Chapter 1: The Block

The sun hung low over the block, casting a golden glow over the cracked streets. Music boomed from a passing car, rattling the windows of the nearby houses as Zeke leaned back in his porch chair, sipping on a cold soda. The porch was his throne, where he could watch the whole neighborhood—kids riding bikes, teenagers playing ball in the street, and old folks gossiping from their stoops. Life in the hood was steady, predictable, and loud.

Julie sat on the porch railing, scrolling through her phone, half-listening to Zeke as he launched into his latest conspiracy theory.

"You heard about old man Jenkins, right?" Zeke asked, adjusting his sunglasses and grinning like he had some big secret.

Julie barely looked up, raising an eyebrow. "You still talkin' about that dude? Ain't he like, 90? What, he finally kick the bucket?"

"Nah, nah, it's weirder than that." Zeke leaned in closer, lowering his voice like the whole neighborhood was listening. "Word is, no one's seen him in days. His house is all boarded up, and they say the air around it smells like—like death."

Julie groaned, sliding her phone into her back pocket. "Here we go. You and your wild stories, Zeke. Every time someone goes missing, you swear it's a ghost or some other crazy mess."

Zeke held up his hands defensively. "I'm just sayin'! People been seein' weird stuff over there. And I heard the ice cream man say he saw Jenkins shufflin' around his backyard, lookin' all jacked up, like... like a zombie or somethin'."

Julie scoffed but looked at him with curiosity. "A zombie? In the hood? You been watchin' too many movies, Zeke. Ain't nobody out here eatin' brains. Jenkins probably just holed up in his house, smokin' that funky stuff he grows in his garden."

Zeke shrugged, but his eyes lit up with mischief. "Maybe. Or maybe we should go check it out. You know, make sure he ain't turnin' the neighborhood into some 'Dawn of the Dead' type situation."

Julie sighed, looking down the block at Jenkins' old, run-down house at the corner. The place had always been a little creepy—windows dirty, yard overgrown—but it was the kind of house that just blended in with the background. Except now, with the sun setting and the shadows creeping in, the place looked more like the set of a horror movie than a regular old man's home.

"I ain't about to go into some haunted house with you," Julie said, crossing her arms. "Not tonight. I'm tryna chill."

"Come on," Zeke grinned, hopping up from his chair. "What if I'm right? What if he is a zombie? You wanna wait 'til he's out here chompin' on the neighbors, or you wanna catch this before it gets wild?"

Julie stared at him, then rolled her eyes. "Fine. But if I get bit by some crusty old man, I'm whoopin' yo' ass."

Zeke laughed and grabbed his squirt gun from the porch. "Don't worry, I'm ready. Bleach and hot sauce. Ain't no zombie messin' with us."

They stepped off the porch and started walking down the block toward Jenkins' house. The air was still warm from the day, but there was something else—a faint, sour smell that made Julie wrinkle her nose.

"You smell that?" Zeke asked, his voice lower now, like he was starting to believe his own story.

"Yeah," Julie muttered, glancing around. The usual neighborhood noise—the music, the laughter, the cars—seemed to fade as they got closer to Jenkins' house. The smell grew stronger, a mix of rotting garbage and something... worse.

The house loomed ahead, dark and quiet. The windows were covered in wooden boards, the grass in the yard waist-high. Even the usual graffiti that tagged every wall in the neighborhood seemed to avoid this place.

Zeke stopped a few feet from the gate, his squirt gun at the ready. "Alright, we just take a quick look and bounce. No big deal."

Julie huffed. "I swear if you jump out and try to scare me, I'll—"

A loud crash from inside the house cut her off. Both of them froze, eyes locked on the front door. It had swung open, banging against the side of the house, though no one had touched it.

Zeke swallowed, glancing at Julie. "Okay, maybe we just leave and come back in daylight."

But Julie didn't move. Her eyes were fixed on something deeper inside the house, a shadow creeping closer to the door. It was shuffling, slow and deliberate, like something dragging its feet across the floor.

"That's not... right," Julie whispered, her voice barely audible.

Zeke took a step back, raising his squirt gun as the shadow came into view. A figure—thin, bent, and moving in a way that no living person should—emerged from the darkness.

"Zeke..." Julie took a step back too, her heart racing. "Is that... Jenkins?"

The figure stepped into the light from the streetlamp. Old man Jenkins, or what was left of him, stared at them with milky, dead eyes. His skin hung off his bones, patches of it missing entirely. His mouth was open, teeth stained and blackened, and from his throat came a low, guttural moan.

"Yo, we gotta go," Zeke said, his voice shaking.

But Jenkins lunged, moving faster than they expected. Zeke fired off a shot of bleach, hitting him square in the chest. The old man howled, his skin bubbling and melting away, but he didn't stop.

"Run!" Julie screamed, grabbing Zeke by the arm as they bolted down the block, leaving the crumbling, half-melted Jenkins behind.

As they reached the safety of the streetlights near Zeke's house, panting and looking over their shoulders, Julie glared at him.

"See what happens when you drag me into your mess?"

Zeke was still catching his breath, his eyes wide. "Okay, okay, but you saw that, right? That was a damn zombie, Julie! We need to tell everybody. If he's like that, how many more are out there?"

Julie looked around, the familiar sounds of the block starting to return—the music, the voices, the life. But now, the air felt different.

Something was wrong in the neighborhood, and Zeke had been right all along.