• Гідрологія і Гідрометрія
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• Технічні засоби організації дорожнього руху
• Товарознавство продовольчих товарів

Тлумачний словник
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Автоматизація
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Біологія
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Зв'язок
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Філософія
Фінанси
Хімія
Юриспунденкция

Contents

Title Page

Welcome. You Are Most Wanted.

Part One: 1944

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Part Two: Today

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Part Three: Five Days Till Halloween

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Preview: Goosebumps® Most Wanted Special Edition #2: The 12 Screams of Christmas

About the Author

Also Available

Copyright

Come in. I’m R.L. Stine. Welcome to the Goosebumps office.

Glad you made it through the barbed wire fence. Don’t worry. Those cuts will stop bleeding in an hour or two.

Why do we have a barbed wire fence? To keep the Abominable Snowman from escaping. I’m surprised you didn’t see him. He’s creeping up right behind you. Hurry. Step inside and shut the door. You don’t want to find out why everyone calls him “Abominable.”

Hey, don’t be scared of Eddie over there. Eddie woke up dead tired one morning. Guess what? He actually was dead. Yes, Eddie is a zombie. But he doesn’t like that word. He likes to be called “life-challenged.”

He’s not much trouble. He only needs to eat human flesh once a day. Don’t be nervous. He just finished his breakfast.

Whom did he have for breakfast? I’m not sure. But I haven’t seen my brother all morning….

Eddie — what did I tell you about eating the family?

Oh, well. Let me ask you a question before Eddie has to have his next meal. What do you think is the Most Wanted holiday?

You’re right. It’s Halloween. It’s the most fun night of the year. And … it can be the scariest.

A boy named Kenny Manzetti is going to tell you about his Halloween.

Kenny and his sister, Tricia, moved into a creepy old house that looked like it should be in a horror movie. They didn’t believe all the scary stories they heard about the house. They decided to have a Halloween party to meet the kids in their new neighborhood. But they had some unexpected guests….

You see, the house stood across the street from a graveyard. And some people buried there — hideous, rotting zombies — decided to make this a Zombie Halloween….

A chill rolled down my back as my friend Ivy and I gazed up at my new house. The house was dark gray with peeling paint. Black shutters tilted at the dust-smeared windows.

Under the sloping roof, one attic window was broken and covered with cardboard. The wind whistled into the window, high above our heads. It sounded like someone screaming.

I wanted to scream.

“It’s a haunted house,” I said. “It belongs in a horror movie.”

“Your mom will get it cleaned up, Mario,” Ivy said.

I knew Ivy for only a couple of weeks. She was the first friend I made since we moved to Franklin Village. She was cheerful Miss Sunshine all the time.

I told her that. She said, “I’d rather be Miss Sunshine than someone howling at the full moon.”

Does that make any sense?

Ivy was always saying things like that. But I liked her anyway. She was cute. She was twelve, like me. Tiny, with a pointed chin and pointed little nose. Like an elf in the picture books my mom used to read me when I was little.

She had short blond hair and green eyes. And she usually wore the same green sweater with a lacy white collar. I guess because it matched her eyes.

“I couldn’t get to sleep last night,” I said. “I kept hearing a tap-tap-tap above me. I knew what it was. It was mice running across my ceiling.”

“Tap-tap-tap is better than thump-thump-thump,” Ivy said.

That made me laugh.

I turned away from the house. It made me sad that Mom and I had to live in such a creepy old wreck of a place. But we really had no choice.

My dad was in Germany fighting the war. And Mom was working two factory jobs to earn enough money for us to get by. I almost never saw her.

“You’re the man of the house now, Mario,” Mom told me the day we moved into this horrible place. “It’s a tough time for everyone. And being gloomy isn’t going to help.”

“But Gloomy is my middle name,” I said. “Mario Gloomy Manzetti.”

I was trying to make her laugh. She hardly ever smiled these days, and she had these lines under her eyes she never had before.

She swept her black hair behind her shoulder. “Promise me you’ll do your best,” she said.

I raised my right hand and swore I’d do my best.

“We are lucky to have a house,” Mom said.

“Lucky,” I repeated.

She tugged at the brown leather bomber jacket I liked to wear because it made me look tough. “Mario, that jacket is getting small on you,” she said.

“I’ll try not to grow anymore,” I told her. I tightened my stomach and hunched down to my knees.

That made her laugh.

Now, Ivy and I stood in front of the house with the October wind gusting around us. Fat brown leaves danced around our legs.

“I guess the worst part is living across the street from a graveyard,” I said.

Ivy poked me in the ribs. “Are you scared?” she asked in a singsong voice. “Is little Mario scared of a graveyard?”

“I’m not scared,” I said, poking her back. “It’s just … depressing.”

“Ooh. Big word,” she said. “So? You live in a haunted house across the street from a graveyard. What is the big deal?”

The truth is, maybe I was a little scared. I’m not a tough guy. Sometimes I have nightmares that make me wake up all sweaty and shaky. And I’ve never been in a fight with another kid. I always find a way to talk my way out of fights.

When I was little, I pretended to be Superman or Captain Marvel, the new comic book heroes. I wore a towel for a cape and had my underpants over my pajama pants. And I ran around, pretending to “leap tall buildings in a single bound.”

I think I really believed there were these powerful guys in capes and tights who were around to fight bad guys and protect everyone else. But then my dad went off to war, and I had to grow up a little and forget that comic book stuff.

Ivy leaned into the wind and trotted across the street, her blond hair bouncing behind her.

“Hey, wait up!” I shouted. “Where are you going?”

I could see where she was headed. Into the graveyard.

Our shoes crackled over the brown leaves as we followed a path through the tilted stone graves. Wind gusts made the old gravestones creak and groan.

“Why don’t we go to the candy store instead?” I asked. I pointed to the little store on the corner past the graveyard. “I have a nickel. We could load up on root beer barrels and licorice sticks.”

“Mom said not to ruin my appetite for dinner,” Ivy said. “Don’t you like walking in this place? Some of the graves are so old —”

“It’s … my first time,” I said.

The sky darkened. I looked up and saw storm clouds rolling overhead. The wind rattled the limbs of the old tree beside us.

I shivered. I raised the collar of my bomber jacket. My eyes gazed all around. The blowing, crackling leaves made the whole place seem alive.

Ivy pointed. “That grave is so tiny. Do you think a child is buried there?”

Before I could answer, I saw something that made me gasp.

I grabbed Ivy’s arm. “Look. Ivy. Something just moved — by that tombstone.”

We both stared into the gray light.

“Oh, noooo,” I moaned.

I watched, trembling in horror as someone climbed out of a grave.

I squeezed Ivy’s arm. We both froze and watched. Dressed all in black, the terrifying figure kept his face down. He stepped from behind the tall gravestone — raised his arms in front of him — and began staggering stiffly toward Ivy and me.

“Noooo. Oh, noooo.” Another moan escaped my throat.

And then the staggering creature raised his head — and I screamed. “Anthony! You jerk!”

My little brother tossed back his black hood and burst out laughing. He has a high, shrill hyena laugh that makes me want to strangle him.

But I grabbed him by the shoulders instead, and shook him hard. “You little rat. You scared us to death.”

That made Anthony laugh even harder.

Ivy laughed, too. “He got you this time, Mario.”

“Me?” I cried. “Me? You were scared, too, Ivy.”

“No, I wasn’t,” she said. “I was only pretending.”

The sky grew even darker, and I heard the rumble of thunder in the distance.

“Let go of me,” Anthony said.

I didn’t realize I was still gripping his shoulders.

He stamped hard on my right foot.

“Owww!” I uttered a cry and staggered back.

Anthony laughed again. He’s a little creep. He’s always following me and trying to scare me. I’d like to smash him. But as the man of the house, my job is to watch over him and take care of him as best I can.

The truth is, I can’t really hate him. Mainly because he looks just like me. We both have thick, wavy black hair, round faces, dark eyes, and we’re tall and kind of beefy.

“Look what I found,” Anthony said. He grabbed my hand and started to pull me along the grassy path between the graves.

The wind felt wet. It shook the trees and sent the dead leaves skipping over the old tombstones.

“Look,” Anthony said, pointing down.

Ivy and I stared at a deep hole in the ground. “It’s an open grave,” Ivy said.

I shivered again. I pulled my jacket tighter. “It’s an open grave, waiting for someone,” I murmured. I grabbed Anthony. “Maybe it’s waiting for you!”

He pulled away. “Maybe it’s waiting for someone named Mario,” he said. His dark eyes flashed. “I dare you to jump down there.”

My eyes darted over the grave. It was deep and the mud walls were black. Even in the dim light, I could see fat worms crawling over the grave floor.

Ivy laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I snapped.

“Your face,” she said. “You look so terrified. It’s just a mud hole, Mario.”

“No, it isn’t,” I replied. “Someone dug this for a dead person. It isn’t a hole — it’s a grave.”

“I knew you couldn’t do it,” Anthony said. He jumped up and down, like he’d won a big victory. “I’m braver than you are! I’m braver than you are!”

Ivy turned to me. Her green eyes locked on mine. “Go ahead. Jump in,” she whispered. “Don’t let Anthony win.”

I squinted into the grave. I watched the worms crawling in the mud at the bottom. It looked so dark and disgusting down there. But I had just met Ivy. I didn’t want her to think I was a coward.

I stepped to the edge.

Should I do it? Should I jump?

Before I could decide, someone gave me a hard shove from behind.

“Hey!” I let out a scream — and went sailing into the grave.

“Owww.” I landed hard on my elbows and knees. Pain shot down my whole body.

I struggled to climb to my feet. The strong smell of the mud floor rose to my nostrils. Wet clumps of dirt smeared my hands.

Ivy and Anthony peered down at me. I growled and shook my fist at my brother. “You pushed me — you rat! I’ll get you! I’m not kidding. You’ll be sorry, you jerk.”

Anthony’s eyes grew wide. “But … I didn’t,” he stammered. “Mario — I swear. I didn’t push you.”

“Liar!” I screamed. “You dirty liar!” I tried to rub the mud off my hands on the legs of my jeans.

“I never touched you,” Anthony insisted.

“He’s telling the truth,” Ivy called down. The wind gusted hard, almost drowning out her voice. She brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I was watching him, Mario. He didn’t push you.”

“Oh, yeah?” I snarled. “Someone shoved me down here. Who was it?”

Ivy laughed. “Maybe it was a ghost.”

Rain started to come down. Big, heavy drops that made a splat sound on the muddy grave floor.

I rubbed my back. It still ached from the hard push. I don’t believe in ghosts. Anthony had to be lying. He pushed me. It’s the kind of thing Anthony likes to do.

Ivy was just trying to protect him.

Rain slapped the sides of the grave. “Get me out of here,” I said. “It’s too deep. I can’t climb out by myself.”

Ivy had her hands on her knees. She bent over the grave. “You can’t climb up the side?”

“It’s too muddy,” I said. “I’d just slide right back down.”

She turned to Anthony. “Come help me.”

They both reached down for me. I raised my arms to them. They each grabbed a hand and tugged. I saw the dirt at the side of the grave crumble away.

“Noooo!” Ivy screamed as she started to fall.

I staggered back as they both came tumbling into the grave.

Anthony landed on his feet. His body appeared to bounce, but he kept his balance.

Ivy landed facedown in the mud.

“I don’t believe this,” I muttered. I grabbed Ivy by the shoulders of her sweater and helped pull her to her feet.

She blinked a few times, stunned. Then she grinned at me. “I wasn’t expecting a mud bath today,” she said. “Look at me. I’m dripping in mud. So this is what pigs feel like.”

Cheerful. Always cheerful.

“I … I’m not happy right now,” Anthony murmured.

“Going down into the grave was your idea,” I said.

He shook his head. “I wanted you to go into the grave — not me.”

The raindrops came down harder. Above us, I could hear the wind swirling through the graves.

I dug both hands into the grave wall and tried to climb. But my hands slid right back down. The mud fell off in big clumps.

Lightning crackled above us.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” I said.

Without another word, all three of us began to scream.

“Help! Help us! Can anybody hear us? Somebody — help!”

We didn’t scream for long. We knew the graveyard was empty. We hadn’t seen another person anywhere nearby. Besides, the wind was howling so loudly, it drowned out our shouts.

The rain pounded down. My hair was matted to my head. I kept wiping raindrops from my eyes.

I felt cold water seep into my shoes. I gazed down and saw that deep puddles were spreading across the mud of the grave floor. Worms crawled over my feet and up my pant legs.

Ivy started to hop up and down. To keep warm, I guess.

“We can figure this out,” she said. “Mario, give me a boost.”

She moved to a grave wall. I cupped my hands under her shoes. And pushed.

Her hands scrabbled at the top. The dirt gave way, and she started to slide back down. But I held on. Held her steady.

I gave her another push. She dug her fingers into the mud and, with a groan, hoisted herself out of the grave. She disappeared from view for a few seconds. I heard her give a cheer.

Then she returned, peering down at Anthony and me. “Give me your hands,” she said. Anthony shoved me from behind. Ivy tugged me out. Then we both pulled Anthony up.

The cold, swirling wind made me shiver. All three of us were soaked and covered with mud.

Lightning crackled again, followed by a boom of rolling thunder.

“Let’s get out of here!” I shouted.

I led the way. Ducking our heads against the rain, we took a few running steps toward my house.

And then we froze.

Voices whispered all around us. Voices carried by the wind. Behind us. Ahead of us. Everywhere.

“Just the rain,” I murmured. Every muscle in my body tensed. I listened to the whispers — and knew it couldn’t be the wind.

I heard their words so clearly.

“Visit me …”

“Come to me. Visit me …”

“I’m soooooo lonely …”

Hoarse, raspy voices. Voices from the graves? The dead and buried … calling to us? Pleading with us?

I pressed my hands over my ears. I tried to shut them out.

But I could still hear their hoarse cries:

“Come here. Come over here …”

“I won’t hurt you. I’m so lonely …”

And then I screamed in horror when a bony hand squeezed my shoulder from behind.

Struggling to catch my breath, I spun around. “Anthony!”

He raised both hands. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You liar. You grabbed me.” I grasped the front of his coat and angrily pulled him toward me.

“No. I didn’t touch you,” he protested. “I swear.” He pulled free of my grasp.

Ivy stepped between us. “He didn’t grab you, Mario,” she said. “Stop acting crazy and let’s get home.”

Acting crazy?

Was it crazy? I could still hear the voices all around.

Someone pushed me into that grave, and someone squeezed my shoulder. Someone … living or dead?

I realized my whole body was trembling.

Would I remember this day as the scariest day of my life?

The three of us began to run again. Ivy turned at the street. “I’m going home,” she cried. “This is too scary. See you later.”

I watched her run toward her house on the next block. Anthony and I darted up the front steps to our house.

“We’re going from a haunted graveyard to a haunted house,” I muttered.

“Our new house isn’t haunted,” Anthony said. “It’s just old.”

“Old and haunted,” I insisted.

I fumbled with the front doorknob. The old wooden door was stuck. It took all my strength to pull it open. We burst inside, both breathing hard, shaking off rainwater.

I was desperate to tell Mom what happened in the graveyard. But she wasn’t home. She was at one of her jobs.

Anthony and I tossed our wet clothes in the laundry hamper. We dried ourselves off and pulled on clean T-shirts and jeans.

Mom had left a pot of tomato soup on the stove with instructions on how long to cook it. I found a loaf of bread and made cheese sandwiches for the two of us.

Anthony and I ate our lunch at the kitchen table. We didn’t talk much. I kept seeing the deep, dark hole of the grave and the worms and the mud, and hearing the howling wind and the whispered, raspy voices. They played in my mind like a horror movie.

Anthony was probably thinking the same frightening thoughts. Neither one of us wanted to talk about any of it.

Ivy came over before lunch was over. She wore a long, black skirt and a different green sweater. She finished the tomato soup in the pot and ate the second half of my cheese sandwich.

“Graveyards can make you hungry,” she said, smiling as always.

“Don’t mention the graveyard,” I said.

“Do you have any cookies?” she asked. She started opening cabinet drawers. She pulled out a box of graham crackers. “Oh, I love graham crackers. I could eat a whole box.”

We passed around the graham crackers. “Where does your mother work?” Ivy asked.

“At the box factory downtown,” I said. “She’s some kind of secretary.”

“My mom is a bank teller,” Ivy said.

“Does she ever bring home any samples?” Anthony asked.

That made us laugh. Sometimes Anthony can be funny. When he isn’t being a complete pest.

I couldn’t shake off the scene in the graveyard. I couldn’t think about anything else. “It … it was like the graveyard was alive,” I said.

Ivy’s expression turned serious. She set down the box of graham crackers. “My brother, Stan … He’s always reading. He’s a real bookworm. Stan read a book about zombies.”

“Zombies?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. You know. Dead people who come back to life. And all they want to do is eat human flesh.”

“Yum!” Anthony said. He crunched up a cracker between his teeth. “Flesh! I love flesh!”

“Shut up,” I snapped. “You don’t even know what flesh is.”

“Do too.” I had a graham cracker in front of me on the table. He smashed it with his fist.

“You’ll eat that!” I said.

“Cut it out, you two,” Ivy said. “Don’t you realize we might have heard zombies in the graveyard this morning? Don’t you think those whispers we heard —”

“Stop!” I said. I pressed my hands over my ears.

Anthony laughed. “My big brother, Mario, is afraid of zombies! Afraid they’ll want to eat you?” He turned and bit my arm.

“Hey! That hurt!” I gave him a hard shove.

He tossed back his head and laughed again. What a little creep.

I turned back to Ivy. “I don’t believe in zombies,” I said. “I don’t believe in ghosts, and I don’t believe in dead people whispering in graveyards.”

She shrugged. “We heard something, Mario. It wasn’t just the wind.”

“Let’s do something,” I said. I was desperate to change the subject. I was scared. I mean, really scared. But I didn’t want Ivy to know.

I jumped up and pushed my chair in. “Let’s go to the den and play some records. My dad has a pretty good collection of jazz records.” I started to lead them down the hall toward the den.

There was a stack of cartons at the end of the hall. Mom hadn’t had time to unpack everything.

Ivy stopped and peered into a doorway. “Hey, you have a basement. My house doesn’t have a basement. Have you been down there?”

“No,” I said. “Not yet.”

“Why don’t we explore your basement?” Ivy said. She pulled the door all the way open. “Maybe there are some amazing treasures down there. Who owned this house before you?”

I shrugged. “Beats me. I think the house was empty for a long time. I mean, look at it.” I pointed to the broken floorboards. Then I raised my eyes to the peeling paint on the walls. “It’s a total wreck.”

“Mario doesn’t want to go in the basement,” Anthony chimed in. “He’s too scared.”

“Shut up, Anthony,” I snapped. “Why don’t you go up to your room and amuse yourself?”

“Why don’t you go fly a kite?”

“Come on, you two,” Ivy pleaded. “Follow me.” She turned and started down the basement stairs.

I didn’t really want to go. That little creep Anthony was right. I was scared. Actually, I was still shaken from our cemetery adventure. But I had no choice. I had to follow Ivy.

I grabbed a flashlight from the supply closet. And I started down the wooden stairs. They were very steep and narrow, and covered with a layer of slippery dust. They creaked and groaned under our feet.

My flashlight beam swept up and down over the basement floor. The air grew cooler as we headed down. A sour odor greeted my nose.

I stopped halfway down. I realized my heart was pounding in my chest.

One thought flashed through my mind: This house is so creepy. Are we going to find something horrible down there?

We huddled at the bottom of the stairs. A small rectangle of light spread in front of us on the floor, light from upstairs. My flashlight beam darted over the bare basement walls.

“It stinks down here,” I muttered. “And it’s cold as a refrigerator.”

Ivy took a few steps into the darkness. “It’s a pretty big basement,” she said. “And look — it’s filled with junk.”

I swept the light past her. I saw stacks of cardboard cartons, piles of tattered newspapers, a long rack of old-fashioned-looking clothes — long skirts and frilly blouses. Even in the dim light, I could see that the clothes were moth-eaten and stained.

Ivy walked over to the clothes. Anthony and I followed her. Anthony pulled an old magazine off a pile. It crumbled in his hands. “That’s ancient,” he said.

“Someone moved out of this house a long time ago,” Ivy said, “and just left all this stuff down here. I wonder why.”

I swept the beam of light around in a circle. “It would take weeks to clean out this place,” I said.

Ivy bent down and lifted some boxes from a large straw basket. “Board games,” she said. “Old board games. Maybe some of these are still fun to play.”

But then she made a disgusted face and let them fall back into the basket. “Ooh, they’re covered in mold. And they all smell so terrible.”

I squeezed my nose. “This whole basement smells like rotten meat,” I said. “Why does it stink so bad?”

“Maybe because of this dead mouse,” Anthony said. I swung the light beam around. And I watched Anthony pick up a headless, half-decayed mouse by the tail.

“Drop it!” I cried. “Are you crazy?”

Holding the tail in two fingers, he swung it in front of him. An evil grin spread over his face. “Here — catch!” he called. He heaved the dead mouse at me.

I tried to dodge away. But it smacked me in the chest.

I staggered back. The flashlight fell out of my hand and clattered onto the cement floor.

Anthony laughed his shrill hyena laugh.

And then I went bonkers. I grabbed the flashlight. And with a furious growl, I went charging at Anthony.

He probably thought I was going to hit him with the flashlight. But I would never do anything like that to my kid brother. Instead, I lowered my shoulder — and butted him backward with all my strength.

“Noooo!” He let out a cry as he lost his balance. He slammed hard into a stack of cartons. The big boxes toppled from side to side — and then came crashing down.

I gasped as a huge box landed on Anthony, flattening him to the floor. One arm poked out from under the carton. He didn’t move. He didn’t make a sound.

I froze in terror, staring at him flat on his back under the box.

Ivy ran over to him and dropped to her knees beside him. “You crushed him!” she screamed. “Mario — you crushed your brother!”

“Noooo! Oh, no!”

A cry escaped my throat. I dove beside Ivy and stared down at my brother, at the arm sticking out so lifelessly from under the huge box.

And then I heard Anthony giggle.

Ivy and I blinked at each other. I raised both hands and gave the carton a push.

It practically flew off Anthony. It was light as a feather.

Anthony raised his head and grinned. “Were you scared?” He laughed again and scrambled to his feet before I could punch him.

My heart was still pounding. “You scared Ivy and me to death, you creep.”

That made him laugh harder.

I picked up the carton. It was empty. It couldn’t crush an ant.

“Can we go upstairs now?” I asked Ivy.

She wasn’t looking at me. She was squinting down at the floor. “What is that?” She pointed.

I swept the flashlight beam down to where she pointed. It took me a few seconds to focus my eyes. “It seems to be some kind of handle,” I said.

Ivy squatted down to examine it more closely. “A handle in the floor?”

Anthony and I joined her. I aimed the circle of light at it. “A trapdoor,” I said. “See? It’s a trapdoor in the floor. You pull up the handle and —”

Anthony dove across me and grabbed the handle. “Let’s see what’s down there.”

“No, wait —” I tried to pull him back. “Maybe we don’t want to —”

Too late. Anthony tugged and the trapdoor slid open. He pulled it all the way up until it stood on its own.

We stared into the square opening. I could see a rope ladder that led down into total darkness.

“How weird,” Ivy murmured. “It’s a basement under the basement.”

“Anthony, we don’t know what’s down there,” I said.

Ivy leaned over the opening. “Can’t see a thing from up here.”

“Let’s go,” Anthony said. He lowered himself into the opening and grabbed the rope ladder with both hands.

“Anthony, no — !” I shouted.

But when does he ever listen to me?

I tried to pull him away. But he was already making his way down the ladder. I could only see his head and shoulders. “Come on. Follow the leader!” he cried.

He disappeared from view.

I turned to Ivy. “Are we going down there?”

“It’s an adventure,” she said. “How can you resist a secret room under the basement?”

“Easy,” I said. I peered into the hole. “Hey, Anthony?” I called down. My voice echoed from somewhere down there. “Anthony?”

I couldn’t see him at all. I swung the flashlight and aimed it into the hole. “Anthony, where are you? Hey, I can’t see you. Where are you? Anthony — come back up here!”

I darted the flashlight all around. No sign of him. My heart started to pound. I suddenly felt cold all over.

“Anthony?”

And then I heard a shrill, terrified scream from far below: “Help! It’s got me! It’s got me!”

I turned to Ivy and rolled my eyes. “How many times is he going to pull this joke?” I said.

She nodded. “I don’t believe him, either. He’s a complete fake.”

“Anthony, you’re not fooling us,” I shouted down into the opening. “Not for a second. Come back up and stop trying to scare us.”

Silence.

Ivy leaned into the hole and cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. “Anthony? You’re not funny, Anthony. Come back where we can see you.”

Silence.

“Anthony?” I called, my voice growing shrill. “Anthony? Hey — Anthony?”

Ivy and I waited, our eyes focused on the darkness below. My heart began to pound. The silence rang in my ears.

Finally, Anthony stepped into the light. He gazed up at us, a big grin on his face. “I didn’t scare you? Are you lying?”

“We’re not lying,” I said. “You tried it once too often. Now get back up here.”

“No. You come down,” he insisted. “It’s kind of strange down here.”

“Strange?” Ivy called. “What do you mean?”

Anthony motioned us down. “Come here. You’ll see.”

Ivy shrugged. She moved into the opening and grabbed both sides of the rope ladder. I watched her lower herself down a rung at a time.

I had a bad feeling about this. But, of course, I had a bad feeling about everything in this old house. I kept asking myself, why would there be a basement under the basement? Did the past owner of this house have something he needed to hide?

I grabbed the rope ladder. My feet fumbled for the rungs. I’d never climbed on a rope ladder. And it was shakier and more difficult than I imagined — especially while gripping a flashlight in one hand.

But I made it to the bottom, let go of the ladder, took a few steps back, and glanced around.

My eyes followed the light of my flashlight. “There’s nothing down here,” I said. “It’s completely empty. Just walls and a dirt floor.”

Ivy squinted at my brother. “Anthony, why did you think it’s so interesting?”

He pointed. “Look.”

I swung the light around. The bare walls gave way to a dark, narrow passage. It seemed to go on forever. “A … tunnel,” I murmured.

“Yes. This isn’t a room,” Anthony said. “It’s a tunnel.”

Ivy squinted into the light. “A long tunnel under your house. But where does it lead?”

“Let’s follow it,” Anthony said. He started to trot into the dark passage.

“Wait,” I said. “Let’s think about this.”

“Maybe it leads to some fantastic caves,” he said. “Maybe it leads to the ocean!”

Ivy and I laughed. “That would be a very long tunnel,” she said. “Franklin Village is miles and miles from any ocean.”

I thought hard. I gazed up at the trapdoor opening high above us. And then I followed the floor of the tunnel. “I think I know where the tunnel leads,” I said in a whisper.

“Where?” Ivy asked.

“To the graveyard.”

Anthony laughed. “How do you know?”

“Yes. How do you know that?” Ivy said. “You’re just guessing, Mario.”

I nodded. “Right. I’m guessing. But look at it. It leads toward the street. And what is across the street? The graveyard.”

Anthony grinned at Ivy. “Now we have to follow it — just to prove Mario wrong.” He took off, trotting into the darkness of the narrow tunnel.

“No. Wait —” I called.

But Ivy followed him. I had no choice. “Wait up.”

My light beam swept from side to side as I kept it ahead of us. The tunnel was so low, we had to duck our heads. The walls and floor were dirt. Our shoes kicked up dust as we ran.

“I … can’t believe we’re doing this,” I said, breathing hard. “If Mom knew about this, she’d kill us.”

“We’re just exploring,” Ivy said. “What is the big deal?”

“Maybe there’s pirate treasure hidden at the end,” Anthony said.

“We’re under the street now,” I said. “I just know it.” I wiped sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. The deeper we moved into the tunnel, the warmer the air became. The smell of the dirt started to choke me.

The tunnel curved a little to the left. I kept the light beam on the floor ahead of us. My loud breaths echoed off the dirt walls.

All three of us stopped when we heard the sounds.

I tried to swallow but my mouth was too dry. Anthony and Ivy were breathing hard, too. We had our eyes straight ahead, listening hard.

Were those animal growls?

I heard the scrape of footsteps on the dirt.

I aimed the light straight ahead. But I couldn’t see anything in the deep darkness.

I gasped when I heard a loud groan. And then a cough.

“We … we’re not alone down here,” I stammered. My hand shook. I almost dropped the flashlight.

The scraping footsteps came closer.

“L-let’s get out of here,” I whispered.

But all three of us were frozen to the spot. Our mouths open. Breathing hard in the dirt-choked air. Listening.

We all cried out as the hunched figures staggered into view. Were they people? They walked on two legs. But they grunted and growled like animals.

I swept the light from face to face — and every muscle in my body tightened in horror.

Their faces were twisted and ugly. Some had missing eyes. Some had big patches of skin rotted away, the gray skull showing through. Their clothes were tattered and in filthy shreds. Their feet were bare and all bone. Skeletal feet. No skin at all.

“Zombies,” Ivy whispered. She grabbed my arm. “Dead people … walking. From the graveyard.”

Grunting, they shuffled toward us. They were only a few feet from us, staggering closer.

Frightening thoughts flew through my mind. This tunnel must be their hiding place. Where they can travel safely without being seen. But why are they moving toward us now? Because they’re hungry?

Anthony seemed paralyzed by the terrifying sight. I squeezed his shoulder hard and tugged. “Let’s go. Move!”

Ivy was already running hard, kicking up dirt as she raced back to the trapdoor. Anthony and I ran side by side, leaning forward as we moved, as if that would help us get there sooner.

The light from my flashlight twisted and jerked, like flashes of lightning in front of us. Over my hard, heavy breaths, I could hear the shuffling, bony feet of the zombies. Hear their hungry grunts, their animal groans.

Were they catching up? I didn’t dare turn around to see.

Our pounding shoes kicked up dirt. A gust of wind through the tunnel made it swirl around us. I choked on it. My eyes were burning and dripping tears.

Ivy stopped and covered her face, coughing from the dirt.

I pulled her toward the trapdoor. “Don’t stop. We’re almost there.”

Our shoes pounded the tunnel floor. Finally, I could see a square of light above us.

“The trapdoor,” I said, my voice a hoarse whisper. “Hurry.”

My heart thudding in my chest, I grabbed the sides of the rope ladder. The ladder swung back and forth. But my foot found the bottom rung. I gripped the sides tightly and began to pull myself up to safety.

“Nooooo!”

A scream escaped my throat as the ladder broke off. It came loose at the top.

I was still screaming as I hit the floor hard, and the ladder crumpled down on top of me.

On my back on the floor, I thrashed my arms and legs, trying to untangle myself from the fallen ladder. Ivy and Anthony grabbed the ropes and tossed the thing aside.

I jumped to my feet, gasping for breath. And stared up at the opening so far above our heads. Safety up there. And no way to get there.

No way to escape the grunting, decayed bodies shuffling and staggering toward us.

“Get back! Stay away!” Anthony screamed at them.

But they just kept coming. Could they even hear us? I squinted into the dim light. Most of them had lost their ears.

They’d lost whole patches of skin on their heads. Cheeks missing. Gray bone poking out from stretched, green skin. They grinned as they marched forward, toothless, lipless grins.

The rancid odor of their decaying bodies poured over us. I gagged, struggling not to vomit.

“Wh-what do we do?” Ivy asked in a tiny, trembling voice.

I gazed up at the trapdoor. It seemed a mile above our heads.

We had nowhere to run. No way to escape.

I couldn’t answer Ivy. I could only stand there, my whole body shaking.

Could only stand there and watch as the hideous figures, their toothless mouths bobbing up and down, surrounded us, grunting with excitement.

A tall, hunched guy with half his face rotted away, one eye hanging from its socket, reached a bony hand forward — and grabbed me by the throat.

I heard Ivy and Anthony scream in horror.

A sharp cry escaped my mouth as the hideous, undead creature pulled me to him. And lowered his head to my shoulder to feed on my flesh.

“No, please. No — please!”

He ignored my choked cries. My knees sagged. My whole body went limp.

I shut my eyes and prepared for the pain. He lifted me off the floor. Held me by the throat. His rotted brown teeth clicked several times and lowered to my shoulder.

“Hey!” I uttered a confused cry as the creature tossed me away.

He heaved me to the tunnel wall. My back slid down the dirt wall until I was sitting on the floor. Dazed and terrified, I gazed up at the tall, undead creature. He had turned away from me.

He doesn’t want to feed on me. What does he want to do?

Ivy and Anthony pressed their backs against the wall. Ivy covered her face with her hands. Anthony stood frozen, his eyes bulging, his shoulders trembling.

The tall zombie bent over with a groan. His bony hands scrabbled on the floor. They grasped the fallen rope ladder.

He wants to climb out of the tunnel, I realized.

The zombie turned himself around, his dangling eyeball swinging in the air. Then he raised the ladder toward the square opening above. Two other zombies, their faces green with mold, their clothes in worm-eaten tatters, moved to help him.

In the dim light, I saw three or four more undead creatures. They were hanging back in the shadows, grunting softly as they watched.

The tall zombie climbed on another zombie’s back. He stretched his arms to hang the ladder back up. It took a long time because his hands fumbled and shook, and he kept dropping it back to the floor.

As I watched helplessly, my mind whirred with frightening thoughts. This tunnel stretched from their graves. The zombies used the tunnel to be safe, safe from humans who would hunt them down.

But now they were climbing into the world of the living.

I watched helplessly as the creature hung the ladder back in place. And the zombies were climbing, climbing up to my basement. Into my house.

And that’s when I heard a sound that sent a shock of fear down my body. My mother’s voice. My mother, calling from the hall upstairs. “Mario? Anthony? Where are you? Are you in the basement?”

Panic made my throat tighten until I choked.

The zombies will see her.

Will the zombies eat her first?

“Mom!” I screamed. “Get out of the house! Run! Get out of the house — now!”

I had to do something. The first zombie was nearly to the top of the ladder, about to climb into my basement.

“Mom!” I screamed. “Can you hear me? Run! Get out of the house!”

“Mario, is that you?” she called from upstairs. “What are you saying? I can’t hear you.”

I pushed myself off the wall. I knew I had to act. I couldn’t let these deadly creatures devour my mother.

I took a deep breath — and leaped at the zombie on the ladder. I grabbed him around the waist — and heaved him to the floor.

He groaned and collapsed against the wall. I could hear his bones cracking. His dangling eyeball swung in front of his head.

My fear gave me strength I didn’t know I had. With a loud cry, I hoisted up another zombie — and threw him into the tunnel. He crashed into the wall, and his head split open.

I swung around to face the rest of the zombies. They stepped back, chattering, preparing another attack.

I didn’t give them the chance. I grabbed the sides of the rope ladder and pulled myself up to the basement. Anthony came climbing right behind me.

When we were both safely in the basement, we slammed the trapdoor shut behind us.

Over my panting breaths and the drumbeats of my heart, I could still hear the chattering of the ugly creatures down below.

I spun away from them and ran up the basement steps, taking them two at a time.

“Mom!” I gasped, racing down the hall to the kitchen. “Mom! Zombies! Under the house! There are zombies under our house!”

She turned slowly from the kitchen sink. “I know,” she said.

“Huh?” I leaned on the counter, struggling to catch my breath.

Anthony dropped onto a tall kitchen stool. I could see he was still shaking in fear.

“You — you know about the zombies?” I stammered.

Mom squeezed the water out of a sponge and tossed it in the sink. She is dark, like Anthony and me, with wavy black hair and olive eyes. Mom is short and very thin. I’m twelve and I’m almost as tall as she is.

She used to be the cheerful one in the family. But since Dad went away to the war, she doesn’t smile as much as she used to. I guess working two jobs makes her too tired to be her old enthusiastic self.

She sighed. “I heard the stories about this house. But they sounded so crazy.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” I asked.

“The real estate agent warned me,” Mom said. “She said 324 North Ardmore was a house of the dead. Who could believe that? Besides, I had no choice. It was all I could afford.”

I wiped sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “You mean, you knew when you bought this house —”

Mom bit her bottom lip. Her hands were trembling. “Where did you see them? Are they locked up?”

“I’ll show you,” I said. I turned to my brother. “Do you want to stay up here?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ll come, too.”

“They’re in the basement?” Mom asked.

“They’re under the basement,” I said. I led the way. Our shoes clunked loudly on the wooden basement steps.

I led Mom to the trapdoor in the floor. It was silent in the basement and silent down below. Mom’s hands were squeezed into tight fists.

She bent down and lifted the trapdoor.

We all screamed as a creature roared up from below.

Ivy!

Ivy. But her eyes were blank. Her green sweater was in shreds. Her hair fell in wet tangles. And her nose … her cute, pointed elf nose — it was gone! Just a hole in her face.

She gaped at me with those dead, dead eyes. “Mario …” she groaned.

“Ivy! Oh, noooo!” I wailed. “We forgot you! We forgot you. We left you down there! What did they do to you?”

She growled at me, an animal growl from deep in her throat. “I’ll get you, Mario. You’ll never escape me. Never!”

The buildings were dark. The long, narrow street was empty. The wind whistled through the town, one shrill, steady note that hurt my ears.

In the distance, I saw a black cat scuttle across the street. It vanished into an alley behind a darkened store. A trash can rolled on its side, pushed by the streaming wind.

I stepped off the curb. My eyes darted from side to side. I knew the emptiness wasn’t real. I knew the silence wouldn’t last.

I was being watched.

I walked slowly down the middle of the street. I glanced into parked cars. I kept turning my head and looking behind me. I could feel the tension in my chest, feel it in my tightened fists.

The rushing wind blew dead leaves at my feet. I jumped over them. I kept my eyes ahead of me.

Another trash can rolled silently down the empty sidewalk. I crossed into the next block, dark stores stretching on both sides. I stared into the narrow spaces between the buildings. Watching. Waiting. Alert.

Ready.

At least, I thought I was ready.

But when the creature attacked, I cried out in surprise.

He was twice my size, hulking and huge, with a shadow that covered me in heavy darkness. His eyes bulged like glassy billiard balls. His chin had been torn away. Only his long, top teeth remained, poking down over a lipless gap of a mouth.

The creature’s stringy hair hung limply at the sides of his pale green face. I could see fat black insects trapped in the tangles.

He raised huge fists as he leaped on me, his hands swollen like overripe melons. He uttered a low animal grunt and tried to wrap me up in his enormous arms, pull me into the decayed flesh of his belly.

“No way, zombie!” I screamed. “No way!”

I ducked my head under his enormous chest — and shot forward. A powerful head-butt that made him grunt. He doubled over, drool pouring down his half-missing face.

I smashed both fists into his belly, which collapsed like a deflating balloon. He grunted again and toppled backward onto the sidewalk.

Squeezing my fists, I stepped over him. I took two more steps and saw a pack of zombies scramble out from between the buildings. They glanced up and down the street. It didn’t take them long to see me.

Groaning, rubbing their bellies through their tattered clothes, they staggered toward me. Their bulging eyes revealed their hunger. They bleated like sheep as they came at me.

I could feel them tugging at my mind…. Some kind of mind control power. Holding me in place … trying to keep me helpless, unable to move.

I shut my eyes — and tried the head-butting trick again. Against a frail-looking zombie, thin as a potato chip. But this time, I missed his chest, my head hitting air.

Two other creatures leaped on my back. I swung my arms and struggled to keep my feet. But they were surprisingly strong.

They had me on my back.

And then they all swarmed at once.

Bony hands pawed at me. The grunts and groans rang in my ears.

I screamed as their sharp fingers punctured my chest — and ripped it open.

I kept screaming as they lowered their ugly heads and began to feed.

“I died again!” I screamed.

My friend Alec Schwartzman shook his head. “Bad news, Kenny. You should have run. You don’t have the weapons to fight them.”

I slammed the controller on the floor. “I’m never going to get beyond Level One.”

Alec and I were playing the new version of The Walking Zombies.

“You can probably fight them one at a time,” he said. “But when a pack of them appears, you have to turn and go down another street.”

Alec had a lot of advice. But he was just as bad at the game as I was.

We’d been playing for an hour, and I still hadn’t stayed alive to the other end of town. That’s kind of annoying, right?

I turned to my twin sister, Tricia, and snapped at her. “Why are you staring at us? Go away. You’re a jinx.”

I knew why Tricia was hanging around. She has a major league crush on Alec.

“I’m not a jinx,” she said, shoving me into the couch. “You’re just a klutz, Kenny.”

Alec laughed at that. I don’t know why. Maybe he has a crush on Tricia.

My name is Kenny Manzetti. Tricia and I are twelve. But we look older than our age. I mean, Alec is twelve, too. But he looks like a little, red-haired kid next to us.

For one thing, Tricia and I are taller than most kids our age. And we have kind of serious faces — dark eyes, straight dark hair.

Mom says we’re “old souls.” I don’t really know what that’s supposed to mean. It’s not like we act much like adults. Tricia and I like to hang out with kids and have fun.

At least, we did at our old school. We haven’t met too many kids to hang out with at our new school. In fact, Alec is the only friend I’ve made here in Franklin Village.

If you want to know the truth, Tricia and I are trying to be good sports. But we really don’t like our new house. For one thing, I hate living across the street from a graveyard. It gives me a lot of bad dreams. Seriously.

Alec elbowed me. “Boot the game up. Let’s try again.”

We were sitting side by side on the den floor in front of the TV. Tricia hunched on the edge of the couch behind us. “I don’t get the whole zombie thing,” she said.

“Then why don’t you go away?” I asked.

“I mean, why is everyone at school obsessed with zombies?” she kept on. “Is it because of that TV show your game is based on? The Walking Zombies?”

“Like duh,” I said.

“It’s an awesome show,” Alec said. “Are you watching season three?”

“I’m only up to season two,” I said. “Don’t tell me what happens in the next season.”

Tricia laughed. “What happens in the next season? I’ll tell you. A bunch of zombies stagger around eating people. Zombies are so way boring.”

“Why don’t you go up to your room and play with your American Girl dolls?” I said. “You’re annoying.”

She bonked the top of my head. “I don’t play with dolls, dumb head. I collect them. My collection is worth a lot of money.”

Alec reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a pack of Zombie Goop Loops. He popped one in his mouth, then offered them to Tricia and me. Naturally, she said, “Bleh. How disgusting.”

She’s wrong. It’s a pretty good candy. Comes in a lot of flavors. All the kids at our new school are into them.

I started the game again.

“Do you want to change the difficulty level?” Alec asked. “I think there’s a Baby level.”

“Haha,” I said. “How funny are you?”

I saw movement outside the living room window. I squinted across the street. I saw two people in dark raincoats walking through the graveyard. Every once in a while, they stopped to read a gravestone.

Did I mention that I don’t like graveyards?

I’m not superstitious or anything. I don’t believe zombies can rise up from their graves and go after people. I just think it’s creepy to have all those dead people lying there across the street from you.

My dad told me about this superstition. He said a lot of people hold their breath till they get past a graveyard. But I can’t do that. I’d have to hold my breath from morning till night!

The dark, empty town appeared on the screen. Alec took the controller and prepared to face the zombies.

But he turned away from the screen and gasped as a tall, frail figure floated into the living room. Wide-eyed, staggering, he came toward us, his pale eyes darting from Alec to me.

Alec dropped the controller. “A … a zombie!” he cried.

The pale old man laughed. His laugh came out dry, like a cough. “A zombie? That’s what I feel like these days!” he exclaimed.

Alec was still gazing openmouthed at him.

“Alec, this is my grandfather,” I said. “Everyone calls him Grandpa Mo.”

Alec swallowed and seemed to go back to normal. “Hi,” he said. He gave Grandpa Mo a little wave.

My grandfather waved back. He made his way slowly to the couch and dropped down next to Tricia. He has a bad limp. His right knee is totally worn-out. But he refuses to use a cane.

He’s not very strong, and he coughs a lot. He says everything on his body hurts, even his hair. He has a full head of thick, wavy white hair, which he carefully brushes. Sometimes he stands at the mirror for more than ten minutes.

His skin is tight on his narrow face, and almost as white as his hair. His eyes are so pale, sometimes they look entirely white, no pupils at all.

Don’t get the wrong idea. He’s a tough old dude.

Tricia and I haven’t seen him since we were five. It’s kind of a long story.

I’ll try to make it short. He’s my dad’s dad, see. But somehow, my parents lost track of him. No one saw him or heard from him for a lot of years. The old guy just disappeared.

But then, here he was, back in his house. This is Grandpa Mo’s house. Mom and Dad thought he was too old and sick to live alone. So we all moved into his house in Franklin Village.

Mom teaches third grade at the elementary school. And Dad is an investment manager at the bank in the next town.

And now I think you know everything about us. Oh. Except for one other thing about Grandpa Mo: He loves to tell zombie stories.

Sometimes he says they are true. Sometimes he says he dreams them. I know he makes them all up. But I can’t tell if he believes them or not.

“Put away the game, boys, and I’ll tell you a true story,” he said. His voice is soft and sometimes hard to hear. His hand tapped a rhythm on the arm of the couch.

Alec set the controller on the floor, and we turned to face Grandpa Mo. Tricia rolled her eyes, so only I could see. She doesn’t like Grandpa Mo’s stories. She thinks anything about zombies is dumb.

“Many years ago, there was a powerful storm in Franklin Village,” Grandpa Mo started. “There were lightning attacks everywhere. I mean, not your normal lightning. It didn’t crackle — it boomed like thunder.

“The lightning snapped trees in half and darted over the lawns like some kind of living creature. It started fires all over town. It smashed and crashed and exploded like the blast of a hundred bombs.”

I squinted at Grandpa Mo. “This is really true? Were you there?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “If I was there, I don’t remember. It’s hard to remember things when you’re old. But I know it’s true.”

Tricia laughed. “You make up all your true stories — don’t you, Grandpa Mo?”

The old man shook his head. He patted Tricia on the shoulder. But he didn’t answer her. He continued his story:

“The lightning was so powerful, it woke the dead. In the cemetery right across the street from this house. Dead people, sleeping soundly in their graves, were roused by the attacking currents, the bolts of energy.

“Awakened, they climbed out of their graves. They began to walk in the storm. At first, they huddled together, confused and frightened. But then they began to feel a hunger, an overwhelming hunger. They knew they had no choice. In order to survive in this new undead state, they had to eat the living.”

Tricia edged to the far end of the couch. “Eww. Is this going to get gross?”

Grandpa Mo shrugged his slender shoulders. “Gross? No. I think it gets frightening. Because it happened right across the street.”

“Your stories are just like the TV show,” Alec said. “You know. The Walking Zombies?”

Grandpa Mo scratched the pale, dry skin on the side of his face. “This is real. This isn’t TV.”

He struggled to his feet. It took him a few seconds to catch his balance. “It’s my nap time,” he said. “You three keep your eyes and ears open — you hear?” He limped stiffly out of the room.

Alec had a blank look on his freckled face. I could see he was thinking hard.

I laughed. “You believed Grandpa Mo’s story — didn’t you?” I said.

He nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think he was kidding, Kenny. I think the story was true.”

I knew Alec believed in all kinds of monsters and ghosts and paranormal stuff. He says there wouldn’t be so many stories about vampires and zombies and other weird creatures if they didn’t really exist.

I think that’s kind of dumb. But he’s my only friend in this new town, and he’s a good guy. So I keep myself from telling him that believing in ghosts and vampires is like believing in the Tooth Fairy.

“Grandpa Mo is always telling zombie stories,” I said. “He likes to make them up. He says sometimes he dreams them. But I don’t think —”

Tricia bumped me with her knees as she jumped off the couch. She crossed to the living room window. “I saw a big truck outside,” she said.

She pulled the curtain aside. “Hey, check it out. It’s a moving van. People are moving into the house next door.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh. Wait,” she said, peering out the window. “Oh, wow. Oh, wow. They’re not people — they’re … monsters!”

“Huh?” I jumped to my feet.

Alec grabbed my arm and used me to pull himself up. We both went stumbling to the window.

Tricia stepped back and laughed. “You two idiots will believe anything.”

I felt my face grow hot. I was embarrassed. How could I fall for her stupid joke?

All this zombie talk was messing with my mind.

I stepped up beside Tricia and Alec. They had pushed the curtain aside and were staring over at the next house. I bumped Tricia out of the way. “I owe you one,” I said.

Movers in gray uniforms were lowering furniture and big cartons off the back of a yellow-and-red van parked in the neighbors’ driveway. We watched a long blue couch come off the truck. Two big men with shaved heads and tattoos around their necks struggled to balance it between them.

“I wonder who your new neighbors will be,” Alec said.

“I hope there’s a girl my age,” Tricia said. “It’s so hard to meet friends when you move to a new school so far away from home. Everyone already knows everyone.”

“Hey, that’s why we’re having the Halloween party,” I said. “To meet new kids?”

Tricia turned to me. “Yeah. What about the party? You two said you’d help me plan it. So, let’s hear it. Where are the plans?”

“I think it should be a zombie party,” Alec said. “Everyone comes dressed as a zombie.”

Tricia rolled her eyes. “Of course you do,” she said sarcastically. “Can we forget you said that and talk seriously about this party? Halloween is almost here, you know.”

“Well, this is the perfect place for a spooky Halloween party,” I said. I glanced around at the gray walls, the heavy, old furniture, the ragged, stained carpet. “It won’t be hard to make it look like a haunted house.”

Next door, the movers were carrying a long bookshelf into the house. It was a cool October day, but they were red-faced and sweating.

“Maybe we should have the party in the basement,” Tricia said. “You know. Make it really scary.”

“Awesome,” I said. “We’ll keep the lights off. Maybe only have candles. And hang a lot of cobwebs and creepy stuff from the ceiling.”

“Nice,” Alec chimed in. “But I still think everyone should come as zombies. You could have prizes. Like, Most Disgusting Face, or Best Dried Blood, or Most Undead Looking.”

“Maybe,” Tricia said. “Let’s think about it.”

I could see she was starting to warm up to the idea. “Maybe I could be a zombie bride,” she said. “You know. Wear a long white dress, all stained and ripped. Maybe a skeleton mask under my veil …”

“Sweet,” Alec said. “Hey, where are your neighbors? Are they in the house? I haven’t seen anyone over there. Just the movers.”

We watched the guys carry stacks of cartons off the moving van.

“Maybe they’re coming later,” I said.

Tricia stepped back from the window. “This is getting kind of boring,” she said.

“Wait. Look —” I cried. I squinted to focus my eyes on the back of the truck. “Look what they’re carrying into the house.”

Tricia pushed back between Alec and me. “Oh, wow,” she murmured.

We watched them carefully lower a dark wooden coffin to the driveway.

“I … don’t believe it,” I murmured.

We didn’t move. We watched the men go back into the truck. After a few seconds, they slid another coffin out. And then a third.

Three coffins going into the house next door.

I

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