The Shed Read online

  The Shed: Tales from the World of Adrian’s Undead Diary, Volume Four

  Copyright © 2017 Chris Philbrook

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America

  First Publishing Date 2017

  All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design and interior layout by Alan MacRaffen

  Also by Chris Philbrook:

  Reemergence

  Tesser: A Dragon Among Us

  Ambryn: The Cheaters of Death

  Fyelrath & the Coven’s Curse

  Colony Lost

  Elmoryn - The Kinless Trilogy

  Book One: Wrath of the Orphans

  Book Two: The Motive for Massacre

  Book Three: The Echoes of Sin

  Adrian’s Undead Diary

  Book One: Dark Recollections

  Book Two: Alone No More — Book Three: Midnight

  Book Four: The Failed Coward — Book Five: Wrath

  Book Six: In the Arms of Family

  Book Seven: The Trinity — Book Eight: Cassie

  Coming Soon:

  The Last Resort

  Tales from the World of Adrian’s Undead Diary

  Unhappy Endings

  London Burns

  Only the Light We Make

  The Shed

  Short Fiction:

  Resurrections: A Short Story Collection

  Don’t miss Chris Philbrook’s free e-Book:

  At Least He’s Not On Fire:

  A Tour of the Things That Escape My Head

  TABLE OF CONTENTS:

  Foreword

  — THE SHED —

  Part One: Over the River and Through the Woods

  Part Two: Cracks in the Plaster

  Part Three: Going Shopping

  Part Four: Things are a Little Weird in the Dark

  Part Five: Visiting the Neighbors

  Part Six: The Apocalypse is at the Door

  Part Seven: …And Then it came in the Front Door

  Part Eight: PONG. PONG. PONG.

  Part Nine: The Emperor's New Clothes

  Part Ten: Grandpa Might not be Proud

  — THE VAMPIRE OF MENLO PARK —

  About the Author

  This one goes out to all the fantastic nanas, grandmas, and bubbies out there. You’re not creepy at all, and your grandchildren love you with all the love we possibly can.

  Also, this one goes out to false teeth. For reasons.

  Foreword:

  Once upon a time Adrian Ring decided that he’d rather do something than die alone, safe and sound in his fortified little school.

  He opted to head down Auburn Lake Road to Route 18 and clear out the houses he found there. First he’d look for survivors to help while killing the undead that he came across, and second he’d search the abandoned homes for whatever supplies he might need. He wanted the goodies to help build a stash to survive longer, but also because he was preparing to bring in other survivors. Need grub to feed strangers, ya know?

  Well, as luck would have it, one day Adrian came across a house that had some leftover food in it. Lots of juice, lots of cereal, and for the first time, he found dry milk, which was a lucky find that made his life a lot easier for a good while.

  Of course, when he checked the shed out back, things got a little weird, and he saw something that unnerved him.

  This book is about what happened inside that shed, after June 23rd, 2010.

  It’s a little dark, but I think you’ll find it a good addition to the world of Adrian’s Undead Diary.

  At the end of The Shed here I’ve included another short story that I wrote a fair time ago. It first appeared publicly in At Least He’s Not on Fire, but that book has been out for a few years now, and I don’t think most of the AUD readers have picked it up. On Fire is a sampler, and if you’ve already read my stuff, there’s little reason for you to do so now.

  The Vampire of Menlo Park is a fun reimagining of an influential person in world history, and was a blast to write. I hope you enjoy it now.

  Chris Philbrook

  Marlow NH, June 2017

  - Part One -

  Over the River and Through the Woods

  Grandpa wouldn’t be coming to Tony’s graduation.

  The first volley of rifle fire made Tony flinch. When the 7 shooters fired their 2nd round he flinched less, and when the 3rd volley spat out of the rifles, his eyelids fluttered. He hated guns with a passion. They scared him.

  He wiped away the tears, lifted his chin off his black tie, and looked around.

  With the 21 gun salute for his grandfather complete and the retired soldiers who performed it picking up the brass, grimacing with each bend, every black-clad family friend, and family member moved with somber respect towards his tiny, frail nana. She sat on the corner of the very front row of folding chairs, right beside him. She had cried–only a little–and now she took each and every person who came to her in with a smile. She thanked them for their generosity if they gave flowers–and Tony knew she knew who gave every rosebud and carnation–and she stood to hug the people who her husband had loved in life. He couldn’t be there to hug them, so she did it for him. That’s how good marriages worked.

  Despite being a teenager, narrow of shoulder and smooth of chin, Tony knew his nana through and through, and had awe for her as she withstood the loss of his grandpa with charm and grace. She had to pause several times to force out a wet cough, but she never stopped for long. If there was a rock star at any funeral, his nana was it.

  “She’s something, isn’t she?” his mom asked him in between storms of crying. She wiped away some tears and makeup with a white handkerchief and made a fist around it. Sitting on the other side of her was his nine year old brother Frank. Frank had his face jammed into their mom’s armpit and cried in a low, sad way.

  Tony’s heart went to his brother and he nodded at his mom.

  “That’s why your grandpa loved her,” his mom whispered. “Because she’s sharp, and smart, and loving. If he wasn’t dead already it’d kill him to think she was going to be alone.”

  “Mom, I was thinking about that,” Tony said to her.

  “It’s okay Frank. It’s okay to cry. It’s just another way for you to tell your grandpa you love him. And what were you thinking Tony?”

  “I was thinking I could stay with her for the summer. School is almost out, Dad will be deployed until Thanksgiving and I dunno… she’ll be alone and that really bothers me. Just a few months. I’ll help with laundry, dishes. I can mow the lawn, and do her grocery shopping in that ancient station wagon of theirs. You know she’ll love it,” Tony asked his mom, each word becoming more excited than the last.

  “Tony, you are an amazing son, but I need you at home. Who will help me with Frank?”

  “Mom,” Frank interjected, his tears paused, “I’m almost 10, and Tony’s right. I can stay at some friend’s houses overnight, and I’m going to summer camp. You know some mom in Dad’s unit will help. You’re always helping other wives out.”

  “Frank’s right. Someone will help. When I was 10 and he was 4 you let me babysit him. I think he can manage himself at the same age,” Tony added to nail the point home.

  “Oh, you know everything about parenting now?” his mom asked, and Tony wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not. “You haven’t even taken care of a pet in your life, and your nana has how many dogs and cats?”

  �
��Eight, I think,” Tony replied.

  “Try 13. Four cats, 3 dogs, 3 birds, and 3 guinea pigs and don’t think for a minute she won’t add to that over the summer. She can’t bear to not help a bird with a broken wing.”

  “Mom. We can’t let Nana be alone, and we can’t put her in a home. Let me stay with her for like, three months. If it gets tough at home for whatever reason, I’ll come back. If she is kicking butt, I’ll come back. If I get homesick, I’ll come back, but you gotta let me go. Let me do this for Grandpa. You know Dad would want me to, if he was here to say so.”

  His mom burst into a fit of crying and nodded over and over. Frank leaned into her, and Tony did the same. The two boys hugged their mother until the line in front of their grandmother disappeared, and only the four of them remained under the blue skies of May. The men who would lower the casket into the ground waited nearby.

  “What a nice service,” Nana said.

  “Beautiful, Mom, Dad would’ve loved it.”

  “Mmhm,” she agreed. “Not too long, even though it was a good Catholic service. The priest was wonderful. George would’ve liked it. All of his friends came too.”

  “He had a lot of friends, Nana. Grandpa was a popular guy,” Tony said, putting his hand on hers.

  She looked at him and Tony could feel the love in her eyes. She nodded, and a single tear escaped her right eye. She coughed and wiped the tear away with a tissue she produced out of the thin air with raw magic.

  “Well are you going to ask her, or not? You were hot under the collar a minute ago, and now nothing,” Tony’s mom teased.

  “Ha ha. Yeah. Nana, I was thinking… can I come stay with you for the summer? I was thinking you might want some company. That you might not want to be alone. I’ll help around the house, and I can read some books. Stay off the internet for a little bit and see how Mom grew up.”

  “Who will help your mother with Franco? No, no. You stay with her. I will be fine. Take care of your mom,” she said, shaking her head adamant in her decision.

  “Mom, Tony wants to do this.”

  “No. I have my animals,” she shook her head again.

  “You’re going to need help with your animals. He wants to do it for his grandpa,” his mom said.

  Her face softened and she looked again at Tony.

  “Besides, who will you cook for if you don’t have a man in the house?”

  “I will make meatballs and spaghetti. When are you coming?”

  Tony’s heart soared, and he hugged his little nana, even as she coughed again.

  *****

  Several warm days later Tony’s mother pulled their aging minivan into the driveway of her mother’s rural home, several hours from the base they lived near. Tony hopped out of the front seat and his little brother Frank hopped out of the slider in the back. The teenager squeezed his little brother as they passed and kissed him on the crown of his almost-black hair.

  “I love you. Take care of Mom for me,” Tony said before letting go.

  “I will. Take care of Nana for us. For Grandpa,” Frank said back.

  He took off at a run into the door on the side of the house. That door led to the kitchen. The front door led to the living room, but no self respecting Italian family with guests lived anywhere but the kitchen. As his brother went in several of his nana’s dogs slipped out and they came running, tails wagging, tongues hanging out. As Tony knelt to pat them he smelled the incredible aromas of his nana’s cooking and he couldn’t help but smile. Food was home in this family. He watched as his mom followed Frank inside, a similar smile on her face and another dog underfoot.

  Tony went to the back door of the van and pulled out his suitcase, and his backpack. It took him several minutes to untie the ropes that fastened his used ten-speed to the roof rack, but when he got the bike down he wheeled it into the backyard and leaned it against the pale yellow siding of the house.

  He dragged his bags into the side door and immersed himself into the world of cooking garlic, simmering tomatoes, fresh-cut basil, cats purring, birds chirping, dogs panting, guinea pigs… guinea-ing and everything else that was right in the world.

  His nana stood almost at the level of the huge pot on her stove, reaching up to stir the contents with her wooden spoon. Behind her on the tablecloth covering her small oval table that bore the weight countless meals was a feast to end all feasts. Two loaves of fresh bread flanked a platter covered in six inches of homemade spaghetti and meatballs big enough to choke a buffalo. A salad of fresh greens, tomatoes and cucumbers filled a bowl big enough to swim in and off to the side of that was a plate of Italian sausages that had cooked all day in his nana’s homemade red sauce.

  He almost died on the spot from sheer joy.

  “Sit, eat,” Nana guided without turning around. “I’ll hug you when you’ve had a plate.”

  “Nana,” Tony started, grinning ear to ear. “There’s enough food here for 10 people. How long have you been cooking?”

  “Since I was a little girl. My mama taught me how to cook like they cooked back in Sicily, and she always said if you’re going to cook, cook enough for everyone.”

  “You cooked enough for everyone in this entire town,” Tony said as he took a seat in the uncomfortable chair beside his mom. She laughed at the exchange and all Frank did was serve himself a solid third of the available food. The 9 year old could eat.

  “I mean, I’m happy. It just seems like a lot of hard work,” Tony said as his mom piled a heap of pasta on his plate.

  “Not for family,” Nana said as she finally turned to face them. “Nothing is too hard for family.”

  They looked at her, and for the first time since grandpa died, everything felt better for Tony.

  *****

  “I’m only a few hours away, so call me on the landline if you have to. Your phone doesn’t have many minutes on it,” Tony’s mom said to him after nearly squeezing him to death in the driveway.

  “I will.”

  “And if you get time, ride your bike up the hill to that private school. I bet there are bunch of very smart, very nice girls that go to school up there who would love to meet a nice boy like you,” his mom said. It was less a bet on a possibility, and more a certain conclusion.

  “Not a ‘very nice boy?’ Besides, Mom, school is almost out,” Tony said. “No very smart, very nice girls during the summer.”

  “Nonsense. Auburn Lake up there runs a special summer program. For the extra-smarties. Been doing it since I grew up in this town. When I was growing up, we’d ride our bikes up to the lake to go swimming with the kids up there. Did I ever tell you I once swam with Senator Adams? He went to school there.”

  “Fascinating, Mom. No really. I’m in rapture. He must’ve been very nice.”

  “Don’t be a wiseass. Take care of Nana, I love you.” She kissed him on the forehead. “Call me once a week at least and if I hear your nana did any laundry while you’re here, I’ll never forgive you.”

  “Love you too.”

  - Part Two -

  Cracks in the Plaster

  The television didn’t have an off-switch at Nana’s house. Tony was pretty sure of it.

  For as long as Tony had been alive, and for the 3 weeks he’d been at his nana’s house, he had never seen the screen of his grandparent’s television without some kind of show going. When his grandpa was alive it was a rotation of old 80s television shows like Matlock, Benson, or Dallas, or old war movies and westerns. Sometimes grandpa would go on a Charles Bronson movie tear. For Christmas one year Tony’s mother and father tracked his grandpa down a VHS collection of Bronson movies and the old man had never seemed happier. He had watched the entire set back to back with all the birds chirping in their cages, and cats and dogs running underfoot

  In the summer afternoons his grandpa would put on the baseball games and read the paper as he sat in Lay-Z-Boy recliner, feet up, slippers on, dogs everywhere. Grandpa always read the paper. He had once told Tony getting the paper was the main r
eason he left the house every day. Grandpa would walk down to the small mom and pop gas station just down the street, take a paper off the stand and leave his two quarters on the counter. The dogs would wait at the edge of the property, lined up until he came back.

  Tony had the baseball game on as he reclined in his grandpa’s worn leather chair in the small living room. Such a lazy Sunday should be spent that way. Two of the cats were curled up in his lap and the three largest dogs were sleeping on the floor surrounding his chair like a furry fortification.

  Nana seemed to love it all as she toiled away in the kitchen, cooking him a small ham for later. He’d told her all he needed for lunch was a ham sandwich, but Italian grandmothers can’t dial it down like that. They just can’t. If you ask for a ham sandwich, they cook you a ham. You want a glass of cold lemonade? They plant an orchard of lemon trees.

  Tony had learned to ask for Coke at an early age, and Nana always had a few two liter bottles on hand. No Coca Cola trees had been planted behind the red metal shed in the backyard, though there was a good chance Tony’s nana looked into making homemade soda for him.

  That thought made him smile as he watched the next batter step into the batter’s box.