You know how I said that Chucky’s place was kind of a mess?
It was a real mess now. Totally destroyed. Lots of holes blasted in the walls and furniture. The furniture was mostly blown to pieces. Granny’s shotgun, I guess.
Even Francine went pale.
We could hear Chucky’s chainsaw as he ran through the house yelling for his granny.
“No zombies,” said Jermaine. “Not live ones, anyhow.”
“How can you tell?” asked Francine.
“The sound of the chainsaw hasn’t changed,” answered Jermaine. “So it’s not cutting into anything.”
Like I said, Jermaine’s real smart. He knows how the whine of a chainsaw gets higher when it’s biting.
I heard a shotgun blast. Then another. It was outside. I guess Chucky heard it too, ’cause he came running down the stairs two at a time and hauled butt across the room to the back window. The glass was all broken out like someone had climbed out of it. Or, someone had climbed in. Except there was nobody here, and no blood or body parts. Which was good, right?
“Hey, Granny! Ah’m comin’ to git yew!” he yelled.
I got to the window a moment after. Across the yard there was an old-time outhouse with a half-moon shape cut out of the door. A shotgun barrel was sticking out through the half moon.
BANG!!!!!
I ducked. Everyone ducked.
The outhouse door opened. Granny stepped out. She was carrying the pump shotgun and the box of shells Chucky didn’t want to take earlier. I guess that worked out, then.
She looked around. “Huh,” said Granny. “Ah coulda sworn there was a hundred zombies out here.”
We all looked around. There was no sign of any zombies at all.
“Sorry ah was so long,” said Chucky. “Mall was packed.”
“’Bout danged time,” she said. “Ah got four shells left and ah’m all out of Marlboros.” She grinned at us. “House is kinda untidy right now, but if yew want lemonade, ah could rustle some up.”
| KYLE: | So, how many zombies did she really shoot? |
| LARRY: | None. There was no sign of any zombies at all. |
| KYLE: | You think she imagined they were there? |
| LARRY: | Yeah. And then—no. |
| KYLE: | Huh? |
So we drank lemonade, and Granny griped about the house being attacked by zombies. I noticed her arm was wrapped in a dish towel, and there was dried blood on it. Jermaine did too.
Chucky’s grandmother grinned again. Four teeth on top, five on the bottom. “Oh, it was jest a scratch.”
“The zombies?” asked Francine.
“Oh, no,” answered Granny. “Ah was peelin’ the taters fer supper tonight.”
All the same, I noticed she cut her eyes toward Chucky when she said that.
We finished our lemonade and headed home. Francine rode on the frame of my bike. (She could do that ’cause she’s all gymnastic.)
“I think Granny just imagined there were zombies in the house,” said Francine. “And started shooting and holed up in the outhouse blasting away at nothing.”
“Maybe,” said Jermaine.
“There was no blood or bodies or anything,” Francine went on.
Jermaine didn’t say anything else. I thought about it for a while.