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  THE ZOMBIE

  IN

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  THE ZOMBIE

  IN

  THE BASEMENT

  ANTHONY GIANGREGORIO

  THE ZOMBIE IN THE BASEMENT

  Copyright © 2009 by Anthony Giangregorio

  ISBN Softcover ISBN 13: 978-1-935458-31-9

  ISBN 10: 1-935458-31-0

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book was printed in the United States of America.

  For more info on obtaining additional copies of this book, contact:

  www.livingdeadpress.com

  Visit the author’s website at www.undeadpress.com

  Illustrations by Andrew Dawe-Collins

  CHAPTER 1

  IT WAS LATE afternoon in the middle of the cul-de-sac in Melrose, Massachusetts, a small town set in the heart of New England. It was a place where almost everyone knew everyone else and the Main Street still had a local hardware store, a bakery and a garage with just one mechanic.

  It was a place Ricky Meyers called home.

  Though only ten, Ricky was wise beyond his years. He knew all about the history of his town and had done more homework and extra credit projects in school about the town than any other kid.

  Yes, sir, he loved his town and was proud to be a part of it.

  “Car!” someone yelled and everyone got out of the street as Mrs. Miller drove by. She waved to the boys and her son, Eric, then pulled into her driveway a few houses down. All the kids ran back into the street to continue their game of stickball.

  Ricky left the sidewalk and stepped out into the street, waiting for the ball to come to him. But after five minutes later and still no ball, he got bored and drifted off into a daydream.

  “Hey, Ricky, hey stupid, wake up! Jimmy’s gonna hit the ball!” a voice cried out, waking Ricky from his stupor. He snapped awake immediately, looking around himself. He was standing at the edge of the cul-de-sac, right where the circle met the rest of the street that led to Mount Vernon Street, which then led to Main Street.

  He was in the outfield, or what you called an outfield when you were playing stickball in the street. His friend Jimmy was at bat and Eric, his best friend, was the pitcher. All around him, the rest of the neighborhood kids cheered and laughed. Eric wound up the pitch and threw it over the plate, or what they were using as home plate, which was the top of a metal garbage can.

  The ball flew straight and Jimmy lined up his shot, swinging for all he was worth.

  The stick connected with the ball and sent it flying into the air. Ricky watched as the ball sailed over his head and kept going. It bounced onto Mount Vernon Street and then onto the sidewalk, but it still kept going. After bouncing on the sidewalk, it jumped through the wrought iron fence lining the land of the house behind it. It rolled in the tall grass and came up a few feet from the house.

  But this wasn’t just any old house where the ball landed. This was the house that every neighborhood had. This was the house that had tall grass, overgrown shrubs, peeling paint on its facade and newspapers piled high on the porch.

  This was Melrose’s very own haunted house, or as close to one as you could get. This was the house no one went to on Halloween, and if you were selling candy for a school field trip, this was the house you bypassed.

  “Oh, great, Jimmy, you hit it into old man Rollin’s house,” Eric said in a frustrated voice.

  “Hey, don’t blame me for my awesome arm. I can’t help my own strength,” Jimmy replied as he rounded the bases, waving his arms in the air as he jogged in slow

  motion, like he was a famous baseball player.

  “All I know is if it goes in old man Rollin’s yard then it’s an automatic homerun.”

  “That’s because no one wants to get it if it goes in there,” another kid said as he watched Jimmy land on home plate again, his buddies patting his back.

  Eric was upset though. “But that’s my last ball. I guess that’s it for today, guys.”

  Jimmy shrugged. “That’s okay. I should go home, anyway. It’s almost time for dinner.” As if on cue, another voice rang out. It was one of the other kid’s mothers calling their son home for dinner. Some of the other kids scratched their heads and looked at one another. With no ball, stickball was over and everyone was tired and hungry. It was almost five o’clock, and after getting home from school, and going right out to play, stomachs were rumbling and homework had to be done. One after another the kids all floated away until it was only Jimmy, Eric and Ricky standing together in the middle of the wide street.

  The three boys picked up the makeshift bases and tossed them into the small shopping car
riage they used to transport their stuff.

  Eric looked to Jimmy and Ricky and he shook his head.

  “Well, guys, unless you have another ball in your pocket, that’s it for stickball forever,” Eric told them.

  “Why’s that?” Ricky asked. “Can’t you just bring another one tomorrow after school?”

  Eric shook his head no. “Nope, that’s my last one and my dad says he won’t buy me any more. He says I go through them too fast.”

  “Oh, great, so what then? No more stickball?” Jimmy asked.

  Ricky turned and looked back at the old house and bit his lip, thinking. Finally, as the other two talked about what they were going to do now, Ricky spoke up.

  “I have an idea, guys. What if I just go get the ball that went into old man Rollin’s yard?”

  “What? That’s crazy. No one goes in there,” Eric said. “One time I heard a kid went in there to get a Frisbee and he never came out. They still don’t know where he is. The police went and checked, but there was no sign of him.”

  Jimmy began laughing. “Oh, please, Eric, that is such a lie it’s crazy. That never happened.”

  “Did too,” Eric said.

  “Oh, yeah? Then when did this happen?”

  Eric looked taken aback and he tried to come up with an answer.

  “Uh, it was like ten years ago, or maybe fifteen. Yeah, fifteen years ago. You weren’t even born yet so you can’t check.”

  Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Okay, Eric, sure, if you say so.” Then Jimmy’s eyes glanced over Eric’s shoulder to see Ricky walking away from them.

  “Hey, where you goin’?” Jimmy called.

  “To go get that ball. That old man doesn’t scare me,” Ricky said.

  Eric and Jimmy both stared at one another, and then with a knowing smile, both boys turned and ran after Ricky.

  If Ricky was actually going to go into the yard of the meanest man on the block, then they wanted to be there to see it.

  CHAPTER 2

  RICKY CROSSED THE street and walked up to the peeling, rusting wrought iron fence. His stomach felt like it had a thousand butterflies all swirling around in there, each one trying to get out. He was scared. Really scared, but he wasn’t about to back down now. Behind him, Jimmy and Eric were chattering like two school girls, each surprised at what Ricky was going to do.

  No one went into the yard of old man Rollin, no one.

  Ricky placed his hands on two of the iron bars, feeling the roughness of the paint. Rust was on more than half the bars, leaving a red dust on the sidewalk below them. Weeds grew through every bar, and when you walked down the sidewalk, you had to walk near the curb

  or they would hit you. And when you had on shorts, the grass would make your bare legs itch.

  Ricky stared through the bars at the house, with its overgrown trees and peeling paint. At night the house was so spooky he wouldn’t even go this close, but now, in the daylight, it wasn’t so bad.

  He knew monsters didn’t like the daylight; they only came out at night.

  “So, what are you waitin’ for?” Jimmy asked from behind him. “Aren’t you gonna go get the ball?”

  “Don’t rush me, I’ll go,” Ricky said with a touch of nervousness to his voice.

  “He’s scared now and he’s gonna chicken out,” Eric said. “You just watch.”

  Ricky turned around to face Eric, his jaw set tight. “I will not! I said I was gonna go in there and I will. I…I’m just thinking of the best way in, is all.”

  Jimmy sneered. “What best way? Just climb over the fence and go get it.”

  Ricky turned back to stare at the yard. “You think he’s got a dog in there? He might.”

  Eric made a raspberry sound. “Oh, please. None of us have ever seen a dog in there. You’re fine, now either get goin’ or say you’re a chicken and we can all go home.”

  Ricky stared at Jimmy defiantly, but he knew his friend was right. Besides, if he backed down now it would be all over the school the next day that he’d chickened out. No, he had no choice now, he had to go in there and get the ball.

  “Eric, give me a hand up, will ya?” Ricky asked his friend who moved into position. Eric laced his fingers together so they made a step and Ricky placed his right foot in them. Eric lifted up and Ricky felt himself raised into the air. He used his hands to keep himself from falling and a second later his head was even with the top of the iron fence.

  “Come on, Ricky, you’re heavy, I can’t do this all day!” Eric shouted as he pushed up on Ricky’s foot.

  “Hold on, let me get over,” Ricky replied as he placed both hands on the fence and pushed himself up. The top of the wrought iron fence had small nubs, no more than an inch high, but as Ricky went over, his left, rear pants pocket caught on one of the nubs, and as he swung over and let gravity bring him down, the back of his pants ripped, the sound filling the air and causing both Eric and Jimmy to wince when they saw what was happening.

  Ricky didn’t know yet, as he was concentrating on landing on the ground, not wanting to go over the fence head first. As he landed, going to one knee, he stood up with a grin. He’d made it.

  It was then that he felt a chill on his backside and could feel the gentle breeze touching the skin of his left butt cheek.

  “Hey, did it just get colder?” Ricky asked.

  Both Jimmy and Eric began laughing, neither able to contain themselves. As they laughed, Ricky stared at them, thinking they were crazy, but then he felt another touch of a breeze and he reached back to feel the bare skin of his leg, just below the elastic band of his underwear.

  “Oh, great, I ripped my pants,” he said. “My mom is gonna kill me, these were school pants, I didn’t change when I got home today.”

  Jimmy and Eric were still laughing, finding the situation hilarious.

  Ricky, deciding he’d better go with it or they would only tease him more, smiled widely and said, “Hey, guys, there’s a bright side to ripping my pants.”

  “What’s that?” Eric asked between bouts of laughter.

  “Well, I was almost going to go commando today; glad I changed my mind.”

  Eric and Jimmy made a disgusted face and both stopped laughing.

  “Thank God you didn’t,” Jimmy told him. “The last thing I want to do is stare at your white butt.”

  “Same here,” Eric said, nodding his head vigorously.

  Jimmy pointed behind Ricky. “Now go get the ball so we can get outta here, I gotta go soon,” Jimmy said.

  Ricky nodded and turned around—ignoring his two friends tittering—and faced the old house. Now that he was in the actual yard, it didn’t look any more welcoming.

  A crow was in a tree to his right and it cawed at him, as if it was angry about something. Ricky wondered if its home was in the yard and now Ricky had invaded that home. He had images of a hundred crows coming out of the trees and attacking him, their sharp claws and beaks wanting to hurt him, but he shook the images away, knowing to think like that would only freak him out more than he already was.

  Swallowing the knot in his throat, he began walking deeper into the yard. The ball was in the tall grass somewhere. With luck he would find it in a minute or so and then he could get out of the yard. It would be like he never did it, and they would have their ball and he would be the hero of the school when word got out he’d had the courage to come into old man Rollin’s yard.

  With Eric and Jimmy still snickering behind him, Ricky began to look for the ball.

  CHAPTER 3

  RICKY WAVED THE pollen away from his face as he walked deeper into the overgrown weeds. With each step he took, he released the pollen from the small cocoons that resided on the ends of the weeds. Sneezing more than once, he tried to step more carefully.

  The grass went up to his knees in some places, others it was laying on its side, brought down by the weight of the upper stalks. Ricky kicked the grass with his sneaker, hoping to step on the ball. But he was having no luck. Much like a golfer whose g
olf ball has gone into the rough, the ball was nowhere to be found.

  “Any luck!” Jimmy called out.

  “No,” Ricky said. “But it’s got to be in here, just give me a few more minutes!”

  He continued searching and then his foot kicked something hard. Leaning over, he picked up a Frisbee.

  The faded yellow plastic said it had been here for a long time. Ricky turned and threw it towards the fence. But his aim was off and it hit the bars right where Eric’s head was.

  “Hey, cut it out!” Eric snapped as he wiped dirt off his face. There had been some dirt stuck to the Frisbee, and when it hit the iron bars, the dirt had flown off and hit Eric.

  “Sorry,” Ricky called out, not really that sorry. After all, he was the one digging through the weeds in search of Eric’s ball.

  The same crow cawed at him from a nearby tree and Ricky stopped hunting for the ball to look up at the bird. Small black, beady eyes stared back at him and he got the shivers. It was something about crows that had always freaked him out. They just looked so evil. He figured it was their color…all black and stuff. If they had been bright red or blue, he doubted they would look so malevolent.

  Clouds drifted by, blocking the sun, and casting the yard into shadows. Ricky swallowed deeply, the yard looking more imposing than before. Now everywhere he looked there were shadows where dark figures seemed to be waiting to reach out and grab him. He knew it was his imagination playing tricks on him, but he still couldn’t stop feeling this way.

  Outside the fence, Eric and Jimmy were quiet, the two boys also sensing the ominous shadows in the yard.

  “You okay?” Eric called to Ricky, who waved back with a wan smile. It was all for show, he was shaking inside, but he was trying his best to be brave. He knew if he took off running now, it would all be for nothing. He wouldn’t have the ball, his pants were ripped, and he would get teased for running away.