One Foot in the Grave: An Almost Zombie Tale by Shanti Krishnamurty Read Free Book Online

she’s going to say once she gets a good look at me. It’s not like I resemble anything close to healthy. In the span of one week, I’ve gone from pasty white to, well, undead; a kind of yellowing ivory. I’m definitely not anything remotely attractive anymore. I push the door all the way open and walk inside.
    “Great good gosh, what’s happened to you?” My mom totters forward on her 3” heels, still one of the shortest women I’ve ever seen.
    I fold my arms across my chest. “I…uhhh…” My mom is a force of nature when she wants to be; she’s like a tiny tornado wrapped in 4’8” of long skirts and hippy-esque tops. I’m not sure how to handle it.
    Her eyes narrow. “What are you hiding, Isis? What’s that marking on your wrist?” She grabs at me, but I move away.
    “It’s nothing, Mom. Honest.”
    I’ve been finding little tubes of crazy glue in Ziploc baggies on my doormat, along with the same handwritten note: ‘Dearest Isis, I hope the glue helps with your prosthetic wrist. Let me know if you need any screws. My grandson works in hardware supply. Yours truly, Rohanda Castemar.’ It’s hilariously creepy. But it’s better than walking around with an Ace bandage all the time.
    “Sit down. I’ll make you…” I pause. Double crap. I don’t have anything in the blasted ‘fridge except raw brains. I mean, why stock food I’ll never eat?
    “I looked in the refrigerator already. Isis, what on earth is going on?” She stares at me, her arms crossed and a familiar, determined look plastered on her face. There’s no way I’m going to be able to lie my way out of this.
    “You’ll think I’m crazy,” I hedge. “I mean ‘lock me up, throw away the key’ crazy.”
    Mom nods, though I’m not sure if it’s in agreement with my statement, or a gesture for me to continue.
    I pull my wrist out of her grasp. Gently, because I don’t want to risk the glue coming loose. “Remember Andrew?”
    “Sure, the nice boy you were dating before I left for China. Did something happen between the two of you?”
    I try to stifle a snort of laughter. ‘Nice boy’, indeed. “He got me sick.”
    Mom’s eyes widen. “Did he give you A.I.D.S, Isis? I swear to the Father, if he gave you A.I.D.S. I’ll kill him.”
    If only she could. “No, Mom, I don’t have A.I.D.S.” I blurt out the truth. “He gave me H.V.V.”
    ‘He gave you…what? I’ve never heard of that.” She taps her foot on the carpet. “Whatever you’re trying to say, just spill it.”
    “I’m a half-zombie, Mom.” There. I say it and wait for her response.
    It looks like Mom’s eyebrows are going to crawl into her hairline and hide. “A half-zombie,’ she says. “How’d it happen? Is it reversible?” She’s taking the whole thing a lot calmer than I did.
    I really don’t want to go into any details. “It was a hickey gone wrong.”
    “Andrew.” Her voice is completely flat. She is beyond pissed. “Are you sure you’re a zombie?”
    “Half. And yeah. I’m pretty sure.”
    She stares at me.
    I wait. Mom isn’t stupid and she reads a lot of fantasy, so I know she knows what a zombie is. After a minute that I’m sure lasts much, much longer, she sighs.
    “Well, that explains the raw brains.”
    And, just like that, she accepts my situation.
    “Please don’t tell anyone.” My voice shakes a bit.
    “No, dear, of course not. Where would I even begin to explain this?” Mom’s preoccupied, and I wonder what she’s planning. It doesn’t take long to find out. “Now, what are you going to do about it?”
    I’m not sure if telling her my plans is such a good idea. I doubt she’d condone her daughter killing anyone. Then again…I sigh. “I have a piece of paper that talks about cures.”
    She presses her lips together. “Cures, huh? Can I see it?”
    I pull it out of my pocket and hand it over. She unfolds the paper and starts to scan it. “Isis, this is about werewolves. I see nothing that applies to