cousin, Miik, was being attacked by a gruesome monster.

Across the lawn Miik appeared to be wrestling with a squat, brown creature that was covered with lumps and stubby white horns. It had its clawed hands on Miik’s shoulders and seemed to be about to bite him on the face. Daffid screamed and leapt from the bench and raced to his cousin’s rescue. He didn’t know what the creature was or how he was going to defeat it, he just ran, pushing his way through the crowd and tried to reach Miik. It was odd the way that no one else seemed to notice it. Frustrated by the press, he felt like screaming for the people to let him through. Just as he was a few yards from the monster, someone grabbed him and lifted him off the ground. It was the Gypsy man.

“What do you see, boy? What do you see?” the man demanded.

“Let me go. Let me go, the thing is eating my cousin,” Daffid said as he struggled to get away.

“What is it?” the man again demanded.

“I don’t know. It’s a monster,” Daffid cried.

The man sat him down and said, “Stay here, boy. Let me handle this.” He pulled out a large dagger from his belt and walked up to the creature. His heart was pounding in his chest because what he saw was a small, dark-haired girl kissing a local boy. He knew the child had felt somehow wrong ever since she had shown up at their camp a week earlier, but he didn’t know just why he felt that way. Now he hoped that his faith in the boy was not misplaced and that he was not about to make a horrible mistake. He reached the girl and she looked up at him with a furious scowl. His hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and he lifted her, screaming, into the air as he prepared to cut her throat.

Her scream caused every head to turn their way, every eye to focus on the struggle. A collective shout of ‘NO’ rang out, but it died on their lips as the innocent child transformed. One second they saw a swarthy man preparing to cut the throat of a pretty little girl and then she became a hideous creature, snarling and growling in the man’s grasp. Just as the knife was about to bite into flesh the man roared in pain and dropped the thing. Miik stared in horror at the nasty beast he had been about to kiss and then he turned to run, but a word from the thing’s lips froze him in place. It had been a magic word, a word of power.

Daffid realized suddenly that this was the wizard his grandmother had warned him of, and he knew that he was supposed to stop it somehow.  The Gypsy man had fallen back onto the ground and appeared to be in pain, his knife was lying beside him. Daffid’s feet felt like lead as he tried to approach nearer to the wizard. His mouth was dry and his heart raced, but he had to do something, even though he was only a small boy.

The wizard reached for Miik and again placed his lips on the boy’s mouth. He began to suck, and Daffid could see a blue mist coming from Miik’s mouth. The wizard was sucking it in, drinking the boy’s life force. Daffid threw himself on the thing’s back and tried to pull it off his cousin. The wizard screamed at him and pushed him to the ground. It knelt and grinned evilly as it prepared to now kiss Daffid. Daffid pushed him back but the wizard was stronger and licked its lips just before locking its mouth on Daffid’s. But then its eyes grew wide and it gasped. Its body stiffened and a scream of rage roared from its throat. The thing fell to the side with the Gypsy’s knife sticking from its back. Daffid’s distraction had been enough to free the Gypsy man from the pain spell and allow him to finish his task, and dispatch the evil wizard.

It took a long time for things to settle down and for the people to come to understand what had happened. Miik and Daffid were being hugged and comforted by Daffid’s aunt and uncle when the Gypsy man and his mother approached. Everyone stared at them expectantly awaiting some sort of explanation.

The man said, “This is my mother, Zaleema, a seeress of great renown among our people. She predicted that evil was passing through the veil that separates our world from other worlds. She told me to watch for the boy with hair like the morning sun, that he would lead me to the evil one. We have suspected the girl child since she appeared at our camp. She claimed that her people were dead and she was alone, so we took her in, but something felt wrong. Today this boy saw past the glamor that hid her true form. Zaleema wishes to know how he managed to see true.”

The Gypsies looked sharply at Daffid and he drew forth the amulet. Those people near him craned their necks to see the pretty jewel. Daffid said, “Granny told me that something evil was coming and that I had to wear this so I could know it. I’m supposed to keep it on me.” He looked up at his aunt and she nodded her understanding.

The old Gypsy woman pointed a finger at him and grinned an almost toothless smile. She said, “Dwimmer-crafty.”

*****     *****     *****
Skin and Bones

“Hold that lantern a little closer, Fool. I can’t see what I’m doin’,” said the man in the hole.

“Don’t scratch it now, Lester. And watch where you’re throwing that dirt. You nearly got it on my suit,” growled his partner.

“Hell, you always have to do this when there ain’t no moon and I can’t see nothin’,” Lester whined.

“Of course, it has to be dark. You know what would happen if we get caught. This must be done in secret,” the taller man whispered.

The pair of them were far from town, so there should be no one to see or hear them as they worked at their task. And a gruesome task it was. One man, corpulent and squat, stood in a hole, unearthing a coffin, while his tall, slender friend stood anxiously by, lighting his way. Lester Gilbert and Vincent Bonerez were their names, but everyone in town called them Skin and Bones. It was an apt pair of nicknames since one had such an ample amount of skin and the other was almost skeletal in appearance. Vincent Bonerez, Bones, ran the local funeral home and had interred many of the locals. He stood more than six feet tall and weighed only about one hundred and twenty pounds. His face was gaunt and somber, the perfect figure to conduct a funeral.

 Lester, Skin, was his employee, a creepy man who was much disliked by everyone. Children were afraid of him and adults avoided talking to him as much as possible. His face was ugly and pockmarked, and his long hair was always greasy and unwashed. His forearms and neck were adorned heavily with blue tattoos which obviously extended down over his torso, giving him a frightening and exotic appearance. Skin had way of looking sideways at people and hissing softly under his breath.

The chore they plied themselves to this dark night was to recover the nice coffin that had been buried two days before. Coffins were expensive and Bones couldn’t see any reason to let good merchandise go to rot in the ground when it could be freshened up and sold once more. Or several times more. The local population was not large enough to supply a steady stream of business, and most of the locals seemed to be damnably healthy, so Bones sometimes had only two or three funerals a month. With money being tight, he had to make ends meet the best way he could and reusing coffins was a simple way to do that. They simply exhumed the box, dumping its occupant back into the hole, and carted it back to the funeral home, which was located a short distance away. Once back in the workroom they cleaned it thoroughly, taking care to not get any dirt on the inside lining. Sometimes they had to touch up the paint a bit and spray a little perfume inside it, but it was more frugal than buying a new coffin.

The two men had been associates for several years and had met at a medical school in Boston where Bones had been an instructor. He came into contact with a low, tattooed fellow who supplied him with cadavers for the students to study. Everyone knew that cadavers were necessary, but no one wanted to know where they came from. It was easier to believe that there were a great many people willing to donate their bodies, after death, to medical science than to think that the corpses came from a less legal source. Skin counted on their unquestioning nature because he took most of his merchandise from the cemetery, and when fresh bodies were scarce he created a few of his own. Quite a few folks disappeared in the shadows between gas streetlights. A thump, a groan, and the sound of dragging feet caused many people to hurry in fright to their destinations.

Bones was not at all disturbed by the freshness of many of the bodies. Death was common enough. What did annoy him was that bodies began to arrive with parts missing. Sometimes Skin would deliver them without a hand or a foot. Then an entire limb would be gone. When he confronted his sweaty supplier about the damaged merchandise, Skin would joke that now they cost an arm and a leg.

But then Bones began to discover bite marks on the bodies, entire chunks bitten out of a calf or an arm and he realized that Skin was eating flesh. “What have you been doing?” he demanded. “I can’t use these. How am I going to explain such obvious bite marks? Why are you doing this?”

“Aw, I just get hungry. You didn’t want me cuttin’ off a arm to cook, and I needed to eat. Besides, they taste real good. Now I just take a bite or two, raw, and that tastes even better,” the ghoul explained.

Bones was disgusted by his partner’s table manners and knew that somehow it would lead to disaster. His pale face turned even whiter one evening when he unwrapped the latest delivery to discover the half-eaten child of the school’s headmaster. There was not enough time to hide the corpse before a group of students wandered in and saw it. As an outcry of rage began to sweep the school and the police were called for, Bones grabbed his suitcase and the gold he had saved and headed out of town. Skin trailed behind him. The pair eventually landed in a small town where they were unknown to the residents and set up a business doing what they knew best, dealing with death. They took over the local funeral parlor, which had been abandoned for the past year.

Now, they stood in the moonless night, retrieving the expensive coffin that had been buried so recently. They had been fortunate that the old woman who lived at the edge of town had finally passed on and had left provisions for her own funeral. She had been laid away in their most deluxe model of coffin, one that had only been used once before.

She had been an odd old woman, reclusive and eccentric, living such a meager existence that Bones was surprised that she had the money for her burial. The townspeople were mostly afraid of her, believing the rumors that she was a witch. No one had come to the funeral so they just skipped the service and put her in the ground.

Now, as Bones urged Skin to finish the job, he felt uneasy for the first time. When the soil had been removed and the fat man climbed out of the grave, the two of them pulled on the ropes to raise the box up. Wrestling it onto the grass, Bones told Skin to hurry and get the body out before it stinks up the lining.

“Give me a minute,” Skin said, and raised the lid. He leaned inside and Bones could hear the distinct sounds of meat being eaten. Wet, sloppy chewing sounds that turned his stomach, but since he paid the man so little he couldn’t begrudge him the occasional meal. Finally, he felt that enough was enough and told him to stop, but Skin still leaned into the coffin. Bones shoved him aside saying, “Stop it, you fat oaf! We have to get done with this. Throw her in the grave and cover her up.”

Then Skin moved, but he didn’t rise. Instead he slumped to the side and rolled onto the grass. His face and throat were missing. Nothing remained but raw, bloody muscle and areas of bone. The old woman then sat up, her mouth dripping with blood, and she grinned at Bones. She began to climb out of the coffin and he was terrified by her resurrection. Just as he was about to scream, he stepped backwards and fell into the empty grave. Too shocked to move, he laid there as the old woman crawled on top of him. Finally he gave out a horrible scream as she opened her mouth to reveal a full set of sharp, jagged teeth, just before she bit into him.

Old lady Macomber laughed as she shoveled in the last of the dirt. Two bodies and an empty box took up most of the grave so there was plenty of dirt left to mound up on top. These two had been tastier than the last funeral man. Especially the fat one. Having taken the keys from Bones’ pocket, she made her way to the funeral home to retrieve her money and any other that she might find. A body had to live, after all.

*****     *****     *****

Z Kid

"Tell us a story."

"Yeah, tell us a story."

"A scary story."

"Oh, you want a scary story? A really scary story? Are you sure?" the boy asked with a mischievous grin.

The four younger boys all laughed and nodded their heads and said that was what they wanted. Artie, Mark, Jon and Mikey were having a sleepover at Mark's house and Mark's older brother, Alan, a high school senior, was entertaining them. The pizza was eaten and the sleeping bags rolled out in the basement rec room, and soon it would be bedtime.

Alan turned on a flashlight and told Mark to hit the lights. Placing the flashlight under his chin Alan turned it up onto his face so that he looked appropriately scary, and began.

"Once there was a kid, about ten years old, who was perfectly normal and healthy, but one night when he went to sleep something happened to him. When his parents called for him to get up the next morning he found that he couldn't move. His mom kept yelling for him to get out of bed, and he could hear her shouting, but he couldn't move a muscle. She was getting madder and madder and finally she sent his sister up to his room to shake him awake. His older sister slammed his bedroom door open and it made a loud bang. She thought it would scare him out of bed, but he didn't move. She said, 'I know you're pretending to be asleep, so you better get up 'cause Mom's getting really pissed at you. Get up!' But the boy just lay there with his eyes closed. His sister was mad so she slapped him, right on the face, and it hurt, but he still couldn't move.

His sister got scared then and yelled for their mom to come up and see what was wrong. She came stomping up the stairs and when she saw her son lying there, so still, she began to shake him. He was limp in her arms and she started to scream, 'He's dead. My baby's dead'.

Now, the boy heard all of this and he felt her shaking him, but he couldn't say anything and he couldn't move. He wanted to say, 'I'm not dead, Mom, I just can't move or talk', but his voice didn't work. He was getting really scared. He heard his sister calling 911 as his mother rocked his limp body in her arms and cried. An ambulance came and the men looked him over and did some tests.

'Yep,' said one of the men, 'looks like he's dead, alright. Let's tag him and bag him'.

Then the boy was really scared, especially when they put him in a body bag and zipped it up. They took him to the morgue and transferred him to one of those big drawers until funeral arrangements could be made. For three days he had to lay in that cold, dark drawer and all that time he tried to speak, to move, to cry out so that someone would let him out, but it was no good. The scariest part came later when they put him in a casket and had a funeral for him. While his family and school friends walked past and looked at him and cried, all he could do was lie in that box and watch them. It was terrible. When it was over they closed the lid and the boy thought he was going to go crazy. They were going to bury him alive. They lowered him into the ground and when they started shoveling dirt on top of him he prayed for it all to stop. Everything got really quiet down in the ground."

The four boys were caught up in the tale, imagining themselves being buried alive, unable to stop it.

Alan continued, "A couple of days passed and all this time the boy kept trying to move, and then, finally, he moved his little finger a bit. He kept trying and soon he could move his hand, and then his other hand. Bit by bit, his muscles started to loosen up and he found that he could move again. He was really relieved but he was still six feet under the ground. He began to push against the top of the coffin and he was surprised to find that he was really strong. Whatever had caused his illness had left him with amazing strength and he broke through the top of the coffin and began to dig his way out of the grave. Then he got out and he was really happy to see the stars and the moon in the sky again. He shook some of the dirt of him and looked around. He recognized the cemetery and he knew which way to go home, so he started walking. His legs and arms were still sort of stiff so it took a while for him to get there. As he walked down the sidewalk, people stopped and stared at him. Some of them pointed and screamed, 'Ahhhhh, the walking dead, the walking dead', and they ran away.

The boy yelled back, 'I'm not dead. I’m not dead! Don't be scared, I'm not dead', but no one believed him. Soon, everyone was running from him in terror. When he got to his house he opened the front door, expecting his mother to welcome him with open arms, but instead his parents and sister all screamed, 'the walking dead,' and they all ran from him. The boy started to cry and said, 'No, don't run away. Don't be scared. It's me, your son, I'm not dead. Come back. I want..., I just want to... I just want to… EAT YOUR BRAINS!!!’ “.

Alan roared out the last words and lunged forward. The boys fell back, squealing in delighted panic, and then burst out laughing. Once they all calmed down and their giggling stopped they prepared to go to sleep, but sleep was a long time coming.

The End