Jerry sat down by a fountain across from a store called Profondo Rosso. It seemed to be some kind of specialty butcher shop, with strange cuts of meat hanging in the window. Jerry didn’t look too closely at them . . . especially after he noticed some of them looking back at him. Water splashed on his pants and left red stains. He wiped it away and smelled his fingers. That’s not water. A switch got thrown in Jerry’s brain. Maybe this was a mistake after all. He’d wanted to prove the magic world was real, and he’d done it. Much more thoroughly than he’d ever imagined. There were other things he wanted, other things he’d come to see, but he couldn’t think of a single one of them right now. All he wanted to do was get back to the old drunk and go home.

When he stood, someone touched him on the shoulder. He would have liked to believe that the sound that came out of him was manly, and not the squeak of a dog’s toy, but he knew the sad truth of it.

He turned around to see that a group of six little girls in pigtails and gingham dresses formed a semicircle around him. “Hi,” said a redhead at the center of the group. “What’s your name?”

He stammered a couple of times before he got it out. “Jerry,” he said.

“Hi, Jerry,” said the redhead. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Yes. It’s my first time.”

“Really? So, you’re not meeting anyone? Nobody here knows you?”

His gut prodded him again. “Uh, yeah. Friends are in the butcher shop.”

“Fibber,” said a girl on the end. Jerry felt like he was being grilled by a bunch of Lizzie Bordens masquerading as Girl Scouts.

The little girls giggled and whispered to each other. “Why don’t we show you around?” said the redhead.

“Thanks,” said Jerry, suddenly wishing he’d listened to his balls earlier when they wanted to leave. “But I was just going.”

“But you just got here. And there’s so much more to see.”

“Thanks, but I really should be getting home.” Jerry started to get up and the little redhead pushed him back down harder than any little girl should have been able to.

“Ow,” said Jerry. “Wow. You’re really strong. What’s your name?”

“Pudding Tame. Ask me again and I’ll tell you the same.”

The little girls giggled, showing their fangs. Jerry couldn’t decide whether he wanted to run or faint. Running seemed pointless, but if he fainted he might look too much like a picnic lunch.

“Please don’t eat me,” he said.

The girls burst out laughing.

“That’s zombies, silly. They’re two floors down. Should we introduce you?”