I reached out and grabbed Fred’s collar before he could make his escape. “Fred, you’ve got to help me,” I begged him.
He looked at me with tears in his eyes, struggling to break free. “You’ve always been good to me, Ms. Alice,” he said, “but you’ve brought a reaper here, and I need to warn the others.”
I watched in horror as Fred disappeared into the night, his oil lamp bobbing in the distance. “Fred!” I screamed. But it was too late.
I started to run after him, but then I realized where he was headed—the east side of town, the slums. I looked down at my clothes and knew I couldn’t follow him there. Despite the holes in my cuffs and the hem of my skirt, my clothes were too nice. I’d be a target for thieves.
So, I changed direction and ran into the woods. It was the only place I could hide until I found safety.
I could hear the town bells ringing in the distance. Fred must have made it to town. Every now and then, the bells would stop, and I’d hear the town crier’s voice.
“Reaper! Reaper in the area!” he’d shout. Then, “Zombie! Zombie spotted! Alice Devibois has risen from the dead!”
I hadn’t been allowed to play in the woods since I was a kid, so I had to rely on old memories to find my way home. If I’d really been gone for two months, my parents would be overjoyed to see me. And hopefully, our family’s reputation would be enough to squash those zombie rumors.
I had to resist the urge to look behind me. I was afraid that if I saw the reaper, I’d lose my nerve.
To distract myself, I thought about John. We were perfect for each other, not because we were both from wealthy families, but because we just…fit. John was handsome, with curly brown hair, blue eyes, and a strong jaw. He wasn’t tall, but he carried himself like he was.
John’s family, the Bundocks, were old money. They’d been rich for generations. My family was new money, and even though there was a stigma attached to that, John didn’t care. He chose me.
My mom always said I was beautiful. She said my dark hair, dark eyes, and pale skin made me look like a French doll. My sister Ada was pretty too, but she hadn’t been as lucky as me when it came to puberty. She was always jealous of me, always playing mean tricks on me. That’s why I thought she was behind my strange awakening.
But then I remembered what Fred had said in the graveyard, and I felt sick. I could understand John turning to Ada for comfort, but marrying her? I couldn’t picture it. Ada and John were so different.
John loved to read and had a huge collection of books. Ada could read, but she wasn’t interested in books. She loved music, but that was it. They had nothing in common. Maybe John would realize he’d made a mistake and annul the marriage.
As I neared the edge of the woods, I saw my family’s estate in the distance. I was close to the stables, where my horse, Sugar, was kept.
I’d had Sugar for years. I’d even learned to ride her bareback, against my parents’ wishes. I didn’t need to wake Arthur to saddle her.
Arthur always left an oil lamp and a box of matches by the stable doors for late-night horse care. I lit the lamp and quietly entered the stable.
Fred must have been telling the truth. Ada’s horse, Boxer, was gone. But Sugar was still there, in her stall.
“Sugar,” I whispered, holding up the lamp so she could see me. “I’ve missed you.”
But something was wrong with Sugar. Instead of nuzzling me like she usually did, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she started to whinny and kick at the stall walls.
“Sugar, it’s okay,” I tried to soothe her, reaching out to stroke her neck. But before my hand could touch her fur, she snapped her powerful jaws around it.
I yelped, pulling my hand back and cradling it against my chest. I watched as Sugar kicked at the wall, as if trying to escape.
“Who’s there?” Arthur’s voice echoed through the barn, followed by the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being cocked.
I raised my hands in surrender. “Arthur, it’s me,” I called out. “I came to check on Sugar, but something’s wrong.”
Arthur stepped out from the shadows, shotgun still raised. “Alice?” he questioned.
“Yes, Arthur, it’s me,” I confirmed, stepping closer so he could see my face.
But instead of lowering his weapon, Arthur pointed it directly at me. “Don’t move,” he warned, his body tense.
I shook my head, holding out my hands to show I meant no harm. “Arthur,” I said, ignoring his warning. “It’s me, Alice.”
His response was a deafening blast from his shotgun. Startled, I dropped the oil lamp I was holding and covered my ears. I had closed my eyes against the flash of the gun, and when I opened them, Arthur was gone, disappeared into the smoke.
I tried to wave the smoke away, but it only thickened. That’s when I realized the oil lamp was no longer in my hand.
A pile of hay nearby had caught fire, the flames already too high to put out. I knew I should run, but I couldn’t leave the animals trapped. Ignoring my better judgment, I ran from stall to stall, setting them free.
The animals bolted past me in their panic, scattering in all directions. Some ran for the cover of the woods, while others, less wise, stopped to graze nearby.
Arthur must have alerted my parents, because I could see the warm glow of lights in the windows. I started running toward the house, hoping they would be so relieved to see me they would ignore Arthur’s wild accusations.
As I got closer, I saw several lanterns bobbing along the path, likely the staff sent to investigate.
A small creek ran through the property. As I neared the bridge that connected the north and east sides of the land, a voice rang out.
“There she is! Wearing the same clothes she was buried in!”
As the lantern bearers began to crowd the bridge, I realized I wasn’t going to get the warm welcome I had hoped for. I raised my hands, ready to plead my case, but before I could speak, I heard the thunderous sound of hooves behind me. I turned just in time to see Sugar, my beloved horse, charging toward me.
