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.

ChiChi 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.

“So the house has just been sitting there empty for ten years?” Becky asked, interrupting Mrs. McNally.

“I have the house maintained,” Mrs. McNally said, sitting up even straighter and frowning. “It’s in quite good shape.”

“But why don’t you sell it or rent it out?” Becky asked tentatively. Maybe she’ll tell us the real reason: Because of the zombies!

“Because I choose not to,” Mrs. McNally said firmly.

“Um, there are a lot of stories about your old house,” Nate said. “Like, that it’s haunted or” — he glanced at Becky — “that zombies live there.”

Mrs. McNally straightened even further and glared at them through her glasses, her eyes a bright, fierce blue. “That is completely absurd,” she said. “I certainly hope your school isn’t encouraging you to spread rumors about my property.”

Nate stumbled over his words, apologizing and reassuring her that, no, the school didn’t want him to write about that, and that of course they didn’t believe the silly stories. Becky could just imagine the trouble they’d get into if Mrs. McNally complained and the school found out they’d been bothering her with a school assignment that didn’t exist.

Once Mrs. McNally stopped looking quite so disapprovingly at them, Nate started asking her questions about the garden, and Becky was able to look around the room. She carefully avoided ChiChi’s glazed dead stare while she pretended to take notes. A shadow box on the wall caught her eye. Inside it sat matching red and blue collars and red and blue dog tags, but only one red toy ball. She must have unintentionally made some kind of surprised sound, because Mrs. McNally stopped talking about her basil plants and gave Becky an inquisitive look.

“I was admiring the picture of your dogs up there,” Becky said awkwardly. “They’re so cute.” The two Chihuahuas looked eager and happy in the picture in the shadow box, more lively than in the huge picture on the door, much more lively than ChiChi’s poor stuffed body in the corner.

Smiling for the first time, Mrs. McNally rose and took the shadow box off the wall.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Mimi’s in the blue collar here, and I’m sure you recognize ChiChi in the red one. Such good dogs.” She sighed and handed Becky the shadow box.

“They’re adorable,” Becky told her, while her mind raced. “I have a dog, too.” The little red ball covered with stars in the box looked so familiar…. Where had she seen something like it before?

The phone rang.

“Excuse me for a moment, children,” Mrs. McNally said, and walked away.

Becky finally realized what she was looking at. “Look!” she hissed to Nate, and he looked. “This ball — Bear found a ball exactly like this, only blue, and really old and gross,” she told him. “It must have been Mimi’s ball that he dug up somewhere! Maybe that’s why the zombie is mad at him.”

“And check this out,” Nate whispered back. He gestured at the bottom shelf of the bookcase. Becky saw several books about alternative medicine and some regular-looking medical books. But nestled by them on the end of the shelf were three books that seemed out of place: Traversing the Boundaries Between the Living and the Dead, Herbal Powers, and Deadly Magicks. “Write down these titles,” Nate said. “We should try to find out stuff about them online.”

Becky scribbled down the titles quickly. “Those books look like they definitely could have something to do with zombies,” she said, keeping her voice too low for Mrs. McNally to hear.

Nate nodded in agreement. Glancing up and listening to hear if Mrs. McNally was still busy on the phone, he quickly slid Traversing the Boundaries Between the Living and the Dead out of the bookcase.

He searched through the index while Becky slid her notebook back into her bag and kept an ear out for Mrs. McNally.

“What are you looking for?” Becky asked.

“Something about objects,” Nate said absently. “Since you realized Bear might have taken the zombie’s ball. Okay. Found the chapter.” He turned the pages, then read silently, biting his lip, and handed the book to Becky. “Here, look,” he told her, tapping his finger on one particular spot.

The print in the book was old looking, thick, and black. Becky read:

Certain objects important to the walking dead in life can on occasion be buried with them and bring them peace; if these are removed from the dead’s final resting place, they will walk again.