Why I Quit Zombie School by R. L. Stine Read Free Book Online

glow.
    I turned back to Mom and Dad. “Okay,” I said. “There’s Mr. Craven. Remember him? Get ready. Here’s your first clue.”

18
    Rain pattered on the walk as we made our way to the front steps. Mr. Craven had a big smile on his round, pale face. He had his hands in the jacket pockets of the baggy gray suit he wore every day.
    I knew he was eager to give Mom and Dad a big greeting.
    “Now be sure to shake hands with him,” I told them. “He’s a zombie, so his hands will be ice-cold. Dry and cold. That’s because he’s dead.”
    Mom frowned at me. “The man probably has bad circulation.”
    “Yes. Very bad circulation,” I said. “Because he’s
dead
!”
    “
Ssshh
. He’ll hear you,” Mom whispered.
    I heard a clatter of shoes on the walk. I turned to see a big black umbrella. A man and a woman were hunched under it, jogging quickly toward us.
    Visiting parents.
    They passed us and climbed the stairs to Mr. Craven. Craven’s smile grew wider. He greeted them warmly and shook their hands. He waved them into the building.
    We were right behind them. “Get ready,” I whispered.
    “Hello, Krinskys,” Craven said warmly. “Hurry. Get out of the rain.” He held the door open and waved us inside.
    Mom and Dad started into the school. “No — wait,” I said. “Shake hands. Shake his hand.”
    Too late. We were inside.
    The other parents closed their umbrella and shook it out. Mom and Dad wiped rainwater from their hair. Two more parents burst in behind us.
    “Mom, Dad — don’t you see how pale the other parents are?” I asked.
    They frowned. “It’s a dark, rainy day, Matt,” Dad said. “Everyone looks pale.”
    “Welcome, everyone. Welcome,” Craven gushed, ignoring the raindrops running down his bald head.
    “He seems perfectly nice,” Mom whispered.
    “You are welcome to wander around the school,” Craven announced. “It is Saturday, so our students will be relaxed and casual.”
    “They’re so relaxed, they’re
dead
,” I whispered.
    Mom shushed me and gazed at the zombie principal.
    “If you are hungry from your trip, breakfastis still being served in the Dining Hall,” Craven said.
    “Yes! Breakfast!” I cried. I wanted my parents to see the disgusting stuff these undead kids ate. And the gross, sickening way they ate it.
    “Come on,” I said, pulling them by the hand. “Breakfast. You have to see this.”
    “I don’t think so,” Mom said. “We had a big breakfast before we left.”
    “Let’s just wander around a bit,” Dad said. “Show us what you’ve done to your room.”
    “No. Breakfast,” I insisted. “You don’t have to eat. I just want you to see it.”
    They both shrugged. I led the way upstairs. I knew when they saw the zombie kids eating, they’d
have
to believe me.
    As soon as we reached the second floor, I could smell the food. For breakfast, the cooks serve huge vats of nearly raw eggs, pots of bacon fat, big gray pancakes that tasted like dirt, and fruit plates piled up with brown fruits that must have decayed ten years ago.
    The zombie kids lap it up. I usually had a bowl of Frosted Flakes with milk — unless they were serving sour milk that day. Then, I ate the cereal with orange juice.
    “Mmmmm. Smells good,” Dad said, sniffing the air. “Reminds me of
my
school days.”
    “It won’t,” I said. I pushed open the double doors for them. “Come on in. See how zombies eat.”
    I led them inside. I glanced around. Perfect. At the first table, a boy was shoving raw eggs into his mouth with both hands. He had egg yolk all over his face.
    Near the back, some guys were tossing a gray pancake back and forth like a Frisbee. Two girls were shoving black sausages into their mouths as fast as they could.
    I turned to Mom and Dad. They were watching the whole thing with shocked expressions on their faces.
    “See?” I said eagerly. “See?”
    Then they both started laughing.
    “Nothing ever changes,” Mom said.
    Dad shook his head. “We