The entire family jumped at the sound of the door. That is, everyone jumped except for Mom. She just rolled her eyes to the ceiling for a second, muttered something under her breath, and then called out in a terse voice.
“Jason!” she said. “How many times have I told you not to slam the door?”
“But Mom,” Jason said, “zombies!”
“I don’t want to hear it, young man,” Mom said. She turned towards the 13 year old. Her face was bright red, her bulging eyes seemed to be pushed from some great internal force. “You’ve ruined dinner again. We waited, oh we did, again, but did you come home when you promised? Of course not. And how many dinners in a row have you missed? I stopped counting.”
“But Mom, really, zombies,” Jason said. He pointed at the door. His arm was shaking.
Mom turned her back on the boy once again. “Sit,” she said.
“But they’re almost here,” Jason said. He seemed to be on the point of tears. “Please, we need to barricade the door. Do we have guns in the house?”
“Zombies,” Mom said. “Last week you were late because of glittering vampires and the week before a passing wizard gave you a ride on his broomstick. I’m all for an active imagination, but please leave it at the door when it’s time for dinner.”
“But…” Jason was interrupted by a loud banging on the door.
Mom turned around just in time to see the door break down. She screamed at the rotting mass of maggot ridden flesh as it entered the house.
“Told you so,” Jason said. It was the last thing Mom heard.