I let out an ear splitting scream, gasping in horror. On the screen was a photo of my father. He was in his office, slumped forward in his desk chair. Unconscious.
I breathed as deeply as I could. This is probably just a prank, I thought, remembering the teenage boys who always pulled stupid tricks on people in the neighborhood. If I went to check on my father, I'd see him and he'd be fine, right?
I dashed down the hall, up and down stairwells, struggling to find my way through the maze people called the White House. Finally finding the Oval Office, I burst through the heavy double doors, gasping fir breath, exhausted from running around. Dad was at his desk, right where he should be.
But what I saw was even worse than what the TV picture I had been expecting.
YOU ARE READING
President Dad is Dead
HorrorIf your dad is the president, your life should be a picnic. Right? Wrong. DEAD wrong. If your dad is the president, you should be safe from the zombie apocalypse. Right? Wrong. DEAD wrong. Literally.
