Diary Adventures of a
Teenage Zombie Villager
An Unofficial Series
“Diary Adventures of a Teenage Zombie Villager, Book 1”
Copyright © 2016, Lightbringer Media LLC, All Rights Reserved
Disclaimer: This unofficial novel is an original work of fan fiction; it is not an official Minecraft book. It is not endorsed, authorized, sanctioned, approved, licensed, sponsored, or supported by Mojang AB, Microsoft Corp. or any other entity owning or controlling rights to the Minecraft name, trademarks, or copyrights.
Minecraft®/ TM & © 2009-2016 Mojang / Notch / Microsoft
All names, places, characters, and all other aspects of the game mentioned from here on are trademarks or company names mentioned in this book are the property of their respective owners and are only mentioned for identification purposes.
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Published in the United States of America by Lightbringer Media LLC, 2016
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Thank you to of you who are buying and reading my books and helping me grow as a writer. I put many hours into writing and preparing this for you. I love this game, and writing about it is almost as much fun as playing it. It’s because of you, reader, that I’m able to keep writing these books for you and others to enjoy.
This book is dedicated to you. Enjoy!!
After you read this book, please take a minute to leave a simple review. I really appreciate the feedback from my readers, and love to read your reactions to my stories, good or bad. If you ever want to see your name/handle featured in one of my stories, leave a review and tell me about it in there! And if you ever want to ask me any questions, or tell me your idea for a cool story, you can email me at [email protected]
Are you on my Amazing Reader List? Find out at the end of the book!
August 4th, 2016
I published this book about Devdan the zombie villager back in June of this year, but have decided to make this story free! I don’t know how long I’ll keep it free, but this is one way I’m trying to say thanks to my fans for buying my books and asking for more. Enjoy the story, and tell your friends! ☺
P.S. – Have you joined the Skeleton Steve Club??
Devdan wasn’t your typical teenager.
He was a villager.
And he was a zombie.
He spent his days and nights doing zombie stuff.
The zombie Devdan couldn’t even remember his name anymore, that is, until he was visited by the pet cat he had when he was alive. Now, along with Skeleton Steve’s help, Devdan sets out with his long-lost kitty to remember who he is and find his village home. But how will he find the way? And what will he do if he gets there? Will Devdan be destined to roam the world as a zombie villager forever?
Read Book 1 of the Teenage Zombie Villager now!
Author’s Note and Dedication
Table of Contents
Foreword by Skeleton Steve
Want More Devdan?
About the Author – Skeleton Steve
Other Books by Skeleton Steve
Enjoy this Excerpt from…
The Amazing Reader List
If you have found this diary, it means that I, Skeleton Steve, am dead.
Just kidding. Ha ha … I hope.
Of course, I was already dead to begin with. Undead, actually. But if you are holding this book in your hands, then you must have found my library of adventures—my collection of writings by myself and my friends, all put together over years of exploring the worlds of Diamodia and others.
Some of these books are my own stories, and some are the tales of the friends I’ve made along the way.
This particular book is the story of one of my friends, Devdan, a zombie villager. Devdan was a teenager when he was turned into a zombie villager, and he has traveled very far as a mostly-mindless undead creature. He never would have known anything but than the life of wandering around, attacking Steve and villages, if it weren’t for the day that his pet kitty cat found him.
And what a story! Devdan’s adventures as a zombie villager trying to find his way home made this young undead villager a bit of a hero in his own right.
Since I document all of my journeys and write in my journals daily (a habit I highly recommend—you never know when a new adventure lies around the corner), I once asked a teenage zombie villager to carry a diary and do the same. And it’s a good thing I did.
What you are about to read is the first collection of diary entries from Devdan the zombie villager, from when I gave him an empty journal to fill, through the days that would make him one of the most famous villagers in Diamodia.
Did I say villager? I meant zombie villager. For now, anyway.
With that, readers, I present to you the tale of the Teenage Zombie Villager, Book 1.
I don’t know why, but I had this journal in my pack.
How is it that I can write? I don’t remember how I [_learned _]to write, or how I’m reading what I’m writing. Am I reading?
Who am I?
There must have been a reason for this book to be in my pack. I suppose it was mine. So I may as well write.
There isn’t much to write about right now.
When I came out from the shadows tonight, I was in a dark and cold place. The pine trees were dark and snowy, and the ground made frozen [_crunching _]sounds under my feet.
As the square moon moved across the sky above me, I walked through the mountain forest, watching the other mobs around me.
Mobs? Why did I call them that?
They must be called that. I don’t remember how, but I guess I knew.
Looking down at my stubby arms, I could see that my skin was green.
There were others around me with green skin as well. They dotted the landscape, shadows of zombies standing and shuffling around through the snow all around me.
Zombies? What were zombies?
I guess I was a zombie.
I didn’t remember much before the sun went down tonight. I just knew that I was hungry.
I walked with the other zombies for a while.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
A zombie looked at me. His shirt was light blue, and partly pulled out of his pants. His eyes were black, and his face empty. He regarded me for a moment, then stuck his arms out in front of him and continued plodding along the way he was going. Crunch, crunch, crunch, through the snow.
“Where are you going?” I asked again, in a different way.
The zombie looked back at me and stopped.
“We are going over here,” he said. “There is a village that way, I think. Why were you speaking in villager?”
“Villager?” I asked.
“The language of the villager people,” the zombie replied.
Language? What was language? Oh yeah … I had forgotten. The way people speak to each other. I guess I knew two different languages. Why did I know the villager language?
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You look like them,” the zombie said. “You were a villager before, I think.”
“I don’t remember,” I said.
The zombie turned and moved on.
There were many other zombies going in the same direction, across the snowy fields under the great mountain peaks. I walked with them until morning.
When the sun rose over the frozen horizon, we burst into flames!
The fire burned at my zombie body, burned at my clothes, but I didn’t feel any pain.
Pain? What was pain? I didn’t remember.
After a few wild seconds of wandering around on fire, the flames went out, and I was still alive, under a tree.
Other zombies around me were not so lucky. Some of them stayed in the fields, and burned until they were consumed, fell, and disappeared in a flash of ash and smoke. Only smoldering chunks of their bodies remained, sitting in the brilliant, white snow. Others made it into the shade, some on purpose, some on accident. Their burning bodies eventually calmed down, outside of the deadly sunlight, and the flames died out.
I was determined to stay under this pine tree until the sun went down again. It was obvious that the sunlight would kill us zombies. Why I didn’t realize that until just now? I wondered.
I would try to remember.
How long had I been a zombie? More than one night, I was sure. Or was it?
In the shade of the pine tree, I watched as the sun crept up the horizon, filling the snowy, frozen mountainside with bright light and a trace of warmth.
What’s this diary in my pack?
The cover of the book had a single, scrawled sentence:
Stay out of the SUN!
After reading through the diary, it looked like someone had written a single entry about a night of walking through the snowy mountains with a group of other zombies. How about that? I didn’t know I could read!
Was that last night?
Did I write this?
I didn’t remember. I guess I’ll write some more later to see if the previous writer was me.
I was still in the snowy mountains.
When the sun went down, I stepped out into a snowy field from under a pine tree.
Other zombies around me were moving as a group in one direction.
My frozen, slow feet moved tirelessly. Crunch, crunch, crunch through the snow.
I saw others in the darkness around me—more than just zombies. There were skeletons, their bones clattering as they wandered the darkness, bow in hand. Big, fat spiders could be seen as black shadows here and there, like blots of ink against the snow, easily visible because of their multiple red glowing eyes. They hissed and scuttled around the landscape, climbing trees and cliffs. And I saw silent, green sausage-shaped creatures on four tiny, stubby legs.
“What’s that?” I said to the nearest zombie, speaking in the mob language he would understand. I pointed to a green creature.
Mob language? My mind asked me. What did that mean? Where did that come from?
I felt so confused.
“Creeper,” the zombie replied, and shuffled on.
The creeper was a strange-looking creature indeed. It stood and looked around as we walked by, turned and wandered silently through the snow, then stood and watched some more. Its face was dark and haunting, a gaping frown disapproving of the world around it.
I suddenly saw something small running across the snowy field toward the creeper, and the frowning green creature fled in the opposite direction!
The tiny mob that chased away the creeper did not pursue it. Small, black, and white, the little creature sat in the snow for a moment, then continued along its speedy path.
I stopped in the snow.
The nearest zombies around me stopped when they noticed my change, looked at me for a moment, then raised their arms again, moaned, and walked on.
The approaching small creature moved with great speed, faster than any other mobs around me—much faster than us zombies—and closed the distance in no time! I raised my zombie arms, ready to defend myself.
“Meow,” it said.
Now that it was closer, I could get a better look. Standing in the snow in front of me on four little legs, with a black and white tail swishing in the cold air, the creature had bold, green eyes, and it tilted its cute, little head to one side.
Kitty cat, my zombie brain said.
Kitty cat? What was a kitty cat?
Did I know what this creature was?
I didn’t remember.
But it was [_very _]interested in me.
“Meow,” it repeated.
“What do you want, kitty cat?” I asked.
“Meow.” It tilted its head the other way.
Where did this cat come from? Why was it up here in the snowy mountains? And why was it so interested in me?
The cat approached closer, its tiny feet going crunch, crunch, crunch in the snow, until it circled around my zombie legs, pushing and rubbing its cute little head up against my ankles through my tattered, brown leggings.
“Meow … purrrrr purrrrrrrrrr,” it said.
I reached down and touched its soft, furry body, touched its black and white head with my clumsy zombie hands.
“Who are you?” I said.
“Meow,” it replied.
“Do I know you?” I said.
“Meow,” the cat said.
If I did know this cat, I didn’t remember it. I could see up ahead that the snowy mountain plain descended into a green valley, where the trees eventually thinned out, until great, wide grassy fields stretched out for miles.
The zombies around me moaned and kept moving on, down to the grasslands.
And in the distant valley, I could see the faint light of a torch!
I was definitely hungry for villagers to eat! That must be where all of these zombies around me were going.
Is that village what I wanted? I couldn’t remember.
Paying attention to the village, I continued walking, plodding through the snow, and forgot about the cat. When I remembered, I looked back behind me.
“Meow,” it said.
The cat was still with me, and was following me as I descended down into the valley.
The closer we zombies got to the village, the more I heard the sounds of battle. The living villagers screamed and squawked, fleeing from the zombies that were already in town, barricading themselves into their homes. They slammed their wooden doors, and screamed and cried as the zombies tried to break into their houses.
I heard wooden doors crash and break to pieces.
“Hold the door!” someone yelled, far below.
“Are we all that’s left?” another villager shouted. “Don’t let them inside!”
Zombies moaned and snarled and bashed on doors.
Even though I tried to get down to the village as fast as my zombie legs would carry me, I was afraid that the zombies who arrived before me would kill and eat all of the villagers before I could get there!
Crash! I heard the splintering of another wooden door being broken apart.
“We’re finished!” someone yelled. “Run! Get out! Get out!”
Screams. Sounds of battle.
When I arrived at the village and stepped onto the cobblestone street, I didn’t hear the voices of any other villagers. I wandered through the streets, passed the town’s well, and peered into each open doorway. Pieces of wooden doors and other debris were scattered all around.
No one. No villagers.
Other zombies milled about. There were a few skeletons here and there, and a spider up on a roof.
But no villagers. They were either all killed before I arrived, or, whoever was left in the end just ran away.
Looking behind me, I saw the cat. He followed me, black-bodied, with white paws and a white chest. His green eyes watched me constantly.
His? I thought. I shrugged. Did I remember this cat being a he?
There was nothing for me here.
I wandered away from the village into the grassy field. When the sun was about to rise, I was near the tree-line. It was a good thing, too, because when the rays of the dazzling square sun pierced the night sky, and the day began, I burst into flames!
There was no pain, but from reading this journal and what I presumably wrote the night before, I figured that my best chance to survive was to get under a tree.
I found a tall oak tree at the edge of the field. Once I stood in its shadow, the flames died down, and I was safe again for the day.
“Meow,” the kitty cat said. He crazily darted around me until the flames went out, then cautiously approached my smoldering body. The cat sat in the grass.
I watched as random zombies and skeletons in the field burned to death. They fell, then were reduced to piles of ash.
Standing under the oak tree all day, I listened to the wind whistle across the open plains. The apples in the tree shook in the branches above me.
At one point, clouds rolled in, and it began to rain.
When the rain died down, the sun came out, and the world was clear and bright again.
My cat companion watched me most of the time, and alternated between sitting in the grass, wandering around by my feet, and climbing the rock and dirt blocks directly around us.
Reminder to self—stay out of the sunlight. Just in case I don’t remember.
I looked at the cover of the diary.
Oh yeah, I thought. I guess I already thought of that.
When I started paying attention again, I noticed the cat.
He was still with me.
Still with me? I had a memory of this black and white cat, the small creature down by my feet with the green eyes. And a memory of a village. Last night maybe?
It was hard to tell.
This journal I’m writing in right now had two previous entries. Was I the writer? I couldn’t remember.
All I recalled was the cat. And a village.
Zombies attacking villagers.
According to this book’s cover, I should stay out of the sunlight. It looks like at the end of these last two nights, I was having problems catching on fire when the morning came! At least on the last two nights I wrote about.
Was it last night? Whatever.
Sunlight bad. Good to know.
I supposed, since I was standing under an oak tree with apples in its branches, that I wrote the last entry the night before, where I left off … standing under an oak tree with apples in its branches.
I really didn’t remember!
In the distance, across the grassy field, I saw a village. A single torch cast a light from a lamp post in the center of town. Forms moved around among the streets and crop fields.
I was so hungry.
Well, if I were to believe this book in my hands, then it was likely that the villagers living there were all dead or gone. So, the folks I saw moving around over there were probably other zombies.
Easy enough to find out, I thought.
As I stepped out from under the oak tree into the open night sky, the cat followed.
“Meow,” he said.
“What is it?” I replied.
The kitty cat ran up to my legs. “Meow, purrrrrr.”
I reached down and stroked his head with my clumsy zombie hand. “Let’s go, cat,” I said.
It was funny that I couldn’t remember anything other than the cat and the village. Maybe if I investigated the village, I might remember more. I could read and re-read what the journal said, of course, and I did read it, but nothing helped me remember.
But, if, according to this book, I started each night not remembering anything, then why did I suddenly remember the cat?
The cat and I approached the village to find it empty, aside from the undead. The doors of most of the little homes were destroyed, the crops were ready to harvest but left unattended, and only mobs roamed the streets.
I approached the town’s water supply and looked down into the well at the zombies climbing up from its depths.
“Hey,” a male voice said. “It’s you!”
Standing behind me, in an open doorway of an abandoned house, was a skeleton. He looked like all of the other skeletons I’d seen before, but had a pack on his back, and his eyes were different. Instead of the black, empty eye sockets of the random skeletons I saw out in the wild, this undead fellow had tiny, pin-point dots of red light in his otherwise dark eye cavities. The little red lights darted about as he looked around us, but mostly focused on me. The skeleton’s special eyes made him look more intelligent somehow.
“Who are you?” I asked.
He walked over, stepping around the mostly mindless undead.
“You zombies,” he said with a smirk. “You forget everything, don’t you?” He slung his bow around his shoulder and onto his back. “I’m Skeleton Steve. You know me!”
I pondered his bony face. The lively red lights in his eye sockets.
“I’m sorry, Skeleton Steve,” I said. “I don’t remember you.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “Lots of zombies have memory problems, it seems.”
“My name is …” I paused. Thought about it. “My name…”
“Meow,” the cat said, wandering around my legs. He looked up at us with brilliant, green eyes.
“Uh,” I said, “I don’t remember my name!”
Skeleton Steve put a bony hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, young zombie,” he said. “That must be hard to deal with. I mean, if you care, that is.”
“I do!” I said. “I do care! This has been a strange … few nights? It’s hard to tell. I can’t remember anything! But I think,” I said, pulling out my journal, “I think that I want to.”
“Interesting,” Skeleton Steve said, looking down at the cat, then looking at the book in my hands.
“How do you know me, Skeleton Steve?”
“Well,” he said, pointing at my journal. “I’m the one who gave you that book.”
“Really?” I said.
I tried to remember. Putting some clumsy fingers to my head, I thought hard and tried to recall meeting a skeleton and taking this book any time in the past. Ever.
I couldn’t remember anything!
“Yes,” Skeleton Steve said. “I gave this book to you about a week ago, back at the village where I found you.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Oh,” Skeleton Steve said, “I like to read the stories of others I encounter out here.” He stopped and looked around us. Some zombies wandered by aimlessly. I heard the hiss of a spider jumping off of a roof. The clatter of another skeleton moving around somewhere. “I’m an adventurer,” he said. “I like to learn about others’ adventures too—their stories, where they came from, where they’re going. So I gave you that journal, and asked you to write in it. It was the first time I ever asked a zombie to write a journal, too. I didn’t know what to expect! Especially from a zombie who was once a villager.”
A zombie villager? Really?
I was a villager before I turned into a zombie?
“Do you know who I am, Skeleton Steve?”
He regarded me for a moment. “Nope. Sorry, zombie,” he said. “I can see from your face that you were a villager, as opposed to most of these other zombies around here.” He waved a bony hand around us. “And I can see that you were a young villager. A teenager, maybe—not quite grown up. If I knew more about villagers, I might be able to tell more about you and your family from your clothes. Or rather, what’s left of them. And did you know that you have a cat following you around?”
That was a lot to process!
“Um,” I said, “Cat … uh, yes.” I looked down at the kitty cat, who sat on the cobblestone street. He looked up at me.
“Meow,” he said.
“So,” Skeleton Steve said. “Did you write anything in there?”
I looked down at the cat. “Where?”
“The journal, of course!” Skeleton Steve said, and then laughed.
“Oh, yeah!” I replied. I handed the journal to him. “At least I think so. I don’t remember. But I mentioned coming to this village last night, when all of the villagers here were killed or run off, and there are no villagers here now. I think I wrote it. I do remember being in this village last night…”
Skeleton Steve looked up at me briefly from the pages.
“Interesting,” Skeleton Steve said. “It must be very strange forgetting so much! That’s how we got separated, you know.”
“How?” I said.
“We were at the other village,” he said. “Back where I found you. When I gave you the journal to start documenting our adventure, we were separated for the morning into different safe places—because of the daylight! When night finally fell, you were gone.”
Skeleton Steve looked back to the journal, finished reading my entries, then closed the book with a thump, and handed it back to me.
“Do you think I just forgot and wandered off?” I said.
“Yep,” Skeleton Steve said. “I assumed you went up into the mountains. I looked for you there for a while, up in the snow, but I couldn’t find you, and figured I wouldn’t see you again. I’m so surprised we bumped into each other here!”
We spoke for a while about the last week of being separated, but I didn’t really remember anything that happened then. Skeleton Steve was able to figure out that I did indeed go up into the mountains like he thought, because of my descriptions of the area in the journal. He also asked about my notes regarding the cat from the previous night.
“I don’t know,” I said. “He just came up to me in the snow and hasn’t left, according to the book. Strange thing is though,” I said, looking down at the kitty cat’s green eyes staring up at me, “I remember him! From last night. I don’t really remember anything, night by night, but I remember him, and I remember this place.”
“That is interesting,” Skeleton Steve said. “You don’t know its name though?”
“No,” I said.
Skeleton Steve crouched down, and the cat approached him, rubbing his head on the skeleton’s bony, outstretched hand.
“Meow, purrrrr purrrrr,” the cat said.
“Hey,” Skeleton Steve said. “Did you know he has a collar?”
“No I didn’t,” I said. “Maybe his name is on it!”
“Let’s see,” the skeleton said. He reached out further, and pulled the cat close to him, pulling the red collar around his furry neck with long and bony fingers until he found a nametag.
“What’s it say?”
“Mr. … Whiskers?” he said. “Mr. Whiskers, ha ha.”
“Meow,” the cat said.
Skeleton Steve crouched laughing and holding Mr. Whiskers, who was happy to get the attention, while I was suddenly hit with a flood of memories!
Thoughts raced through my sluggish zombie mind, and I stood, mouth gaping, taking it all in. I remembered finding the cat in the jungle. Memories of thick, green trees all around me. I could see another villager, standing next to me. A teenager like me! Giving me pieces of fish. I could remember waking up in my bed, and Mr. Whiskers sleeping on the red blanket down by my feet. I remembered trying to stop him from chasing the chickens that belonged to …
… Belonged to …
“Zombie?” Skeleton Steve said. “Are you okay?”
Mr. Whiskers darted away from Skeleton Steve and circled around my legs. “Meow.”
“I just …” I said. “I just remembered the cat!” I looked down at the small, friendly creature. “Mr. Whiskers is my cat.”
“No kidding?” Skeleton Steve said. He stood. He looked truly surprised.
“I remember,” I said, “bits and pieces … about Mr. Whiskers.”
“Do you remember your name?” Skeleton Steve said. “Who you are?”
I thought about it.
“No,” I said. “I don’t remember more about myself except … well, some things. Not much.” I thought about the blanket.
“Do you remember your parents? Or where you came from?” he asked.
“No,” I replied. “I don’t remember.”
We stood in silence for a while. Zombies moaned and moved around us.
“But I,” I began, “I … want to remember! I want to find out who I was and where I came from. I want to find my home!”
Skeleton Steve put his hand on my shoulder again. He thought for a time.
“Well,” he said, “we can start with the village where I found you. Maybe [_that _]was your home.”
Of course! But are there still villagers alive there? Or was it a village destroyed by the undead just like the one we stood in now?
“It’s worth a try,” I said. “But are the villagers there still alive? How did you find me?”
“They were alive when I was there last,” Skeleton Steve said. “They were all inside when I found you there, bashing on the doors with all the others. Then you and I started talking—talking about the journal and all, and we left the village.”
“Do you think I have family there?” I asked.
Skeleton Steve shrugged. “I guess we can see…”
We talked well into the day, taking cover in a ruined house when the sun came up and the deadly daylight lit most of the other zombies on fire. I spent the rest of that day writing in the journal, and wondering how much I would remember.
When the sun went down, I was amazed that I remembered most of what had happened the previous night between Skeleton Steve, Mr. Whiskers, and myself. After reading my journal entries, I remembered the rest.
Skeleton Steve suggested that having that blast of memories about Mr. Whiskers was helping my brain. Maybe having my cat around, and trying to uncover clues about my past, would make me remember who I was before I became a zombie!
Feeling inspired, I followed Skeleton Steve out into the night.
He seemed to remember where the other village was, and led me with purpose through grassland, then up into some gently rolling hills with sparse trees. Finally, we walked across a forest full of oak and acacia trees—strange trees that grew up, then to the side, then grew a large, shallow expanse of leaves that would probably make a great shadow to hide under during the day!
After walking all night, we descended through an odd prairie full of cliffs and the strange acacia trees, down into a desert of sand, brush, and cacti. Tiny rabbits jumped and hopped around us, keeping a close eye on Mr. Whiskers and fleeing from him whenever he padded too close on his soft, white feet.
Up ahead, across a huge valley of sand and sandstone, was a village! From here, through the heat mirage, all I could see were the buildings.
No people, no crops, no light.
Was that home?
Was that the village where I was killed as a teenage villager and transformed into the undead?
“We’re almost there!” I said, shambling out into the desert.
“No, zombie,” Skeleton Steve said. He pointed at the moon. “Look!”
The brilliant, square moon was settling into the horizon, casting a silver light over the world around us. The other side of the sky was transitioning from black, to dark blue, to pink.
“We can make it!” I said. “There’s time!”
I continued into the desert as fast as my clumsy zombie legs would take me. The moon was moving slowly. The sky was still dark. We had plenty of time!
“No!” Skeleton Steve called. “It’s too far. You’re not fast enough! You’ll burn up! Come back!”
The sky continued to brighten where the sun would rise. The moon was gone now. Looking back at Skeleton Steve, I could see that he was standing under one of the Acacia trees. My skeletal companion would have plenty of room to move around in the tree’s shadow during the day.
It would be terrible to be so close to home, to be able to see it all day and know that I could reach it now if I hurried!
“I can make it!” I said, and pumped my zombie legs toward the village.
The blinding sun crept over the horizon, shooting rays of morning sunlight through the desert. And I could see, suddenly, that the village was much farther than I thought.
Fear boiled up inside my zombie belly.
Up until I saw Mr. Whiskers again, I don’t think I cared too much about burning up in the sun. It didn’t hurt. And I didn’t know anything about who I was or where I was going.
I burst into flames!
“No!” Skeleton Steve yelled. “Come back! Come back!”
As fast as I could, I shambled back to the edge of the desert, back to Steve, back to the shadow of the tree. Would I be too late?
Now I did know a little more about who I was. And I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I wanted to survive! I wanted to see my family again, if they were still alive. I wanted to go home.
I burned, and I walked quickly across the desert.
The flames consumed me entirely, and I could hardly concentrate on where I was going.
Even though the fire didn’t hurt my body, I could feel a pain growing in my heart, a fear deep inside of what I would lose if I didn’t find my way to the shadows and survive the day.
Stupid! I thought.
I was impatient and reckless!
Through the sounds of the flames, I could hear my hissing cries of pain, as my zombie body suffered in the purity of the light. And through the bright flames in my eyes, I could see Mr. Whiskers running around me in circles, frantic.
I had to make it!
Couldn’t be far now.
And then the flames went out!
Skeleton Steve stood next to me, patting at my body, in the shadow of the acacia tree. Looking down at my body, I saw that my clothing was blackened and gone in some areas, and my green zombie body hissed and popped and crackled, streaked with soot.
Skeleton Steve opened his mouth to speak.
“I know,” I said.
“I’m glad you made it,” he said.
“Thanks,” I replied.
“You were on fire for a long time,” Skeleton Steve said. “Did the book burn up?”
I pulled the journal out of my pack. It was still intact. “No,” I said. “It’s okay.”
Skeleton Steve sat in the grass in the large shadow of the tree, and beckoned Mr. Whiskers over. My cat walked over and plopped down next to him, happy to be scratched by Steve’s bony fingers.
With my body stiff and smelling like burned, rotten meat, I sat up against the tree trunk and began writing my entry into the journal for the day.
“Hey,” a voice said. “Hey, zombie.”
I looked over at the skeleton standing next to me under a tree.
“What do you want?” I said.
“Wow,” he said. “You zoned out for a while there, and forgot everything, didn’t you?”
What was this skeleton talking about? I looked down at my cat.
“Meow,” Mr. Whiskers said.
Mr. Whiskers. Right.
“My cat,” I said. “Mr. Whiskers. We’re … going … to a village? You…” I trailed off.
“Skeleton Steve,” the skeleton said. “Amazing! What a weird and sad life it would be to forget everything so quickly. Interesting that having your cat with you jogs your memory.”
I bent down and pet the kitty cat’s head with a clumsy zombie hand. My skin was blackened.
From being on fire. I remembered that now.
Skeleton Steve related the story back to me again of everything that had happened so far. Meeting in the last village. Again, apparently. Traveling to the village where he thought I was from…
I remembered now.
While waiting out the rest of the day, I skimmed through my journal.
When the sun went down, and the square moon rose and cast a silver light out onto the desert ahead of us, we stepped out from under the large acacia tree.
If the village in the sandy distance was indeed my home, would I remember my life when we arrived? When I found my home? Was one of those little houses up ahead a dwelling where I had a little red bed, where I used to sleep as a living villager, with Mr. Whiskers on the blanket down by my feet? Were my parents still there? Did I have a brother or a sister?
We walked across the great, open basin, our feet hissing in the hot sand. Small rabbits hopped and fled all around us, always trying to stay several leaps ahead of Mr. Whiskers, who chased the little creatures whenever they came too close.
As we approached the village, I was worried.
It was quiet.
There weren’t even zombies attacking the villagers, like at the village the other night.
The night was still, and wind whistled across the desert.
Among the fields of crops, wheat and other plants shook and waved in the breeze, but there was no one to tend them. The torches that would normally light up the middle of town were gone. There were no villagers opening and closing doors, and no signs of life within. No zombies, even!
The village was dark and silent.
As Skeleton Steve, Mr. Whiskers, and I walked through the quiet cobblestone streets, we could see that the doors of the homes were smashed. Every single door. But there were no bodies, no other damage. The village was deserted and long abandoned.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
Skeleton Steve shrugged.
We checked the library. The blacksmith. The meat market. We looked inside each of the houses.
Nothing. No one.
For the rest of the night and into the following day, we explored the silent village. Even though it was abandoned, I still hoped to find a hint—anything—that would remind me of my old life before becoming a zombie.
But no homes held any memory. No beds or tables or rooms triggered my mind. Nothing seemed to impress Mr. Whiskers either.
A sadness washed over me, and I felt that, even though Skeleton Steve originally found me here, that this was not the village I came from.
I sat on some steps of an abandoned house, and pet Mr. Whiskers.
“Meow, purrrr purrrr,” he said.
“Where did you come from, Mr. Whiskers?” I asked. “Where did I come from…?”
Skeleton Steve put a bony hand on my shoulder. When the sun came up, we retired into an empty home to wait for the next nightfall.
All I could think about was that I wanted to go home.
When night fell again, Mr. Whiskers was with me. He and Skeleton Steve helped me remember.
The problem was, I didn’t know where to go from here.
If this village wasn’t my home, then any village could be my home. There was no telling how far in this world I had wandered around as a zombie villager, forgetting who I was and what I was doing every night.
My home village could be thousands of miles away…
“Well,” said Skeleton Steve, “We could try to find another village. There’s probably one within a day or two’s walk from here. I can’t think of one right now, but I’ve traveled a lot, and I come across them here and there.”
“I guess so,” I said.
It made sense that this deserted village could be my home. This was the place where Skeleton Steve found me, and since I didn’t remember anything, it seemed like a good bet that if he found me in a village, that it was the village where I lived before I was turned into a creature of the night.
But now? Just wandering the world, village to village, hoping to—what? See if anywhere triggers a memory? It seemed hopeless.
“Meow,” Mr. Whiskers said.
“Besides,” Skeleton Steve said. “How far—?”
We were cut off by the sound of objects clattering down the street…
Skeleton Steve and I exchanged a look of alarm, then bolted for the door. When my bony friend peeked his head out into the street, then pulled back in and removed the bow from his shoulder, I knew it wasn’t just another roaming zombie.
“There’s something going on at the blacksmith’s,” Skeleton Steve said.
We crept out of the empty, dark house we were sitting in, and snuck down the street toward the building with the extinguished forge. I saw something weird move in the darkness, and Skeleton Steve must have seen it too, because he raised his bow in preparation.
The wind whistled through the streets.
It was a horse. Or some kind of undead horse. All bones, and tethered to a post outside of the blacksmith’s house. The creature stood still in the night, moving its head up or down occasionally, but not paying us any attention. Bulging, leather bags were tied to its sides, storing large amounts of items unseen.
We heard the clattering sound again, and then the sound of a wooden chest closing.
“Ah haaaa…” a woman’s voice said from within. “Better than a sharp stick in the eye!” The voice was edgy and rubbed me the wrong way.
And then she appeared in the doorway, immediately regarding us in the street. A tall and wicked-looking woman, ugly and pale, with a long, hooked nose and thick, black hair. She was dressed in rough and mottled purple robes, with a long, black cowl atop her head, hiding some of her face in shadow. The strange woman looked at us for a moment, then decided to ignore us, walking to her skeletal horse with a dangerous grace.
“A witch,” Skeleton Steve said.
The witch opened one of the large, leather packs on the undead horse’s side and produced a bright, shining diamond from her robes with one lean and clawed hand. The diamond caught the moonlight for a moment, sparkled, then disappeared into the pack. She turned to us.
“Yes, yes,” she said, her voice shrill and full of power. “A witch indeed, my odd skeleton chum. You may lower your weapon. You have no need for it.” She smiled. “And it wouldn’t help you anyway…”
Skeleton Steve slung his bow around his shoulder and approached, beckoning for me to follow.
“My name is Skeleton Steve,” he said.
“A Steve? Really?” the witch said. “That’s interesting. May explain a lot! Maybe not…”
“What do you mean?” Skeleton Steve said. “And who are you?”
“If you don’t know, then you don’t know,” she said. “Maybe your destiny will lead you to learn more later, Skeleton Steve.” She laughed. “My name is Worla. I am a wandering witch. Wandering for now anyway.”
Worla the witch paused, looking me over, then looked down to Mr. Whiskers. She smiled.
“Hello, little one,” she said to the cat.
“Meow,” he said, looking up at her hawkish face. Something about the witch made me uneasy. I had a feeling that there was more to her than what I saw on the outside, and the outside was frightening enough! She seemed to be made of hooks and claws and sharp bones. Her eyes were the darkest [_black _]I had ever seen. As far as I remembered, anyway.
“Mr. Whiskers, huh?” she said, watching the cat. “And where are you from, little Mr. Whiskers?”
“Meow,” he said.
She nodded, holding a full unspoken conversation with the kitty cat it seemed. Scary and crazy? How did she know his name? My cat meowed some more, and she reacted as if he was speaking real words, nodding, pursing her lips in empathy and approval.
“In search of your master, eh? It looks like you found him.” She looked at me. “But he has yet to find himself!” With that, Worla cackled a long, high laugh that echoed through streets of the silent village.
“You understand him?” I asked.
“Of course I do, young zombie,” Worla said. “He’s a cat. I’m a witch! And what a coincidence too, because he comes from my hometown. As do you.”
“What?” Skeleton Steve said. “Really?”
My home? She knew my home? How could she know us? I’ve never seen a witch before!
“You know Mr. Whiskers?” I said. “You know me?”
“No, boy,” she replied. “I do not know Mr. Whiskers. I’m going by what he told me! Your cat was born after I left our home. But I do know who you are. Or at least, I did, for a while.”
“How is this possible?” Skeleton Steve said.
“Diamodia is a small world, red-eyed skeleton,” she said. “Too small for you. And maybe too small for Devdan here, in time…”
“Devdan?” I said.
“That is your name, young zombie. If my memory serves. Your name, back when you were a young villager, was Devdan. You were the armor smith’s boy.”
Devdan. The armor smith. My father! I waited for the memories to flood back, like they did when I heard Mr. Whisker’s name, but nothing came.
“You know me?” I asked.
Worla shrugged, her bony shoulders and flourish of long, spindly fingers tipped with claws reminding me that a predator resided behind those black, black eyes. “Not really,” she said. “I didn’t speak with your family much. I do remember when you were killed by the zombies one night, and I never talked to your mother or father after that. Several months later, I left Ahimsa Village myself.”
“What happened? And where’s my father? What’s his name? What about my mother? And do I have any other family?”
She laughed. “I don’t know a lot of that, young zombie. But I was there, looking out from the window of my library, when the zombies broke down the door of your home. The village was especially sad that a youngster like you was killed. And your poor mother! But the fools never did much to protect themselves! Such was the life of a village. The zombies come at night sometimes, and did the fools ever try to fight back? Did they ever try to build defenses or use science to defeat the threat? No. They run and hide and die…”
We stood in silence for a moment. I didn’t know what to say.
“Fools, the villagers. So smart and resourceful. So much potential! Until they run and hide and die!” she said.
“When … when you left,” I said, “was my dad still there?”
“I suppose he was,” Worla said. “Your father didn’t leave the house much after you and your mother died.”
My mother … died …
Skeleton Steve spoke up. “Ahimsa Village you said? Where is that?”
“Yes,” I said, “where is my village? Is it far?”
“No,” Worla replied. She laughed. “It’s not far. Didn’t you think about the fact that your cat came to find you? He’s a cat! It couldn’t have been far! Two days from here.”
We were going to do it! We could find my home! I was Devdan, the teenage villager, before I became the teenage zombie villager. I still had a dad. And lived in Ahimsa Village!
“How do we get there?” I asked.
Worla opened her mouth to speak, then paused. A smile crept over her lips.
“I can help you, young zombie, to find your home,” she said, speaking slowly, “but, I will need something in return. A little bit of help from you. Something minor.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“There is a book in my old home. Where I lived before I became … before … I left the village. In the library.” She raised her hands from her robes, and mimicked the rectangular shape of a book with her long fingers and claws. “The book is special to me, and I haven’t gotten around to getting it back.”
“So you want us to get your book?” Skeleton Steve asked.
“Yes,” she said, lowering her hands back into the folds of her robe. “I’ll show you the way, and when you find your home, you bring me the book!”
“If the village is so close, why haven’t you just gotten it yourself?” Skeleton Steve asked.
“Well,” Worla said, “I’ve just been busy … collecting things and … if you think you’d be better off finding Ahimsa yourself …” She turned to her undead horse.
“Skeleton Steve!” I said. He was going to make her mad and turn her away! And we were so close. “Of course we’ll get the book!” I said.
“Excellent!” she said, friendly again at the drop of a hat. I could see that her teeth were sharp. It wasn’t too obvious, but from what I knew now, knowing that Worla used to be a villager too, I could see the similarities in her features to the appearance of my people. But she was twisted by something dark! Dark magic, I suppose. Worla spun in a whirl, and was at her skeletal horse’s side in an instant.
And she was fast! Faster than she appeared to be.
The witch returned with a rolled up piece of paper.
“This map will show you the location of Ahimsa Village.” She unrolled the map with her claws. I looked at the strange paper, full of drawings and notations. A crude picture of a house was in the very center of the map, in the middle of an open space, surrounded at a distance by hand-drawn mountains and trees. Above the house, in the forest, was a drawing of a skull. She pointed a thin claw to another little house on the map above the skull. “This,” she said, “is where we are. This,” she said, pointing to the house in the center of the map, “is Ahimsa Village!” She pointed to an inky blob labeled ‘swamp’ in the lower-right corner of the map. “This swamp is where I expect to be in a couple of days.”
She handed the map to Skeleton Steve.
“Find your precious village,” she said, “and then bring the book to me in the swamp. Agreed?”
“Okay,” I said.
I was so happy to have a map leading back to my home and my old life.
“What’s … the skull?” Skeleton Steve asked.
Worla paused. “Eh … that’s a dangerous place! Go around it. And take heed … before you go into your village, make sure it’s just villagers in there, okay?”
“You mean, no zombies and other mobs?” I asked.
“Oh, no, no, no,” she replied. “Of course there will be zombies and other critters there, breaking down the doors and all! But I mean, keep an eye out for anything dangerous. And save the map! I want it back!”
We stood quietly for a moment, thinking about ‘anything dangerous’, then Worla turned and grabbed her undead horse’s lead. She untied the spooky creature from the building.
“And hey, kid,” she said, turning back to me. “Do this right, and I may be able to help you out with your other problem.”
“What other problem?” I said.
“Your zombie problem,” she replied, then started leading her skeletal horse down the street.
“Worla!” Skeleton Steve called. “What’s Diamodia?”
She turned. “It’s this world, Skeleton Steve!”
“This world?” he said. “There are others?”
“Oh yes,” Worla replied. “There are many others…”
Then she turned and was gone, disappearing into the darkness of the quiet night.
Skeleton Steve and I looked at the map again. Over the whole map, there were several different little houses here and there—presumably other villages. There was also an area marked ‘snow’, with another little house, near where we were.
“That must be the mountain village we came from the other night!” I said, pointing with a green, clumsy finger.
“West, east,” Skeleton Steve was muttering to himself. He looked up at the moon, watching it slowly travel across the sky. He must have been trying to figure out the directions of the map, and which direction we needed to travel. “It looks like Ahimsa is to the south. The last village was to the west. And that skull is right in our way!”
“I wonder what it is,” I said.
“I don’t know,” said Skeleton Steve. “Hopefully we’ll know it when we see it, and can go around. I have a feeling that whatever it is, something dangerous is why Worla the witch doesn’t want to go back to the village herself.”
“Meow,” Mr. Whiskers said.
We traveled south, leaving the silent village behind, eventually climbing up into some grassy hills, which became steeper hills, then we were finally traversing tall mountain ridges in a thick pine forest.
When the sun started peaking over the hill, I was walking across a grassy valley, and almost forgot that the sunlight would kill me.
I remembered this time. And just before I would have been stuck out in the open, on fire once again!
I shambled my way back into the darkness of the trees and managed to stay out of trouble.
When darkness fell, I was looking at the map, and trying to remember home.
Devdan. Devdan was my name!
I was a teenager, and the son of the armor smith. I was killed one night, along with my mother, during a zombie attack, joined the ranks of the undead, and my father became … a recluse?
These were details from the witch anyway, but they didn’t bring back any memories. I wondered if I would one day remember who she was. The village librarian it seemed? Once upon a time at least? Would I remember her if I remembered all of my old life? I guess I didn’t know her very long, if I even knew her at all…
Skeleton Steve took to calling me by my real name, and that was comforting.
Even though I felt like everything was hopeless back in the abandoned village, before we met the witch, I now felt like we were pressing on. Committed. We would find resolution soon!
Soon, I’d be looking at the village where I lived as a normal boy—a teenager anyway. I would see my father. And even though I was a zombie now, I would let him know that I was still alive!
Your zombie problem. Worla’s words echoed in my mind.
Maybe we could find a happy ending after all. Going home, remembering myself, reuniting with my family, and returning again as a living teenage villager … after bringing Worla her book.
What a story!
Skeleton Steve and I continued through the forest, watching ahead of us vigilantly for any signs of the dangerous place. Mr. Whiskers followed, making cute cat noises and looking up at me with his brilliant green eyes.
Eventually, crossing over the top of a ridge, we saw something.
Ahead and below us, across a gulch and sitting atop a great plateau, was a large castle. The structure was stout and almost the size of a village itself, with a central, round tower rising above the rest of the forest into the sky. The exterior was made mostly of large stone-carved bricks, with glass windows far above the ground level, and wooden scaffolding and supports stood and stretched here and there.
Near the bottom of the gulch, there was a smaller structure with a wooden fishing dock reaching out over a mountain pond. The ‘fishing hut’ was connected to the larger castle by a suspended stone bridge.
In the darkness of our travels, this place was brilliant, lit by a hundred torches, artfully placed around the exterior of the castle walls, then extending out into the surrounding fields and forest in an even grid pattern, lighting up the entire surrounding area.
I could tell that Skeleton Steve was similarly impressed, as he stood, hiding in the shadow of a pine tree, his bone jaw gaping at the sight.
“What … what is it?” I asked.
I heard the moo of a cow, and realized that there was a fenced in area behind the castle. Just around the corner, I saw the pink rump of a pig. The fenced in area must be full of animals!
“I …” Skeleton Steve began. “I think it’s a Steve.”
What did he mean by that?
“You mean … another one like you?” I asked.
“No,” Skeleton Steve said, shaking his head. “Not like me. It’s a living Steve. Steve is special! I have only seen him … it … once before, and I was lucky that it didn’t kill me. A Steve is strong, and fast, and hard to kill. And when one dies, it always comes back.”
“And it lives here?”
“This must be its home, yes,” Skeleton Steve said. “Look … it’s got torches all over to keep the mobs away, and it eats the fish from the lake, and the animals behind the castle.”
“When did you see a Steve before?” I asked.
Skeleton Steve looked up at the night sky, then back across to the great castle. “That’s a story for another time, Devdan. We need to stay alert, and get past this castle without the Steve finding us.” He paused, thinking for a moment. “I bet he has all kinds of treasure in there.”
We skirted around the castle as best we could, then continued south, leaving the brilliant glow of the torches behind us.
When the sun was close to rising, we looked for something better to hide under during the day—something better than just another tree. If the Steve happened by during the day, we would be sitting ducks just hanging out in the shadow of a pine tree.
Eventually, we found a small cave, and got comfortable in the darkness.
We spent the day trying to keep quiet and avoid the Steve coming across us. Skeleton Steve pondered, looking out into the daylight, the red dots of his eyes intense and still. I wrote in my journal, and read the previous entries, trying hard to remember … instead of zoning out and forgetting. A dull, numbing sensation pulled at my mind like the drone of a thunderstorm, inviting me to sink into a bed of nothingness, to ease into turning off my brain for a while…
I resisted the urge, and pet Mr. Whiskers, who stayed by my side.
When night fell, we emerged carefully from our cave, listening for quick footsteps or battle cries.
There was nothing but the wind in the trees.
Continuing south toward Ahimsa Village, we made our way through the dark forest ridge by ridge, until it started to rain.
Boom! Thunder crashed, and lightning rippled through the sky! I made sure that the journal was protected in my pack against the rain.
The downfall was heavy and constant, which slowed us down and made it harder to see. The thunder, rolling across the sky, made us afraid that we could encounter Steve around any turn!
Instead, we encountered wolves.
Large, furry beasts bolted after us, chasing Mr. Whiskers into the night!
“Mr. Whiskers!” I cried.
I couldn’t tell how many wolves there were around us in the foggy, wet night, but I was startled when one suddenly leapt out of the darkness at Skeleton Steve, biting one of his bony legs.
Skeleton Steve cried out in alarm, his bones clattering, and he pulled his bow from his back, notched an arrow just as quickly, and fired point-blank at the wolf that held him! An arrow sunk into the wolf’s back, and it released his leg and bolted away.
“Come on!” Skeleton Steve called. “We have to keep going and get out of the woods!”
“But—Mr. Whiskers!” I cried.
We moved south as quickly as we could. Another wolf darted in for Skeleton Steve, and took at arrow to the face! It yelped, and fell back. I could see several of the beasts, now two with arrows sticking out of their bodies, running along with us, circling in the dark.
Where was my cat? I was terrified for him! Did the wolves eat him?
Thunder crashed again, and a couple of wolves closed in on Skeleton Steve. He shot one, and it fell, dead. The other lunged in, biting at his bones. A third wolf ran in from the pack circling us, and tried to attack him from the other side.
“No!” I yelled, and shambled closer, swinging at the wolf with my zombie arms. I felt my fist connect with its wet fur. Crunch! The wolf yelped, then turned its attention to me. Skeleton Steve’s bow twanged in the night again. I punched the wolf in the head. It reeled, then jumped up and bit my arm. Its teeth sank into my green flesh and it tried to pull me down to the ground! I swung again with my other arm and connected solidly with its skull. It fell limp to the ground.
Skeleton Steve was still fighting off the other wolf, and yet another came in behind us!
Thunder crashed, and a lightning bolt flashed and hit a tree near us, setting it on fire!
I swung again, punching one of the wolves attacking Skeleton Steve. My fist hit its body. It yelped, but kept focused on its attack on my skeleton friend. The wolf lashed out, and bit at Skeleton Steve, missing his body, but sinking its teeth into his leather pack, pulling him off balance.
Raising both of my fists in the air, I swung down at the wolf as hard as I could, and smashed it between the shoulder blades, dropping it to the ground!
Skeleton Steve shot the other wolf in the face, and the beast backed off for a moment, rejoining its pack, circling around us in the dark.
“Are you okay?” I cried.
“I’m still walking, yeah,” Skeleton Steve said. “Let’s keep going. Keep moving!”
“My cat!” I said. “We can’t leave without my cat!”
“Don’t worry,” my companion yelled. “If he’s still alive, he’ll catch up to us. He found you once before, remember?”
A wolf tried to come at us sideways, but Skeleton Steve saw the movement, turned, and shot the animal in the side. It tumbled and fell down, dead.
“Look ahead!” said Skeleton Steve.
I looked ahead, through the darkness and the rain, and saw the glow of a torch in the distance.
“It’s the village!” I said. “It must be!”
We tried to quicken our pace, still defending against the wolves darting in to attack us. I didn’t know if we would make it, honestly. How long could we fend them off? I could count at least six more wolves, but it was hard to tell how many of their silvery, furry forms were moving around in the hazy fog just outside of our vision.
Approaching the torchlight, I was sure that we would pop out of the forest into the grassland on the map, and the wolves would stop their pursuit at the tree line.
But the torch wasn’t a torch from the village.
It was a small cobblestone hut, with a single door, no windows, and a single torch shining in the night.
As we ran up, the door popped open suddenly, and we were looking directly into the impassive blue eyes of a Steve!
He stepped out into the rain, the torchlight glittering on a metal chest plate and helmet, holding a pickaxe in his hand. In his other hand was a bucket.
“The Steve!” I cried, as our feet slid to a frantic stop in the mud.
My undead companion and I immediately ducked around the cobblestone building. Skeleton Steve shot off another arrow at a wolf in our path.
“Let’s get out of here!” Skeleton Steve said. “The valley is down below!”
Around the little cobblestone hut, we were stopped by reaching the edge of a cliff!
The Steve’s cobblestone hut was built right at the edge of the forest’s tree line, and a vast valley stretched out below us, revealing a dim glow far ahead in the rain.
That’s the village, I thought. The glow of the real village.
Behind the little hut, between us and the valley, was some sort of stone quarry. It looked like the Steve had been cutting into the side of the hill behind his little dwelling. The ground ahead of us was gone—cut away in sheer lines, revealing large, square areas of mostly stone where the dirt had been cleared away. There was also some kind of square pool of water down below us in the quarry, built for an unknown reason.
But everything ahead of us, our destination, was down below, over the edge of a tall cliff!
The Steve turned the corner after us, casually put away his pickaxe, and drew an iron sword. The blade gleamed in the rain and torchlight.
It looked like the wolves wouldn’t be able to follow us into the quarry without jumping off of the cliff. They’d have to go around. But now we were stuck up against the cliff’s edge, with the armored Steve approaching! We could maybe jump off of the cliff and land in the pool…?
But so could the Steve.
Skeleton Steve aimed and shot his bow with instinctive speed, and I was amazed when the Steve raised his sword in a flash, and deflected the arrow!
“Uh oh,” my friend said.
“Jump for the water!” I said.
We backed off of the cliff, fell twenty feet or so through the night air, and landed in the pool.
My ears were muffled by water, and my vision swirled in the dark. I heard the consistent roar of the rain, noisy on the surface of the pool. My feet touched the bottom, and I pushed back for the surface…
When my face broke the surface of the water, I could hear everything again, and the loud rain pounded at the water and raw stone around me.
Once I got my bearings, I looked back up the cliff, and saw the wolves milling around its edge. The Steve stood up there, looking down, sword in hand. He watched us for a moment, his eyes alien and without emotion, save for the faint smile on his face. Then he put away his sword, pulled out his pickaxe, and turned away.
Skeleton Steve and I pulled ourselves out of the pool as quickly as we could manage, and hurried away. I could imagine the wolves taking the long way down, going around the Steve’s artificial cliffs and staying out of the quarry. I could also imagine the Steve coming after us too, jumping down into the water, or sprinting around the side, or flying, or whatever other amazing ways this creature could pursue us, but we just kept running…
Don’t look back, I told myself. Just keep going!
Skeleton Steve was a little roughed up from fighting all of those wolves, for sure. He moved more slowly, and limped along with a mangled leg, but he seemed grim and determined.
We approached Ahimsa Village.
And I could remember!
I remembered the buildings! There was the church. And the watchtower where I used to go to sit up top under the sky and think. I would lean up again the railing and watch the sky. And pet my cat…
Oh, Mr. Whiskers, I thought. My feet kept moving, and I remembered the streets I was approaching. There was the town well. Several zombies milled about around it.
It was dark. All of the living villagers were inside.
They run and hide and die. I could hear Worla’s edgy voice repeating the words. The witch was bitter with this village and its people for some reason.
I could hear the screams of the villagers suddenly through the rain, and the sounds of zombies beating on the doors. Inside of me, I felt a hunger welling up, and that dull drone in my brain that tries to make me forget who I am was screaming for me to join the zombies. Break down the doors! Kill. Feed.
But these were my people!
Without another thought, I yelled out a moaning, wordless battle cry, and charged into the village.
“What are you doing?” Skeleton Steve cried.
“Helping the village!” I said. I approached behind a zombie making his way to a door, raised my fist, and smashed him in the back of the head. The zombie lurched, then kept going for the door. I smashed it again, and it fell to the ground, unmoving. The other zombies didn’t seem to care!
I ran up to another as quickly as my slow, zombie legs would take me, and bashed it until it fell, also dead.
Skeleton Steve watched as I attacked both zombies, and when he noticed that they weren’t defending themselves, he started shooting into the crowd with his bow.
Between us, we thinned out the horde in no time, and the attack on the village died down. I saw one house where the door was smashed, and heard the cries of the villagers inside. Going through the broken doorway, I saw a single zombie attacking two villagers. Two farmers I recognized!
I killed the zombie, then said to the villagers, “Come on! Your door is broken—you need to join the others!”
“Get away from us! Get out!” one of the farmers screamed. They struggled to stay as far away from me as they could.
“You guys, it’s me! Devdan! Come on before more zombies get here!”
The farmers screamed, and hid in the corners of the room, covering their heads with their blocky hands.
I ran back out into the street. Skeleton Steve stayed with me, and we killed any zombies we came across. Making my way down familiar roads, I knew exactly where I was going.
Past each door, we killed the zombies trying to get in, and saw frightened villager faces inside, many of them people I knew, looking back out at us. Their eyes were crazy with fear.
Once, we passed by a zombie villager who was only a child! Much smaller than I was. His skin was green, and his face was distinctly villager. His clothing showed that he was in a family of bakers or butchers. He moaned, his voice smaller and higher than the other zombies. I let the child pass. What if he was trying to find his family too?
Before long, we were standing at the door of a small home next to the blacksmith building.
_My home. _
There was light inside. We killed the two zombies bashing at the door. I bashed on the door a few times myself.
“Dad!” I cried. “It’s me! Devdan! Open up!”
“Here,” Skeleton Steve said, as he reached out and opened the door. I watched his bony hand turn the latch with amazement.
“Of course!” I said, pointing at the latch in shock. “How could I [_forget _]that?”
We stepped inside, and found my father, hiding in the corner. He wore the same black and brown clothing as me, which I now remembered was the clothes of a smith.
“Get away from me! No, get back!” my father cried. His eyes were large with fear, and he clearly didn’t recognize me!
“Dad! It’s me! I’m your son!” I approached, and he darted away from me into a farther corner of the house.
He yelled an incomprehensible yell, and shielded his head with his arms. “Get away! Go away! Get away from me!”
Surely he didn’t recognize me! I approached. He was cowering next to my bed for crying out loud!
“Dad, it’s me! Devdan! I’ve come home!”
My father’s eyes widened and reflected terror as I approached, and he cringed into a corner of the house. I approached closer, and reached out to embrace him. “Dad, it’s me!”
He screamed, and rushed past me. “No! My son is dead! Get out! Leave me alone! My son is dead!”
I stopped, watching him cower in the other corner of the house.
“Devdan…” Skeleton Steve said. His voice was gentle. My father’s eyes went to my companion, the skeleton who stood the doorway, and Dad hid his eyes under his meaty armor smith’s hands. He might have been crying.
“Dad,” I said. “Dad, I …”
“Get out!” he yelled another time, then hid his face, shaking and cowering in the corner.
I took a look around my house. We lived here for a few years before the zombies broke down the door and took me with them. Even though we didn’t live in Ahimsa Village for long, I had friends here, and this place felt more like home than anywhere I’d lived before. I had a girlfriend here. Before I was killed, it was almost time for me to join my dad in his business. I looked at the table where I used to sit and eat dinner.
Skeleton Steve and I walked out of the door back into the streets. Reaching out with my clumsy zombie hand, I accessed a memory from what felt like a long time ago, and closed the door behind me.
Deeper into the town, there were renewed screams as more zombies approached the village and tried beating down more doors.
“Let’s go,” I said. “Let’s get the stupid book and get out of here.”
Skeleton Steve nodded, his bony hand on my shoulder.
We walked to the library amidst the chaos of the zombie attack. I remembered exactly where it was.
When I had spare time, back when I was alive, I used to go to the library and read books about weapons and fighting! My family made armor. That’s what we did. And my dad traded armor of various types with other villagers and travelers for the food we needed to survive, for tools, for weapons. Swinging the hammer and making tools of battle made me feel like a warrior. I wanted to learn to fight, even though there were no warrior villagers.
I knew that my dad had a sword! At least he did, back when I was alive. I wonder why he didn’t use it. Why didn’t the villagers fight back? I also remembered that, back by the forge, I also had a shirt of chainmail armor that I had been working on for over a month. My armor. Was it still there?
When we reached the library, I opened the door, and we stepped inside. The librarian stumbled back away from the door in surprise, screaming in horror. A zombie that could open doors? That would be the end of villages! It was a good thing I was friendly.
Amala was her name, I think. An older lady. She was the librarian there the entire time my dad and I lived in Ahimsa, or so I thought. Maybe Worla the witch was the librarian when we first moved there, for a brief time, and I didn’t realize it. I didn’t really remember Worla, or whoever she was before.
As Amala fled from Skeleton Steve and I, shrinking back into the corners of the building, trying to get as far away as possible, I felt a strange urge to rush up to her and tear her to pieces, and eat her! It was like a heartbeat in my ears, dull and consistent and rising…
I thought about Mr. Whiskers, and the feeling went away.
“Which book is it?” I asked.
Skeleton Steve walked by the rows of books, ignoring the shrieking librarian. He reached up to a shelf with his long, bony fingers, and pulled on the corner of a particular book. Removing it from the shelf, I could see why it was different.
The book glowed. A purple and pink light smothered it, rolling and wisping around its cover, faint tendrils of magic. I looked at the other books on the shelves and saw no others like it.
“This must be it,” Skeleton Steve said.
After taking the book, Skeleton Steve and I returned to the blacksmith shop, passing the house where my dad cowered and hid from me, and I found my chainmail shirt inside my dad’s wooden storage chest inside, exactly where I’d left it.
Throwing the chain shirt on in the dark street, surrounded by the calamity of zombies wandering around trying to get to the villagers hiding inside their homes, I looked around my village. If I could become alive again, become a normal villager again, would I just cower and hide? Now that I’ve fought against wolves and zombies with my bare hands, would I be able to just run and hide and die?
Would I even fit in ever again?
Would my dad take me back?
“Meow,” a cat said, down by my feet.
I looked down at a pair of longing green eyes.
“Mr. Whiskers!” I cried. “You’re alive!” I bent down and gave my cat loads of attention, ignoring the zombies moaning, the villagers screaming, and the wood splintering around me.
“Meow, purrrr purrrrr,” he said, and writhed around my feet in happiness. Skeleton Steve watched, bony arms crossed over his chest, smiling.
“See, Devdan?” Skeleton Steve said. “I told you he’d be back.”
“Let’s go, Skeleton Steve. Let’s go, Mr. Whiskers…”
We departed from the village, leaving the craziness behind. I held a sincere hope in my heart that I could help my people. Maybe one day, I’d be able to come up with a way to protect my village effectively. My father was probably [_devastated _]when I was killed and became a zombie. I couldn’t bear to see any other families go through the same fate.
After consulting the map, we traveled east until the sunrise. That would put us far enough away from the Steve’s castle and Ahimsa Village that we hopefully wouldn’t encounter any trouble during the day.
I sat in the shadow under a tree, and thought about Mom and Dad.
I remembered everything!
The drone in my brain was gone. I don’t think I’ll ever have to worry about forgetting myself again! Or, at least, I hoped so.
“So,” Skeleton Steve said, “it looks like if we go east and south, we’ll make it to this huge swamp on the map.”
“Okay,” I said. “I guess she’ll be [_somewhere _]in there, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Skeleton Steve. “Not sure how [_that’s _]going to work, but I guess we’ll find her eventually. Or she’ll find us.”
We walked, a skeleton, a teenage zombie villager, and a cat, toward where the sun set, and kept the moon on our backs. I thought about Worla’s offer to reverse my zombie condition. Surely she’d want us to do something else for her as a price for that.
“That’s some nice armor, Devdan,” Skeleton Steve said. “You made it yourself?”
“Yep,” I said. “Took me a long time. I was going to learn how to make plate armor soon, too. At least, before I was killed and turned into a zombie.”
“It’s strange,” my companion replied. “Your father’s so big and strong! A man that made armor out of metal. So bizarre to see him trying to get away and hide instead of fighting back.”
“Yeah,” I said, sighing. “It doesn’t make sense, does it? I always thought of him as a strong man. Why do villagers just lose their minds when zombies attack? It doesn’t make sense.”
“One of the mysteries of Diamodia, I guess,” Skeleton Steve said.
“I’d like to figure that out,” I said. “I’m sure that we could defend the village if we were courageous and used our brains instead of just freaking out.”
“Maybe that’s what the Steve is for,” my friend said.
“Yeah, maybe,” I replied. We walked for a few steps in silence. “There’s got to be a better way…”
In a day or two, we would hopefully reach Worla the witch. I was nervous about the idea of becoming a live villager again. And not just nervous about the tasks she might send us on to get it done, but also about the idea of rejoining my society after last night. After seeing so much of the world outside of villager life.
I looked down at my cat.
Mr. Whiskers walked alongside me, and looked up at me with his bright, green eyes.
“Meow,” he said.
We walked on.
When this book gets lots of reviews, it tells me that people love this story and want to see more of the same characters. Would you like this series to continue? Please say so in a review! Then, join my mailing list and get an email when the next book comes out!
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I am Skeleton Steve. I’ve been all over the Minecraft world of Diamodia (and others). As an adventurer and a writer at heart, I always chronicle my journeys, and I ask all of the friends I meet along the way to do the same.
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I love bringing my Minecraft stories to readers like you, and I hope to one day put out over 100 stories! If you have a cool idea for a Minecraft story, please send me an email at [email protected], and I might make your idea into a real book. I promise I’ll write back. :)
Books about individual mobs and their adventures becoming heroes of Diamodia
Diary Adventures of a Creeper King Book 1
Diary Adventures of a Teenage Zombie Villager Book 1
Diary Adventures of a Chicken Battle Steed Book 1
Diary Adventures of a Lone Wolf Book 1
Diary of an Enderman Ninja – Book 1
Diary of an Enderman Ninja – Book COMING SOON
Diary of an Enderman Ninja – Book COMING SOON
A Continuing Diary about the Skull Kids, a group of world-hopping players
Diary of a Zombie Hunter Player Team – The Skull Kids – Book 1
Diary of a Zombie Hunter Player Team – The Skull Kids – Book 2 COMING SOON
Continuing Diary Series written by Skeleton Steve and his fans! Which one is your favorite?
Diary of Steve and the Wimpy Creeper – Book 1
Diary of Steve and the Wimpy Creeper – Book 2
Diary of Steve and the Wimpy Creeper – Book COMING SOON
Diary of Zombie Steve and Wimpy the Wolf – Book COMING SOON
Diary of a Separated Slime – Book COMING SOON
Handbooks for Serious Minecraft Players, revealing Secrets and Advice
Skeleton Steve’s Secret Tricks and Tips – Book 1
Get this as a FREE GIFT when you join the Skeleton Steve Club
Bundles of Skeleton Steve books from the Minecraft Universe
Great Values! Usually 3-4 Books for almost the price of one!
Skeleton Steve and the Noob Mobs – Collection 1
MORE COMING SOON!
Check out the website SkeletonSteve.com for more!
“Diary Adventures of a Creeper King” Book 1
Ever heard of the Creeper King, mighty Cth’ka?
Read the adventure diary of a young creeper who was looking for a way to protect himself without blowing up!
When Cth’ka the Creeper and Skeleton Steve leave the forest to ask the local witch for help, they are soon on a long and dangerous journey to find a secret artifact that will allow Cth’ka the power to move blocks with his mind! But will the difficulty of traveling across the world, a village under attack, hiding from a fully-armored killer hero, and finding the way to a hidden stronghold be too much for a creeper and his skeleton companion to handle?
Read on for an Excerpt for the book!
Let’s see … is this ‘Night 1’ or ‘Day 1’? I figure I’ll write these entries in terms of days, since I never sleep. I will try to ignore the fact that, since I don’t have hands that I can write with, I’m sitting under a tree right now dictating, saying my story out loud, to my good friend, Skeleton Steve.
He says that I should just tell the story like I’m writing it. I’ll give this a try.
My name is Cth’ka. I’m a creeper. I don’t know if that’s the [_real _]name of my race, but that’s what everyone calls us, so it works.
Other creepers would probably say that I’m a weird guy. An oddball.
But other creepers don’t say much.
That’s what’s different about me. I don’t know very much about where we came from. Heck, I don’t even remember much about a year or so ago.
How did I get here? As far as I know, I’ve always lived in this forest. Skeleton Steve calls it “Darkwood Forest”. He says that there are hundreds—thousands of other forests, so he likes to give names to places.
I do love this place.
The hills rise and fall, and the trees are thick, tall, and dark. Dark oak, Steve says. It’s a very large forest too. I’ve never felt much of an urge to leave.
On one side of the forest, where the hills slope down, there’s a thick jungle where the trees are different. On another side, the hills rise higher and higher until the trees stop, and snowy peaks reach into the sky.
I never go there, to the cold mountains. Hardly ever, really. I prefer to be in warmer places.
The jungle is nice and warm, but it’s also full of water and rivers, and I don’t care for water—not at all.
On the other sides of Darkwood forest, the hills continue for quite a ways with tall, dark oak trees, until they wind down into some grassy plains full of flowers and horses.
I love this forest, but I’m getting side-tracked.
Creepers are very solitary. I’ve seen many creatures in this world, living in and passing through my forest. Some creatures have moms and dads. Most of them are babies and then grow up. The zombies and skeletons don’t. I don’t know where they come from. Where Skeleton Steve came from. I think he was something else before he became who he is today.
I don’t know much about my past. Or where my race came from.
I don’t remember having a mom or dad. And I don’t remember being smaller, or growing up in any way. I hope to find out about these things in time.
Creepers don’t exactly have a library of their race’s past. There’s nothing to study. Nothing we can learn from our elders. I can’t even tell the difference between a young creeper and an old creeper! I assume that I’m young, but maybe we just don’t have very good memories. Who knows?
And the creepers I see while I walk around my forest don’t have much to say either.
Earlier today, I was in my favorite part of Darkwood. My clearing. Near the very middle of this forest is a large clearing, a place where the trees break, and a wide valley of grass stretches out a long way. Red and yellow flowers pepper the open expanse. I love to go there during the day and watch the flowers sway in the breeze, feel the sun on my skin, and watch the clouds roll by.
At the time, Skeleton Steve was back in the forest. He doesn’t sleep either, but he can’t explore with me during the day. If Skeleton Steve steps into the sunlight … foom! He’d catch on fire. I’ve only seen it happen once before—he’s pretty careful. But I guess that’s just part of being undead.
So Skeleton Steve was back in the thickest part of the forest, waiting out the day in the shadow of a large dark oak tree, and I was watching another creeper walk across the clearing.
Whenever I see another creeper, I always try to make conversation, to learn about them. It’s always my hope to learn more about my people, and to make friends who are like me.
“Hi there,” I said.
The other creeper noticed me, said nothing, then turned to continue moving away. I followed.
“My name is Cth’ka. What’s yoursss?”
The other creeper stopped, and turned to face me. “What you wantsss?”
“I don’t sssee othersss like me very often. Where did you come from? Where are you going?”
“What doesss it matter to you?” he said in a gravely voice. He turned, and continued walking through the valley.
“I jussst want to be friendsss,” I said to his back. “Pleassse tell me about yourssself!”
The other creeper kept moving, without speaking again, and I stood in the sun and watched until he disappeared into the shadows of the dark oak trees.
Later that day, when the sun went down, I walked back to where I knew Skeleton Steve was waiting for me. In the shadows of the darkening forest, I could see the glowing red dots of his eyes, hovering in the middle of his empty black eye sockets, watching me approach.
“Why do you always try to talk to the other creepers?” Skeleton Steve asked after I told him about my day. “They always act the same way.”
We were walking along a ridge, watching the moon rise into the sky. Skeleton Steve’s face was silver in the fading light. I could see in the darkness just fine, but when the light faded away, the colors of the world disappeared too. I did love the daylight, when everything was bold and colorful. It was too bad that Skeleton Steve always had to hide in the dark.
“I’ve got to try,” I said. “There have to be more creepersss out there like me. I want to know more about why we’re here. How we creepersss get here.”
“So many creepers are just … grumpy, it seems,” Skeleton Steve said.
We walked in silence for a while.
“I wonder if we’re ssstuck like thisss, or if there will ever be sssomeone to bring usss together. If there are other creepersss, sssmart like me, I’m sure we can do great thingsss.”
“Why are you so interested in other creepers?” Skeleton Steve said.
“I think … it would be a good thing for usss to come together,” I said. I wasn’t quite sure what I was getting at, but I knew that I wanted creepers, as a people, to find strength together somehow. To have a real race, a real history. Something unique that we could pass down to whatever it meant to be the next generation. I didn’t even know if creepers had children, or how more creepers came to be. “We could maybe be—I don’t know—a real race. Develop ourssselvesss instead of jussst being like animalsss wandering around all alone.”
“You mean like creeper cities? A creeper nation?” Skeleton Steve said, smirking.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I jussst feel like, we could be … more.”
I stayed with Skeleton Steve in the dark during the day. We were close to the jungle, and I thought it might be fun to walk along the border when the sun went down. We might even see some areas of the jungle that were dry enough to let us walk down into it for a while without having to cross any water.
It would be nice to feel the warmth of the tropical forest. I hadn’t visited the jungle in a long time.
Another creeper passed by, and I was at least able to get his name. Car’nuk. But we didn’t talk about much else. I tried to find out how old Car’nuk was, and where he lived, but, like all of the others, he scowled at me, and went on his way.
It was a little sad, how difficult it was to communicate with my people. It’s like we creepers were designed to never have anything to do with each other. And that was a pity. Creepers are natural-born explorers. We walk, all day and all night, and I’m sure there would be plenty to talk about if the others like me weren’t so grumpy about having conversations.
When the sun went down, Skeleton Steve and I walked to the next ridge over, where we could look down into the jungle. Even in the fading light, I was surprised at how green the area was.
Some of the trees were squat and so thick that it made it hard to see the ground beneath them, and they were covered with vines that descended like green, ropy sheets from the treetops. Other trees were massive and tall, popping out of the canopy with large clumps of leaves extending in multiple directions.
I bet it rained a lot here.
It was hard to see through the trees, but I could see water here and there, down below. There must be rivers and pools all over.
I could never live in the jungle. I don’t like the water. Never have. I’ve always had a hard time with the idea of floating in the water, even though I’ve seen other creepers swim before—I don’t know how to ssswim, and didn’t know if I’d ever be able to figure it out.
With my little legs, the idea of not being able to keep my head out of water, the idea of sssplashing and ssstruggling to get back to sssolid ground …. my lungsss filling up with water …. Ssssssssss … sssssssssplashing, ssssssstruggling …
No thanksss. Just the thought of being stuck in water gets me all … excited. I’ve always thought it would be better to avoid water altogether.
As Skeleton Steve and I walked along the ridge, we looked out over the expanse of trees into the dense jungle below. The ridge descended gently into an area of jungle that wasn’t as thick.
“It’s okay,” Skeleton Steve said. “I don’t see anything bad in there. It’s just part jungle. Do you want to see what it looks like inside?”
I walked with him down into the tree-line. Darkwood Forest was behind us now, just on the other side of the ridge. There were no rivers or pools in the immediate area. No water.
We stood, peering into the depths of the jungle, and I was thinking about heading back to the forest when I saw movement! Green.
I saw the distinct shape, its head turn, a face like mine looking back at us from the darkness for just a moment before it turned again.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Hello there!”
The creeper stood still, then turned to look at us again.
“Let’sss go in!” I said.
Skeleton Steve shrugged, and followed me deeper into the jungle.
We approached the creeper, and I called out to him again from a distance. “Hi there, fellow creeper! I’m Cth’ka! Do you live here in the jungle?”
As we continued making our way to my new friend through the heavy underbrush, I saw the creeper suddenly snap his attention to one side, then stagger back a few steps. I could hear him hiss, unsure at first, then again—intensely! The creeper fell back again, and I saw something on its chest—a blur of a creature, dim without color, but … spots?
The creeper was under attack?!
I was suddenly afraid, and faintly heard Skeleton Steve, at my side, pull out his bow and nock an arrow. The creeper hissed again, a continual, rising, sputtering sound! It was definitely an animal of some kind, a spotted creature, small, clawing and biting at my intended friend.
“Ocelot!” Skeleton Steve said.
Expanding and shaking, hissing even louder, the creeper suddenly exploded with a thunderous boom!
How did that …?
Shocked, I stood, staring at the spot where the creeper and the ocelot were fighting, now a crater of raw dirt and shredded plants, and I felt fear wash over me again when I saw two white and yellow forms darting through the bushes … straight at me.
Two more ocelots! Little greens eyes, focused on me.
“Run!” Skeleton Steve yelled, and I stumbled backwards as an arrow suddenly struck one of the cats. It turned and sprinted off to Steve.
As I focused on the ocelot about to attack me, trying to force my body turn and run away back up the hill, my hearing seemed to tighten around my heartbeat, my vision darkened around the edges, and Skeleton Steve’s shouted warnings suddenly seemed very far away…
The ocelot leapt through the air at me, and I felt its claws and teeth sink into my body. I tried to turn and run, but it was hanging onto me. My hearing, now weird and hollow like I was in a deep cave, was focusing more and more on a … hissing sound … I ssscrambled, tried to essscape, tried to call for Ssskeleton Sssteve … Ssssssssss …
“Sssteve! Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssave me!”
An arrow appeared out of nowhere sssticking out of the ocelot’sss ssside, and the cat fell. I turned and sssaw Ssskeleton Sssteve nocking another arrow, aiming past me.
I ran up the hill. Turned. Sssaw Ssskeleton Sssteve kill the ocelot. He ran to catch up to me, his bonesss rattling.
We ran back up the hill out of the jungle together, back up to the ridge.
“Are you okay?” Skeleton Steve said.
I could suddenly hear again, see again, like normal!
“Yesss,” I said. “What … ssssssssss …. What happened?”
Skeleton Steve sat on the ridge, looking out over the jungle, his bow still in his hand.
“Those were ocelots,” he said. “Mostly harmless animals. Strange that they attacked. Usually they mind their own business. I know they don’t like creepers, but I’ve never seen them attack one before.”
“What happened to the creeper?” I asked. “It blew up!”
Skeleton Steve looked at me. “You don’t know?” he asked.
I shook my head.
Skeleton Steve’s glowing red dots of eyes looked me over. “That—blowing up—that’s what creepers do. They explode. In self-defense, and also when they’re attacking a Steve.”
“When they’re attacking you?”
“No,” Skeleton Steve said. “A Steve.” He looked off at the moon. “My name is Steve, yes, but there is another creature on this world named ‘Steve’ as well. He’s different than us.”
“But why explode?” I said.
“That’s all that the creeper could do,” Skeleton Steve said. “When the ocelot attacked him, he exploded in self-defense, and killed it.”
I was so confused. Why would he defend himself … by killing himself?
“It doesn’t make sssenssse,” I said.
Skeleton Steve looked at me. “No one knows why creepers explode, Cth’ka. There’s no other way for them to defend themselves, really. And I’ve never seen a creeper really care. I’ve seen creepers launch themselves at Steve and happily blow up in his face!” He regarded me for a moment. “You were about to explode too, you know. When that ocelot attacked you? I’m surprised you didn’t, actually.”
I looked down at my body, at the wounds where the cat had ripped at me.
So that’s what that was—when I was losing concentration, when my vision and my hearing changed. Was I preparing to blow myself up?
“Why didn’t I explode?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Skeleton Steve said. “Maybe you’re a little different? Maybe with how smart you are, compared to other creepers I’ve seen, you’re able to control yourself better? We’ll have to look into that some more—so you can survive longer. I’d hate to lose you as my friend, if you ever get attacked again and blow up, or if we run into the Steve.”
What a twist to my pleasant little life, roaming around in my forest! I had never seen a creeper explode before. I didn’t even know it was possible. And now, there was a way that, if I was freaked out enough, I could lose control of my mind and blow myself up, too?
No way! That’s crazy. I had a life to live. I wanted to bring ‘creeperkind’ together and learn more about our race. To learn more about our past and our culture … if there was one. Surely there was more to the creeper race than random solitary creatures that avoid having friends and then eventually blow themselves up?
What could I do?
I was defenseless. If Skeleton Steve wasn’t with me, I would have been helpless, and killed by those ocelots. Or turned myself into a living bomb and ended up dead just the same.
“How can I defend myssself?” I muttered.
We sat quietly for a few moments. The tall grass swayed in the night breeze.
“I have an idea,” Skeleton Steve said. He was watching me as I sat, thinking. “You are special, Cth’ka. I’d like to see you learn to control your ‘defense mechanism’ and be able to defend yourself properly, but you can’t use weapons like me, and you can’t run very fast. We should go and talk to the witch! Maybe she’ll have an idea.”
“Witch?” I asked.
“Yes,” Steve said. “There’s a witch not too far from here, named Worla. I’ve dealt with her in the past, and she’s very clever. She might be able to figure out why you’re different. Maybe she’ll have an idea about how to make it easier for you to survive without blowing yourself up one day.”
For the rest of the night, Skeleton Steve and I traveled to the edge of the forest that was closest to the swamp. Before the sun came up, we found a small cave, and decided to wait out the day in there.
When the sun went down, and undead could walk around outside safely again, we departed for the witch.
Standing at the edge of the forest, I could feel Darkwood behind me like a warm, safe hug, and the plains stretching out ahead of us, the empty rolling hills in the distance were … unknown.
We struck out, down from the shadows of the dark oak trees, into green and yellow fields. A group of horses of different colors stood quietly in the grass far off to the left, staying still in the night. A couple of zombies roamed aimlessly in the valley nearby.
“So, over those hills ahead,” Skeleton Steve said, “is a swamp where Worla lives.”
“A ssswamp?” I said. “Like, full of … water?”
Skeleton Steve laughed.
“Yes,” he said. “Swamps are full of water. But that’s where witches live.”
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“Diary Adventures of a Creeper King”
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Love MINECRAFT? **Over 22,000 words of kid-friendly fun!** This high-quality fan fiction fantasy diary book is for kids, teens, and nerdy grown-ups who love to read epic stories about their favorite game! Devdan wasn't your typical teenager. He was a Minecraft villager. And he was a zombie. He spent his days and nights doing zombie stuff. The zombie Devdan couldn't even remember his name anymore, that is, until he was visited by the pet cat he had when he was alive. Now, along with Skeleton Steve's help, Devdan sets out with his long-lost kitty to remember who he is and find his village home. But how will he find the way? And what will he do if he gets there? Will Devdan be destined to roam the Minecraft world as a zombie villager forever? Love Minecraft adventure?? Read Book 1 of the Teenage Zombie Villager now! Join the Skeleton Steve Club here: www.SkeletonSteve.com (Get free Minecraft goodies, tips, books, maps, skins, seeds, and more!) Author's Note: This is an unofficial Minecraft book. Minecraft is a registered trademark of, and owned by, Mojang AB, and its respective owners, which do not approve, endorse, sponsor, or authorize this book. Minecraft®/TM & © 2009-2016 Mojang AB/Notch *** Tags: Minecraft Book, game fiction, Minecraft Books for Kids and Teens, minecraft games, game stories, game books, game story books, minecraft tips, minecraft secrets handbook, Minecraft Stories, kids books, minecraft free, minecraft xbox, minecraft story mode, minecraft handbook free, minecraft creepypasta, minecraft diary of a wimpy, game fanfiction, minecraft game, minecraft story book, Minecraft Steve series, minecraft journal book, minecraft comics, free kids books, Minecraft Kids Book, minecraft books for kids, Minecraft Villagers, Minecraft Creeper, herobrine, Minecraft Skeleton Steve, minecraftales, minecraft fanfiction, minecraft diaries, minecraft tales, minecraft short stories, minecraft gift, minecraft short story.