THXXX11138: I meant to reply to you in the last chapter. I started submitting fiction to magazines in 2009. I've had some stuff published but, long story short, unless you have a major New York publisher, publishing is a waste of time. I've known many semi-famous writers whose work you can find in libraries and big box bookstores, and most of them have GoFundMe pages. it's sad. Like America itself, you have to be the 1% to really live it up. Anything less and you're barely scraping by at best.

"Maybe I shouldn't." Jess sat at her desk and ran her hair anxiously through her hands like a girl milking a cow. In the light of the lamp, her face was craggy and drawn, like going to a Halloween party was the most stressful thing ever.

She'd been sitting at her desk for nearly an hour fretting over every little thing and every freak possibility (what if someone's smoking the devil's lettuce, I breathe a little in, and I get "high"? Huh? What then, Alex? What then?). I sat on my bed with my legs crossed and threw a handful of M&M's into my mouth. "Will you relax, Jess? We're gonna bob for apples, have a cake walk, and eat yummy snacks. That's it."

Though I looked cool and unaffected on the outside (as I am wont to do), I had my own problems. Namely my costume. Maybe it was a little too simple. I had a hat, a black dress, and a skull necklace. Understatement is not the Alex Loud way, and I was a blasted fool to think I could pull it off. I needed something to bring it all together, but what? A broom? Nah, that was too basic. A hydro flask?

"...that's all," Jess was saying.

Whoops, you were talking? I had no clue what she said, so I wung it. Or maybe that's winged it. "Just calm your bits, Jess. I swear, sometimes I think you like spagging out."

Jess shot me a dirty look. "Trust me, I don't, but this can go wrong a million different ways. What if someone's drinking or doing drugs and the police come? What if someone spills a beer on us and the cops smell it and think we were drinking? Huh? We'll go to jail and Uncle Lincoln and Auntie Ronnie Anne will be disappointed in us." She caught her breath and turned away, stroking her hair faster and harder. "So, so disappointed."

This girl is so, so difficult. "That's not going to happen," I said with strained patience, "and if by some universal gymnastics it does, you have a reputation as a good-girl-slash-teacher's-pet. Mom and Dad will believe you."

She pursed her lips in thought. I softened my tone. "Really, we're gonna have a great time."

For a moment, she gazed into space, her mind working, then she drew a heavy sigh and nodded. "Okay."

"Atta girl." It was 6:28 by the clock on the nightstand and I still didn't have anything to tie my costume together. Sigh. Guess I'll be an unorganized mess. "I'm gonna hit the showers," I said and got up. I might be a mess but at least I'd smell good. My bf was going to be there and I had to be fresh and alluring; can't do that reeking like pits and feet.

Getting up, I grabbed my towel and went out into the hall. Speaking of bad smells, what's that stench? I sniffed the air and gagged. Ugh, it's like mold and mildew and unwashed butt. I looked around, didn't see the source, then surreptitiously took a whiff of my underarms. Do I offend? Nope.

Huh.

Then I smelled my towel.

And threw up in my mouth. Just a little bit.

Ew, when's the last time I switched this bad boy out? I wracked my brain but couldn't remember. Eh. I tossed it aside and went to the linen closet for a new one. I grabbed one, and jumped back in alarm.

There was a face under it.

What the -?

Then I remembered. Oh, the cool, creepy spellbook that creeped Jess out so bad she banished it from our room.

It called my name, and in an instant, I knew I found the thing to make my costume pop.

Covering it with another towel, I went to the bathroom and hopped in the shower. I totally meant to take the book back to the library on Monday but, hey, with me, if it's out of sight it's likely out of mind. Good thing I didn't. Hooray for forgetting.

When I was done, I got out, dried off, and got dressed. I grabbed the book on my way back to the room, and the warm, pulpy feel of it made me cringe. It hummed silently in my hand like a transformer box, and my step faltered. Oooh, that's new. It didn't do this on Saturday.

But of course it'd tremble with unholy life now. It was Halloween, after all.

Shudder.

Maybe Jess was right about this thing.

Nah! She's a dweeb with an anxiety disorder, what did she know?

I tucked the book up under my arm, went into the room, and dropped onto my bed. Jess was still at the desk, facing the mirror and putting her hair back in the super duper teacher bun; a metal pin jutted from her mouth like a crack pipe and I tsked. Such a shame to see a good girl go bad. Her future was sooo bright.

6:45. Fifteen minutes until Tim was here...fifteen minutes until he was supposed to be here, that is. You know how girls say they'll be ready in five but you're still waiting three hours later? Yeah, guys do that too, only their line is I'll be there in ten minutes. A week later they roll up like nothing happened.

Fifteen minutes...guess that gives me time to read.

I cracked the book open and scanned the first page. Jess said this was in English but it was Greek to me. Maybe if Royal Woods taught its students CURSIVE WRITING like a normal school system, but noooo. It's "useless" the PTA said. "It has no place in a modern curriculum," they said.

Whatever, I'll just look at the pictures.

Turning the page, I leafed through and stopped at the end. On the inside cover, a column headed OWNERS OF THE BOOKE listed a dozen names, each followed by a date. The first one was 1543.

My jaw dropped.

There was no way this book was that old. I can see a hundred years, maybe two, but five hundred?

Heh. That dark magic really keeps it, huh?

The last name was Ellie Rimbaugh and per the date beside her name, she took possession of the book in 1843.

A thousand questions occurred to me as I stared down at those names. Who were they? Were they members of the same family? Did they have a coven? How was the book passed down?

I don't know about you, but when I have a question, I go to Google. I whipped my phone out and typed ELLIE RIMBAUGH into the search bar, then hit the magnifying glass.

The first result:

ELLIE RIMBAUGH - WIKIPEDIA.

Gasp.

She has her own Wiki page!

You know someone's a heavy hitter when they have their own entry at Wikipedia. I clicked on it, but before I could start reading, Jess sucked a sharp intake of breath. "What is that?"

I started and looked around, expecting to find a giant spider-thing crouched in the corner and rubbing its forelegs together (trick or treat!). "What?"

"That-That book!"

Oh.

Heh.

Jess's eyes narrowed to slits and her lips screwed up in a dour pucker. "I thought you took it back."

"I forgot."

She blew a frustrated sigh. "Forgot?"

"Yes, I forgot. It happens. Now hush. I'm trying to read something." I bent over the phone and scrolled through the page. "Oh wow."

Jess hesitated a moment, torn between outrage and curiosity. "What?" she finally asked, the latter having won.

"This lady who owned the book, she's on Wikipedia."

"Wikipedia?"

"I know, right? C'mere."

She got up and came over. I scooted to the side to make room; she was kinda rigid when she sat down, and was warily eyeing the book like it might attack the moment she looked away. She risked darting her eyes to the screen, but kept the book in her line of sight; if it made one wrong move, brother, she was gone.

"W-What's it say?"

"Read for yourself," I said. We huddled together like two Eskimos for warmth.

The article wasn't very long or detailed (meaning Ellie Rimbaugh was important...just not that important) but it didn't have to be, we got the gist. Born in a log cabin south of present day Royal Woods in 1821, Ellie Rimbaugh was a milkmaid and all around normal teenage girl for her time; she did the wash, swept, cooked, didn't vote, and went to bed at 7pm. One day, she was caught with a farmhand...as in "with." Y'know what I'm talking about.

Since it was 1839, doing that kind of thing before marriage was a big no-no. The townspeople were scandalized and banished her from the community; even her family disowned her. Jeez, all for getting a little nookie? I know it was the 1800s, but wow.

With nowhere else to go, she lived in a cave outside town - how she survived the harsh Michigan winters, I'll never know.

In the fall of 1844, a little boy went missing from town. Ellie, being the local hermit/witch/weirdo, was immediately suspected and arrested. After a "brief" trial (read: probably unfair), Ellie was convicted of consorting with Satan and of vanishing that kid for "darke and unholee purpuses."

You don't want to know what happened next.

It involves fire and a stake...and not the kind you eat.

But seriously, as I read Ellie Rimbaugh's fate, I could almost feel the fire licking my body and taste the woody smoke in my lungs. Here's a secret: I think burning alive would be the worst way to die. Just imagine the heat, your flesh beginning to bubble and blister, the clawing panic as the fire rises around you, choking the air, scalding your face, consuming you in its deadly embrace...

It literally sends a shiver down my spine.

Jess and I looked at each other; from her ashy face and flaring nostrils, she was just as shaken as I was. "Okay," Jess held up her forefingers, "I am officially creeped out. Get this book away from me."

I couldn't blame her for that sentiment; however, it's still just a book. "I doubt this is even hers," I said. "It's probably a reproduction or something. Or a hoax. Look at this thing and tell me it's five hundred years old."

Jerking her head away, Jess jumped to her feet. "I'm not looking at that thing. Get it away. It's yuck."

I looked at it and frowned. Hoax or not, Ellie Rimbaugh certainly lived and was said to have powers, and her name was right there in faded ink.

Which made the tome muy spookyoso.

And what's my middle name?

Even so, a voice in the back of my head told me Jess was right. In all honesty, she has a far better head on her shoulders than me, and I should really, really listen to her.

I opened my mouth, but a muffled honking cut me off.

Ooooh, Tim's here.

I got to my feet and tucked the book under my arm. "C'mon, Jess, our gentlemen callers have arrived."

"But -"

But I was already gone. It was Halloween night, my bf was here, and we were gonna party hardy, everything else was whoosh right out the window.

In the living room, Dad sat in his recliner with his feet up and a can of Coke between his legs and Mom perched at the edge of the couch, arms folded over her chest. On TV, the nightly news played: Joe Biden tumbled up a ramp and Kamala Harris facepalmed. Dad sniffed, pointed the remote at the screen, and changed it to AMC, where Night of the Living Dead was just starting.

"They're coming to get you, Jess," I intoned.

The horn honked again, forestalling her reply.

"Really?" Mom asked testily. "They're not going to come to the door?"

"They know better than that," Dad said.

Mom blew a raspberry. "You won't do anything."

Dad lifted his brow. "I can go get my gun if you want."

Before Mom could reply, I hooked my thumb at the door. "Okay, we're gonna head out."

"Have fun," Dad called.

"Be careful," Mom said. She jabbed a stern finger at me and lowered her brows, which meant whatever she was going to say next...she meant it. "No later than ten."

"Alright."

"Jess," Mom added, "keep her in line."

Pfft. Jess? The boss of me? As freaking if.

Outside, cool purple twilight inched toward night and a heatless wind slipped through the trees. Gangs of kids in costumes of every kind - oooh, nice Hulk - roamed up and down the sidewalks with empty sacks. There was a princess, a ghost, a little Dracula, and even someone in a full Iron Man suit. Lookin' good, Stark.

Tim's car, a battered blue Oldsmobile Cutlass he bought on the cheap from his grandma sat at the curb, its one good headlight dim and sickly. I pick on him mercilessly about that car, but while I can get him everywhere else, I can't get him there…'cause at least he has a ride. The harsh orange glare of a streetlamp highlighted the many dings and rust spots flecking the paint job and backlit the interior, reducing Tim and Mark to silhouettes, Tim behind the wheel and Mark in the passenger seat, ramrod straight like he had a stick up his butt. Swinging the book back and forth like a happy elf with her lunch pail, I brushed past Jess and went down the walkway. "Alexes first," I tossed over my shoulder.

I shifted the book to my left hand and opened the back door, then slid in. The smell of McDonald's grabbed me by the front of my dress and shoved its tongue down my throat (what, no dinner first?) and I retched a little. "This car reeks," I moaned.

Tim sighed. "I sprayed Febreeze before I came over."

Jess climbed in beside me and pulled the door closed behind her. "Hey," she said to Mark.

"Hey," he said without turning. "You look nice."

"You haven't even seen me," she said, flattered.

"I don't need to. You always look nice."

She giggled.

Ooooh, good one, Mark.

Tim put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb.

I waited a few seconds, then cleared my throat. He glanced questioningly in the rearview mirror. "Aren't you gonna compliment me?" I asked.

"You look nice."

I sighed.

"What?"

"It's not the same when I have to tell you."

"Sorry."

Boys. You can't live with them; you can't dunk their heads in water then dispose of their wet, lifeless corpses in the street as a warning to the others.

"Where's your costume?" I asked.

"I'm wearing it."

A bar of light flicked across the car; Tim wore a pair of dark overalls. "Your work clothes?"

"No."

We pulled to a red light, and he pulled a mask over his face, then turned.

"Oh, Michael Myers," I said, like greeting an old friend. "What about you, Marky-Mark? What are you dressed up as?"

He reached into the breast pocket of his Izod, yanked something out, and shoved it into his mouth. He turned and gave me a big, fangy smile.

"Vampire," I nodded, "a classic." I stole a sidelong glance at Jess and an evil smile carved across my face. Should I say it? No, it was waaaay too risqué. Then again, I do enjoy pushing the envelope. "Maybe you can use those on Jessy later."

Jess shot me daggers (ow) and though I couldn't be sure on account of the darkness, I think her face turned fire truck red.

"I'd rather not," Mark said, missing my meaning entirely. "I don't really drink blood."

"You don't say." My hand brushed something and I looked down at the seat. The book, face as frozen in torment as ever. "So, the other day at the library, I found this." I held it up, and Tim and Mark both glanced at it. I couldn't see Jess but I could feel her paling.

I opened the cover and flipped a few pages. "It's a spellbook. It belonged to a real live witch."

"Yeah?" Tim asked, mildly interested.

"Yeah, I looked her up on Wikipedia."

He turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. "Wikipedia? You know she's legit if she's on Wikipedia."

"Exactly."

I told him and Mark everything, starting with finding the book in the storeroom and ending with what I dug up about Ellie Rimbaugh. "Wait," Tim said, "that's thing's bound in human flesh?"

"..."

"Alex."

Firm.

Demanding.

"N-No." I doubted it really was, but I honestly couldn't be sure. Like I said earlier, that book was not 500 years old and if it was really wrapped in skin, said skin would have decayed and rotted long ago.

I said as much, and he spared me a quick, uneasy glance. "Don't spag out. It's not really skin."

"It's creepy, whatever it is," Jess shuddered.

"You're all lightweights."

Two miles later, we turned onto Pine Street…

...and Tim hit the brake. He, Jess, and Mark were wearing their seatbelts. I was not, and the force of the stop flung me into the back of Tim's seat. "Ow!" I cried more in surprise than pain. "Why did you - ?"

Then I saw it. The Brenners' was ahead on the right, a virtual palace with dormers, marble columns, French doors, and decorations in the yard. A fleet of cop cars, blue lights streaking the night, sat at the curb, and people in costumes knelt and sat on the front lawn, some in handcuffs and others looking ashamed. A couple cops in black stood over them, one looking at a clipboard and another shoving someone into the back of a car. The perp was tall, thin, and balding with glasses. I was pretty sure it was Alton Brenner.

Uh...what's going on?

"Oh, my God," Jess breathed, horrified.

Tim sighed and hung his head, and Mark silently counted. "Ten cops."

Another squad car appeared and parked, and two more got out. "Twelve cops."

Throwing the car in reverse, Tim backed up, and my heart clutched. "B-But the party."

"Party's canceled," he said bitterly.

Great.

I blew a puff of air and slumped back against my seat. My lip may or may not have stuck sullenly out. I don't know. I was certainly upset enough. "I knew it," Jess said. "I knew something would go wrong; I knew there'd be illegal activity – I knew it, I knew it, I knew it." She shuddered and hugged herself like she was cold. "Thank God it happened before we got there."

Well, what could I say? Jess was right. I told her this party was on the level and it wasn't, which made me look really bad.

Even worse, though...no party! No bobbing for apples, no seasonal music, no dancing, no cake walks, no pin the tail on the donkey, no punch, no snacks, no costumes, nothing.

Halloween was officially ruined.

"What now?" Tim asked and looked at me in the mirror.

My stomach rumbled. "Well, first, I'm hungry, then…" I trailed off. What? It was Halloween and on Halloween you do Halloweeny things. In Royal Woods, you had the Brenners' party or trick-or-treating, and that was pretty much it. Except for the haunted house at the volunteer fire department, but that stank: It was the same set up and same cheap jump scares every year. Yawn. And as much as I like free candy, I'm just a little too old for trick-or-treating...just ask the bigots in this town. Durr, you're fifteen, durr, you're too old, durr stop shoving little kids out of the way to be first durr.

All the way to White Castle I wracked my brain for something fun and festive we could do. We could throw eggs and soap windows, but for one thing, it was too early for that, everyone was still awake, and for two, I might be a lot of things, but I am not a hoodlum. Tim crept to the order window, got a sack of burgers, then pulled to the exit. Clock's ticking, Alex.

Tight, gripping claustrophobia closed around my chest, and the prospect of missing Halloween, my favorite holiday, made me want to hyperventilate, Jessy style.

"We could go to the Jesusween party at the Methodist church," Mark offered.

UGH. No. I want Halloween, not some evangelical knock off - no offense to my Christian friends. Jesus is a fine boy and all, but his parties aren't my cup of Joe. Place was probably a -

A metaphorical light bulb appeared over my head. "The cemetery!"

Jess's face fell.

"The cemetery?" Tim asked incredulously.

"Why the cemetery?" Mark put in.

Pfft. Why the cemetery. What a normie. "It's quiet, it's dark...and it is spooky. Perfect for a little Halloween revelry."

"I-I don't wanna go to the cemetery," Jessy stammered.

Sigh. Of course not. Jess just has to be the wet blanket of the group.

"I dunno," Tim said and turned right. In the direction of the cemetery. "That sounds kind of boring."

"We can tell scary stories," I said, "and hang out. Come on, it'll be fun."

The way I saw it, hanging out among the tombstones and telling scary stories was all we had. It wasn't optimal, but, you know, we could turn it into a good time.

Tim hummed thoughtfully.

"I really don't want to do this," Jess said.

"Why? Scared of the living dead?"

"No! It's just…" she searched for a convincing excuse, because she was totally afraid of the living dead. "It's disrespectful."

"No it's not.", It's not like we're gonna have a Satanic orgy or desecrate graves or anything; we're just gonna chill."

Jess pursed her lips. "We're going to do this, aren't we?"

Ten minutes later, we pulled up to the main gate of Westvale Cemetery, a vast, flat, tabletop parcel of land separating the river from Westvale Drive and enclosed by a wrought iron fence. Standing in front of the archway leading in, you could look down Main Street and see the sparse lights of downtown. A few houses with big yards salted Westvale and the lamps were spaced far apart, leaving the night to hold court. Overhead, stars splashed the dark sky like diamond chips on black velvet, and a crisp breeze stirred the trees. Tim parked at the curb and cut the engine. Shadows filled the car, and seeing Jess's face five inches from my own was nigh on impossible.

"Just for the record," she said and chopped the air for emphasis, "I do not like this."

I opened my door and got out. "Don't be a spoil sport."

Tim and Mark followed, and Jess hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly brought up the rear. We stood next to the car and looked up at the gate: WESTVALE read the letters over the arch. A cold gust of wind swept from the south, and Jess hugged herself. "I didn't think I'd need my jacket." The glare she gave me made her comment feel like an accusation.

Mark put his arm around her shoulders, and she gratefully leaned into him like a warmth-sucking vampire. "There's a blanket in the trunk," Tim said and went around the back, opened the trunk, then came back with a heavy wool comforter that he handed her before turning to me "How are we going to get in there?" A thick chain was threaded through the bars and padlocked in place. Huh. That might present a problem. I walked over, bent, and studied it closely.

It looked formidable.

"I dunno, but it's not looking good, guys." I reached out and touched it.

Two things happened at once. One, shock went up my left arm, traveled through my chest like an electric gas bubble, and went down my right arm; two, the padlock popped open and fell to the ground.

"Y'ouch!" I ripped my hand back, even though it didn't hurt...it just kind of tingled.

"What?" Tim asked worriedly.

I looked at my fingertips and flexed them slowly.

They looked and felt normal.

"That lock shocked me." I kicked it aside. "Must be corroded or something."

I stripped the chain out with a clang and dropped it on the ground; it landed with a hollow thump and kicked up a little poof of dust.

"Uhh...maybe we shouldn't," Jess said. "This is technically breaking and entering."

"No it's not." I opened the gate and the rusted hinges shrieked like an eerie banshee cry, making me wince.

Like I said, Jess has a good head on her shoulders, perhaps I should listen to her.

Then again: Halloween.

That decided me. "C'mon guys, follow me to fun."

A gravel road bisected the grounds, a narrow sliver to the left and a broad plain broken by trees and headstones on the right. Westvale had been Royal Woods's primary burying place - in one form or another - since the 1850s, and as such, it was kind of packed. The slabs, crypts, vaults, and gravestones were crammed together. Closer to the entrance, the graves were newer, but the farther back you went, the older they got: Crooked, slanted, covered in slime, moss, and grit, the writing on their faces had largely been worn by years and the elements. The ground in front of a few was sunken and uneven; it took me a minute to realize that was probably because the coffins below had collapsed.

Creepy.

An owl hooted from a high branch, and Jess let out a squeaky eep and then moaned. "Let's go."

"But we just got here," I said.

"I wanna go home." It came in a fearful rush that made her sound like a little girl in a scary place. She hugged herself tightly, and Mark pulled her close with a whispered word of encouragement I didn't catch. Tim moseyed along with his hands in his pockets, looking curiously around like he'd never seen a cemetery before. The moon crested over the rim of the earth, and a shaft of silvery light fell on an inexplicable wide spot between two rows, set just far enough from the surrounding stones to make it perfect for chilling without being on top of the dead. The grass was thick, dry, and soft.

That sounded dirty.

Going over, I dropped to my butt and crossed my legs. I patted the ground next to me. "C'mon, Jess, I'll protect you from the living dead."

Jess sputtered. "D-Don't talk about them."

"Why not? I asked. "Scared?" Throwing my head back, I deepened my voice. "They're not coming to get you, Jess. Look, there goes one of them now...in the opposite direction."

Poor Jess shook like a leaf. "D-Don't say that." She got stiffly to her knees then sat, and cowered against Mark for comfort.

Tim sank to his butt beside me and drew his knees to his chest. The moon soared into the sky like a vampire waking from infernal slumber, and its cold light bathed the cemetery. It was so bright I could see halfway across the field. Something moved, and a thrill went up my leg like my name was Chris Matthews.

That means max spookiness has been achieved. Give yourself a pat on the back, Alex.

I went to do that, but there was something in my left hand.

Something flesh-ish.

And booky.

Huh. Have I really been carrying this thing the whole time? I tried to remember picking it up, holding it on the walk over, but couldn't.

Okay, now max spookiness has been achieved.

From Tim's exasperated sigh, he noticed the book. "Did you really have to bring that?"

"It was in my hand. I totally forgot about it." I set it in the grass in front of me, slapped my hands on my knees, and looked around at my squad: Jess, pale and shaking; Mark looking around (fascinating tree); and Tim sneering at the book like it burned his crops and salted the earth so nothing would ever grow again. "You act like it's the worst thing ever."

Tim favored me with a toxic sidelong glance. "Alex...it's covered in human skin."

Oh, this again? As the former President might say: You, sir, are fake news. "It's not really human skin." "It's not – here; feel." I realized even as those words left my mouth that the cover did feel like skin - warm, living skin - and that Tim feeling it probably wouldn't help my case.

Thankfully, he politely declined. "Get that shit away from me."

"I wanna hold it," Mark said.

Aha, Mark, my man.

"Ew, God, don't touch it," Jess said. "Alex, please get rid of that book."

The beseeching hilt in her voice was raw and abject. "I will tomorrow, okay? But...come on, it's Halloween, and Sheriff Brackett says: Everyone's entitled to one good scare. You don't wanna let Sheriff Brackett down. Do you?"

"I don't even know who that is," Jess snapped. Her patience was wearing thin, and one good prod would rip it to shreds...like 1-ply toilet paper.

"He's the -"

Jess threw her head back. "I don't care. I don't like being scared. And I don't like that book."

"Yeah, I'm not into it either," Tim concurred.

Alright, real talk: I was starting to get offended. Don't ask me why, I know it doesn't make sense, but their babified bellyaching irked me. Maybe I was mad over the party being ruined, maybe I was taking it personally when I shouldn't have, or maybe...maybe the book was even then exerting some kind of sick pall over me.

Or maybe it was a combination of those things.

Or maybe it was none of them.

Whatever it may or may not have been, my face flushed hotly and my chest roiled. Bunch of bellyaching babies. If they think this book was creepy now, just you wait, buddy.

I struggled to my feet and stood over them like an ax-wielding psycho. "I tried to reason with you, but noooo." I opened the cover. "My name is Alex Loud, and I'm a real live witch now. This book is mine and I'm going to curse all of you with it."

Tim rolled his eyes; Mark stared blankly; and Jess clenched her jaw.

I opened the cover, and a gust of wind caught the pages. When they fluttered back into place, I read the text. Oooh, perfect. "Latin," I said nastily, "the language of Satan." I threw up a one-handed air quote.

"Knock it off, Alex," Jess said firmly.

"It's too late for that, Jessica. You mocked me and now you will pay...by becoming a frog and thinking about what you've done."

Squinting to see in the dim moonlight, I started to read.

"Populo mortui resurgunt. Egressus est de terra."

The words felt strange and clunky on my lips, and I stumbled in a few places as I tried to sound them out.

"Voco vos ad vigilaveris."

A sudden wind gusted through the cemetery, stirring my hair.

"Redire ad hoc terra."

The words came easier, as though I wasn't speaking Latin for the first time ever. The book seemed to pulse in my hands like a beating heart and energy surged through my veins. Another gust, this one stronger; my dress and hair rippled around me, and the edge of the page blew back and forth. My heart slammed against my ribs and I tried to stop, but some outside force pulled me through the rite.

"Venit ex monumentis. Excitare. Finem somno et excitare."

My voice echoed in my head, and I realized I was numb. Fear flooded my chest...but the otherworldly exhilaration was stronger. I felt big, powerful, and maybe, I'm ashamed to say, a little sexually excited.

Jess screamed, and for the first time ever, Mark's features arranged in the shape of human emotion.

He looked scared.

"Alex!" Tim cried, barely audible over the shrieking wind. Trees swayed, leaves pelted my back and stuck in my hair. "Stop!"

I'm trying!

Instead, more Latin spilled from my mouth. "Surgere nunc. Ego obsecramus te. Nocte pertinet ad te."

Jess buried her face in Mark's chest; Tim held his arm up to shield himself from the wind, and Mark turned his head. A long, crashing peal of thunder rent the night, and lightning cracked the sky. A tremor ran through the ground and my mind screamed at me to stop, for the love of God, STOP IT!

My lips moved on their own, my mouth spoke but not my voice. This voice was deeper, darker, and coming out, it felt almost like it was being dragged, a fish at the end of a hook. "Veni et accipe nocte! Excitare! Excitare!"

Like throwing a switch, it stopped. The thunder rumbled to silence, the lightning faded, and the wind died down. The book was red hot and shaking from side to side like a small, vicious animal, and with a cry, part pain and part alarm, I threw it down and fell back a step; my feet tangled in the hem of my dress and I landed on my butt so hard the air drove from my lungs.

Jess cowered into Mark, terrified whimpers rising from her hitching chest, and Tim lay curled in the grass like a baby in the womb. I'm pretty sure he would have been crying for mommy if his vocal cords weren't frozen.

Me? I sat there in shock, cast, for once, into total silence. I know I can be kind of silly and maybe even a little annoying, but right then and there, all of that dried up.

What the hell just happened?

I darted my eyes to the book.

Still.

Dark.

But somehow...I could feel its presence...as though it weren't an inanimate object but a person.

"What the hell, Alex?" Tim groaned shakily.

"T-That wasn't me!"

"Yes it was," Mark said.

"Honest! I -"

Something brushed my hand and I yanked it away with a gasp. I turned my head, but didn't see anything.

Whew.

On edge. Heh. "It was the book."

"I told you it was yuck," Jess said.

I know, God, I know, you were so right, Jess, I'm sorry.

Before I could say that - or anything else - a flicker of movement caught my attention. I turned again just as a clump of earth moved aside and a gray, withered hand emerged. My heart dropped into my stomach and my mouth fell open. Long, bony fingers quested across the grass like the world's most petrifying spider, and I stared at them in skull-cracking horror. Yellowed bone showed through hanging tatters of flesh, and a bug scuttled over one knotted knuckle.

Zombie.

The world around me dimmed and my mind came this close to breaking.

No.

T-That's not possible.

Zombies aren't real.

ZOMBIES AREN'T REAL!

The hand lifted higher, turning slightly left to right as if tasting the cool night air. Hey, haven't felt this in a while.

"Holy shit!"

Tim jumped up like a startled cat and nearly fell over Jess and Mark. An arm was reaching out of the ground where he had just been lying, and the hand was opening and closing spasmodically as if to say, I know you're there, buster, c'mere.

My paralysis broke, and with a throat rending screech, I rocketed to my feet and spun around.

As soon as my brain registered what my eyes were seeing, I really, really, really wished I hadn't turned around.

They were everywhere. Arms and torsos struggled from the earth; dark figures shambled between the rows; nearby, a woman looking like something from They Live pulled herself out of her grave, her ratty burial dress clinging to her emaciated form. Farther away, a man in a dusty suit used a headstone to draw himself to a standing position. Most of the flesh had rotted away from his skull, and one milky-white eye stared out from a yawning socket with malevolent life. Our gazes met, and the look of hungry excitement that flickered across his visage stopped my heart in its tracks.

"Oh my God!" Jess wailed. She rocked on her butt, pitched forward, hit the ground face first, and flailed like a no-limb woman in an ass-kicking contest. Mark pulled her to her feet, and they both staggered. Tim stared down at the ghoul before him with wide-eyed shock. It had worked itself free to the waist, and snatched at him with a low, doggish growl.

Others were coming, all skeletal faces, sparse hair, gaping eye sockets, squirming maggots, teeth, lipless smiles; their voices came together in a hellish din of moaning, and the sound alone was enough to shove me back. Jess was sobbing and Mark looked quickly around for a weapon, but there was nothing. I realized I was hyperventilating and tried to calm myself, but a hand grabbed my ankle, and I let loose a terrified howl instead.

A skeleton lay prone in front of me, its frame stripped of skin, blood, muscle, and everything else that makes a person. It lifted its head, and impossibly, it had eyes: Blue, bloodshot, and moist with intelligence. My body froze and hysteria burst inside my head like a dying heart.

Suddenly, Tim was beside me, his foot falling in a deadly arc; it hit the skull, and with a wet, sickening snap, it came off and rolled away. "Motherfucker," it called.

God, they can talk?

"Come on!" Tim wrenched me back and we fell in beside Mark and Jess, a tiny, huddled group facing a thousand enemies in various states of decay. They lurched, crawled, hobbled, one even used a branch as a rudimentary cane. They hissed, spat, and mewled like animals.

Even though I was seeing it, I couldn't believe it.

Jess hugged herself and bent at the waist, crying harder now. Mark took her by the arm and slowly led her away, as if afraid to make any sudden moves. Something grabbed me, and I screamed, but it was only Tim. "Come on!"

I turned to run, but a zombie was there, and I went stiff. My height, maybe an inch shorter, it had been a man in life. Rags hung from its arms in shreds and its slime coated ribcage stuck out from bluish skin. Tufts of wispy white hair clung to its skull and its empty eye sockets festered with worms. Tim put his arm protectively around me but made no move to fight the thing. So much for bravery, huh?

The thing leaned over, and, as one, Tim and I leaned back.

Sniffing the air, the zombie made an obscene ummmmm sound. "Your brain smells spicy, like a fajita."

Wait, what did he say? "Okay, wow, that was really racist."

Its maggot bitten tongue swiped over what passed for its upper lip. "I-I don't think he cares about being politically correct," Tim said through his teeth.

Jess screamed, and she and Mark started to run. Tim grabbed my hand, pulled me away from the zombie, and, together, we ran too. Ghouls stumbled after us, arms raised and teeth gnashing, some so close I could feel their fingertips grazing my arm, which only made me run faster.

Ahead, Jess and Mark made it through the gate. A few zombies staggered into our way, but we swung wide. A hot stitch flared in my side and fire filled my lungs, but I ignored it. My survival instincts were in full gear and absolutely nothing else mattered.

I got through the gate first, and Tim a split second later. Jess and Mark ran down the middle of Main toward town, their feet flying over the pavement. The hellish sounds of a tortured multitude rose behind us. "Hey, dumbasses, get in the car!" I yelled

Someone snagged my dress and whipped me around. A mountain of cold, decomposing dinosaur suit. I looked up, and a dead face sneered down at me.

Three years is a long time, but the creature before me kept remarkably well.

So well that I recognized him instantly.

Bandanna, shades.

Dino.

And he was much taller in person.

"What the fuck is y'all doin' in my cemetery?" he demanded.

The zombies were almost at the gate, a wall of dark faces and even darker desire.

"Hey," Tim started, but Dino cut him off.

"Nigga, shut yo ass up. I ain't talkin to you. I'm talkin' to lil' miss Mexi-bitch."

Tim took a threatening step forward, and in a flash, Dino pushed me away and grabbed him around the throat with both hands Wayne Brady style. Tim's eyes bulged and his lips smooshed together. Dino held him off the ground, and his feet kicked back and forth. "What, nigga?" Dino asked and shook him like a crocodile with its prey. "What, nigga?"

The vanguard reached the gate and the living dead began to spill out into the night, the ones at the head of the pack mere feet away. I turned to Dino, terror clawing my heart. If I didn't do something, Tim was -

It hit me, and summoning all my strength, I threw a punch.

At Dino's balls.

His eye widened and his grip on Tim released. He dropped to one knee and shuddered in agony. "Bitch," he panted, "you done fucked up now."

When he looked up, though, we were already gone.