Young Scrooge by R. L. Stine Page B

disappointed. I really wanted to have a fresh start here. Make some new friends.
    But these kids were coming apart. I mean, their hair and hands were falling off. How creepy is that?
    â€œWhat’s up with this school?” I said. “Where do you all come from?”
    No one answered.
    A big, fat-faced kid with tiny bird eyes on a broad nose, and straight blond hair falling over his wide forehead, bumped up to me. I saw that his hands were curled into fists. I knew instantly that he wasn’t coming over to welcome me. This guy was trouble.
    I stood my ground. I stared into his little bird eyes. “Would you like a dance lesson?” I said.
    I didn’t wait for his answer. I raised my shoe—and stomped down as hard as I could on top of his left foot.
    You’ll never guess what he did.

 
    26
    Nothing.
    He didn’t do anything.
    He stood perfectly still. As if it didn’t hurt him at all. As if he didn’t even notice that I’d pounded his foot into the floor.
    I tried again. I gave him another dance lesson. I tromped as hard as I could on his right foot.
    â€œNothing. Nada. Zilch. Zip,” as the Ghost of Christmas Future would say.
    He stood there, hulking over me, his fists curling and uncurling. A low moan rose up from the crowd of kids. They didn’t speak. They only moaned. They had formed a circle and were closing in on me.
    What did they plan to do?
    I didn’t wait to find out. I ducked my head and burst between two girls, shoving them out of my way. My shoes pounded the hard floor as I ran toward the front of the school.
    Their frightening moans followed me. I didn’t turn back. I shoved open the heavy double doors and burst outside. The moans cut off as the doors shut behind me.
    I took off running. I ran to the side of the building and turned the corner. The black tower rose above me. I ran in its shadow. My heart pounded. My legs trembled as if they were made of Jell-O.
    The air felt cold against my burning face. Over the thud of my footsteps, I heard the harsh squawks of the vultures high overhead.
    I followed the black stone wall. It led to a wide courtyard behind the school. I stopped when I saw the gravestones.
    â€œWhoa.”
    Gravestones? Behind a school?
    They were in neat rows. Low granite stones with rounded tops. All the same size, all tilting straight up in the tall grass of the courtyard.
    A loud screech made me jump. Did the sound come from a grave? No. A black cat darted between the rows of graves, its tail held stiffly high.
    I glanced back. No one had followed me. I was all alone in this strange school cemetery.
    The wind made a shrill whistling sound as it blew through the gravestones. And the ugly squawk of the vultures overhead never stopped.
    I stepped closer. Close enough to read the names engraved on the stones. Of course, I didn’t recognize any of them.
    But I gasped when I read the dates engraved beneath the names. The kids buried here had all died at age ten or eleven or twelve.
    A shiver rolled down my body. A cemetery of kids’ graves … Dead Middle School … Those silent kids I met in the hall with their hair falling off and hands dropping to the floor.
    Zombies!
    I don’t know why it took me so long to put it together. But I finally realized the kids I met in that hallway were all dead. Zombies. Were they buried here in this little graveyard? Probably.
    The Ghost of Christmas Future had dropped me off in a school of zombie kids. “This is where you belong, Scroogeman.” That’s what he had said.
    â€œThis is where you belong.”
    And as I walked along the row of low graves, my whole body shook in shudder after shudder. Was I stuck here with these zombies forever?
    I stopped suddenly. My breath caught in my throat. My knees started to buckle. I nearly fell into the open grave in front of me.
    A fresh, open hole, a deep rectangle cut into the earth. An open grave.
    My eyes bulged and I