Free Memoirs of a Neurotic Zombie by Jeff Norton

my Radio City Music Hall and I thought that at least biscuit-based construction was one activity I was built for.
    ‘Ahoy, campers,’ said Growl, calling us to attention. ‘We are very honoured to have the owner of the camp, Mrs Lebkuchen, with us today to welcome you all to Camp Nowannakidda.’
    He started clapping and an old woman, hunchedover with a cane and wearing a black shawl pulled up over her hair, stepped through the kitchen door.
    ‘My dear, dear children,’ she said in a foreign accent I couldn’t quite place. ‘This camp has been in my family for many years. And we have welcomed thousands and thousands of children, like yourselves, through our gates to have a once in a lifetime experience.’
    She spoke slowly and sounded much older than she looked. I wasn’t sure she was even human. My first instinct was vampire, and I looked over to Corina and mouthed, ‘Your kind?’
    She shook her head, as if to say I’m not like her . But there was something unreal about Mrs Lebkuchen. If not vampire, maybe she was a zombie? But whilst her skin was certainly old and crinkly, it didn’t look decayed.
    Her accent was definitely not American. She sounded a bit like the European or Russian villains in the NinjaMan movies, but not Spanish or Latin American, so I ruled out chupacabra.
    ‘I was not so lucky as a young girl,’ she continued in slow, stuttering speech. ‘I grew up very poor in Bavaria, and we didn’t have such things as summer camp. But I believe children should have fun before they—’
    ‘Go back to school in the fall,’ added Growl, helping her along.
    ‘And before you do, I should like to meet each of you,’ she said, lowering the shawl off her head and laying it on her hunched shoulders. Mrs Lebkuchen had wiry black hair with coils of white running through it.
    Growl led her down the opposite line of tables and she stopped and said hello to each eager competitor. As she examined each creation, I tried to see if I had any real competition. I spotted her chatting to Jake, and she seemed to really like the look of his NinjaCave because she reached out and pinched his chubby cheek. ‘Just the way I like it,’ I heard her say across the room.
    His opus was a near-perfect replica of NinjaMan’s secret HQ, and while I didn’t take Mrs Lebkuchen for a comic-book fan, she certainly had an eye for art.
    Finally, she made her way over to our tables.
    ‘You’re too skinny and pale,’ said the old woman, turning to Corina. ‘In my youth, food was scarce and we nearly starved, but here I put out so much food for you children. A feast every night like I never had.’
    ‘I’m a vegan,’ Corina said.
    ‘What does that mean?’
    ‘I don’t eat anything that comes from an animal.’
    Suddenly, Mrs Lebkuchen slapped her cane on the table. The towers of Transylvania trembled but didn’t topple. ‘But animals are here to be eaten.’
    ‘I don’t see it that way,’ replied Corina, calmly.
    ‘It is the only way!’ cried the camp owner. ‘Hunger must be sated.’
    ‘Um,’ began Growl, ‘perhaps we should—’
    ‘I try to control my hunger,’ Corina added. ‘I try really hard and it isn’t easy, believe me, but I think I’m a better … person because of it.’
    The old woman was shaking. ‘Better than me ?’
    Growl escorted the incensed old woman to my creation. She took one look at me and her dark eyes widened.
    ‘Another vegan?’ she asked.
    ‘Definitely not,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t live without meatballs.’
    ‘Then why so thin? And this colour on your face, it’s not natural is it?’
    She stared intently at me, looking me up and down the way Mom might pick out a fish at the market.
    ‘So this is Radio City Music Hall,’ I said, trying to shift the subject away from my irreversible skin condition. ‘I’ve always wanted to perform there but—’
    ‘So you’re a singer?’ she asked. ‘Sing an old lady a song?’
    ‘NO!’ cried Corina and Nesto to my