AN- This chapter turned out GREAT. I read the first half at my writing group, and it started a very interesting discussion.

Off-topic, I like listening to classic Disney songs while writing these.

WARNING: This chapter contains marshmallow abuse.

Zim stares at the flaming white ball. He just holds it, lets it sit there, staring at it intensely. He presses his feet against the ground, shifting in his seat. He grips the stick in his hands and growls, taking his silent fury out on the fireball. He lifts the stick up, holding it tightly, rises from his seat, and–

"Zim. . . Your marshmallow's on fire again."

Zim turns to glare at the lavender-haired girl, loosening his grip on the stick a bit. He lowers it slightly. "I knew that." He waves it around a bit until the flame dies out, and then sits down, mumbling something bitterly under his breath.

Noemi just shrugs and looks back to her own marshmallow, which is hardly a golden-brown. She rotates her stick a bit, roasting the other side.

"Remember, Noemi," Tix warns in a piercing tone. "No conversing with the enemy."

"Whatever. . . ," Noemi grumbles, rolling her eyes as she pulls her stick back from the campfire. She frowns and plucks the marshmallow off of the stick, promptly stuffing it in her mouth.

The eight children sit in a circle on logs around said campfire. Hardly any of them look happy– Yeci is staring at her marshmallow sadistically as she burns it; Abby is staring off into space, lacking a fluffy white ball of sugar; Noemi is making exaggerated chewing sounds as she eats her marshmallow, which appears to be annoying Tix; Quinn keeps taking nervous looks at the pair; Keef is oblivious, smiling as he finishes making his umpteenth s'more that day; and Dib is glaring irritatedly at Zim, who is stomping out a small fire caused by yet another burnt marshmallow.

Zim is acting. . . odd, if you can call it that. He takes yet another marshmallow out of a nearby bag and skewers the stick through it, scowling. He holds it out over the fire and just stares at it as it burns. But that's not the strange part. The strange part is the way Zim stares at the marshmallow. It's not sadistic or angry; there's no fire in his eyes. He just stares at it blankly, bored, before one of two things happen– 1.) The marshmallow catches on fire and Zim puts it out, only half as violently as he normally would; or 2.) The marshmallow falls off the stick, the charred remains falling into the flames below.

He's distracted, Dib can tell. The marshmallow must be his way of venting– he's taking his anger out on it. Or, at least, that's what Dib would think if Zim wasn't acting so calm. It's like Zim has been possessed– he just watches the marshmallow burn, puts out the fire, and moves on. No yelling, no complaining, no holding back fits of rage. Just marshmallows.

It scares Dib more than he would've expected it to. He watches Zim repeat the process, almost wincing as the sugar catches fire once more. Zim just pouts, narrows his eyes, lifts the stick up to his level, and blows on it until the flame goes out. Then he pulls the blackened remains off and discards it into the fire.

Dib decides to say something, but not because he cares. He decides to say something because Zim is seriously weirding him out, and he's beginning to get worried. Er. . . that is. . . about how many marshmallows they'll have left after this distasteful massacre.

"Zim, stop it. You're wasting marshmallows." Dib frowns at Zim, literally looking down at the green-skinned boy. While Dib has grown to be about 5'3'', Zim stands (right now he's sitting, but that's off-topic) at a height of just five feet.

Zim looks back at him, pulling yet another unfortunate marshmallow away from the flames. "Why do you care, human? You don't appear to be eating any of them." He was right. Dib didn't care for sweets much, so he had early on passed on making s'mores. Still, he sits here for reasons even he is unsure of.

"I don't. But maybe the others want them." He looks up, hoping for some back up.

Abby stares off into space still, disregarding the others. Yeci almost– almost– grins as her marshmallow bursts into flames. Noemi catches Dib's gaze and merely shrugs. Tix stares in her compact mirror, fixing her hair. Quinn smiles a bit, shrugging in the same fashion as Noemi did. Keef smiles and says, "Zim can use as many as he wants! I still have plenty!" He holds up a half-full bag, shaking it slightly.

Dib turns away from them, rolling his eyes. "Fine. Whatever." He glances back at Zim, his eyes narrowing. "But seriously– stop it."

"Why should I?" says Zim defiantly, before blowing out another marshmallow-fire.

"Because it's bothersome," replies Dib, leaning in closer to Zim and gritting his teeth.

"How so?" Dib can see the ghost of a smirk creeping onto Zim's face, and it makes his stomach churn. Or maybe not churn. . . but his stomach does something, and it makes him feel sick.

"You're acting really weird. . ." He's confident in his speaking at first, but as he realizes what he's saying, he trails off, leaning back abruptly.

Zim himself seems taken aback by such a statement. "I'm. . . what?"

Dib tries to stop the words, but now that's he's dove in, he can't swim back to the surface, and the words just overflow, spilling out of his mouth. "You're not acting as angry as you usually do. You're just staring at the marshmallows, and then you don't even get mad when they catch fire!" He gently places a hand over his own mouth, careful not to say anything more. He doesn't know what he would say, were he to continue, but he's afraid to find out.

"Oh. . . alright," Zim says awkwardly, lowering the stick where a marshmallow would reside. His cheeks are turning an odd shade of blue– almost an aquamarine. Dib feels his own face turn red. He stands, brushing imaginary dust off of his pants.

"I'm going to bed," he says as he turns and walks away. He looks up to the sky, taking in the way the grey clouds stand out, even in the dark.

Zim stares after him, clutching the stick tightly in two clawed hands.

"Six!" cries Keef as the die hits the floor. He smiles and moves his red gingerbread man six spaces forward. He looks to Quinn, nudging the die forward with his index finger. "Your turn!"

Quinn picks up the die and, after rolling a four, moves his player forward.

Zim stares at them from up in his bed, frowning. They're playing some sort of strange Earth game, where you throw a cube and then move plastic pieces around on a board. The pieces look like little men, but the men look wimpy and pudgy, and they're colored oddly– bright reds and blues and greens. The board is filled with pictures of strange looking people, and candy– so much candy.

Keef notices him staring, and glances up, smiling. "You wanna play, Zim?"

Zim scrunches his mouth to one side. "I'll pass." He's laying on his stomach, his head rested in his hands. Keef, sitting on his knees, just shrugs and looks back to the game, hardly fazed by Zim's behavior.

Zim glances down at the other bed. A lump resides in the blue sleeping bag. Zim's frown grows, and he looks away. He fights a sigh, not wanting to show weakness– ever. This is all he's seen of Dib since they returned to the cabin– just a sad little lump with a jet black scythe poking out from the top of the bag. It seems stupid, but it makes Zim sort of sad, too.

Something pitter-patters against the roof of the cabin. Zim stiffens, hunching his shoulders. Dammit! The dark clouds should have been a giveaway! Why, oh why didn't he pack paste? If it rains over night, it'll still be wet outside by the next day, which means. . .

Zim shudders. This is not good. This is not good at all. More than that, it's terrible! It's practically a disaster!

Quinn looks up and frowns, his face suggesting deep thought. "It's raining."

"No, really?" is Zim's response. He squirms into his sleeping bag, feeling uncomfortable with the sound of raindrops hitting the wooden roof.

Quinn stares off into space for a second, before saying carefully, "My sister said there might be thunder."

"Thunder?" Zim echoes, unfamiliar with the word.

But Quinn mistakens it as an "Are you sure?", and he nods. "Yep."

Keef looks at Quinn, his expression almost curious. "It's been years since we've had a thunderstorm around here. . ."

Quinn smiles a bit as his turns his gaze towards the red-head. "Yeah. . . I love thunderstorms."

Keef's eyes grow a little wider. "Really?"

Quinn nods happily. "They're exciting."

Keef smiles again, his eyes sparkling. "I know! I love them, too! I'll hardly sleep tonight, I'll be so excited!"

While the pair share their experiences, Zim sits up in bed, looking at them oddly. A thunderstorm. . . He had never heard of such a term. What was it? He considers asking, but then remembers he must appear normal to both boys. He pouts, staring at his pillow. Well, he'll figure out just what makes this storm special, and then he'll never have to ask ever again.

He lays down, resting his head against the pillow. Closing his eyes, he decides he'll worry about the rain tomorrow.

Still, his posture is tense.

AN- 1,570 words! Sound good? Good!

So the list begins! After this, each chapter will begin with a few add-ons to the "List of Dread". Get it?

Also, I've finally planned out day 2! It was really easy, actually. It's going to be a very eventful day, but I don't think there's gonna be a whole lot of ZaDR. But that could change!

On the other hand, does anyone have any ideas I could use? Your own experiences and such? I already have a lot of big events planned, but that doesn't mean I can't squeeze in more!

The next chapter is gonna be GOOD, guys. So review!