The stick, as Dad calls it, worked like a dream. I set up a motion detector outside Chicken Soup yesterday evening, so that when the zombies showed, the police siren went off. I set up some stools outside and rigged them with the firecracker trick.
The shock of the cacophony of it all sent them away howling. Meanwhile, I was watching from behind the shop, and when the zombies came around the back to go back into Omaha Steaks storage room, I was waiting.
“You poor dears.” And I gave each of them a Dum-Dum. If I can get them to like me more than they do Beefcake, well, that wouldn’t be a bad thing now, would it?
Jill Riddell is a writer in Chicago. She teaches at the School of the Art Institute and has a weakness for nature, magic, and pennies abandoned in sidewalk cracks.