The Zombie Who Forgot How to Scare

In the sleepy town of Willowbrook, where fireflies danced like tiny stars, there lived a zombie named Zeb. But Zeb wasn't like other zombies. He didn't want to moan or stagger or scare anyone. He just wanted to play baseball.

Every afternoon, Zeb would shuffle to the old sandlot behind the school. His green skin would shimmer in the sunlight, and his one loose sock would flop around his ankle. He'd watch the kids play through the chain-link fence, dreaming of hitting a home run.

One day, a golden retriever named Buster trotted up to Zeb. Buster was the friendliest dog in Willowbrook, with a tail that never stopped wagging. He dropped a slobbery baseball at Zeb's feet and looked up with hopeful eyes.

"You want to play?" Zeb asked, his voice rusty from not using it much.

Buster barked and nudged the ball closer.

Zeb picked up the baseball. It felt perfect in his hand—like it belonged there. He wound up and threw it. The ball sailed through the air, and Buster chased after it, barking happily.

A girl named Lily had been watching from her backyard. She marched right over to the fence. "Hey, zombie! You've got a great arm. Wanna join our team?"

Zeb's heart (which still beat, thank you very much) soared. "Really? But I'm... well, look at me."

Lily shrugged. "So you're a little green. So what? Can you run? Can you catch? Can you hit?"

"I can try!"

That afternoon, Zeb played the best baseball of his life. He wasn't the fastest runner—his joints were a little stiff from being undead and all—but he could catch anything that came his way. His hands were like glue.

During the final inning, the sky turned dark. Storm clouds gathered overhead, and suddenly—CRACK! A bolt of lightning struck the old palm tree beyond center field. Everyone gasped.

But nobody ran away. They all huddled together in the dugout, even Zeb. Lily's little brother was scared of the storm, so Zeb told him funny stories about all the times he'd tried and failed to be scary. The boy laughed so hard he forgot about the thunder.

The rain poured down, and they all got soaked. But nobody cared. They were too busy laughing and becoming friends.

After the storm passed, something magical happened. Zeb looked at his hands. Some of the greenness had faded. His skin looked a little more... alive.

"Friendship," said Lily's grandma, who had brought them all hot cocoa, "is the most powerful magic there is. It heals everything, even zombies."

From that day on, Zeb was the Willowbrook Wildcats' best player. And every time he hit a home run, Buster would chase the ball and bring it back, wagging his tail like crazy.

Zeb had learned something wonderful: being scary was lonely, but being a friend was the greatest adventure of all.