Once there was a little boy who was watching a flock of sheep. He’d tricked the villagers one time too many by crying “wolf, wolf” and sending them running. But they grew wary of his tricks, and when a wolf finally did arrive, they didn’t come to his rescue. Later that night, the villagers discovered his mangled body in the forest, ravaged by the wolf.

But that isn’t where the original story ends.

In those days, a plague had infected the land, affecting man and animal alike. It caused the reanimation of lifeless corpses, often with violent reactions. We call them zombies.

The boy had been infected by the wolf, and during the funeral the next morning, the boy arose from his pine-box and attacked the priest, setting off a chain of events that nearly destroyed the entire countryside and surrounding villages.

Only a few survived. They set fire to the villages and fields and forest, eliminating nearly all of the local infestation. Thousands died.

(It’s no wonder your parents never told you this version.)