Zombie At The Door

13 Mar

The toddler was the first to find it. She is just three, but smart as a whip, she is. What she was doing at the front screen door, I don’t know. Hopefully not heading her happy little-diaper-wearing butt out into the great blue yonder. She actually might deserve a spanking if it wasn’t so traumatic of a situation as it is.

Anyway, the toddler comes tearing into the living room, screaming and crying.

“What’s wrong pumpkin?” I ask, figuring one of her older brothers broke another one of her toys.

She can barely speak, “There…there…is somefin’…at door!”

She points towards the front door. Sure enough, it looks like someone is lying at the bottom of the door.

“Who is that?” I ask out loud to myself mostly.

The toddler whispers, “Zombie!”

I bolt out of my chair and grab the shotgun from over the mantle.

“Zombie?” I ask the little one. “Are you sure?”

She nods and burys her face in my trouser leg. I gently unhook her and set her on the couch.

“Don’t move from this spot…and cover your ears in case I have to fire this gun,” I tell her and smile. The smile was meant to comfort her, but I know it was thin and forced.

I slowly make my way to the front screen door. The zombie is lying against the door with it’s back facing me. It’s not moving.

I raise the shotgun up, shoulder level, as I get near the door. It’s just lying there, looking like it’s taking a nap. I take the tip of the gun and poke it in the back through the screen. It doesn’t move. I poke it a little harder.

Nothing.

“Hey!” I shout and raise the shotgun up at the same time.

Still nothing. I beginning to believe this zombie is dead. (Ha, ha. The dead is dead!)

I poke it real hard in the back this time, tearing the screen a little.

You guessed it. Nothing happens, so I go to the back door, passing the toddler sitting on the couch with her hands over her ears. Such a good child. I open the back door and whip around to the front of the house.

As I approach the front porch, I slow down and precede with caution. I raise the shotgun as I climb the three porch steps. The zombie lays there, still not moving.

I slowly walk up on the zombie. Flies buzz it’s deformed face. It’s whole body is slack. It just lays there not moving, eyes closed, mouth open, tongue laying half on the porch, half in it’s mouth.

“Weird,” I say out loud to no one in particular. “Who would deposit a dead zombie at my screen door?”

Then I hear the groaning behind me. Lots of groaning behind me. I turn around to see about 10 or 15 zombies approaching my front porch. Then it dawns on me who left this zombie on my front porch…like bait…to draw me out of the house…alone…

…to be eaten…

…while the toddler sits on the couch, covering her ears….

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