GRANDMA? Part 1 (YA Zombie Serial Novel) by J.A. Konrath (i wanna iguana read aloud .TXT) 📕

if it was Grandma or Josh or…

Or that weirdo from the closet. The one who looked dead. The one who bit my grandmother.

I wasn't stupid. Zombies weren't real. They were fictional, like vampires, and honest politicians. If I had to take a guess, it was a serial killer in the closet, made up like a zombie to scare people. Or some lunatic who thought he was one of the walking dead.

But it couldn't be a real zombie.

And he couldn't have got down in the basement so fast.

Right?

"Josh?"

My brother didn't answer.

I took a step, and the giggling stopped. I did, too. I pulled out my cell phone out of my shorts pocket, using the blue screen to see ahead of me, a foot at a time.

I took another step.

One more.

My arm flailed above my head to feel the ceiling for the dead light bulb.

There it is.

I quickly unscrewed the dead bulb, but I went too fast and it fell out of my hand.

Oh no…

The light bulb bounced on a step, then smashed somewhere near the bottom with a telltale tinkling sound.

I winced. I wasn't wearing shoes. My flip-flops were out on the pier, and my gym shoes were in the bedroom.

It'll be ok. Just be careful

I pinched the new light bulb from the two pack case and carefully screwed it in. I went to the light switch and flipped it on waiting for the nice glow of a white light.

But it didn't turn on.

I flipped the switch multiple times.

No light.

I reached up, making sure the bulb was in all the way. Bad bulb? Problem with the socket or switch?

I should have looked for the flashlight instead.

"Randall?"

It was a whisper, so soft I couldn't tell if it was Josh or Grandma.

Or someone else.

I'd heard the term skin crawl but didn't know what it meant until that moment. It meant you felt like you were covered with bugs because you were so afraid. The hairs on my legs, arms, and neck all stood up and wiggled. If the closet man was downstairs, I'd wet my pants.

But it could have been Josh and Grandma, needing my help.

I shook off my nerves and forced myself to act.

Ready or not, here I come…

I used my phone to light my descent, testing the stairs with my toes. I did NOT want glass in my foot. I remember when my Dad got a large piece in his heel, and he had to go to the ER where they had to use a scalpel to dig it all out.

I knew there was a light switch at the bottom of the stairs, one that flooded the whole basement with nice, bright fluorescent light. All I had to do was make it down five or six steps.

I kept my hand on the left side of the wall as I went down.

One.

Two.

Three.

"Randall?" It sounded like Josh.

I blew out a breath. "Josh! Yes, it’s me. Turn on the lights."

Josh didn't respond.

"Josh?"

"I… I can't."

"What? Why?"

"Grandma said if I do, she'll kill me."

I paused for a second, replaying the words in my head.

"She said what?"

No answer.

"Grandma?"

I might have heard some whispering, but neither one replied. I took the next step and—

CRUUUNCHH.

Glass shattered under my right heel. But I was careful enough to not step on it hard, so it didn't penetrate.

I took another step and I felt the texture on my feet change. From wood to cold cement. I used my phone light on the left wall and found the light switch. I flicked it on.

A flash of white light blinded me for a moment. I squinted until my eyes refocused.

Then I saw Grandma and Josh, standing in the corner of the basement. Josh was holding Grandma's hand. Grandma was as blue as her dress, with death on her face. Her neck wasn't bleeding anymore, and her eyes were milky white. She didn’t speak. She just stood there swaying back and forth.

My mouth went dry, and my bladder felt full.

"Gra… Grandma?" I whispered.

She stopped swaying, and tilted her head. Her neck cracked several times, like a bag of potato chips when you squeeze it. She squinted her cloudy eyes at me.

Then she let go of Josh's hand and screamed.

It didn't sound like Grandma.

It didn't sound human.

It was less like a scream and more like a roar. And it was real. This wasn't a trick. I wasn't getting Punk'd by Ashton Kutcher.

Grandma wasn't Grandma anymore. She was something else. Something that didn't look like it wanted to give me a big hug and a plate of cookies.

Something that looked at me like I was a cookie.

She charged at me, much faster than a seventy-year-old woman should have been able to run.

Even though I couldn't believe this was happening, my legs carried me up the stairs fast as they could move. Forgetting about the glass, I stepped on a big chunk of broken bulb, my foot screaming in pain.

Grandma was still roaring, and I snuck a quick look behind me and saw she was doing a bear crawl up the stairs, just a few feet away. I freaked out so badly that I tripped on the steps, falling onto my chest. I turned quickly around, the stairs poking my back, and Grandma's mouth went straight to my neck.

She bit down.

I cried out, then knocked her away.

Her false teeth slurped out from between her flappy, blue lips, and plopped onto my belly.

I grabbed her shoulders and held her away from me, while her cold hands patted down my body.

She found her teeth, and shoved them back in. Then she smiled.

"How's about a kiss for Grandma?" she said in a voice straight out of Dante's Inferno.

Then she went for my throat again. I put my hands around her neck.

"Grandma! It's me Randall! Stop!"

Grandma didn't stop. Her mouth opened wider and a long rope of pink drool came out, landing on my cheek. I managed to bring my knee up, and I kicked her in the stomach, knocking her down a couple of stairs. Then I scrambled to my feet