Zombie Dog

by Clare Hutton

  It was trash night, and when Becky wheeled out the recycling bin, a light, dismal rain was falling and thunder rumbled in the distance. Dragging the cans to the curb, Becky glanced up at the sky and then looked nervously around. Was the zombie causing this weather?

  Becky frowned, a thought niggling at the back of her mind. She remembered thunder crashing the week before as she pulled Bear into the house, and again, out of a sky that had been blue a second before, when Bear ran into the fence between their house and the house next door.

  It was almost like the zombie was angry with Bear.

  But why would it be? What could Bear have done to upset a zombie?

  As she dragged the can the rest of the way to the curb, Becky was thinking so hard that she was barely aware of how much stronger the rotting smell that had hung around all day was getting. When she reached the curb, though, it flooded her senses so much that she had to let go of the can to cough and cover her face with her hands. It was heavy and foul, even worse than it had been the night before.

  Suddenly, from the sidewalk beside her came a thick, wet-sounding snarl.

  A small animal was coming toward her slowly, its green eyes shining unnaturally in the glow from the streetlights. She realized that it was dragging its left hind leg behind it, moving painfully. Becky froze as the creature came closer to her, stepping into the light.

  Then she blinked in shock. It was a Chihuahua.

  But not a normal Chihuahua. As it came closer still, its flashing green eyes fixed on her, Becky saw that its fur was matted and full of dirt. One ear hung off at a funny angle, seeming to be attached only by a long strip of ragged flesh. It crept toward her, its small body vibrating with that same curiously wet snarl. The smell got even worse, and Becky gagged and stumbled backward.

  Becky was sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this was a zombie Chihuahua. She gasped a high gasp that was almost a scream and ran for the house. It’s real, she thought dizzily. There’s really a zombie!

  The rain was harder now, pattering down on her head and shoulders.

  It’s coming after me, she realized with a thrill of horror, looking back over her shoulder. Despite its limp, the strange little dog was moving fast, the distance between them shrinking. Its snarl was steady, without it seeming to have to pause for breath. The smell kept getting worse and worse, too, the closer the little dog got. Becky was panting and shaking, tears coming down her face, and the little dog was still snarling, its lips drawn back from its teeth, looking ready to bite.

  Her shoes were pounding hard up the driveway, and the lights of her house had never seemed more welcoming. She had almost reached the porch when she tripped over her own feet and plummeted forward, landing hard, the breath knocked out of her, her hands scraping against the wet concrete.

  Ignoring the stinging in her palms, Becky flipped over to look behind her through the rain, crawling crablike on her back to get her feet under herself again. Her clothes were wet and clung to her clammily.

  The zombie dog was still coming at her. Now that she was on the ground, it had slowed down again and was pacing toward her with that slow limping stride, its eyes flashing greenly, the thick snarl getting louder and louder. It snapped its sharp teeth at her.

  I can’t let it bite me! Becky thought desperately. She didn’t want to be a zombie!

  Something rattled in the dog’s throat, and she felt its cold breath on her leg. Becky screamed, a loud, drawn-out scream, and scrabbled desperately at the muddy ground with her hands, pulling herself away. She couldn’t get up, not fast enough.

  There was something hard under her hand and she grabbed it and thrust it toward the dog. It was a stick, she realized.

  The Chihuahua’s teeth fastened on 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 what seemed 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.

  “Becky?” 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.”

  “Okay,” 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.

  “Uh …” 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.

  “Maybe 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 as she filled with new resolve: She would get rid of the zombie, no matter what. Not only was that the best way to protect everyone, it might be the only way to save Bear.

  “A Chihuahua?” Nate asked her in study hall, stifling his laugh with a fist as Mrs. DaCosta looked at him suspiciously. “Are you serious?”

  “It’s not funny,” Becky said.

  “Okay, but it’s not the most threatening zombie animal I can imagine,” he said, still grinning.

  “Nate!” Becky said sharply. Mrs. DaCosta looked up aga
in, and Becky quickly busied herself with her notebook and pen, pretending to work on her social studies essay. She glanced over at Charlotte sitting at another table with Lila and lowered her voice. “Did you know little dogs are more likely to bite than big dogs?” she whispered quietly with her eyes still on her paper. “I looked it up. Dachshunds are the breed of dog that bites the most often, followed by Chihuahuas. If a zombie’s bite turns you into a zombie, it doesn’t matter how big the dog is. Everyone on our street is in danger.”

  Nate didn’t say anything for a moment, and, looking up from her notebook, Becky saw that his face was serious now.

  “Okay,” he said, nodding. “You’re right. But there has to be a reason this dog has shown up only now. I’ve lived on our street all my life, and this has never happened before. We need to figure out why the zombie is here, and what we have to do to stop it. And we need to do it now.”

  They decided that the best way to find out what the zombie dog was doing there was to find out more about the McNallys. Nate’s parents had lived on Tulip Street for years and years, since way before Nate was born. So they headed to Nate’s house after school.

  Becky didn’t want to leave Bear alone in the backyard, where the zombie dog might get him, or in the house, where he might misbehave in front of her mother. So she snapped his leash on and brought him with them.

  “Bear’s not acting normal, is he?” Nate said with a worried look at the dog. Bear usually pulled the leash every which way so that he could sniff everything in his path and tangled it in front of Becky’s feet. Now, though, he was sticking close by her side, his head down and his tail tucked nervously between his legs.

  “He’s not,” Becky said, and stroked Bear’s head. “That’s another reason we need to figure out how to get rid of the zombie.”

  Nate’s house was warm and sunny. His mom greeted Becky kindly and made a big fuss over Bear, petting him and saying how gorgeous he was. She also knew all about the McNallys.

  “They were still living here when Nate’s dad and I first moved in,” she said. “The house was as nice as the other houses on this street then, and they always used to walk around the neighborhood with their two little dogs. Dr. McNally was really quiet, but Mrs. McNally loved to talk, and she was crazy about those dogs.”

  Becky and Nate snuck a glance at each other.

  “What kind of dogs did they have?” Becky asked, trying to sound casual.

  “Chihuahuas, I think,” Nate’s mom said. “Little yappy ones.” Becky felt a chill down her spine.

  Nate’s mom rubbed Bear’s ears, and he leaned against her leg happily. “I like big dogs like you better,” she told him.

  “What happened to the McNallys?” Nate asked.

  His mom gave him a funny look. “Why are you so interested in Dr. and Mrs. McNally all of a sudden?” she asked. “This was all before you were born, and you’ve never wanted to know about them before.”

  Don’t tell her about the zombie, Becky willed. Nate’s mom was grinning at him as if she suspected he was up to something, and Nate didn’t seem like he’d be a very good liar. But if he mentioned the zombie dog, his mom was just going to think they were crazy.

  Nate shrugged. “Now that Becky lives next door to the McNally house, it’s freaking her out,” he told his mom. “Everybody tells ghost stories about it.”

  “Oh!” Nate’s mom patted Becky’s arm sympathetically. “I guess the house does look a little spooky now,” she said. “But don’t worry, there’s nothing mysterious about it. Dr. McNally got sick and died in the hospital, and Mrs. McNally moved to that assisted living center over by the mall, Vantage Place. I’m sure she can’t keep dogs over there, but those little Chihuahuas must have passed on a while back.”

  Finally, Becky thought, nudging Nate hard in the side. Real evidence that connects the McNallys with the Chihuahua! I bet Mrs. McNally will be able to tell us exactly what’s going on.

  Before Becky left Nate’s, they made plans to head over to Vantage Place the next afternoon to visit Mrs. McNally. It would be better to talk to her face-to-face, they decided, than to call.

  “We’ll get visual cues from her,” Nate said wisely. “Even if she doesn’t tell us anything, we’ll pick up more if we can see her reaction to our questions.”

  “And,” Becky added, “if we don’t call first, she can’t tell us not to come over.”

  At home, Becky arranged for Jake to walk Bear after school the next day and told her mom that she was going to the assisted living center for a school assignment. She thought it best not to bring up the McNally house to her parents in this case.

  The next afternoon, Becky and Nate caught a bus from a stop near the school.

  They had to sign in at a security desk by the front door of Vantage Place. But no one asked if they had permission to visit or gave them any problem about telling them where Mrs. McNally’s room was. Becky had been nervous about going and had pictured a building full of old people lying in hospital rooms, but instead the retirement home seemed very active and cheerful. They walked through a small library area, past a sitting room where a group was working on sewing projects, and caught the elevator next to a room full of exercise equipment.

  Mrs. McNally lived on the fourth floor. When they got off the elevator, Becky and Nate found themselves in a long, carpeted hallway that ran past apartment doors.

  Many of the doors had little framed pictures on them: old wedding photos; big happy groups at family gatherings; pictures of smiling children. Apartment 414, Mrs. McNally’s home, was a little different.

  “Yikes,” said Nate, staring at the door and pushing his long hair out of his eyes to get a better look. “I guess this is the place, all right.”

  The picture on Mrs. McNally’s door was huge — a shiny, laminated poster stretching almost the whole length of the door. On it, two brown and white Chihuahuas, larger than life-size, sat staring out at them, their mouths open to pant, their ears perked, their eyes bright, and their fur glossy. One wore a red collar, the other a blue. A red ball sat at the feet of one, a blue ball at the feet of the other.

  They were cute dogs, even though their oversize appearance was slightly alarming, Becky thought. At least, she would have thought so — if she wasn’t a hundred percent sure that the dog on the left, the one in a blue collar, was now the frightening and bedraggled zombie dog that had attacked her just a couple of nights before.

  Mrs. McNally turned out to be a small, straight-backed old lady with neat white hair. When she opened the door, Becky launched into the story they’d agreed on.

  “Hi,” she said. “We go to Lincoln Middle School, and we’re doing a report on local history based on, um, houses in the area? We live on Tulip Street, I live next door to your old house, and we wanted to ask you about it?”

  Mrs. McNally frowned at them thoughtfully and hesitated, then opened the door more widely. “I suppose you should come in, then,” she said.

  The apartment was small but bright and clean. It was also completely filled with dog stuff. Chihuahua stuff. On the walls there were china plates with paintings of Chihuahuas chasing balls or rolling over to have their tummies scratched. Little Chihuahua figurines sat and lay and posed on the bookshelves around the room. There was a big cross-stitch picture of a Chihuahua with a blue bow above the sofa.

  As Nate rounded the corner of the sofa ahead of Becky to take a seat, he came to a dead halt.

  “What?” Becky asked. She followed his horrified gaze and then took a quick step backward.

  “That’s my baby ChiChi,” Mrs. McNally told them. “We had to leave her sister, Mimi, behind on Tulip Street, but ChiChi outlived her for quite a few years and, by the time she died, I was able to bring her here.”

  “Oh,” Nate murmured politely, his face a little pale. “That’s nice.” Becky’s mouth was too dry to comment. She had wanted to ask more about the dogs — especially Mimi — but was so shocked that she couldn’t think of anything to say.

  ChiCh
i had been preserved in a standing pose, her tail held out stiffly behind her and one paw raised as if she was about to step forward. Her eyes were made of glass. Becky shuddered.

  Mrs. McNally settled them on the couch with glasses of water. Becky sipped at hers and tried determinedly not to look at ChiChi.

  “So,” Mrs. McNally said, looking at each of them with sharp blue eyes. “You’re interested in the history of my house on Tulip Street.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Nate said awkwardly, putting down his water glass. “Um, like we said, we’re doing local history projects at school, and we’re supposed to pick a local site to write about.”

  “Hmm.” She nodded. “And what made you choose my house in particular?”

  Becky and Nate exchanged a glance. The problem was that the McNally house was, except for all the rumors about supernatural horrors, pretty much just like all the other pleasant, deep-porched houses on their street.

  “We live on Tulip Street,” Becky said quickly, “and we always wondered about your house, because it’s the only one that no one lives in.”

  Mrs. McNally’s lips thinned slightly. “No one lives there because I own it, and I choose not to rent it out,” she said. “However, the history of my family’s house is similar to that of the other houses on the street. It was built in 1949, and the first owners were the Loomises, a serviceman who had been in World War Two and his wife and children.” She paused and looked at them sternly over her glasses. “Shouldn’t you two be taking notes?”

  Becky felt her cheeks flush as she dug around in her backpack for a notebook and pencil. Nate, note-bookless, looked at her helplessly, and she said, “I’ll take notes, Nate. Um, you can take the lead with the interview.”

  “Okay,” Nate said. “So, um, the Lewises were the first owners?”

  “The Loomis family,” Mrs. McNally said. “L-O-O-M-I-S.”

  Becky scribbled notes as Mrs. McNally filled them in on the history of the house. The problem was, it wasn’t an especially interesting history. Mrs. McNally was right: There was nothing unusual about the history of the house, at least as she told it to them. Two families had lived there before the McNallys bought it when they were first married, and they had lived there until after Dr. McNally’s death fifteen years before. That was when Mrs. McNally had moved to her apartment.