Grey moonlight washed over the dusty attic floorboards as the four little boys huddle around a flashlight. "You know," said Tim, a small boy with glasses, "They say at night, in the old MacDonald cemetery, the crypts open up and the corpses walk out." He grinned as his friends shuddered. "No way," said his friend Bobby, snatching the flashlight from his hand. "My dad owns that place. Dead men don't get back up and wander around. That's so dumb." Tim's face crinkled with frustration, angered by Bobby's sarcasm. "All right mr.Zombie expert. If you don't believe in zombies, why don't you go down to MacDonald right now? You know the gates are never locked and it's only a few minutes from here." Bobby shook his head. "I don't wanna get arrested for doing some dumb dare. Dead people stay dead. Leave it at that." Tim snickered, nudging the boy beside him. "He is afaid a zombie will bite him. Look at him shaking. He's afraid." At that, Bobby sprang to his feet. "Alright, I'll do it. Gimme the flashlight. I'll go to MacDonald, stand in front of a crypt for 30 seconds, and then I'll come back and show you that there are no stupid zombies." Tim laughed. "You'll just stand somewhere and say you went. We need proof." One of the smaller boys chimed in. "The only birch tree in town grows next to Kellerman's crypt. Bring back a branch and we'll know." Bobby pulled on his shoes and went outside. MacDonald's black wrought iron gates seemed to reach for Bobby, casting long shadows across the empty street. He saw the tree already, flailed out next to the pale off white crypt of Raymond Kellerman. Small and large stones of all shapes and sizes protruded from the ground. "Stupid Tim. I hate that kid," he said to himself, and stepped inside. Sounds came from everywhere...crickets, leaves rustling. As Bobby jogged closer to Kellerman's crypt, he began to hear rustling noises...which translated into dragging feet. The dragging feet of the rotting zombie, staggering toward him out of the darkness; the one he wouldn't see until it's decayed hands clutched him and it bit him..."Cut it out," he said out loud, and wheeled around to face the tree. Something slimy and cold brushed his face, enough to make him scream "Zombie!!" and grab wildly for a branch. His hands wrapped around something white that he caught from the corner of his eye...with a think PLUNK noise it disconnected and he shoved it into his pocket. He kept imagining the zombie that had grabbed him...It's eyes pus yellow and dribbling down onto it's cheeks...the gates. The open gates, and then the street...his slapping footsteps echoing and pulling him closer to Tim's house. Once inside, he slammed the door behind him and slammed the object down to the floor. "There, you see? I got the branch. No zombies, nothing tried to eat me. I walked in, snapped it off, and came back." He tried his hardest to hide his fear. The other boys's mouths hung open as they glanced back and forth from his shaking hand to the object. Bobby shined the beam onto both. Clinging to his hand were ragged chunks of bluish flesh, wriggling with tiny maggots. On the floor lay a human arm, almost clear of skin but speckled with a few rotten clumps.
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