Six-year-old Bobby Dickerson was excited. Even though the old house was spooky and smelled bad, it was his first real home, and he had his very own dog. He just wished his mother would quit imagining all those monsters and corpses. She was silly.
Then he woke up from his nap and his ALF doll was all bloody. Its head was missing. There were headless chickens in the garbage can--then a headless dog. His dog. The voodoo woman next door gave him some brown stuff to drink, to make him feel better, but when he ran home, his mother was all bloody too. He could hear drums pounding and the floor was all squishy with blood and guts. Even his magic pebble couldn't protect Bobby--now that he was living in a ZOMBIE HOUSE