Free Zombie Dog by Clare Hutton

the stick and it held on as she tried to jerk it away. For a nightmarish moment, it was almost like playing a game of tug-of-war with Bear, except that the Chihuahua’s eerie green eyes were fixed steadily on her with what seemed to be a cold anger.
    Pulling hard, Becky managed to yank the stick from the Chihuahua’s mouth. A slow trickle of whatseemed to be black blood ran from the creature’s lip as it crouched down, ready to leap at her. Panicking, Becky flung the stick at it.
    She missed. The zombie Chihuahua turned its head to watch the stick fly past. But then, very slowly, without looking at her again, it turned and ambled after it.
    Becky leaped to her feet and ran straight to her house. She fumbled at the doorknob for a minute, her hands sweaty and scraped, then made it inside and slammed the door behind her.
    Did it … chase the stick? she thought disbelievingly, and gave a half snort of amazed laughter. I guess even a zombie dog is still a dog….
    The sheer craziness of that thought, of the whole situation, hit her, and she closed her eyes for a moment, her head pounding.
    â€œBecky?” her mom called from upstairs. “Are you okay? I thought I heard you yell.”
    Becky drew in a breath, her mind whirling. Should she tell her mom what had happened? Would her mom believe her? She couldn’t imagine the conversation. “I’m fine, Mom,” she called back. “I thought I saw something in the bushes, that’s all.”
    â€œOkay,” her mom said. “Don’t forget to lock up.”
    Becky locked the door and then went to one of the front windows. Cautiously, she pulled the curtain aside and looked out. The porch and front steps were empty, but beyond the small circle made by the porch light, the yard was dark.
    Becky wondered if the zombie dog was still out there, watching the house. Waiting.

There was no way, of course, that her parents would ever believe Becky had seen a zombie dog in the driveway the night before. She’d been worrying about how to warn her family, though: She had to let them know there was something out there to be scared of.
    All the time she was letting Bear out and then feeding him and filling his water dish, Becky thought about what to say. Bear, anxious, padded around after her, his tail drooping. She wondered if he was being affected by her mood, or if he was scared of the zombie dog, too. When she sat down at the breakfast table, he collapsed at her feet, resting his head on top of her shoe, instead of begging for bacon as usual.
    â€œUh …” She cleared her throat so that her mom and dad and Jake all looked up. “Last night, I saw something outside. There was this weird little dog, and it sort of tried to bite me. I think maybe it was sick.”
    Her parents reacted the way she’d hoped they would. Her mom promised to call animal control and scolded Becky for not telling her the night before. Her dad made Jake promise to stay inside after school and told everyone not to let Bear wander around loose.
    â€œMaybe Bear’s been acting so strange because he knew about the stray dog,” Becky suggested hopefully.
    Her parents exchanged a glance, and her father put down his fork. “We’ve never said Bear wasn’t a good dog, honey,” he said. “But his behavior needs to improve, and your mom and I will have to see that you’re working toward that.”
    Becky bit her lip and stared down at her plate. There was plenty of breakfast left, but she wasn’t hungry anymore. She remembered what her dad had said out in the backyard the other day. If she couldn’t keep him under control, her parents would get rid of Bear.
    As if he could hear her thoughts, Bear stirred and whimpered at her feet. Poor Bear. The zombie was making him a nervous wreck, and he was getting blamed for stuff — like the destruction of the lawn — that wasn’t even his fault. Becky sat up straighter