Zombies, Werewolves, Whores, and More!

by Jerrod Balzer

  “Oh, Debbie, don’t get yourself so worked up,” she told herself. “Whatever happens, happens, and you’ve got to get ready.”

  She went to her bedroom to rummage in the closet. After several maybes, not quite rights, and no ways, she took out a blue dress. She pressed it against her body and turned to the mirror. Yeah, she thought. I haven’t worn this for him in awhile. She wanted to look extra special tonight. It had some wrinkles in it, though, so she brought it to the kitchen where the ironing board was stored.

  As she entered, lightning flashed outside and thunder boomed, causing the lights to flicker and the radio to emit static. It was getting nasty out there, and she worried about Chad being in it. She couldn’t wait for him to arrive so she could cuddle in his arms for protection.

  And of course, she thought, my dress would have to come off so it doesn’t get wrinkled again. She made herself blush. With a soft giggle, she draped it across the breakfast table.

  Hopefully, Chad would get to leave work on time. He delivered pizzas and when the weather was bad, business picked up because everyone stayed home and ordered in. His boss might even keep him until they closed.

  A gust of wind hit her back, sending goose bumps racing across her arms. When she turned around, she found the kitchen window wide open. Another gust scattered a stack of envelopes across the counter and onto the floor. She shuddered and latched the window shut. She had no memory of opening it, but she’d had so much on her mind lately; she could have done so without thinking about it. She knelt to gather the envelopes together when she heard her name spoken.

  “Debbie Ruthers,” the disc jockey said from the stereo. “This next one’s for you, from your hopeful husband-to-be.” The song that followed had been playing on the first night they made love.

  Debbie’s face glowed as she stood. She gazed at the speakers as though looking into Chad’s eyes. In a cracked, high-pitched voice, she sighed. “Oh, he’s so sweet!”

  She listened, wiping joyful tears from her eyes. She was going to marry him. She was positive now and would tell him tonight. Then she remembered, Oh yes, the ironing board for the dress, and went to the kitchen closet to retrieve it.

  When she opened the door, there was a bright flash as one end of the board smacked her on the forehead. She fell to the floor with a gasp. Her head throbbed and before she could regain her senses, the board was tossed aside and a thin, yet muscular man in a gray uniform straddled her. Her eyes bulged as he clasped a hand over her mouth.

  “Trust me. It’s better this way,” the man said.

  He paused as childhood images rushed to mind. His chin was just high enough to rest on his bedroom’s doorknob while standing. He’d been listening there all evening while his father shouted continuously. After hearing the first gunshot, he opened the door and froze. His mother was on the floor in front of him and his father sat at the other end of the room - in his favorite recliner - with a smoking pistol.

  “Don’t ever get hitched, boy,” his father had said, and the next words were repeated to Debbie; the last sentence his father spoke before placing the hot barrel inside his own mouth. “Marriage can be a real bitch.”

  He chuckled and used his free hand to pull a knife from his pants. Debbie tried to scream through his fingers, but there was only gurgling from her slit throat. He remained on top of her, holding her arms so she couldn’t thrash, and watched the look of terror in her eyes turn to a lifeless stare. He always loved that.

  A puddle of blood spread across the floor. He stared at that, too. It was pretty, alluring, much like the pool that had formed under his mother. The blast that made his father’s bald spot blossom had caused a terrible ringing in his ears. It lasted for weeks, long after he’d been placed in an orphanage. Doctors had assumed it to be permanent, but it eventually faded and was replaced with the voices, muffled at first but growing in intensity. The visions started, as well. He would see people covered in blood, much like young Debbie appeared even before he’d cut her. That was how he knew. It was okay to kill people if they’re covered in blood, more so if they have no skin at all.

  He blinked and shook his head. His time was limited and there was work to do. He got up, dragged the corpse into the kitchen closet, and set her against the back wall. The diamonds in her engagement ring caught his eye and a sinister idea brewed.

  He brought the knife back out and with a snap, crackle, and pop, her ring finger came off at the joint. Then he shoved it up her nose so the jewels barely emerged from inside the nostril. He returned the blade to its sheath, held by the elastic band in the waist of his pants, and stood back to admire his work.

  Now this is freedom, he thought. Freedom to do whatever he pleased. No more medication (once the prescribed drugs presently in his system wore off), nobody to force him to his room after jumping on a table and philosophizing to those around him. He could sing, dance, kill - anything that came to mind.

  The spirits were right. They told him he would be free to kill again, so long as his next spree was to serve their purpose. They’d kept their word. They were the only ones who ever did. And because of that, he would keep his vow by wiping the planet clean of vermin, the useless, weak souls that crowded society and impeded the stronger ones from expanding. They guided him by marking them in his mind with blood, and once he’d done his job, the spirits would have enough energy to reclaim the world.

  He would start right here, with this first kill for them. An example of the wrath he was about to unleash. He was so eager to continue now that the ball was rolling - the flaming, flesh-covered ball that was destined to flatten the countryside. It would begin with the dead teenager in front of him.

  She was lucky, he thought, very lucky, indeed, to be the first. The sight of her was exhilarating, and he let out a hysterical laugh before stepping away.

  I need clothes. He started through the house in search of the master bedroom, but then stopped to listen as the disc jockey spoke at the end of the song.

  “Well Debbie, I hope you heard that. Don’t let the poor guy down. I wish you two the best.” The jockey paused before changing the subject. “Here’s a recap on the latest news. During a brief power outage two hours ago, a patient from Oakview Mental Hospital managed to escape. The name is Rick Jenderson, the man responsible for the mall incident three years ago.”

  Ah, that was a fun day. He had just come out of a coffee shop when the desire struck him to go for a joy ride, so he approached a car stopped at a red light, wrestled the driver out, and took off straight to the shopping mall. He plowed through one of the side entrances and sped up and down the halls. There happened to be a craft show taking place at the time, so the massacre’s body count was much higher than it could have been. They were able to catch him easy enough after he crashed into the fountain - he was laughing too hard to run away.

  That’s what landed him in the hospital, though, so he needed to be more careful this time. He’d have to take smaller bites and chew slower.

  The jockey continued, “Just a reminder of his description: he’s about five-foot, eleven inches tall; with blond hair and blue eyes; and weighs about 200 pounds.”

  Rick posed while the description was given, fluffing his hair and batting his eyes like a catwalk model. When the weight was given, however, he frowned and patted his stomach. It couldn’t be accurate.

  The jockey sighed into the microphone. It was obvious he loathed reading bulletins. “Nobody should be out tonight anyway, but the police have asked that everyone take caution by locking your doors and windows. You wouldn’t want to go in the bedroom and find him doing a booty dance in one of your wife’s dresses, would you? Heh, heh. I’ll be back with the latest weather update after a word from our sponsors.”

  “Dresses, eh?” Rick thought aloud. “That asshole. I’ll show him dresses!”

  Luckily, Debbie’s father wore similar sizes in clothes as Rick. He set out a dark red, buttoned shirt on the bed along with a pair of black jeans and boots. Next, he took a much-
needed shower, shaved, and colored his hair black with some dye he found under the bathroom sink. After dressing and primping in front of the mirror, he returned to the kitchen, careful not to slip in the drying blood. He prepared a cup of instant latte and sat in the chair to wait. Rick had almost finished his beverage when the doorbell rang.

  “I brought two sausage pizzas,” Chad said as the door opened.

  “Ah.” Rick grinned. “My favorite.” He raised a closed hand to his chin as if pondering something. Shocked at the stranger’s presence, Chad was too late in noticing the blade pointing out from within the hand. It was in his throat before he could react, and Rick dragged the twitching body to the closet, dumping it next to Debbie’s. The gift of pizza spared the corpse from a humiliating pose, the killer’s preferred calling card.

  “There. I now pronounce you man and wife.” He opened a box of pizza. “And here’s my reward!” He turned the chair so he could visit with the couple while enjoying his meal. After two slices, however, a cuckoo clock sounded off.

  “Wow, it’s later than I thought. I suppose I’d best head out. Thanks for the grub and small talk.” He fished for Chad’s car keys and left with the pizza boxes under one arm and Debbie’s blue dress slung over his shoulder. A flash of lightning offered an ominous silhouette of the killer, and a crack of thunder accompanied the closing door, but the couple appeared unimpressed, staring at the empty chair.

  Chapter 2

  Twenty miles southwest of Oakview was the much smaller town, Tapperville. It provided the popular chain stores and restaurants for its citizens, but relied on its northern neighbor for services like the hospital or airport. Most jobs were minimum wage, but there were a few factories that paid enough to keep people in town. That, and there was such a gorgeous Ozark setting. It was nestled on the edge of a national forest with rolling hills, steep bluffs, and spring-fed rivers with rock bottoms. The town was surrounded with a maze of clay dirt roads that spread in all directions, connecting with old asphalt roads labeled with letters.

  Bob Krater lived on one of the dirt roads in a log home, and he was currently enjoying beer and hot wings with his friend, Jeezy. The oncoming thunderstorm killed any outdoor plans, so they were content watching Evil Dead 2 along with the “Cause of Death” CD by the band Obituary. They found it way more entertaining than playing The Wizard of the Oz with that Pink Floyd album. They had worked for a decade at the same factory: Bob as a plastic pipe extrusion operator and Jeezy in shipping. The place was shut down for a week due to a lack of orders, and they celebrated with daily alcohol buzzes.

  The temporary layoff had little effect on Bob. His place was paid for and there was plenty of meat in the freezer along with bags of vegetables from his garden, so he had no shortage of food. Even his social activities were inexpensive. Being single with no real family to speak of, he spent his spare time with what few friends he had or reading, and he stayed fit by hiking in the surrounding woods. He didn’t own them but had permission to explore all he wanted, except for during hunting season - they wouldn’t want him to get shot. Of course, he looked forward to those times, as well, because the owners were generous with meat after their own storage reached capacity, hence Bob’s full freezer.

  Jeezy was also comfortably poor. His name was too long and difficult to pronounce, so he was called by his initials: G.Z. He had grown used to it since grade school, and preferred it over people struggling to spit out the longer version. An outcast in school, he was often referred to as “Cheesy” or “Sleazy,” and in gym class, “Wheezy.” There were worse names to be called, though, so he shrugged it off.

  Once graduated, he thought the childish treatment was behind him, but his social life at the factory was similar. People called him the same names and pulled pranks on him. Again, he couldn’t do much about it. He was scrawny, couldn’t fight, and reporting the offenders was useless since they were related to the supervisors. Bob was the only one who stuck up for him, but he worked on the other end of the plant. He had no choice but turn the other cheek or quit.

  “That place is just a paycheck and shitty insurance,” Bob would say as they worked through a twelve-pack at his house. “Let the monkeys have their fun throwing shit and jerking off in front of each other. You’re above that.”

  Still, they had their silent vengeance. For instance, the employees rarely locked their vehicles, and a raccoon carcass placed behind a truck seat takes a long time to stink in the winter, since they rot from the inside out. After a month, things start to burst and nothing gets the smell out save for a metal grinder. Things like that offered consolation as the “victims” made asses of themselves.

  Of course, lately there had been some remarkable changes in Jeezy’s life, something to preoccupy his thoughts away from work, even while on the clock. Three years ago, his parents disappeared. There was a mess in their house, broken glass and furniture, even claw marks on the walls. No one could explain it and no bodies were found. Jeezy was a suspect for a while, especially when the house burned down a few months later. Some people believed he’d done it to remove any trace of evidence. The chief of police disagreed, however. After all, why would he do something like that after the investigation?

  The house was strange, anyway. His parents had gotten a good deal on it because no one else would live in it. It was built solid on beautiful countryside property, so quality wasn’t an issue. It wasn’t haunted, either, but people who slept there were afflicted with horrible nightmares. The superstitious owners thought a demon dwelled somewhere on the premises and wanted it off their hands.

  Jeezy’s parents were thrilled with the place, and set him up in the barn since they had no other use for it. He was in high school at the time, so he loved having his own private quarters. His father had insulated it well and put up drywall. Then a full bathroom was installed, and the rest was left open but sectioned off for a bedroom, living room, and a well-equipped kitchen. There was still a small loft accessible by ladder, but it was used for storage. The building still resembled a barn from the outside - the large doors were nonfunctional - but no one would know it from the inside.

  And sure enough, his parents began having strange dreams within weeks of moving in. They seemed to only be connected with the house, however, as Jeezy slept soundly in the barn. It didn’t frighten them. Instead, they were intrigued by the visions of another world where dark, fanciful creatures still thrived. Perhaps due to their acceptance, the dreams evolved from images to conversations with other beings that appeared burnt with yellow eyes. They were given various instructions and symbols that his father kept a journal on. They taught some of it to Jeezy, which were more like simple magic spells, but kept the majority of them hidden away.

  After their disappearance, he attempted one of these spells for locating them that only required a candle. Once cast, the flame would serve as a compass, but pointing in the direction of the subject. His mistake was trying it inside the home. The candle was placed on the table with a drop of blood applied to the base of the wick. Then he spoke the necessary words but nothing happened. He went to the kitchen for a drink before giving it another go and returned to an inferno in the living room. There wasn’t time to save anything or call for help. He had to run back to the kitchen and escape through the side entrance.

  There appeared to be nothing left but smoldering ashes and a few beams sticking up like burnt matchsticks. Before the authorities could sift through it, however, he discovered a safe containing the journal and an antique key. He brought it to the barn since it was all he had left of his parents. He never figured out what the key was for, but came to call the journal a Book of Shadows, for lack of a better title. At first, he assumed it to be no different than something found at the New Age section of a Barnes & Noble, but he soon learned that these were more than the usual feel-good love or money spells.

  He tried it out a few times, and there was always a result of some sort, even if it wasn’t the desired one. He placed a curse on a co-worker once, t
hinking he would finally get some serious revenge for the harassment, and it worked too well. The man was diagnosed with cancer shortly after and died by the year’s end. Jeezy had left the dark stuff alone since then.

  Bob had known of it and even encouraged the curse, neither of them realizing it would end in death. He wrote it off as a disturbing coincidence, but the same couldn’t be said for other instances. Some of the things Jeezy was able to do were unexplainable. There had to be something to it, and although he never considered personally dabbling with the book, Bob was fascinated with the subject like a little boy to a magician. He loved the chills that went up his spine whenever Jeezy got into his dark moods, lecturing him about ghosts and other supernatural occurrences. He’d become a virtual encyclopedia on the subject and loved to be heard by those interested.

  They were in their own worlds while watching Bruce Campbell battle demons to the tune of Obituary, so they didn’t notice when the CD finished and switched to the next disc in the carousel. After a brief moment of silence, Celine Dion blasted into the living room and they nearly jumped out of their skins. Bob dropped the hot wing he was munching on and scrambled for the remote to turn it down.

  “Holy shit!” Jeezy gave him a wide-eyed look with blue cheese dressing and hot sauce dribbling from the corner of his mouth. “Don’t do that to me. I can’t handle going from one extreme to another like that.” Then he thought about it. “What the hell are you doing with that in your player?”

  “Oh.” Bob tried to think of something fast. “Um, I had some female company the other night and I guess she left it here.”

  Jeezy gave him a dirty look. “You haven’t had a woman in this house for over a year, and if you did, I would have heard about it the next day. That’s your CD.” He shook his head. “I knew it. You’re a pussy.”