My Zombie Hamster Read Online Free Page A

leaving everywhere and landed on my stomach.
    I pushed myself to my knees just in time to see Snuffles dart through the door and out into the front yard.
    Was it my imagination, or did I hear a little undead squeak of triumph as he did so?

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 31
    8:00 a.m . Right. Two things on the agenda today. First off, search for Anti-Snuffles (as I dubbed the new, evil version of my pet). And second, avoid the preparations for our New Year’s Eve party. It’s become something of a tradition over the years. A tradition to try to throw a good party, and a tradition to fail. Miserably.
    My parents like to think it’s everyone else’s fault, but there comes a time (like, after the sixth year running) that you have to shoulder the burden of blame yourself.
    If past parties are anything to go by, the sequence of events will be as follows:
    1 . Awkward beginning where no one really talks to one another.
    2 . Dad will play really bad ’80s and ’90s music.
    3 . An argument will start about something that happened twenty years ago.
    4 . Someone will say something bad about
Star Wars
, and Dad will get into a huge argument.
    5 . Someone (most likely Dad) will sing “Danny Boy” very loudly and very badly.
    6 . The end.
    There are usually slight variations to the theme, but that’s only window dressing, something to keep everyone guessing. Like the time Uncle Stuart and Aunt Bev were on a trial separation, and Aunt Bev brought her new boyfriend to the party. He was fifteen years younger than she was. Uncle Stuart challenged him to a duel outside on the lawn, and the police had to be called in.

    9:00 a.m . Uncle Stuart and Aunt Bev have arrived. Ten hours early! Mom is freaking out in the kitchen while Uncle Stuart and Aunt Bev sit at the diningroom table. Aunt Bev is in power-saving mode, staring blankly out the window. Uncle Stuart is reading an old romance novel.

    10:00 a.m . Dad brought the folding table in from the garage and started going through his CD collection. Dad is DJ every year, despite all our attempts to stop him. I think he looks forward to it. A few hours of power, where his decisions hold sway over tens of people. I tried to speak to him about entertaining Uncle Stuart (his brother), but he was singing something about it being “Safe to Dance,” so I just let it go.

    11:00 a.m . I spent most of the day checking the yard and house for Anti-Snuffles.
    List of Protective Gear
    1 . Hockey mask.
    2 . Towels wrapped around my arms.
    3 . Dad’s leather gloves.
    4 . Mom’s boots that go all the way up to her knees. On me they go all the way up to midthigh, which is perfectzombie-hunting protection.
    5 . Metal TV dinner tray strapped to my chest.
    6 . Second metal TV dinner tray strapped to my back.
    7 . One old butterfly net.
    I looked at myself in the mirror, then decided it wasn’t enough, so I put on Dad’s padded winter jacket as well.
    The weight was a bit much. I tipped slowly over onto my back and rocked there like an upturned turtle. I kicked my legs, but it was no good. I couldn’t get up again. Had to call Mom. She helped me up, looked at my getup (paying close attention to her boots), and asked me if there was anything I wanted to talk about.
    When I told her I was hunting zombies she looked relieved and said good luck.
    No sign of Anti-Snuffles anywhere. Very worrying. What should I do? If I tell the Zombie Police, Dad will get into trouble. But I can’t just leave a deadbeat hamster running around Edenvale. Who knows what will happen? Nothing good, that’s for sure.

    8:00 p.m . Party off to a good start. Healthy turnout. I helped Mom scrape the burned part off the bottom of the appetizers, so at least there’s food. Charlie, Aren, and Calvin arrived at seven. Calvin just stood by the chips, stuffing one after another into his mouth. He would have done that all night if Mom hadn’t slapped his hand and moved him away.

    9:00 p.m . Horror! Dad decided to take to the dance floor.
    My dad