EXCERPT:

I remember the evening of his change as if it‘d occurred just yesterday. The night of the great hunt. That painful memory shall never fade no matter how old I grow, even if—and this is a big if—I find I am free of the curse. There is hope, after all, that I‘ll be spared the suffering once I turn forty since Uncle Joe made it past forty and had outlived the madness. Yet, that dreadful evening filled with fear and sadness would haunt me forever.

I had been sitting in my bedroom rereading a zombie comic book for the thirtieth time, knowing each word printed on the newspaper material as if I’d written it myself. No matter how many times I reread the comic, I always got goose bumps at the colorful depictions of the zombies devouring human flesh. As I’d turned a page, the heroine in the story suddenly found herself surrounded by a horde of zombies. I’d already known she would be eaten but I’d still shivered. Then I’d heard it—the howl outside, a baying at the moon like a wolf in the wild calling out to its brethren.

Chills had rippled across my spine, partially because of the story I’d been reading, and partially from the grating sound filling the night air. I’d remained motionless in my bedroom, the sanctity of my covers a shield against whatever was howling madly at the white orb dangling loosely in the sky. Again the howl, and again the shivers had run rampant across my body. I’d dropped the magazine at some point and hadn’t realized it.

It was only when I’d heard Ma shouting for help and running, her bare feet slapping the hardwood floor, making a sound as if someone were clapping their hands, that I understood something was amiss in our humble home. I’d bolted out of bed, barefoot and shirtless, the summer heat and lack of an air conditioner making my loft quite muggy at night. Down the stairs to the second floor, I’d slammed chest first into Ma as she’d frantically made her way upstairs. She’d grabbed me, her nails digging into my young flesh and pulled me back upstairs into my bedroom. Without speaking, tears streaking her cheeks and her breath pulsing heavily out of her, Ma had slid my dresser against the door.

We’d remained there, Ma and I, me standing in the center of my room clad only in shorts, Ma in her bathrobe, the front slightly open, the ties dangling loosely at her side. I’d been terrified, uncertain as to what had broken into our home. A wild animal? A rabid dog? Ma had stood near the door, her hand pressed against it, her head leaning against the backside of her hand, breathing laboriously.

“Ma?” I’d asked and she’d glared at me, her eyes wide with fright. She’d placed a finger over her lips signaling I keep quiet. I’d obeyed and become even more terrified of the wild beast lurking downstairs. If it heard us, it‘d come for us.

Suddenly, the door had jerked inwards, the force on the other side pushing the door open a crack, the dresser sliding across the floor, its legs digging into the wooden floor.

Ma had screamed. I’d followed suit exhaling a high pitched scream, not comprehending what I was screaming about just knowing it felt like the right thing to do at that moment. Another surge at the door, the center bent and bowed like a warped piece of wet wood. I’d charged the door, growling myself, afraid of allowing the mangy beast on the other side into my room to devour me and Ma. My small hands had slammed against the door doing little to stop the beast from pressing forward, the dresser failing at its job as a barrier, giving way more and more the harder the beast pushed forwards.