Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

Lena had learned by now: not all the dead wanted to kill. Some wanted to be remembered. Some wanted to be heard.

And one… just wanted to play.

She found the girl inside an abandoned daycare on the outskirts of Blackout City—painted walls peeled like old skin, stuffed animals lay gutted, their plastic eyes staring in eternal shock. Dust-coated laughter lingered in the corners.

But there was one room untouched by time. Room G.

Lena stepped inside.

A tea party was set—porcelain cups, a cracked teapot, a doll with sewn-on eyes. And in the center chair, facing the window, sat a girl in a faded yellow dress.

Lena's hand instinctively went to her crowbar, but she hesitated.

The girl didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Didn't rot.

She just sat there.

And then the doll turned its head.

"You're late," it said in a small, cheerful voice.

Lena stepped back, breath caught in her throat.

"I brought tea," the girl whispered, finally lifting her head. Her eyes were glassy and bright, glowing faintly blue in the dusk light. "You came to my party."

"I'm not here to play," Lena said.

"But I remember you," the girl said, smiling faintly. "You were the one who never smiled in class. The one who hid her lunch. The one they forgot."

Lena's skin chilled. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm Elly. I died here." She gestured to the tea set. "But I waited anyway."

A whisper crawled through the vents. The building creaked. Lena's boots slid slightly on the polished, spotless floor—a stark contrast to the filth outside the room.

"You're... not real," Lena said, more to herself than to Elly.

The doll giggled. "She's realer than most of the living."

Lena moved to leave, but the door slammed shut behind her. No wind. No motion.

"You don't get to leave until the game's over," Elly said.

The room began to change. The tea turned black. The cups cracked without being touched. The doll's eyes wept red string.

And on the wall, shadowy drawings began to appear—stick figures being devoured by creatures with gaping mouths and spiked limbs.

"You brought the infection here," Elly whispered. "But I'm the reason it stayed."

"You caused it?" Lena asked, stepping closer.

"I was lonely," the girl said, eyes glowing brighter. "The sickness needed a voice. I just... gave it mine."

Lena understood then. Elly wasn't a ghost in the traditional sense. She was a host. A psychic echo of the virus's intelligence—its first child.

"You're not a girl," Lena whispered.

"I'm the lullaby," Elly smiled. "The first song of the dead."

The doll stood. So did the chairs. Shadows gathered like fog.

Lena pulled her weapon, heart pounding.

But Elly just said, "I liked you. That's why I let you leave."

And then everything was gone.

She was outside.

Standing in the street.

The door to the daycare creaked open behind her, but she didn't turn.

The doll's voice followed her in the wind:

"Come again soon."