Zombie Raccoons & Killer Bunnies Read Online Free PDF Page A

everyone. He picked up a stack of papers for his accountant and smacked them on the desk to make them line up. Something sifted down onto his desktop. He looked at it. Dried soil. He brushed it away. Must have brought some in on his
sleeve. It was hard to keep anything clean. Good thing he wasn’t a dairy farmer.
    He felt eyes on the back of his neck. “What do you want?” he asked.
    No one answered. He spun the creaking chair around. The end of a tail disappeared around the door jamb. Pilkington shook his head. Probably his late wife’s ancient pug dog. That animal was so arthritic it moved like a robot, but it just hung on. But that was too long and too furry to have been Dagwood’s curly little tail. Could be a stray cat. Pilkington went out to see.
    The pug was in his cardboard box in the hallway where he could see everyone coming and going. He looked up expectantly at Pilkington, who stooped to give him a quick pet on the head.
    Dagwood always paid attention when something was in the office. He loved people and he barked at cats. Something had just walked through. So why didn’t the dog make a fuss?
    Hell with it. Pilkington went back to his paperwork. He sniffed the air. Something smelled foul, but he didn’t think much about it. Everything stunk on a farm. No big deal. He picked up the stack of forms he had just been examining.
    Right across the center of the first page was a line of muddy footprints. They looked like little hands, four fingers and a thumb. Raccoon prints.
    Pilkington dropped the papers and looked under the desk. Those damned animals! They sometimes got into the vents or set up housekeeping in the ceiling. There had to be one in that room right that minute.
    The footprints led off the back of the desk and ended at the closet where he kept his files. He opened the door.
    A gray blur shot out of the cubicle. Pilkington let
out a yell as sharp teeth fixed in his shin. He kicked at the shape, which flew into the corner. It was a raccoon. Something about it looked wrong to him. Its fur was di sheveled and dirty, and its head hung sideways. He also saw round, matted, dark marks on its belly. It rolled back onto its feet and leaped for him again. Pilkington fended it off and ran out, looking for a weapon. The animal came after him. He slammed the door on it. Dagwood stood up in his box and looked at him curiously.
    Sill was coming toward the office, probably for a cup of coffee.
    “There’s a rabid raccoon in there!” Pilkington shouted.
    “I’ll get the shotgun,” Sill volunteered. He ran back toward the barn. Pilkington found a shovel. His heart was still pounding heavily from the surprise. He gave a nod, and Sill threw open the door. They looked into the office.
    “Nothing,” Sill said.
    “It’s in there somewhere,” Pilkington assured him.
    The two men searched the room, pushing the desk and chairs out of the way.
    “It’s gone.” Sill sounded relieved.
    “There’s no way it could have gotten out!” Pilkington said. He glanced into the hallway. Dagwood still didn’t react. Could the old dog be getting deaf and blind as well as creaky?
    “Granny Morrow might have had something to do with it,” Sill said. “A ghost raccoon.”
    “Don’t start with that again. No such thing as ghosts.”
    “Right,” Sill said, uncertainly. “I’ll just be getting some coffee, okay?”
    “Yeah.” Pilkington put down the shovel disgustedly.
    Sill poured coffee into one of the battered mugs on the stand and went back outside. Pilkington threw himself
into the chair. He pulled up his pants leg to look at the bite on his leg. He wiped the blood off the puncture marks with his handkerchief. It wasn’t too bad, but there was no rabies in raccoons this far west. He’d put something on it later.
    Ghosts. He had never believed in them, but how else could a critter as big as a raccoon slip into a closed closet, or out of a room that had no other exits?
    A wave of stink made his throat tighten, and