Zombiekins - Kevin Bolger [1]
As the bargain-crazed mob surged toward the Widow’s laneway, the gates suddenly swung open, as if by magic. . . .
“Probably just motion sensors,” Miranda told her friend Stanley Nudelman. “Why do you always have to go imagining things?”
Stanley and Miranda walked home this way from school every day.
“Let’s go take a look,” Miranda said. “I bet the Widow has lots of cool stuff.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Stanley hesitated. “You know what people say about her. . . .”
“Don’t tell me you actually believe all those dumb rumors?” Miranda scoffed. “Come on, Stanley. Just because somebody lives in a spooky old house, and wears black all the time, and has a toad for a pet, and keeps a broomstick chained to a bicycle rack by her door, and talks to bats, and appears and disappears mysteriously wherever a certain black cat is around, that doesn’t make her a witch.”
But Stanley was not the kind of boy who liked taking chances.
“I don’t know. . . .” he fretted.
“Oh, come on,” Miranda said. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
2
ONCE STANLEY AND Miranda were inside the gates, the Widow’s sale was a big disappointment. There was nothing particularly strange or mysterious about the items she was selling. It was just a bunch of kitchen stuff, old clothes, puzzles that were missing pieces, a cracked wardrobe mirror, some dusty old furniture—the same junk you always find at yard sales. Except the Widow’s mirror had a ghost in it and all her chairs bit.
The Widow herself was nowhere in sight, but her cat seemed to be following them. It kept winding in and out of their legs, purring.
Miranda crouched down to pet it. But Stanley just said “Nice kitty” without getting too close because he was allergic.
Mr. Rumpelfink was there too, hunched over a pad of paper, scribbling furtive notes as he moved from table to table inspecting the items for sale.
“I wonder what he’s doing here?” Stanley said.
“Snooping, probably,” Miranda guessed. “I bet he’s trying to find something he can use against the Widow.
“Hey, speaking of Mr. Rumpelfink,” said Miranda, “doesn’t this pincushion look just like him?”
She held up a homemade doll with shiny silver pins stuck into it. It really did look a lot like Mr. Rumpelfink. Miranda turned the doll over in her hands, pulling the pins in and out, in and out.
“Weird,” Stanley agreed. But something else had caught his eye . . . .
It was some sort of stuffed animal, still in its box. Only it wasn’t like any stuffed animal Stanley had ever seen before . . . .
It had one floppy bunny ear on a teddy bear’s head and body. . . webbed paws with sharp claws . . . feet like a lizard . . . and two fangs instead of a rabbit’s buckteeth.
Its eyes were sewn on like buttons—one fixed straight ahead with a cold, blank stare, the other dangling on a loose thread. Its fur was mangled and matted. And even still in the box, it was covered in cobwebs.
Something about the strange toy appealed to Stanley. It was so different from his kid sister’s annoying stuffed animals, with their treacly songs and their adorable remarks whenever you squeezed their tummies.
“Check this out,” Stanley said, showing Miranda. “I think I might buy it.”
“Purrr-fect,” mewled a voice. It was Mrs. Imavitch. She must’ve been standing behind them all along—how could they not have noticed her? “Zat is a most remarkable toy.”
“Y-yeah, it’s, uh, pretty freaky. . . .” Stanley said, a little rattled by her popping up out of nowhere. “I bet everyone at school would think it’s cool.”
“Ah, yes, that could cause qvuite a sensation,” the Widow said mysteriously. “It might give your schoolmates a bit of excitement some of zem vould never forget—and some vould never remember. . . .”
“Huh?” Stanley asked. She was starting to creep him out a little. “W-what do you mean?”
“My dear, zat is no ordinary toy,” the Widow started to explain. “It’s—”
But then, noticing Mr. Rumpelfink eavesdropping on them from behind a rack of black and off-black robes, she paused mid-sentence.
“.