Hi, son. My knocked-around noggin is straightened out enough now to write. Sorry for leaving the job of sending letters to you in Mason’s hands—clearly a mistake, given how sparingly he managed it.
I owe you an explanation for why I was out of communication so long. You heard what happened from Mason, but here’s the whole story: I was walking Griffin on on the lakefront when I heard a startling noise. It sounded like a big boom or a small explosion—similar to the sound a wrecking ball makes when it thunks into the side of a building. I tried to make sense of what could have made such a big noise in my residential neighborhood. I remember looking to the left, toward the houses, to see if smoke was coming out of any of them, and I remember turning to the right toward the lake and noticing how normal it looked—little waves rippling along and no sign of tsunami rolling my way. Then I heard a scratching noise behind me right before I felt some strong force shove me forward. I was falling, and I remember desperately trying to keep my balance, and then that’s all I recall until the moment when I showed up back at the house.
Here’s what I now know that I didn’t know then: Mason and Dr. Cohen have been working on a team covertly researching zombie physiology. What they’ve learned is that zombies were never humans. They’re not even mammals. Their closest relatives here on earth are kangaroos and wallabies—they’re marsupials, or something like that.
Zombies are animals from another planet—that’s what Mason believes.
It’s possible – at least I think it is – that I was abducted by aliens. Never thought I’d say that. It could have been the zombies.
Mason says I’m leaping to conclusions.
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.