The night is calm.

Your campfire crackles gently beside the old chocolate graveyard. Rows of crooked cookie headstones rise from the crumb-covered earth. Some are broken. Some are half buried.

It is quiet.

Very quiet.

You stare at the graveyard for a moment.

Nothing moves.

Honestly, the whole place looks a little ridiculous.

Biscuit graves?

What are they going to do? Rise from the dead?

You shrug and crawl into your blanket.

The fire slowly dies down.

Soon you fall asleep.

Hours later…

Crunch.

You stir slightly.

Probably the wind.

Crunch.

Your eyes open.

Something is moving in the graveyard.

You sit up slowly.

One of the biscuit headstones trembles.

The crumb soil cracks.

Then a cracked pastry hand pushes out of the ground.

Another.

Another.

Biscuits begin clawing their way out of the graveyard. Their crust bodies are dry and broken. Their hollow eye sockets glow faintly with sticky red jam.

One of them slowly turns its head toward your camp.

It sniffs the air.

Its jaw creaks open.

"Fresh… crumbs…"

Behind it, more Zombiscuits rise from the crumb graves, shuffling slowly toward the fire.

One of them tilts its cracked head.

"Snack…?"