1 1st Night
A week before Halloween, the Calculus teacher took a break to attend a wedding and a substitute teacher arrived. In their small town, it was rare for there to be enough teachers around to cover the normal day-to-day, never mind an extra one. It was first period, and the unusual news generated almost enough excitement to wake up the teenagers from their routine early morning stupor. By the time the Principal walked into the classroom, only one third of the students were nodding off, instead of the usual one half. Those who weren't nodding off, were exchanging complaints about how having a substitute meant that they couldn't take a break along with their teacher.
The school and their pupils were not known for their academic excellence, to say the least. Many of the students barely graduated high school, and most would immediately take a job instead of applying to college. The town was self-sufficient enough that folks felt comfortable sticking around, often following their parents' footsteps into service jobs. One might even say that it was an ideal situation. Instead of the hustle of the modern drive, where a person needed two degrees and three connections to land a job that could barely make ends meet, everyone in the town who wanted a job could get one. There was no incentive to go to college or to strive for more when everything they wanted was already accessible.
The school administration of course felt differently, but there wasn't much that they could do. They didn't have enough resources to begin with, and they didn't have a reputation or influence they could bank on to appeal for more resources. They fought tooth and nail for every little bit they could, and then watched it slip away.
Therefore, when the Principal walked in leading the young woman behind him, his face was glowing with happiness. He stepped up to the teacher's desk and rapped smartly on the wood to gain the students' attention. When the last whispers finally died down, he straightened his suit jacket while clearly his throat. This would be monumental. This could move the school.
"Everyone," he said, "this is Ms. Rogers. She will be your substitute starting today for the next week. I hope that everyone will give a warm welcome." He paused importantly, and waited for the scattering of "hello's" before continuing. "Ms. Rogers is a PhD student from the Institute of Guidance and Wellbeing. This is an exclusive school for only the best and brightest! With our help, she will be completing her thesis on 'Guiding our Young into Proper Study Habits in the Era of Technological Distraction'. I expect that each and every one of you will work hard while she is with us, and show her what we can accomplish! This is not only an opportunity for Ms. Rogers, but for you as well. She comes highly recommended and I can only imagine what you will be able to learn from her. Now, please give your full attention to Ms. Rogers. I expect you to now only word hard, but to ALSO BE ON YOUR BEST BEHAVIOR."
All thirty eyes shifted from the Principal to the woman standing beside him. She was clad in gray slacks that were neatly pressed, a white button up, a bright red sweater, and brown leather brogues that were carefully polished. Her light brown hair was tied in a ponytail, and she had only a dash of lipstick. She appeared both serious and professional, and wholly unremarkable. Her face was oval, with distinct smile lines at the corners of her lips even when she was not smiling, as was currently the case. There were slight hints of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, as was only appropriate for a young woman who participated in a prestigious university program that stole hours of sleep and mental wellbeing.
And then she smiled, and a shiver ran down the spine of every teenager in the classroom. It was difficult to say what about her caused the reaction. Perhaps once employed, the smile lines were too fierce. The corners of her eyes deepened. The evenly white teeth glinted between her full lips. Or as she committed the deed, she had tilted her head 10 degrees to the left, away from the Principal as if to invite the students to join her in a private joke.
But then she straightened her head, and it seemed like a momentary hallucination. Everyone exhaled and they decided not to mention it to their friends, because it would sound ridiculous. She looked so friendly. Saying otherwise would be petty.
"As your Principal said in his generous introduction, my name is Ms. Rogers. I will be here with you for the next seven days, and I look forward to getting to know each and every one of you. It may sound boring to you helping me with my thesis, but I hope that we have a lot of fun! I promise that during this week you will have an experience you will never forget, and when we part you will have developed skills that will help you in the future. You may think math will be useless after high school, but together I hope we find how much joy it can give you no matter where you end up."
"Wonderful!" The Principal said. "I, for one, am looking forward to seeing the results. Now, I'll leave you to it. Work hard!" And he left.
They watched each other, the group of teenagers and the adult, sizing up each other as they decided on their next course of action. The teenagers were wondering if they could go back to sleep. As for what Ms. Rogers was thinking, it was impossible to know based on her blandly smiling face.
She thumped her dark brown briefcase onto the desk.
"As the Principal said, I'm writing a research thesis. I'm studying how to help students find enjoyment in their studies. I need one final group of samples, and then I'll be able to finish writing it up. I hope that you will all help me." She flipped the latches, opening it towards her so that the students could not see the interior. "First things first – consent forms! You may have heard about this in your science classes. Every research study that involves subjects requires that the subjects sign consent forms, saying that they agree to participate."
One student raised her hand.
Ms. Rogers paused over her case. "Yes?"
"What will we be doing?" The student asked.
"Well, that will be the easy part." She replied cheerfully. "All you have to do is your homework. Every day I will give you your usual math homework, and you will complete it and bring it in for grading. If you do your homework, then nothing happens. If you don't do your homework, then the fun starts!"
Ms. Rogers took out a stack of papers and a pencil case. As she shuffled the papers, the students exchanged glances.
"Um, Ms. Rogers?"
"Yes?"
"What's the 'fun'?"
Ms. Rogers laughed lightly. "That's a surprise. Don't worry – it won't be detention or extra homework. It won't even be reflected in your grades. It's just a little incentive to help you enjoy your work." She placed the papers on the desk on the edge closer to the students, and opened the pencil case before placing it next to the papers. "Now, if there are no more questions, please come to the front of the room when I call your name. That way, we can do both the consent forms and attendance at the same time."
With a blue pen in hand, she sat down behind the desk and took out the attendance form.
"Annie." A short girl with curly brown hair held back with blue barrettes.
"Asami." A tall girl wearing a loud orange shirt and red stud earrings.
"Bill." A quiet boy wearing a pink shirt who stared at the floor as he walked up.
"Carrie." A cheerful girl with bright blue eyes who bounced over.
"Chucky." A stocky boy with a crewcut and worn blue jeans.
"Damien." A dark-haired boy with a leather watch on his left wrist.
"Freddy." A round faced boy who almost knocked the whole pile over.
"Jack." A careful boy who slowly navigated between the desks in his New Balance runners.
"Jason." A lanky boy whose right arm was in a cast that had been drawn on by happy amateurs.
"Margaret." A chubby-cheeked girl wearing a purple blouse and black boots.
"Michael." A stony-faced boy who sent Ms. Rogers a suspicious glance as he took the paper.
"Norman." A shy boy who stumbled as he stood and flushed when his classmates laughed.
"Pamela." A sharp girl with deep set hazel eyes wearing a forest green cardigan.
"Samara." A long-haired girl who stopped at the desk and waited until Ms. Rogers returned her gaze before returning to her seat.
"And Tiffany." A smiling girl with braided hair whose right eye twitched periodically.
"Only fifteen," Ms. Rogers murmured as she cast a glance over the names. "More of course would have been better, but this can still work." She tapped the desk. "Now then. If you will read the consent form, then sign and date it at the bottom. After which… let's see, let's have Michael collect and return them."
For a few minutes there was silence as the students followed her instructions.
One might wonder if these teenagers were strangely obedient. Perhaps this town was the one town that had managed to raise quiet teenagers who disliked noise, pranks, and back talk.
The answer would be no. The normal Calculus teacher would have had a heart attack of jealousy if he could have seen the room. The students he was familiar with were noisy, disobedient little punks who didn't even pretend to pay attention during class. In fact, he hadn't originally planned on going to his distant relative's wedding, but when he was told that he would get paid leave and another teacher would come in for educational improvement, he couldn't leave fast enough. He wasn't too hopeful, but as he packed his bags, he couldn't help but imagine the new and improved class he would see when he returned.
The consent form was short and to the point. It stated that the participant understood that they would be asked to complete their math homework each day, and that if they had not completed it by midnight, they agreed to participate in the educational guidance provided by the researcher. The study would take place over seven days and on the final day they would take an exam based on the material taught. The subjects consented for the data collected during the study to be used for the final report.
Glancing at Ms. Rogers, a few of the students whispered amongst themselves. Although the form seemed vague, they hesitated to question it. The Principal had agreed to the study, and perhaps it was the way that Ms. Rogers narrowed her eyes every time someone looked at her, but it didn't seem like she would be too… happy about having to answer questions. It seemed harmless enough, anyway. Seven days wasn't that long, and this so-called "educational guidance" was probably just an extra study hall. They weren't sure how a study hall could be considered fun, but for someone who went to all the effort of earning a PhD, maybe that was their standard. A pretty low standard, but that's adults for you.
"Now, class. We still have actual math to learn, so sign the forms and let's get a move on." Ms. Rogers said.
Pamela was the first to pick up her pen. One after the other, the rest of the class followed suit. Michael was the last. He stared at Ms. Rogers, his mouth opening slightly. Before he could say anything, Ms. Rogers coughed. He blinked, confused, then mechanically picked up his pen and signed as well.
"Excellent. Michael, please collect the forms."
"Ms. Rogers? Could I have a different form?" Carrie raised her hand. "I somehow got blood on it."
"Wait. I did too."
"Me too!"
"What's going on?"
"Is there something wrong with these pens?"
"I didn't even feel it…"
"Does anyone have a Band Aid?"
"This is messed up."
"Oh god, I hate blood. I'm going to faint."
"It won't come off!"
"Hey, is it glowing?"
Each form had a spot of blood at the end of the signatures. As the students watched, the blood pulsed several times a darker red and then returned to normal.
"What is this? Are you the devil?" Chucky joked.
"What a thing to say!" Ms. Rogers said. "For lack of a better term, I'm a witch."
"WHAT?!" A chorus of voices rose along with the students from their seats. Those closer to the door stumbled over their chairs in their haste to leave the classroom.
"Calm down, class." Ms. Rogers waved a hand towards the door and the knob glowed yellow. When Jack tried to open it, he found it immovable. "As I said, that's the lack of a better term situation. We call ourselves guidance counselors. My school trains the magically gifted into counselors who can guide and advice humanity. As such, of course my thesis is also magic. It's standard procedure to collect a spot of blood to seal the contract."
"You said this was a consent form!"
"Why didn't you tell us before we signed?"
"I want to go home!"
"Someone, call the Principal!"
"Maybe we can get out through the windows?"
"Sit down and let us discuss this. Michael, if you would please collect the forms."
"No," Michael said. He sat down and picked up the paper. "I'm not giving you these. I take back my consent." He moved to rip it up.
"That won't do." She snapped her fingers and the forms flew from the desks into her hands.
"We are allowed to take back our consent!" Michael shouted. "It's the law!"
"Magic has a different law, Michael. Secrecy is key, after all, so you won't be allowed to take back your consent. During this time period, you will not be able to tell anyone else about the study."
"That wasn't in the form." Michael protested. "You're adding things."
"Well, I couldn't very well tell you about it before you agreed to keep it secret."
"We didn't agree to that! You never told us about that, so how could we agree!"
"By signing the consent form, you agreed to the parameters of the study." She briskly tapped the papers against the desk and put them in the briefcase. "Enough of this. It's time for class."
The students were still milling around. A few of them had pulled out their cellphones and were trying to dial their parents. Ms. Rogers sighed forbearingly. She snapped her fingers again, and all the cellphones visible flew to settle on her desk like a flock of birds coming home to roost.
"No electronics are allowed during class. Really. If this continues, I'm going to have to assign extra homework. We were all getting along so well before." She took out a textbook and a lesson plan. "I believe your teacher said that you had studied up to this point. Everyone, sit down and we'll begin."
They silently stared at her, deer in the headlights. Their faces displayed a range of emotion from fear to anger to hopelessness. Some of them were considering the possibility of tackling her, and they exchanged sidelong glances. But the pull of societal conventions was too strong, because none of them could work up the courage to attack their teacher. Perhaps if one person had stepped up as leader, they would have been able to follow through. So far, however, all she had done was lock the door, take their cellphones, and take a bit of blood… okay, that was all weird and scary. They watched her carefully as she took a whiteboard marker and started writing equations on the board.
She was too normal. Her incongruous behavior, the familiar equations compared to flying cellphones, confused them more than anything else. Jack hesitantly removed his hand from the doorknob. It was futile, anyway. He knew more than anyone else that the door wouldn't budge.
Tiffany glanced at her cellphone in its pink case where it had escaped her reach. When she had the chance to call her parents and tell them the situation, she felt brave. She had trusted that they would come to school and help her. Her seat was in the back of the classroom, though, and she knew that Ms. Rogers would catch her before she could take back her cellphone. She sat down.
Pamela rubbed at the tiny pinprick on her forefinger. The blood had stopped immediately, the wound was so small. By the time she got home, she wouldn't be able to prove to anyone that there had been anything there at all. She sat down.
Michael took out his notebook and stored the dangerous pen in his bag. She had forgotten to collect it earlier. He could use it as evidence later when he reported her to the Principal. He would be careful and wait.
Jason awkwardly took out his notebook and pencil with his left hand. If he weren't in a cast, he would have tackled her and knocked her unconscious, he told himself. The other guys should have done it, since they were in full health. He would tell them after class that they needed to make a plan, so that the next time they wouldn't be caught off guard.
Every student entertained similar thoughts, whether it was excuses, shifting responsibility, or just accepting their fear of the unknown, as well as the known factor of her being a teacher. The remaining forty minutes passed quietly except for when Ms. Rogers called on students to solve equations. The frightened mob answered softly at first, but were gradually lulled into a sense of normalcy. By the end of the period, they even had to admit that she was a decent teacher, despite her blood stealing ways.
--
Pamela's chin sunk comfortably into the palm of her hand as she clicked her mouse. After dinner, she had escaped straight to her room and hadn't left her computer game since. She needed the escapism of computer games desperately. As she had predicted, she hadn't been able to find the pinprick wound on her finger when she came home.
The scariest part? She couldn't talk about it. This wasn't just the fear talking. She literally could not talk about Ms. Rogers' consent form or magic. Facing her parents over the dinner table, she tried to tell them everything, but all she could say was that there was a new substitute teacher and she was participating in a research study. When she tried to explain the details, or when her parents asked, her mouth moved on its own and said:
"I can't talk about it. It's confidential."
Her parents were very proud of her for behaving so responsibly. She tried again and again. She stared at them as tears welled in her eyes. She wasn't a big crier and she didn't like resorting to those tactics, but when she realized that maybe her parents would realize something was wrong if she did, she worked harder at crying. She focused on how terrified she had been watching Jack struggle to open the door, when the cellphones flew, watching her own blood well up and glow.
Pamela's parents smiled and said that she was clearly tired, so she didn't have to do the dishes.
Now that she was along in her room, she found that she could talk about it. She shouted and screamed and cursed Ms. Rogers.
Her mom knocked and asked her if she wanted a cookie.
She wanted to scream at her mom, but as she stared at her smiling face, the words caught in her throat and she almost choked. So, her mom also brought her a glass of milk.
The empty glass now sat next to the dirty napkin. She doggedly shot, ducked, and threw grenades. Her eyes were dry after staring at the screen for so long, but she was in no mood to stop any time soon. She couldn't figure out how Ms. Rogers did it. Was magic so all-powerful that it could convince her parents that she wasn't screaming at the top of her lungs?
Pamela sighed as her avatar died. She was doing worse than usual. Maybe was she needed was something that needed even less thinking. She opened Sims.
As she laid the foundations to her new mansion, she heard a knock. It sent her toppling out of her seat, her heart pounding. Scrabbling at the floor, she pushed her back against the wall, pulling the chair in front of her like a shield. All she could hear was her heart trying to thump its way out through her ears.
A second knock. "Pam. Pam." A frantic whisper. Her window looked out over the backyard and there was Freddy's pale face, pressed up against the glass. She let out a scream.
"Shut up, shut up! Let me in! Hurry!" Freddy shot a look over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear. "Please," he pleaded, fear lacing his voice.
She slowly stood, her legs shaky. When she finally reached the window, she fumbled at the latch and Freddy's face grew proportionally paler as time passed.
A minute later he fell into her room and reached around her to slam the window shut.
"Hey, be careful," she said. She checked for cracks.
Freddy ignored her. He immediately went to make sure that her bedroom door was locked. She had finally convinced her parents to install a lock just last year.
She finally calmed down. She sat on her bed as she watched Freddy searching her room. He already had a baseball bat, and he seemed frustrated that he couldn't find what he wanted.
"Freddy." She said. He was too lost in his search. "Freddy!"
He snapped his head around to glare at her.
"What's wrong?" She asked. "You scared me half to death."
"You should be scared," he snapped. "I bet this is because of Ms. Rogers. It has to be. Do you have anything sharp or hard? You need something to protect yourself with."
At the sound of the name she had been trying to forget, Pamela froze.
"What happened?" She asked.
"You mean you haven't noticed? Or maybe it's only me. I don't know. I ran here, but I didn't see anyone."
"Of course, you didn't. It's—" she looked at the clock "—12:40 am. No one is going to be around right now."
"Except zombies," he muttered.
"What?"
"Zombies. My parents, my sister, they're zombies." He collapsed onto the floor, hiding his face in his hands. "I went to get a glass of water, and my mom was there. I thought she was going to yell at me for still being awake. She tried to bite me. Then my dad walked in. I told him that something was wrong. Then he tried to bite me. I ran to my sister's room, and I barely got out of there alive. I locked the door behind me and ran. You're the closest. I didn't want to be alone. My parents. My sister."
The stupid younger sister who always tried to join our games. Lacking a sister of her own, Pamela liked to pretend that Freddy's was hers. She even got her birthday gifts. And she got her birthday gifts. Birthday gifts. She focused on a teddy bear in front of her, the one her dad gave her when she was five.
"My parents!" Pamela jumped up and raced to the door. Freddy grabbed her arm.
"I know you want to check, but you have to be careful! Do you have anything in this room that could work as a weapon?"
"What are you talking about?! I'm not going to hurt my parents!" Pamela yelled.
"Shhh, shh!" Freddy covered her mouth with his hands. "If they're zombies, they're going to attack you first. You have to protect yourself. You—what was that?"
Pamela and Freddy stared into each other's eyes as they fell silent, waiting. He had forgotten to remove his hands, but she was too scared to tell him off.
A growl. An animalistic growl that no human could possibly make. Then scratching. Multiple scratching sounds by at least two pairs of hands. A second growl. Pamela cried for the second time that night, and Freddy watched the tears accumulate on his hands. She silently cried, her shoulders shaking as they listened to the increasingly frantic scratching and growling, almost as if the owners could smell their fear and Pamela's grief.
Freddy grabbed her hand and pulled her to the window.
"We have to go." After he checked that there was no on in the yard, he opened the window and pushed her out first. She felt sluggish. Baseball bat in one hand, Pamela in the other, he led them away from the house. "We have to go to Jason's. His dad hunts deer. He'll have guns. Plus, Jason's arm is hurt. He'll need our help."
The three of them were close friends. They had been in the same class for years, and their families considered them as close to their own as they could get. They knew the shortest paths to each other's houses, and Freddy used this knowledge now as he jumped this fence, ducked around that hedge, and peered around the largest trees. Once her house was out of sight, Pamela's brain rebooted, and she shook him off so that she could run faster.
When they reached Jason's house, they crouched next to the front porch, Jason watching the front door and Pamela keeping watch over the opposite direction, which included the road. They hadn't run into anyone else on their way there, but it didn't make them feel any safer.
The lights were off and they couldn't hear any sounds.
Pamela bit her lip. "You don't think…"
"I'll call him." Freddy stopped her. He dialed the number quickly and listened to the dial tone as though it was a bell signaling doom.
"Hello?" Jason's sleepy greeting along with a yawn was almost as terrifying as hearing nothing.
"Listen quietly and don't make any loud noises," Freddy whispered. "Pam and I are here at your house. Our families have turned into zombies. Where are you?"
"Zombies? Are you shitting me?"
"I'm not, you dumbass. Where are you?"
"In my bed. You woke me up." Freddy could hear a rustling on Jason's end. "I'll go let you in. Are you at the front door?"
"No! Don't move. If you leave your room, they might be waiting for you."
"Then what do you want to do? The front door's locked, because it's the middle of the fucking night."
Freddy looked at Pamela.
"We'll ring the doorbell," he said finally. "If they're zombies, they'll go to the noise and you can escape out the backdoor."
"And if they're not, my parents are going to kill me. Just wait there." The line cut off.
"No! Damn it." Freddy stared bullets at his phone, as if he could transmit his frustration to the other end. "We're going to have to break in. He doesn't believe me."
"They might kill him!" Pamela jumped up. "We can't ring the doorbell now, because he might be caught. Let's look in the windows. If we hear anything, we can use your bat."
"Right." Freddy said. They ran up the steps and kneeled on either side of the window as they peered through. After a moment, they could see a dark figure crossing the hall. They held their breath.
Jason opened the door.
"See? No zombies. Get in here." He locked the door after them. "Stay over since you're both here anyway."
"Where are your parents and your brothers?" Pamela stuck close to Freddy, seeing as he had the only weapon among the three of them.
"Asleep. My oldest brother left to visit his college buddies yesterday, so he's not here." Jason ignored his friends' careful steps, boldly leading them to his room. "Now, if you'll listen carefully on your right…" he paused dramatically at a door. A second later, they could hear a reverberating snore. "You can hear the snore of the wild parent asleep in his natural habitat, the bed. Where I want to be. Come on. Help me get the extra blankets and pillows. This stupid cast makes everything harder."
Freddy and Pamela followed him silently, but still jumping at every shadow. When they finally closed his bedroom door, they both breathed a sigh of relief.
Jason immediately got back into bed and left them to their own devices. They were used to this, and quickly set up their makeshift beds on the floor. They refused to turn off the light.
Jason groaned. "Are you going to keep the light on all night?"
"Yes," Freddy said. "They're not zombies now, but you don't know if that will change."
"Why aren't they zombies?" Pamela asked. "Ours are. Actually, should we even be sleeping? We should go the police. Or at least warn everyone else." She hugged the pillow to her chest, a twinge of guilt surfacing. "Should we call everyone in our class?"
"Do you hear yourselves? Zombies? Seriously? No one is going to believe you. They're going to think you're crazy."
"I wish we were!" Pamela whisper-screamed at him. "My parents were CLAWING at my door."
"Mine tried to eat me." Freddy said.
"Um… are you sure you weren't dreaming?"
"The same dream at the same time?" Freddy glared at him. "How are you forgetting everything that happened today in math class?"
"Right." Jason scratched at the skin under the cast awkwardly. "Oh yeah, did you do the math homework? It actually was all right."
"I forgot to…" Pamela said, remembering the hours spent on her shooting game.
"I always do my homework in school before the first class." Freddy said. "Wait, you don't think?"
"Yeah." Jason nodded. "I did my homework, and my family hasn't turned into zombies."
"No." Pamela squeezed the pillow harder. "No, no! That bitch! She can't do this!"
"That's some fucked up educational guidance." Jason agreed darkly.
"It can't be permanent." Freddy said. "People would have to notice. If our parents didn't go to work because they turned into zombies, it would be hard to hide, even with magic."
"Or maybe they're not actually zombies?" Jason said. "Maybe it's an illusion that only the people in the class can see."
"It looked pretty real," Freddy snapped.
"It would be a crap illusion if it didn't look real," Jason said reasonably. "Look, go to sleep. The door's locked, we're on the second floor, and we can't do anything until the morning, anyway."
"How can we go to sleep with this happening? We have to do something. What if it spreads? What if it's permanent and they're de-de-dea…" Pamela trailed off into silence.
"We'll figure it out, Pam. We can't tell anyone else about this anyway, right? I tried and I bet you did too. We'll go confront her tomorrow."
"We could call the police to our houses!" Freddy said, sitting up abruptly. "We don't have to say that it's about zombies or a magical contract, just that there's a break in."
"If we can't warn them, they won't believe it when they see the zombies and they'll get bitten. Or they'll hurt our families. And if it's not permanent, but hurting them is permanent…" Pamela shook her head. "I don't know. Shouldn't we be preparing stuff? Getting supplies and weapons?"
"I don't think it's going to spread," Jason said. "It's connected to the research study, right? So, it won't involve anyone who didn't sign the consent form. We need to ask Ms. Rogers about this. It's all her fault."
They sat in silence. After a few minutes, Jason pulled the covers over himself and settled into his pillow.
"Look, keep the light on if you want, but I'm going to sleep."
Pamela and Freddy watched him close his eyes and, as he had promised, immediately fall asleep. His mouth opened stupidly, and he filled the room with the sounds of snoring similar to the one they had heard in the hall.
"I can't sleep." Pamela said finally. "I'm too scared."
"We'll sleep in turns. You sleep first, and I'll wake you up in two hours."
Pamela hesitated, then nodded. "Thanks."
--
The night passed uneventfully. When Jason's alarm went off at 7 am, Freddy was staring at his phone, browsing the news sites for any signs of zombie outbreaks. Pamela rolled over and rubbed her eyes blearily.
"Did anything happen?" She asked immediately.
"Nothing," Freddy answered. "And there's nothing on the web."
"Oh." Pamela said. She stared at the ceiling. "Maybe we were wrong?"
"You didn't see them. They were definitely zombies." Freddy remembered the blank gaze of his younger sister's eyes, and he shuddered.
Pamela's cellphone rang. Dragging it to her, she stared at the screen.
"What's wrong?" Freddy said.
"It's my mom." She gulped. "It's my mom!" She swiped the call on. "Mom?"
"Where are you?! Do you know what time it is? Did you even sleep at home last night?! You better come home right now! If you're not home in the next fifteen minutes, you're grounded! And tell Freddy that his parents said the same thing – they just called me! Unbelievable. When will the two of you grow up! It's a school day! There are many things I will tolerate, but you know that you have to tell me when you have a sleepover. What if something happened?! Do you hear me, Pamela?"
"Yes, Mom. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Pamela wiped at her tears. She was turning into a complete crybaby. When her mom hung up, she grinned at Freddy. "They're all right. Mom says that your parents called her. They're all right!"
"See?" Jason mumbled. "It'll be fine."
Freddy shook his head, more doubtful than his friends.
"We'll see," was all he said.
