Scary not Scary (The Holidaze Book 3)

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

George woke up and groggily searched for his glasses. He couldn't see a damn thing. Vaguely, he groped in the darkness as memories assailed him of the weird dream he had endured.

Zombies, vampires, and mummies all flashed through his head. Was he losing his mind? The only other thing he could grasp was that it was too close to Halloween. He hated that time of year so much. Who wanted to enjoy death, ghouls, ghosts, and other beasties? Even as a kid he hated it. Every year the only thing Halloween gave him was a bunch of weird dreams and his eczema playing up.

His skin hated Halloween and responded in kind with all sorts of nasty blotches. It was always the same time of year when it got worse.

He had to shake off this funk and find his damn glasses! Even the thought of Halloween silliness made his skin enflame and he groaned.

"Sire," a voice hissed in the darkness, and he jolted upright.

"What? Who said that?" George demanded.

"It is I, Gardemon, the zombie, at your service, Sire."

George blinked and stopped fumbling for his glasses. Was this still a part of his dream? If only he could see what was going on.

The moment he thought it, a dim light began to shine. He blinked again and reached for the glasses on the table next to where he lay.

Once the world came into focus, George wished he had left his glasses off. Gardemon the zombie was indeed a zombie. Slack jawed, sallow skinned, and the stink of rotting flesh faced him. George gulped and stared at the apparition before him.

"It's not a dream," George mumbled.

The zombie stared vacant eyed at him, "I am at your service, what do you require?" Gardemon asked.

"Where am I?"

"Why, you are back at home in the Halloween Holidaze. It is many years since we have had the pleasure of your company," Gardemon replied with another bow.

"I've never been here before," George denied with a frown.

Gardemon frowned as well but his expression became one of abstract horror to behold. George tried to contain his fright at seeing such an unorthodox expression.

"Sire, you spent your childhood here. How could you have forgotten? Remember the trick we played upon old Dracula? We both almost laughed until we exploded," Gardemon spoke fondly, "Salem, you were a joy at the pure wickedness you came up with. After the queen stole you, our Holidaze became quite a dreary state of affairs."

"I'm not Salem! My name is, and always has been George. I'm sorry Salem disappeared, but I'm not him," George exclaimed.

Gardemon paused and stared at George. It made him feel that he stared down death and a rotting carcass. George gulped and a chuckle that sounded like a death knell came from Gardemon's mouth.

"Always the joker," Gardemon said.

He leaned over to pat George on the shoulder, only to have his arm fall off. A choking noise of revulsion escaped George as he flailed his limbs to escape this deceased being.

"Not a joker. I'm definitely not a joker, believe me. My name really is George. This Mr High character came into my work calling me Salem, but that's not who I am," George argued.

Gardemon froze in the middle of putting his arm back into the socket. Once again, he stared at George in that vacant dead way that made George shiver with discomfort.

"The Higher God?" Gardemon asked.

"I don't know about any Higher God stuff and more than one Mr High came to annoy me, there was even a Mrs High."