Free The Zombie Next Door by Nadia Higgins

CHAPTER 1
THE ZOMBIE NEXT DOOR
    Tap, tap, tap. Scratch. Tap. Scritch. Tap.
    Sigh. Leo stopped typing for a minute and smiled to himself. He looked across the kitchen table at his friend Chad. This was one of Leo’s favorite ways to spend an afternoon—him on his laptop, Chad with his sketchbook. Two different artists, one awesome subject: zombies.
    “What do you think?” Chad tipped back his chair and held out his page for Leo to see. It showed his latest T-shirt idea. “Do you think it will sell?” Chad was in charge of the merchandise section of Leo’s Zombie Zappers Web site, the one Leo was just updating.
    Leo leaned in closer. The sketch showed a zombie handing a pie plate to another zombie. On the pie plate was a chopped-off hand, oozing blood at the wrist. “Welcome to the Neighborhood,” read the text.
    “That’s pretty good,” Leo said. “But what if the hand was coming out of an actual pie?”
    “Oh, that’s good.” Chad’s tongue poked out of the side of his mouth as he scrubbed the page with his eraser.
    “Want to hear what I’ve got?” Leo didn’t even look up to see Chad’s nod before he began reading:
    Z-News Update, October 12
Today’s Topic: The Zombie Next Door
ZombieZapper #1 here coming at you with an important announcement. Is your next-door neighbor a zombie? Mine is! Mr. Smith, aka Mr. Squish, is less than ten days away from eating my brains. That’s according to my most recent estimates. You thought your neighbor was creepy? Can you top this?
Zombie Clue #1: Yes, he really does go squish with every step. Dead flesh squishing inside sneaker. Definitely.
Clue #2: Gray skin, gray fingernails, gray hair, GRAY EYEBALLS.
Clue #3: Is a chunk of his face missing?
Clue #4: This dude never goes anywhere. All he does is walk around his weird yard/mini-farm, staring at the ground. One time I saw him lying on the ground smelling the grass. TRUTH.
Clue #5: Buckle up, zombie geeks, because this next clue is 100 percent proof positive. Mr. Squish doesn’t just walk around his yard doing nothing. He plays the violin. The worst, squeakiest violin ever. Way worse than my stepsister, Shelly. (No offense, Shell.) It’s seriously cover-your-ears-and-curl-up-in-a-ball bad. He’s been doing this for years. AND HE NEVER GETS BETTER. Why? Because he’s undead. Obviously!

    That night, Leo couldn’t sleep. He was too hot. His pajamas were too itchy. He’d fall asleep and then wake up wondering where he was.
    Finally, Leo sat up and rubbed his eyes. He reached for his laptop. Maybe his post on Zombie Zappers had gotten some comments. Leo pressed the button and the screen’s green glare made him feel normal again. He scrolled down. Thirty comments!
    “ZZ #1,” Leo began reading, “What are you still doing living next door to Mr. Squish? Don’t the words sitting duck mean anything to you? Grab your survival kit and—”
    WHOOOO-HOOOOOO!
    What the heck was that? It sounded like it was coming from outside.
    YA-YA-YA-YAAAAAA!
    It was somebody—some people—yelling. It was coming from next door. Leo pushed the curtains aside and looked out his window. Flashlights were crisscrossing everywhere in Mr. Squish’s yard. And dark figures were running—two, three. No, at least four.
    Leo opened the window. He heard feet pounding on the dry grass. Glass shattering. A crash. Then, Splat! Splat, splat, splat! And the knocking sound of someone shaking a can of spray paint. Closer to his yard was a flash of something white. It unraveled, growing longer, loopier, like streamers at a party.
    Then all the lights were on in Mr. Squish’s big old house at once. The old man was standing on his porch in a flapping bathrobe. He was shaking a fist over his head.
    Splat, splat, splat!
    All the dark figures slid into a car. Doors slammed. The engine revved. With a squeal, the car was gone in a haze of smoke.
    Leo leaned against the window. What should he do? Should he go over there? Should he wake up his parents?