Old Man Barnsworth

Old Man Barnsworth

By Mark L.S. Stone

The flashlight revealed Old Man Barnsworth’s true nature: rotting flesh, moldering bathrobe, empty eye sockets. He roared. The scream trailed off into a wet, hacking cough.

“You’re not a zombie,” Sally said.

“I know how this goes,” he muttered, not really listening. “You’ll tell everyone, and soon they’ll be here with pitchforks and torches, and I’ll have to find another place.”

“I saw the books. Zombies don’t read. You’re something else.”

“Yes! I’m a powerful wizard. Leave now or I’ll turn you into a toad!”

Sally switched off the flashlight. She sat on the floor.

“Teach me,” she said.