Halloween story.

That night was the worst of my life. I don't know how I got there, all I remember is that I was driving my car to Flagstaff, AZ, to see my brother when I realized that I had no idea where I was.
I pulled over at the gas station and said,"Which way to Flagstaff?"
He looked at me strangley, and said, "Where are you going?"
"Flagstaff, you know, the city a few hours out of Phoenix? Well, how do I get to Phoenix, then?"
Again, he said he didn't know.
I asked where were we, then?
He said we were near Le Casa de Zambia.
"What?"
I left and turned my car around. Thinking that that man was crazy, I went in the opposite direction until I found the interstate.
I realized that nothing was looking fammiliar.
I saw a small house, and thought it looked like a nice place to stop and ask for directions.
I didn't remember what my guidebook had told me about small houses in the middle of nowhere.
They are just the place where a horror movie would start.
And did.
I went in and immediatley felt a bone-chilling wind. I saw a person sitting in an old Windsor chair. I went up to them and tapped them on the shoulder.
I whispered my hello to the man.
I heard a horrible moaning sound.
He, or should I say it, turned around and I saw that he was completely grey. His hair had chunks torn out of it and he had a bloody wound on his neck.
I gasped and ran out of the house, but there were more of them out there!
They saw me, moaned the hellish moan, and stumbled slowly at me.
'If Michael were here, he'd know what to do'I thought. He was well known in Flagstaff as a "zombie annihilator"
I knew a bit about them myself. I knew enough to know that they craved human flesh, a head shot would kill them, and that they were driven by pure instinct.
I ran to the car, but the engine wouldn't turn! I grabbed he handgun that I kept under my seat and shot at them. Now, I know a bit about guns. I am considered a top-rate shooter. I dispatched 12 of them and bolted. I ran back to the gas station and said, breathlessly, "Why are there zombies here!?"
The clerk responded "I don't know. But around here they're kind of a common occurrence."
"Well, get a weapon. They're coming."

A few hours and 3 boxes of ammo later, they were gone. At least, the ones in plain sight.
I went back to my car, gun in hand, got in and turned the key.

I drove back on the path from where I came.
It had been exactly 24 hours. I was exhausted. I made it to Flagstaff in 2 hours.
I told Michael the story. Saying he was shocked would be putting it lightly. He was in AWE. He knew already of my highly-strung nature, I mean, he's my brother! But he had only met a zombie once, just one, and killed it sucessfully. A few minutes later I was in the guest room sleeping.

The next day I went to a campfire. The native American man there was telling a story about how if you travel down a certain road at a certain time, you transfer to a different universe. This universe has no idea of ours's existence. He said that there are horrors there that are difficult for someone who has not been there to describe. And the only way to get back is to travel the same road one day later, or you can never return. I chose not to speak of my travels, lest I be taken for a liar.
But that night still gives me bad dreams. It haunts me and I doubt that it will ever be out of my thoughts.