GRANDMA? Part 1 (YA Zombie Serial Novel) by J.A. Konrath (best historical fiction books of all time txt) 📗

Then the floor creaked. It came from the bedroom Josh and I shared.

Someone was in there.

"Josh?" My voice shrank to a whisper.

I walked silently down the hall and placed my hand on the door handle of our room, my palms sweating.

Another creak.

Was it Josh and Grandma?

Or was it something else? The thing I was afraid of?

Chill out, Randall. Just open the door. You can do this.

I pressed on the door, opening it an inch—

—and heard something squeak.

It wasn't the wooden floor. This was something different. Almost like a bird chirping.

Be Nike. Just do it.

I threw the door open, my heart pounding harder, revealing…

An empty bedroom.

"Josh! Where are you?"

The silence mocked me. I took a step inside.

Squeak.

My ears told me it was coming from inside the room, but nobody was there.

Squeak.

It was a familiar sound. And close. But I couldn't place it.

"Grandma?" I whispered.

I waited for the squeak to come again. As I did, my eyes scanned the room. No windows were open, so it couldn't be the wind. Maybe was just a chipmunk or…

Squeak.

The closet.

The door was closed, and the squeaking sound was coming from inside.

I'd always been afraid of the closet, even though I'd never admit it to Josh. When I was his age and Mom and Dad took us to visit Grandma after she'd moved here, I kept all my fishing gear in that closet. I'll never forget going inside to get a pole, walking right into a giant spider web—one swarming with hundreds of little baby spiders that had just hatched. They crawled all over my face, into my hair and ears; me screaming and slapping while smearing spider guts all over my head.

From then on I kept my fishing stuff next to the bed.

I stared at the closet door, my hands at my sides, not wanting to open it.

Squeak.

The sound was definitely coming from inside. But why would Grandma, or Josh, be in there?

"Josh? That you?"

Squeak-squeak.

I wanted to run. I wanted Mom and Dad here. I wanted this to be a bad dream that I could wake up from. I wanted to be older than fifteen, so I would know what to do.

But the truth was, I did know what to do.

I had to check the closet.

My hand reached out for the closet knob, moving in slow motion. A cold drip of sweat ran down my forehead, stinging my eye. I took a huge breath and exhaled nice and slow.

It was probably nothing. I needed to stop being such a wimp.

Then I threw open the closet door—

—and saw the crazy old man who bit Grandma's neck standing there, Josh's bathtub rubber duck in his mouth.

He chewed on it.

Squeak-squeak.

His eyes were milky white, his face and clothes soaked in Grandma's blood. He reached out his arms for me, and I saw his hand had a large bite mark in it, so deep the bones were poking out.

I stood there for a moment, feeling like I had to pee, and then fear made my muscles move and I slammed the closet door shut.

The man—or whatever it was—began to squeak the duck again.

I stepped back, unable to breathe. Unable to run.

Squeak-squeak.

I needed to get away. But my body wasn't listening to my brain.

Squeak-squeak.

Squeak-squeak.

Squeak…

Then the closet doorknob began to turn.

I was so scared, my muscles all locked up, and my feet felt like they'd grown roots. I watched, lungs petrified, mouth open but unable to scream, as the closet door slowly opened.

The man in the closet was going to come out and bite me. Like he bit Grandma. And I was just standing there, just like a deer in the road, staring at the approaching headlights, too shocked to move.

"Randall!"

It was Josh. He sounded far away, but hearing him snapped me out of my frozen fear. I sucked in a breath, and my legs began to move by themselves, hurrying me out of the bedroom and into the hall, toward the sound of my brother's voice.

"Josh! Where are you?"

"Randall!"

I sprinted downstairs, back to the living room.

"JOSH!" I screamed.

C'mon Josh, where the hell are you?

My eyes scanned the room, then I flew into the kitchen.

"Randall!"

Basement. He was in the basement.

I sprinted to the basement and flung open the door. It was about twenty concrete steps down into a pit of black. I hit the light switch on the wall, but it didn't work. I was supposed to have changed the light bulb earlier. Dad told me to, three times. But I was fishing off the pier and had forgotten.

"Josh?"

"Grandma's okay! She can walk and everything, Randall!" Josh's shrill voice rose through the darkness. "She can bake us her chocolate chip cookies like she always does, the ones with the Hershey's Kiss in the middle! She can garden again, just in time to harvest her cherry tomatoes! Grandma's okay!"

Josh was creeping me out. He sounded hysterical.

"Josh? You all right?"

"Come down here, Randall!"

I took a step down, squinting, seeing nothing.

"Grandma?"

"She's standing next to me!" Josh said. "Come down!"

I should have been rushing down there. Rushing down to Grandma and Josh, and then getting them out of there before the man in the closet got us. But it was really dark, and I was freaked out.

"Grandma?" I called.

Grandma didn't answer.

Flashlight. I needed a flashlight.

"Josh, I'll be right there."

I went back to the living room.

Where the hell did I put it? I had it last night when Josh and I were collecting pine cones for a pine cone fight. Did I leave it on the couch?

I threw the cushions aside, checking the inside of the sofa. A Cheeto—God knows how old—a quarter, some crumbs. I brushed off the fuzz and ate the Cheeto (turned out to be waaaay old), then went to the kitchen and began opening all the cabinets and drawers. I paused. My ears sharpened to—

Giggling?

My search quickened, shoving aside glasses and plates. Hands shaking, I found a box of light bulbs.

Forget the flashlight.

I went back to the basement door, clutching the light bulb box. The darkness giggled at me. I couldn't tell