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eBook Category: Science Fiction/Horror World Fantasy Award Nominee, Bram Stoker Award Winner
eBook Description: Eight-year-old Walt Fulton was hit and killed by a car almost a year ago. When he strolls in the front door one day and says, "Hi Mom, I'm home," he has everybody's attention. But resurrection isn't all joyous reunions. There are complications. Walt's dead and everyone knows it--his little sister, his teacher, the neighbor kids. There are questions to answer, tabloid reporters to swat off. It's a lot to--well, live with. Walt can put up with all of this, or he can go to those who woke him from the grave. They're ... not from around here.

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Masques II, ed. J. N. Williamson, 1987
Fictionwise Release Date: February 2002

78 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [159 KB], eReader (PDB) [45 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [33 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [30 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [122 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [100 KB], hiebook (KML) [143 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [119 KB], iSilo (PDB) [27 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [35 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [104 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [49 KB]
Words: 10783
Reading time: 30-43 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

Walt Fulton came back from the grave Sunday evening, after supper but before his mom had cleared the table.

He was filthy, covered from head to toe with graveyard dirt, but all the things the car had crushed and broken when it hit him (things the mortician hadn't quite been able to make look right) were fixed.

"Mom," Walt called, throwing open the kitchen door, "I'm home!" His mother screamed, but she didn't drop and break the porcelain casserole dish she was holding.

There's something in an eight-year-old boy that lets him understand his mother, though he could never know that he had it or put words to what it told him. Walt couldn't have told anyone how when his mother saw him she first wanted not to believe that it was him--the boy was dead and buried, by God, and let the dead rest--but because she was his mother and mothers know, she knew that it was him returned from the grave.

Then Walt saw the shock setting in, saw her begin to paralyze. But she was stronger than that; she set her teeth, shook off the numbness. She was a strong woman. His return brought her joy beyond words, for she loved him. But she wanted him to go away and never come back, because seeing him again meant remembering the moment at the highway rest stop when she'd looked up to see him running out into traffic after his ball--and then suddenly splattered like a fly across the front bumper of a late model Buick. And she couldn't bear to have that dream again.

Walt didn't resent any of it, not even knowing that she felt that way about him. The same thing that let him know what she was thinking (despite the fact that it was impossible) made sure that he would always love her.

After a minute and a half she composed herself. "Walt," she said, "you're late for dinner and you're filthy. Wash your hands and face and sit down at the table." His father and sister smiled; Dad had tears in his eyes, but he didn't say anything. Mom got up and set him a place at the table.

And Walt was home.