Author: Bob

I arrived at the old store at about half past five. The sun had set completely, leaving everything to rely on street lights. On a chilly November night, those lights seemed cold.

It didn’t help that this part of Wurtemburg Avenue had not been modernized. The sodium lights, with their unnatural yellow color, stood widely apart. Scattered potholes revealed the remains of an earlier brick street from days long gone. Many of the buildings with brick facades and boarded windows sat lightless, unused, the unburied remainders of businesses that died. Faded paint peeled from old signs.

Yep, this was definitely the place for a Zombie Walk office.

I parked in front of the store since there were no designated parking spaces. Doing my traditional zombie investigation precheck of flashlight and notebook, I locked the door of the van and headed to the store.

True to its time period, the store was narrow with a single door in the front middle. Two wooden steps led to a narrow landing before the door itself. On each side, large windows would have shown the insides, if there was enough light. The dust covering the glass kept my flashlight beam from penetrating.

Carefully testing their strength before putting my full weight on them, I slowly climbed the stairs.

So far, so good.

Though the stairs bowed slightly, they held. That would do until I could fish the keys out of my pocket.

The door itself was a wood framed job with two large, glass panels, one on top and one on the bottom. The handle looked like it was bronze, or made to look bronze, at one point. Above it, the keyhole suggested that the lock was much newer than the rest of the door. The brand name on the lock matched the newer of the keys that Muntz had given me.

Time to go in.

The door opened smoothly, which surprised me. I expected some resistance, or at least a menacing squeak.

I panned my flashlight around the room. Someone removed the store fixtures long ago. I had expected an old meat case and maybe a counter where an old-timey clerk would fetch dry goods from the shelves for gingham-clothed customers while the customer’s kids struggled to eye the penny candy. That probably happened at one point.

Instead, the room and its walls stood bare. As best I could tell, plaster covered the walls and ceiling. The white-ish color reflected my flashlight well enough, in the uncracked parts. At least the wood planks of the floor matched my imaginings. Otherwise, it was just a large, empty room with four support pillars from floor to ceiling.

The light fell on a door in the back corner. It looked to be wood, with eight panels and sturdy old hinges. I guessed that it led to the second floor.

Carefully checking each step, I crossed the old wood floor to the door on the other side. Muntz said the upstairs was not really usable, but while I was checking the place, I probably needed to check it thoroughly. Who knew what kind of trouble I had gotten myself into.

This door also opened easily, revealing a small hallway, or more of a landing. One set of steps led up, another set led down, presumably to the basement, and then there was a door. The single window in the door showed that it went outside into the alley behind the building.

The worrisome part of the stairs going up was the light.

The stairs went upward about half the height of the first floor, and then turned. From around that turn there was a light. It may have been green or yellow; it was faint.

My brain did the strange thing where it argued with itself. Part said that some street light had made it through a window. Another part pointed out that the windows were boarded up. But old wood on the windows could easily peel, allowing a small crack. But if it’s not the street light, then it is probably something bad and running away is the best course of action.

The problem with these arguments is that they don’t stop another part of my brain that then decides that I’m the fearless zombie hunter and that I should do something. Before I really knew what I was doing, my flashlight was off and I was carefully crawling up the stairs.

Everybody knows that you need to put your weight on the sides of stairs to avoid making noise. Distributing your weight on hands and feet can make even less noise and keep you low to avoid being seen. Why I knew that and thought that everybody else did will be a forever mystery, just like the reason why I went up the stairs.

As I started around the turn to the second half of the stairs, I thought I heard some sort of noise. How I heard it over the pounding of my heart, I don’t know. That sound should have stopped me then and there.

It didn’t.

A little further and I could see that the light was a mix of small lights in different colors, like Christmas lights. Someone was using Christmas lights to light up the second floor. At least I knew the electricity worked up there. Why wasn’t I running away?

Within moments, I was high enough on the stairs that I could see into the room. It was the same size as the store below, but with two-by-fours standing where the framed interior walls should be. The bricks of the exterior walls showed clearly. None of that was an issue.

Three men sat, leaning against the frame studs. They appeared to be in their late teens to early twenties. They wore jeans and winter work coats but looked messy. Beer bottles and snack food wrappers littered the floor around them. One seemed to be dozing or trying to.

As much as I hated to see those guys, the other people were worse. Three old, decaying corpses hung to the studs, held in place by Christmas lights.

Oh crap.

Judging by the clothes, I assumed that the corpses were the ones recently stolen. If those were the corpses, then the three men were probably Johnny Franks’ friends.

Oh crap.

Finally, good sense kicked in and I started my careful descent down the stairs.

I needed to get down, get outside, and then call the police. Maybe drive away and then call the police. Either way, getting down the stairs without alerting the bad guys was step one.

The creaking noise blared through the stairwell.

Oops.

I froze.

“Did you guys hear something?” asked one of the men.

“What?”

“I said I thought I heard something,” said the first man.

“Who cares?”

“There may be somebody down there.”

“Well,” said the second man, “go look.”

“I don’t want to go look,” said the first.

“Then shut up about it,” said the second.

There was a brief pause.

“What if it’s the cops?” asked the first.

“Crap,” said the second.

Another pause.

“We better all go,” said the first. “If it is the cops, then we can all get out the back.”

“Screw it,” said the second, “You get Sleeping Beauty here and we’ll go.”

They started moving.

Hoping that the noise of their movement would cover my own sounds, I sped my climb down the stairs. Once low enough, I stood instead of crawling so I could go faster.

The sounds of the three suggested that the sleeping one was moving but not easily. I guessed that he was either high or drunk. Either way, it slowed their pursuit and that gave me an advantage.

Or so I thought.

I made it to the store and was trying to move to the front door when the door to the stairs opened.

One of the men came through, saw me and pointed his flashlight at me. “Got you!”

Almost immediately after his cry, the second man came in and stood next to the first. The second was half a head taller than the first, and much wider at the shoulder.

The third man stumbled down the stairs while the rest of us stood still, not knowing what to do.

When the third one came in, he blinked as he looked around before his eyes finally settled on me. He seemed to stare as his brain did some sort of work. Finally, it accomplished its goal and spat out, “That’s the zombie guy!”

I froze and prepared to run, possibly through one of the front windows until I noticed something. When the wasted one identified me, all three of them pulled back as though recoiling in horror.

Some instinct raised my hand in front of me as though showing them some talisman to ward off evil. It took a moment to realize that I had the coral amulet in my hand.

The men looked at each other and then at me. It was obvious they weren’t sure what to do, but it wouldn’t take long to realize that my trinket wasn’t doing anything to them.

The third man started shaking his head from side to side. “Oh no, man. Oh no, man. I ain’t messing with this.” He turned and ran back through the door. Then we heard the back door of the building slam shut. He was gone.

That left me with just the two, but they were the more rational two.

As though practiced, they both stepped toward me.

I think some sound escaped my lips, but I’m not sure.

I stepped back and then again.

The men rushed me.

I turned to run toward the door.

Somehow, I tripped over my own feet, wheeling around and crashing back-first into one of the support columns.

The column gave way under the force. The ceiling fell in, dropping plaster, two-by-fours, and three old corpses wrapped in Christmas lights.

As I fell backwards, I watched the thugs stop in their tracks, staring at the dangling bodies swinging between them and the zombie guy. As the dead swayed, the garish lights flashed around in the falling dust and debris.

They turned to run, fighting to get the door open.

In the front of the store, my fall landed me near the window. Something hit my head. I was out.

Afterward

I awoke in the hospital.

Between Hannah and Hargrave, I got most of the story of what happened.

The scared thug ran out of the building and into the street and just kept running. Eventually, he ran into the path of one of the sheriff’s department vehicles, almost getting hit in the process. Through his babbling, the deputy figured out that he was in bad shape and that his buddies were in danger in a building somewhere.

At the same time, an ambulance was already on its way to the storefront. A jogger with his dog had to stop by the store window because the dog would not budge, instead choosing to stand and bark at the window. The jogger eventually noticed the hand of a person holding a pendant of some sort. The person seemed to be buried under a bunch of fallen stuff.

Between the sheriff’s office, fire department, and ambulance, the bad guys were arrested, the corpses recovered, and I was rescued. When I didn’t come home, Hannah contacted the police and reported me missing and said that I was headed to the store. That brought everyone together.

My injuries were minor, but there were plenty of them. Mostly scratches from broken boards and stuff. Since the boards were very dirty and since I had a head injury, the hospital kept me for a couple of days.

In the long run, the bad guys went to prison. The corpses returned to their graves. The story of swinging corpses defending the zombie guy went viral, which helped the Zombie Walk be a huge success. It became an annual part of the Founders Day celebration every June, the Walk, not the swinging corpses.

Stan and Mrs. Sweigert married and moved in together. They got the apartment building up to code and fully rented. Then they built two more.

Rick advised me to buy Stan’s farm as a real estate investment, handled by Ed Muntz. While working on the careful demolition of the burnt house, we were able to salvage a few heirlooms for Stan. The best being a dresser that, though scorched, was mostly in one piece and had a drawer full of old photos.

The Revenant Rangers started selling merchandise and memberships, which would put all three of them through college. They coordinated it with the Abish County Museum of Pioneers and Zombies, run by the newly married Mrs. Hannah Hunt.

My life has been pretty good, though I still haven’t found any zombies.

Nobody knows why the coral amulet makes dogs bark.

I watched Hannah drive off to work. Sleeping all night in a sitting position should have filled me with cramps, but since it was curled up with Hannah things seemed fine. A quick gurgle from my guts said breakfast.

After eating I cleaned the new dishes as well as the ones from supper. It gave me some time to think about my plans for the day. The only concrete plan was that Hannah would be returning after work at six. That was a very long time away.

I promised the deputy that I would research what people would do with corpses. That would fill my morning. I focused on news reports of what low-end cultists and the mentally ill had done with corpses. It seemed like a good way to filter out cultural practices. The local guys probably didn’t have much culture. I dug the old laptop out of the closet since my newer one was still stolen.

Many crimes of corpse abuse centered around disposing of a fresh body after a murder. In a few instances, they kept a corpse around or hidden for some sort of financial gain. None of that fit the theft of long dead persons.

Other common grave robberies tended to be either druggies looking to steal something they could sell to fuel their habit or amateur historians who thought they were saving valuable artifacts, which they then sold. Stealing artifacts was different from stealing whole bodies. There was a story or two about some cultists who stole bodies to get the bones for rituals, but that didn’t seem like our local guys. So, either our local guys were doing something different with the bodies or there was another group doing the grave robbing. We didn’t need another group.

Our first guess stood out as likely. Our local group of bad guys dug up the first corpse just to have something to do, possibly while tweaking. I think that’s the word, tweaking. Anyway, digging up the first one was a thrill, so they did it again. Still don’t know why they didn’t finish with the last grave; but getting scared off seemed reasonable. Maybe they had a fight, or just got bored. Who knows?

I finished writing up my findings around noon. It seemed like it would be more official if I gave Deputy Hargrave a formal, printed report. Helping out gave me a sense of satisfaction. Like Hannah said, I probably wanted to connect with the community and just hadn’t gone through the trouble.

It took a little time to get the printer connected to the old laptop, mostly from driver updates. Once the report was formally printed, I set it aside and prepped for lunch. If nothing else came up, I could drop it off at the sheriff’s office later.

A Phone Call

I had just finished cleaning up from lunch when the phone rang.

“Hi, Timmy, It’s Rich. I have some good news for you on your Zombie Walk.”

The Zombie Walk had fallen to the back of my mind with everything else going on. It took a moment to gather it back up. “Great! What did you find?”

“The good news is that the forms are pretty much a piece of cake. I’ve got a little more to send to you, but there’s no hurry on that. Also, if we do things right, a lot of this might be a charitable contribution, so you’ll get some tax savings.”

These were all good things, but it seemed like he hadn’t gotten to the exciting part yet.

“Then, there’s the office. I talked to a real estate guy down there. His name is Ed Muntz. He says you guys went to high school together. Anyway, he has a building he will rent to us cheap to use for the office.”

That was good news. As for Ed Muntz, I did remember him. Not just high school, but we went through elementary and junior high as well. You do that sort of thing in a smaller town; there’s only one school. Getting the place cheap was extra good.

Rick went on. “Muntz did say the place would need some cleaning. It’s an old place, used to be a store or something, but it’s sat vacant for quite a while. He said it just needs sweeping and dusting and nothing too complex. Maybe you can get those Ranger kids to volunteer some elbow grease.”

He managed to get all that out without me saying anything since the start. There was a lot coming in quick and my brain was still trying to remember everything about Muntz. With Rick’s pause, though, I thought I should be more engaged.

“That sounds great, Rick. When can I see it? I want to start making plans.”

“There’s some paperwork to sign,” he said. “But then, there’s always paperwork to sign. Then you can get the keys. Muntz said he would be in his office all afternoon if you wanted to drop by.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” I said. “I was going to run a quick errand anyway, so I’ll just swing by then.”

Rick gave me the address for Muntz’s office. We wrapped up the call and I was on my way.

Errands

Before leaving, I stopped by one of the sheriff’s vehicles parked on my street. The deputy was the taller one who came around after the breakin. He seemed bored. I told him I was going to run a couple of errands and I gave him a list with the places I would be. He looked it over and seemed to approve.

I said thanks and went to my van.

My first stop took me to the sheriff’s office. Hargrave was out, so I left the printout of the report with the front desk. The deputy was friendly but not interested in socializing, so I left.

Next, I went to the Muntz Real Estate office. It was on the east edge of what we called downtown. The outside of the building was old brick, probably built at the end of the 1800s or early 1900s. The inside had been modernized with nice carpet over the uneven wooden floors. Recessed lights came down on dark painted walls and copper pipe sculptures. Someone went through a lot of effort to make this look like an office from Des Moines.

A woman sat behind the reception desk. She appeared to be about my age, in fairly good shape, and somewhat familiar. She looked up from her computer as I approached.

“Hi, I’m Timmy Hunt here to see Ed.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Timmy Hunt! Oh wow, I haven’t seen you in forever!” She was very enthused. “Remember me? I’m Melody Muntz, but you would have known me as Melody Fisher back in school. Wow, how’ve you been?”

That’s why she looked familiar; she was in school with Ed and I. I kind of remembered the two of them dating back then, but then everybody went to college. “I’ve been good, staying busy. It looks like you and Ed are still together.”

She flashed her left hand at me to show the ring. “Yeah, we stuck together through college and everything. Now we work out of the same office. Here, let me get Eddy for you.” She pushed a button on the phone, waited a moment, and said, “Ed, Timmy Hunt is here.”

“I’ll be right out,” came the voice.

And he was right out. He looked like an older version of the guy I remembered, and maybe a touch heavier around the middle. Still a sturdy, midwestern stereotype.

Ed Muntz had been a generally good guy. He was an above average athlete, especially at baseball, but not a great athlete. Same with academics; above average but not exceptional. From what I remember, he came from a normal, healthy Iowa middle class family. I think he had a sister two grades below us. I never heard anything negative about her.

“Timmy, my man! Come on back here and let’s get some paperwork handled.” He waved me back.

I followed him around the reception desk into a short hallway into his office.

The office was set up like the reception area, very modern and more suited to a large city. He sat in a large, plush leather chair behind a glass-topped desk while directing me toward one of the two overstuffed guest chairs in front of the desk.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. “Rick says you need a place to act as an office for a Zombie Walk. I didn’t know what that was, so I looked it up. That sounds like an awesome idea. If you can get a bunch of people into town to boost local business, I’m all for it. Make sure to keep me apprised of what I can do to help.”

My brain still lagged behind in processing but tried hard anyway. “Uh, thanks. We will have to see how it goes. I’m really helping some high school students who want to raise money for the old playground; they needed an adult to make it official. But help is welcome.”

“Great,” he continued. “The place is an old store over on Wurtemburg Avenue. It’s two stories plus a basement; the upstairs used to be offices. It’s brick and was built in the 1890s. In the thirties, it got an update with indoor plumbing and electricity, so it’s reasonably modern and usable. It’s only been used off and on since the eighties.”

I didn’t really know what I wanted in a temporary office for a Zombie Walk, so I wasn’t sure how much of what he said was useful. I guess indoor plumbing and electricity were good. “Rick said it needed some cleaning or something?”

“Oh yeah,” he went on. “The store part on the ground floor is just dusty from sitting unused all these years. The upstairs is a different animal. Sometime, I think back in the nineties, someone started to remodel. They took the walls down to the studs, leaving exposed wire and everything. They replaced the windows with plywood. It’s probably ok to use it for storage, but I wouldn’t plan on doing anything else up there.”

He stopped a moment and then grinned. “It sounds a little run down, but that’s probably the perfect place for a Zombie Walk office.”

Rick said we were getting the place cheap. If Ed thought the place was that bad, he was probably happy to be renting it at all. Besides, he was right; it was probably the perfect fit for a zombie-themed event.

“Where do I sign?” I asked.

Within fifteen minutes, all the paperwork was done, the keys to the place were in my pocket, and we were shaking hands.

Next I went back to the big store on the edge of town. They were really the only place to buy a new computer and it was unlikely that I would get my stolen one back. It took a while to look through and compare all the models. My phone provided enough Internet to let me do a little research on reviews and things. Eventually I settled on a new laptop. I didn’t pick top of the line because I didn’t need that much computing power, but I got one that was new enough and powerful enough that it would take a few years to go obsolete.

By the time I completed my computer shopping, as well as picking up some groceries, it was five o’clock. This time in November, that meant the sun was already down, but just by a little bit. That would give me time to get supper made before Hannah came over.

I started putting my shopping into the back of the van when, what a coincidence, Hannah called.

“Hi Timmy. I have some news.”

Panic hit me hard. “Are you ok? Is everything alright?” My pulse instantly skyrocketed. The muscles on the back of my neck pulled tight.

“I’m fine,” she continued. “It’s not that kind of bad news. Janey called in sick, so I have to work until eight. Is that ok?”

I was still recovering. “What? Oh. Yeah. That’s good. You had me worried. Sure.” I think I blinked a couple of times while staring at nothing. “Uh, do you still want to come over after work? I haven’t made supper yet, but I can wait.”

“You don’t have to wait, but I’d love to come over. You’re the best.”

“Oh,” said, surprising myself. “I have some good news. I rented a store to use as the office for the Zombie Walk.”

“That’s great,” she said. “Where is it?”

“It’s this run down old brick store on Wurtemburg.”

“I think I know that place. Is it the one next to the old barber shop?”

I hadn’t given any thought to what would be around it. “I don’t know, I haven’t been there. My financial guy, Rick, set it up.”

“I’m sure it will be great once you’ve gotten involved.”

An idea popped into my head. “If you’re going to be a couple of hours late, I may just drive by the place and see what it looks like. It might be more work than I’ve planned for.”

“You can tell me all about it over supper. I got to go. Talk to you later. Bye”

With that she was gone.

Something about the call put me in a good mood. The whirlwind of renting a building I’d never seen or the threat of violent druggies just seemed to go away. My pulse dropped back to normal and my neck resumed its usual level of tension.

I finished loading my shopping into the van and was on my way to the run down store where I would house the office of the Zombie Walk.

What could go wrong?

We reach the end of another year and I realized that this site has not had new content since September. There are good reasons for it, but it’s still bad practice. Hopefully, next year won’t be as disruptive. For the spring, that may not be possible.

Work is the main reason for the prolonged absence these past three months. As you may know, I teach at the local community college. I started the semester with one hundred and fifty students, each with a lab, quiz, and homework assignment to grade each week. At the end of the term, the enrollments had dropped to just under one hundred and thirty, but that was still a lot of grading. All that took up my spare time.

As of yesterday, my spring enrollment is just at one hundred fifteen, scattered between six course sections and one independent study. That is still a lot of grading, but down significantly from the fall term. Three of the sections are my Database class; those assignments usually take longer to grade.

In addition to disrupting my writing, including the wrapup of Timmy’s Zombie Abatement Service, it also disrupted my exercise. This time last year, I was in the tail end of chemotherapy. The result of that experience left me with anemia, very high blood glucose, and weakening of my heart. My recovery has been slow, but exercise would be a big help.

More importantly, the job chaos and the reduced health has thrown me off my rhythm. Miyamoto Musashi, in his Book of Five Rings, said that everything has a rhythm. There is a rhythm to success and a rhythm to failure. He encourages the reader to find the correct rhythm for their life and goals and to adhere to that. My rhythm seems to have been focused on running hectic and catching up. Note: I strongly recommend his book and have given away many copies of it; so go read his book.

During this break between terms, I have particular goals. One set of goals centered on tasks around the house, and those are mostly done. The other set has to do with preparing for the spring semester. Those goals still have some work to do. If I do them correctly, they should reduce the amount of work I do during the spring semester.

That’s where things stand. With any luck, and better organization, there shouldn’t be another three month gap between this post and the next.

I paced randomly around my house. Nerves, I guess, and I certainly had stuff to be nervous about. The criminals who burned down Stan’s house and probably broke into mine now thought I was the one giving them up to the police. I was, sort of, and should have thought about that at the time. I had my reasons.

The main reason was that nothing ever happened in my life, so I never expected anything to happen. At least, nothing had happened since…

I wasn’t sure when Hannah would show up, so I decided to cook. She worked all day and then spent time at the sheriff’s office, so she would probably be hungry. Since she came into my life, I started to keep more food in the house. I prepared a frozen pasta meal for two. That didn’t seem right on its own, so I heated some frozen vegetables to go with it.

Then the real pacing started. By then, my thinking shut off and the pacing ran on autopilot, just enough awareness to avoid the furniture. No telling how much time went by; my brain just wasn’t there.

The pacing and blank staring went on. That was probably the closest I had ever been to zombie life. Was that what they went through? I was never sure what zombies experienced. Were they soulless, mindless bio-machines, or were their souls trapped inside a body outside of their control? Didn’t really matter in the end.

The doorbell rang.

My autopilot shut off abruptly, causing me to almost crash into my desk. It took a moment to realize what happened. Fortunately, the bell rang again and that made things clear.

I rushed to the door and peeked through the security hole. It was Hannah and a deputy.

I opened the door.

The deputy spoke, “She says she is expected?”

“Yes,” I said, “definitely yes. Thank you. Have a good night.”

I grabbed Hannah by the upper arm in as gentle and urgent a manner that I could and attempted to pull her in.

She came in while turning to wave to the deputy. “Thank you,” she said to him as he walked away.

As soon as the door closed, she threw her arms around me, hugged me tight, then kissed me. Just her doing that drove a lot of the tension out of me. “I’m so glad they’re watching you,” she said into my shoulder as the hug resumed.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you’re safe and that you’re here,” said the smooth talker inside my brain that seemed to say the right thing when she was around.

We stood like that for a moment, just enjoying each other’s presence. It was good.

Finally, I interrupted to say, “I made some supper. Why don’t we eat and you tell me about your visit to the sheriff’s office”

She agreed and we sat around my little dining table.

Her visit was pretty straight forward. Hargrave asked all the expected questions and she gave all the answers she could. He appreciated that she came forward and encouraged her to do so again if she found anything else. She asked if she was in any danger and he told her she probably wasn’t but should be extra vigilant just in case.

I don’t know why I expected something different. Maybe I hoped that her information would be enough to arrest all the bad guys and we could all just go about our business. What she told Hargrave was probably helpful, but these things took time. I had to be patient. Meanwhile, dangerous house-burners knew where my house was.

I told her I would do dishes later. We went to sit on the couch, me sitting first so she could more easily snuggle up against me. My arm found its way around her without me telling it to.

“Are you scared?” she asked.

“Yep,” I said.

“Me too.” She dug in a little deeper in her snuggle. It was pleasant.

“Do you think they’ll try to hurt us?” she asked.

I thought for a moment; I wanted to seem brave and secure but not dishonest. “If they can, it wouldn’t surprise me. They burned down Stan’s house with him in it. I don’t think they are good at planning but they are probably good at lashing out. I just hope they focus on me and leave you alone.”

She gestured in a wide circle, as best she could without pulling away. “You have all these deputies around you. They would have to be pretty stupid to try something with that kind of police presence.”

“I’ve been led to believe they are pretty stupid,” I replied.

“Well, soon the cops will have this wrapped up and you can go back to not being afraid,” she said.

That hit a nerve. It wasn’t just the bad guys that made me afraid.

She could see that there was something going on inside my head. “What is it? Is there something else wrong?”

I wanted to tell her, but I hadn’t even told myself, burying things for so many years. I wasn’t really sure where to start, but then the thought popped into my head and out of my mouth. “I don’t know if you remember, about nine years ago. The cops chased a guy who killed his wife. He flipped his car and died. Those were my parents.”

The expression of shock didn’t pop up on her face. Instead, she seemed to show sadness and sympathy. The little point where her eyebrows didn’t quite meet went up and her eyes looked like they wanted to cry a little. She pulled her lips in. She looked into my eyes and she squeezed me more.

Now that the parent part was out, the rest rushed forward as though a blockage had been removed. “When that happened, I stopped everything. I dropped out of college. I let my guy Rick take care of all my finances. Then, I closed myself off in this house and I haven’t really done anything, that is, until lately.”

I took a couple of deep breaths. It felt like I might cry at any moment with all these emotions forcing their way out of me.

She laid her head against my chest. “What happened lately?”

“That’s, that’s the thing,” I said, “a lot has happened. First there was Stan, then Deputy Hargrave, then Missus Sweigert, then you, just, like, suddenly, there are all these people in my life. The kids, those Rangers, they have me involved in a community project. I never would have done any of that before.”

She pulled away just enough to look me in the eyes. “Do you regret it?”

Then it was my turn to squeeze her tighter. “No, I don’t regret a single part of it. Especially not the part with you.” I kissed her on the top of the head for emphasis.

“If you like it,” she asked, “what about it makes you afraid?”

This was the hard part to explain, even to myself. “I’m not sure, but I think it’s because the change wasn’t me. I only went to Stan’s farm because he called me about these thugs. Then, I went to the sheriff’s office because of the thugs. I met Mary because one of the thugs was breaking into her apartment building. The Ranger kids ran into me at Mary’s. Our first night together was because I had to buy a new lock after one of the thugs broke into my house. All the positive changes in my life are because these stupid, meth-making, house-burning criminals.”

I had to inhale after that; it was a lot to express.

Saying it out loud to someone else really helped it to gel up, become real and cohesive. The pieces hadn’t gotten together before, but there they were now in one big completed jigsaw puzzle. I wasn’t the one who made my life better. During this whole adventure, I passively participated, just floating along, going with the flow, and not doing anything to make active changes.

We sat quietly for a bit. Everything I wanted to say I said. She was processing all of it, probably.

“Why did you make the zombie website?” she asked.

That was a good question. “I don’t know. I guess it just seemed like something to do.”

She followed up with, “Does it have, like, forums and stuff where people can interact with you?”

“Yes, they stay busy, though some have asked that I move it over to more modern social media. Sometimes they just comment on my content. Some will ask questions. Rarely, like with Stan, someone wants help with an alleged zombie problem.”

She shifted to get a little more comfortable again. “I see,” she said, “and has this been your only form of social contact all these years?”

Bullseye! It was hard to admit, especially to myself, but the online people gave me a little comfort without much commitment. I don’t know why that was something I wanted or why it was an issue. I had always been a little weird and a bit of a loner.

“And all this started when your parents died?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. I was kind of a loner before all that.”

She seemed to think for a moment. “If your dad killed your mom, I’m guessing that you didn’t come from a happy home. That could explain a lot. You probably didn’t have good relationships and you don’t know a lot about relationships now. You know, just thinking.”

She wasn’t the first one to suggest this. My high school guidance counselor said pretty much the same thing. And Hannah was right, it did explain a lot.

“Anyway,” she continued. “You’ve made friends recently and have been much more social offline. You got me, and hopefully that counts for something. I’m not sure why you’re scared of this unless it’s just too much change all at once and it’s overwhelming.”

“No, that’s not it,” I said. “It’s just, well, all of this has been motivated or put in motion by the action of those meth guys. What if, you know, when they get locked away, everything just goes back to the way it was?”

This time, she sat up. “Timmy, I want you to listen closely.” She took my hands in hers and looked directly into my eyes. “Those idiots didn’t set up the website Stan visited; that was you. After you went to Stan, you chose to go to the sheriff, not those thugs. You did both of those things because you’re a good man who wants to help others.

“You went to Mary Sweigert’s apartment building for the same reason. You said you called the cops on Johnny what’s-his-name because you were worried about him freezing. You were nice to the Ranger kids because you are a nice guy. You didn’t have to do any of that, but you chose to.” She squeezed my hands harder.

“You were always polite to me at the store, but you said you didn’t like to try to flirt with people who were working because it put them at a disadvantage. That’s somebody being nice and thinking about others. The night when your house got robbed, you didn’t have to have supper with me, but you chose to. You are way more in control of these things than you give yourself credit for.”

My mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out. Her view of events fought with my view of events somewhere in the back of my head. Processing all of that took precedence over saying something stupid.

While my inner fight went on, so did she. “You always had the ability to be part of society and to do good things, but you let it sit for too long. Your website shows that you really wanted to be connected. Now, you have the chance to break the cycle and do more.”

My brain mustered up enough power to ask, “How am I supposed to do that?”

The missing look of surprise finally found her face. It took her a moment to get over my question and to formulate an answer.

“How can you not see it? You are already interacting with people and none of them are going away, except maybe the meth guys. You are an unofficial consultant for the sheriff’s department. Maybe they will need you for more stuff, or maybe even word will get out and other departments will want your help. You are an expert in your field.”

She shook her head in preparation for the next part. “Then there’s Timmy the civic leader. You are trying to set up a zombie walk to raise funds for the playground. You will need to engage with the whole town to pull that off. If it works, you’ll have to lead on every year. You know what that will do for local business if people come from all over and spend money. We might become the Zombie Capital of Iowa, or the midwest even, and it will all be thanks to the works of our resident zombie expert. That’s all you, and no meth thugs can change that.”

She collapsed back onto me, putting me into a tight hug.

My brain was still processing what she said, but the hug made it feel better.

Recent events had painted me into a social corner. No, that wasn’t it. It had pushed me over the edge, like a snowball rolling down a hill. I was accumulating more people as I went, and the sphere of that was going to get bigger and bigger until we hit something.

This kind of frightened me too. My place was in the middle of the snowball, all packed in with no way to get out. Thinking about it gave me a feeling of suffocation, but only a little bit. The arms around me reminded me that it was ok to be surrounded and even a little squeezed, as long as it was by people you wanted there.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “Not just here tonight, which has been really good. I mean, I’m glad you’re here in my life. I hope you stay in my life.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Warm comfort filled me and eventually pushed me into sleep.

An alarm of some sort brought me out of it. Hannah was fiddling with her cell phone.

“Sorry,” she said. “My alarm went off to tell me it’s time to get up. I have to be at work at nine this morning.”

That’s when I noticed that natural light filtered in through the curtains. “What time is it?” I asked.

“Seven,” she replied.

It took a moment to process all the new information. First point, I had slept far more deeply than I had for a long time, probably due to the emotional conversation. The second point was that Hannah had stayed all night, the first time that happened. Finally, I thought I was being rude by not being part of her gathering up to leave.

“Can I get you some breakfast or something?” I asked while standing from the couch.

She walked over to put her arms around me. “No, thanks, I’m going to head off.” She smiled a very bright smile that involved her eyes and the rest of her face in complete smile-ness. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll be back. You are now stuck with me no matter what.”

I couldn’t help but smile back.

She kissed me quickly and then turned for the door.

I followed to walk her out. I checked around the doors for any trouble, and then we went down the sidewalk toward her car.

“Do you want me to drop by after work?” she asked. “I get off at six.”

“Sure,” I said. Then something occurred to me. “Give me a call on my cell phone before you head over in case something has come up.”

Based on her expression, she seemed to understand what I was getting at. We were still in danger from thugs and anything could change.

She climbed into her car, got situated, and drove off.

I watched her leave. Then I waved to the deputy parked just up the street and went back inside to figure out what my day had in store.

I couldn’t help Sergeant Hargrave at the cemetery. Someone stole bodies from two graves and had started digging another. The deputy didn’t know why the bad guys stopped digging in the third grave, but assumed they may have run out of time, been bored, or may have been startled by a passing car. Since these graves were less than a century old, the two robbed ones being from the seventies, there was no need to call the state archeologist. Instead, Hargrave planned to contact the Department of Criminal Investigations in Des Moines. Apparently, the DCI, as he called it, helps local police with weird stuff.

He asked a few questions about why people rob graves. Unless there was some connection between the bodies from this robbery and the pioneer graveyard, it would be hard to say. My guess was that the first was probably something done by bored druggies. If it was the same people, that theft probably gave them a thrill that they wanted to relive with these new robberies. If it was just boredom, they may keep the bodies around for a while or may just dump them. The Sergeant wasn’t happy about that.

Anyway, there wasn’t much I could do, so he thanked me for coming out and sent me on my way. He did suggest it would be helpful if I could do research into grave robbery, if I had some free time. It seemed like a legitimate request for help and not an order, but I planned to follow his suggestion either way.

With that behind me, I pulled into the convenience store on my way home. Hannah worked today. I shouldn’t really bother her at work, but since I planned to buy something it was probably okay.

She was just finishing with a customer at the checkout when I walked in. She motioned to one of the other clerks to take over for her before running over to me.

I was happy that she was glad to see me. Surprise and worry replaced happiness as she grabbed my arm and pulled me into one of the aisles and toward the back of the store.

“Are you okay?” she asked. She seemed worried, almost frantic.

“Yeah, sure,” I responded. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t be?”

She hugged me tight for a moment before pulling back. She was definitely worried. “Okay, there’s this girl I went to school with, Maddy, Madison Green. Anyway, she invited me over for lunch, so I went. We do that sometimes.”

She stopped to catch her breath. “So, I was over there for lunch and I heard her cousin in the yard talking with some of his friends. They were really upset because their friend Johnny got arrested. One of the guys thought that it was Johnny’s fault for not leaving well enough alone. The other said it was the fault of someone they called ‘zombie guy’. I think that’s you.”

It didn’t take long for my brain to connect their Johnny to Johnny Franks, who had just been arrested. I could see where this would agitate Hannah. It sure had me revving up. “Did they say anything else?”

She nodded her head quickly. “The one blaming the zombie guy said it was too much of a coincidence that he, you, would be at the old farm and at the apartment building. He thinks you’re some kind of federal cop, like drug enforcement or something.”

I let that sink in. It was a coincidence that I showed up at both places. Actually, the people at those places, Stan and Mrs. Sweigart, only called me because the bad guys happened to be at those places too. But why would they think I was a federal agent?

A quick memory flashed into my head. It brought back the first night Hannah and I talked. She said some people already assumed that I was some sort of secret agent or similar. It wouldn’t be hard for meth junkies to imagine me as a secret drug enforcement guy.

“Have you called the police yet?” I asked.

Her eyes widened. “No, do you think I should?”

My turn to nod. “Definitely. The police have enough trouble trying to find the criminals as it is. If we can give them extra information, that’s just gotta make things better, I think.”

She looked back in the direction of the checkout and then back at me. “I don’t get off work till six. You can stay here until then and we’ll go together.”

It sounded like a plan, but I wasn’t sure. The sooner we got info into the hands of the cops, the sooner they could round up the bad guys. Besides, I didn’t want to endanger Hannah through association. I explained that to her.

She hugged me again. “You’re probably right. I’ve just been so scared. You hear about crooks on the news, but you don’t really think about running into them in your friend’s backyard.”

“Okay,” I said, “I’m going to the sheriff’s office to make my report. As soon as you are off work, you go over and make your report. Unless the deputies advise against it, you can come over to my place afterward and we can talk. Is that okay?”

She nodded again and then looked into my eyes.

There’s no explanation for how I’ve been able to go through life not noticing little details in my surroundings. Up to this moment, I hadn’t noticed the red around her eyelids and the veins through the whites of her eyes. She had been crying recently. It was possible that she was about to cry again soon. Tears welled up in the little area of the eye near the nose. There was probably a word for that, but I didn’t know what it was. Worse, I didn’t really know how to make her feel better.

Fortunately, the smooth voice from the night in the big store came back. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be alright. The deputies already know a bunch of stuff, probably more than they have even let me know. We’ll tell what we know and they’ll be all over it. Soon, all the thugs will be in prison and we’ll be walking down the street hand in hand.”

I don’t know where the smooth guy came from, but I was sure glad that he was part of whatever was wrong with me.

She smiled slightly, and it didn’t seem forced. Then she hugged me again, a lot longer this time. Finally, she kissed me on the cheek, tip-toeing a bit to reach.

We pulled apart, something I wasn’t all that happy about.

I grabbed a bottle of pop from the cooler and then she walked me back to the checkout.

“Will that be all for you, sir?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah, uh, yes, thank you.” I was still in hug mode, so the being-professional-at-work thing didn’t catch on immediately.

About ten minutes later, I pulled into the lot of the sheriff’s office.

Hargrave was still out, but Beringer, the one who showed up at my breakin, was there. I related my visit with Hannah and her story, being sure to let him know that she would come by immediately after work.

“You think Franks, the one from the apartment building, is also tied up with the guys from the fire over at the Loffland farm?”

I wasn’t sure if it was a question or if he was just musing over what I said. To be on the safe side, I responded, “Yes, sir, I suppose so, but I don’t know that for sure.”

He was every bit as cold and unreadable as I remembered from the breakin. He just sort of looked at me as though it would let him see into me. It kind of creeped me out. He was probably really good at interrogations.

It was a relief when he finally shifted position in his chair. “I understand you are helping Sergeant Hargrave with some grave robberies. Is this correct?”

The phrasing of the question caught me off guard. Once I understood that he meant helping with the investigation and not with robbing graves, it made more sense. “Yes, sir, though I don’t know that I’m much help.”

“Do you think these same men are responsible for the grave desecrations?”

“It would make sense,” I said. I had been kind of thinking that anyway. “The first one was near where we found the meth lab out on Stan’s farm. I’ve read a little bit about how meth addicts will do things just for the thrill. If that’s all the grave robbers are doing, then it kind of fits. I’m not an expert or anything, so it’s just a guess.”

He went back into stare mode for a minute or so.

You know, the chair in his office was really hard and uncomfortable, with the edge of the seat pushing into the back of my leg. The office clock was really loud with each tick of the second hand bouncing off the walls. Then there was the hum of the fluorescent lights. All that suddenly became very apparent to me as I sat under his gaze. If I was a suspect being interrogated by him, I bet my lawyer would have something to say about the cruel torture of it.

“What are your plans for the rest of the evening?” His voice startled me.

“Oh, uh.” Where was mister smooth when I needed him? “I’m planning to go home for the night. Unless you guys think it’s a bad idea, Hannah was going to come over when she was finished making her statement here.”

He made the most subtle nod of acknowledgment. “Will she be staying there all night?”

Where did that question come from? I hadn’t even given it any thought. Honestly, I didn’t usually give anything much thought. “I don’t know. We didn’t have any specific plans. She was just really upset about what she overheard.”

“Okay,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll talk with Sergeant Hargrave when he gets back. You go home and call us if anything seems out of order. I’ll be on the lookout for Miss Thompson when she gets off work. Do you have any questions?”

I, of course, automatically stood when he did. Both he and Hargrave had a knack for standing in a way that told you they were done with you and that you should leave.

“No, no questions.”

A brief flash popped up from my subconscious to warn me about my kitchen. “Oh, I won’t go directly home. I need to stop to get some groceries. Is that okay?”

“That should be alright,” he said as he ushered me out of his office and down the hall to the main door. Again, he used that commanding presence to herd me along. He probably could have handed me a rattlesnake using his presence and I would take it without giving it any thought.

Out the door, in the van, and on my way.

The trip to the grocery store didn’t take long. If Hannah was going to be there, I should have food available. Going straight to the sheriff’s office from work wouldn’t allow time for supper. A warm meal could be just the thing to make a person feel better on a late autumn night.

With that done, I headed for home. The sound of being in my own house with my new locks locked just sounded cozy. Not as cozy as it would be when Hannah got there.

I pulled up to the corner where I lived and noticed the sheriff truck sitting there. It didn’t have lights on or anything, but it was strange to see it on the street like that.

My usual parking space was such that I could see the cross street as well.

There was another sheriff vehicle there.

A deputy got out of each vehicle, carrying a shotgun. I think they were shotguns. I didn’t really know anything about guns. I should really learn something about guns.

They walked toward me where I sat in my van.