Zombies, Werewolves, Whores, and More!

by Jerrod Balzer

  “You are what you eat.” Bob stood and headed toward the kitchen. “Want another beer?”

  Jeezy wiped his mouth and brown goatee with a crumpled napkin. “I’d rather have some of that Jagermeister you’ve got in there.”

  Bob’s voice echoed from the refrigerator. “How’d you know I had that?”

  “I looked while you were in the can and took a couple shots.”

  Bob laughed, brought him a bourbon glass half-full of the black drink, and returned to his seat with a Guinness for himself. Then they were quiet again.

  Jeezy took a sip and closed his eyes in brief ecstasy. Then he frowned and looked at a cage set atop a nightstand in the corner. “So what’s with your rat? He usually makes so much noise on that running wheel that we have to turn the stereo up to hear over it.”

  “Ichobod is a gerbil, not a rat.”

  “Yeah, well he’s a hairy, black thing with beady eyes and he chews on everything. The only thing keeping him from looking like a rat is the fur on his tail. So why is he so quiet?”

  Bob gazed at the rodent’s cage. “He’s still there. He passed away this morning, and since I’ve had him so long, I haven’t had the heart to bury him, yet.”

  Jeezy snickered. “Don’t worry about it. After all we’ve been eating today, I’ll probably have to take a flaming shit soon, and when I do, I’ll take him along. At least that way, he’ll have something to float on for his journey to the sewer of death.”

  Bob was offended but couldn’t help laughing. “Just don’t molest him while you’re in there. He can’t defend himself.”

  “Ha!” Jeezy protested. “I don’t molest dead animals!” Then he muttered loud enough for Bob to hear, “Only live ones.”

  Bob sighed. “Okay! Time to change the subject. So what do you want to do now? We could go to Cranky’s or watch more movies.”

  “That depends on what movie you want to watch next.”

  “How about Fright Night? Part one or two, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Fright Night again? We’ve watched that so many times, I could quote it word-for-word.”

  “Yeah, but it still kicks ass.”

  Jeezy thought about it and grinned. “You really like that vampire shit, don’t you?”

  “Hell yeah! All except the depressed, sparkly ones. The mean ones have more class than werewolves and more personality than ghosts.”

  “What, you don’t like zombies? They are a lot like vampires, living dead and all. They just eat flesh and brains instead of blood.”

  “Zombies aren’t near as intelligent, though. They can be slobs, too, walking around real slow with pus dripping out of them. Well, most zombies are like that, anyway.”

  “Point taken.”

  “So why did you ask?”

  “I don’t know,” Jeezy said. “I just had an idea.”

  “That could be dangerous.”

  “Seriously, how would you like to see a vampire? A real one.”

  Bob laughed again. “What happened? Did a goth club open in town?”

  “No, but it would be cool if one did. PVC chicks rule. But I’ve started looking through the Book of Shadows again, and the other night, I came across a ritual for actually making a vampire.” That wasn’t completely true. The dreams had finally reached Jeezy in the barn, and he’d been adding to the book. He was unsure how Bob would take it, though, so decided not to mention it, yet.

  Bob’s face went blank. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No! All I need is the soul of something dead and a once animate object to put it in.”

  “Like a corpse or something.”

  “Yeah, anything at all, so long as it was once capable of sustaining life.” Jeezy paused to allow the idea to soak in. “Wanna give it a shot? I don’t see where it could hurt anyone.”

  “Sure, I’ll get the shovels and we’ll dig up the first grave we find.”

  “I was thinking we could use Ichobod.”

  “My gerbil? You’re crazy! What the hell do they put in that Jager?”

  With that, Jeezy downed the shot. “Come on, let’s take the stupid rat to my house. It probably won’t work, but it’ll be fun.”

  Bob tried to come up with any excuse to avoid such a morbid act. “But you’ve been drinking. Isn’t your body supposed to be free of impurities or something like that?”

  “Not for this. It’s all about the words. Besides, that rule was mostly created to discourage casting spells when you’re not thinking straight. You know, to minimize chaos.”

  Bob gave up. “Okay, whatever, sure. I’ll get a sandwich bag to put Ichobod in.”

  “All right!” Jeezy jumped up and put his coat on.

  Chapter 3

  The barn was forbidding at night; the old wood seemed to breathe with the wind. Once out of his small, red truck, Bob paused to gaze at the rooster weather vane perched on the roof. It was invisible against the dark sky, but flashes of lightning gave it a fascinating appearance with the clouds rushing behind it. The place was full of energy, making the hairs stand on the back of his neck.

  He followed Jeezy inside, laid the sandwich bag on a wooden card table, and unfolded a metal chair. The safe that held the book rested on the mantle of a stone fireplace, which stood in the middle of the barn like a pillar with two openings opposite each other. Bob watched as Jeezy gathered what he needed for the experiment, paranoid that it was a bad idea, but curious enough to keep quiet.

  Finally, Jeezy took a seat across from him with the grimoire, a lead canister the size of a soda can, an iron pick, a butcher knife, and a handful of candles. He removed Ichobod from the bag by the tail - stiff with lifeless eyes half open - and placed it on its back in the center of the table. Then he set up the candles around it, evenly spaced. The book’s page with the spell was held with a Christian bookmark given to him during a local festival. He’d passed a tent full of smiling folks casting pearls before swine, and he never turned down a bookmark, especially ones with pretty tassels dangling from them.

  “Okay…” Jeezy took a deep breath and double-checked the book before explaining. “Just so you know what’s going on, I’ll tell you the ritual. I start by holding the lead canister over the body’s chest and saying incantations that call forth the spirit of the rat…”

  “Gerbil, damn it, he’s a gerbil!”

  “Sorry, the gerbil. Now, I’m not retrieving the entire spirit, and here’s why: the soul consists of positive, negative, and neutral energies. When the body dies, the energies are dispersed. The positive usually goes first, straight to that bright light - a dimensional doorway to a higher plane. Most of the neutral energy stays in the body, which is useful for necromancy. The negative eventually makes it to the lower planes, but lingers in the body longer. So the ‘spirit’ that I’m calling forth is mostly negative - damn near pure evil. Without its positive counterbalance, it knows nothing but pain and rage.”

  Bob raised a finger to stop him. “Why would we want to call forth anything like that?”

  “Well, it’s kind of a given that it’s going to be bad. Vampires aren’t cuddly, you know. Besides, it won’t be able to harm me because, since I’m the spellcaster, I’ll have domination over it. I’ll be its master, so to speak. And that doesn’t mean it’ll do whatever I say; it just won’t be able to hurt me.”

  Bob worried about whether or not it could hurt him, but figured there had to be more to it. “Okay, but back up a bit. You say the energies usually do this or that. Are there exceptions?”

  “There are always exceptions. Sometimes the spirit stays intact, either in the body or roaming around, for years before it ‘gives up the ghost.’ But even when this happens, it doesn’t disrupt the spell at all. The incantations only pull on the negative and neutral energies, no matter what. If the positive is still around, it will be completely detached and free to move on. Otherwise, the whole vampire thing can’t be accomplished.”

  He cleared his throat to continue. “So, back to the ritual. The conjuration d
rives the necessary energies into the canister. Once I cap the lid, they’ll be trapped inside because they can’t pass through lead. Next, I hold it over a once animate object - in this case, the gerbil’s body again - and I speak more incantations that bind these remaining energies back into a solid life force. When I remove the lid, it will rush straight into the first dead thing it comes to - the corpse.

  “Being a new entity, the negative spirit will cause a distortion throughout the body to make it more adaptable, altering dental and muscle structure, organ usage, etc. When it’s over with, we’ll have an actual vampire. Do you understand?”

  Bob’s eyes started to cross, then he shook his head and decided to move on. “So what’s with the pick and butcher knife?”

  “You’ll find out if all this works. Shall we begin?”

  Bob stared at Ichobod. “Sure, but I think he’d be better off if you molested him, instead.”

  Ignoring him, Jeezy lit the candles with his Zippo and got up to turn off the lights.

  “By the way,” Bob asked, “what purpose do the candles serve?”

  Jeezy returned to his seat. “They can be helpful for some spells, but for this, they’re mostly for atmosphere.”

  “Make sure you say all the words correctly. Remember what happened the last time you tried something with animals.”

  “Don’t remind me of that shit.” One of his first attempts with the book involved a spell to make any breed of canine that encountered him give complete obedience and undying love. He mispronounced the words, however, and ever since then, any dog that saw him tried to rip his arms off. “Good thing you didn’t try that spell for women,” Bob told him at the time.

  Jeezy uncapped the canister. “In my defense, some of the words are completely alien, so there’s no way to know for sure how they’re pronounced. I just hope to get them right this time.” He held the can upside down over the gerbil and chanted.

  The tone Jeezy used as he spoke was strange, almost devilish, reminding Bob of an overzealous dungeon master from his role-playing days. He tried not to smirk, centering all of his concentration on Ichobod. The light from the candles made the walls look alive. Shadows danced with the flames’ movements, taunting the men, daring them to keep going. With this effect, Bob felt like he was sitting in some cabin deep within the caverns of Hell. He wondered how big of a sin he was committing by going along with it. Then again, maybe God was just as curious about the results as Bob was.

  When Jeezy completed the words, the canister began to vibrate in his hands as though an electric razor had turned on inside. It increased until his palms were numb, and then stopped. With a deep breath, Jeezy put the lid on and proceeded to chant again. As he uttered the last syllable, he glanced from the can to Bob. They exchanged a silent acknowledgment that this was it. The deed had been done, no turning back. Here goes…

  He was careful to position the canister directly over the gerbil, and then removed the lid. Air gushed from it, blowing the candles out and knocking a few over. Bob jumped as fear gripped him. All grew quiet, save for their quick breaths in the darkness. The smell of extinguished candle wicks tickled their noses and then vanished as a breeze brushed through their hair, growing into a strong wind swirling around the table. It died away as fast as it had arrived, and they were in dark silence once again.

  Neither of them moved, waiting for their hearts to stop thumping so hard. Finally, Jeezy stood to turn on the lights, but the sound of static stopped him. Bright green sparks jumped from the gerbil as it began to glow. Jeezy backed toward the light switch, his eyes never leaving the corpse. Bob scooted his chair away. When the glow faded to nothing, Jeezy flipped the switch and sat again to continue watching. After they had almost given up - figuring it was a rather impressive failure - Ichobod curled into a ball and quivered. The men’s eyes lit up as it exhibited a series of convulsions, and once it calmed, it stretched out with tiny fingers clenched and tail twitching.

  “Oh shit,” Bob whispered. “You did it.”

  Jeezy suppressed a giddy laugh and said between clenched teeth, “It worked!”

  Ichobod rose to its feet warily and turned toward Jeezy. It stared at him, sniffing the air and cocking its head from side to side. Then it looked at Bob and flinched. Its eyes glowed a fierce green as it snarled, exposing two fangs for front teeth. Bob regarded Jeezy for a reaction, unsure of how to accept this behavior from his old pet.

  Ichobod sprang across the table at him, hissing as ferociously as a gerbil can manage. Bob reared back and brought his hands up, but just before it leaped from the edge, Jeezy lunged with the iron pick and stabbed it between the shoulder blades. Impaled, it thrashed and squirmed until he stuck the point into the table, pinning it in place. Ichobod closed its eyes and went limp.

  Bob jumped to his feet, knocking the chair aside. “Whoa, shit! Shit!” He paused to catch his breath. “I guess you had a trick or two up your sleeve, after all. Did you kill it for good?”

  Jeezy was still in shock, but always welcomed the opportunity to preach occultism. “Not really. The purpose in staking a vampire is to disable it from moving. If we take out the pick, it’ll get up and go again.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to use wooden stakes?”

  He smiled at Bob. “Let’s say you do. After a while, the wood rots or it loses its grip on whatever you stick it to. Then the vampire’s right back to its old habits. Iron, however, is much stronger and works better.”

  “So what, are you saying it can’t be killed?”

  Jeezy returned to his seat, trying to put the words together in his mind before explaining. “To understand how a vampire dies - or dies again, I should say - you have to know how it works. You see, like us, it needs blood moving through its veins. When it first becomes a vampire, it has a couple of days before it needs to kill, but after that, it must feed each night in order to stay strong. The body is still dead, unable to produce the necessary blood cells that keep the body functional. With a fresh supply from an outside source, however, it can heal wounds fast and slow its decay. Now, if it has to go without blood for a long time, like if it’s staked, it can still live so long as it doesn’t rot to the bones.”

  Bob looked down at Ichobod, thinking about how it could still get up if it was free of the pick, and reset his chair farther away before sitting. “Go on.”

  “Okay, vampires have to stay inactive during the day because moving around in the sunlight deteriorates their flesh at an accelerated rate. It makes them weak, so they take that time to rest and save energy for the night.”

  “Get to the point. How do you get rid of them?”

  “Well, something holy, like a crucifix or anything else positively charged, can weaken them. In fact, direct contact can paralyze them - it neutralizes the energy. Fire can definitely destroy them, but if all the flesh burns off, the spirit is released from the body.”

  “Oh good, and it can disperse, right?”

  “Nope. Remember, the vampire spirit is a different being now and it wants to thrive, so it will look for another corpse to possess.” Jeezy scratched his head. “The best ways that I can think of is completely disposing of the heart so the blood can’t be pumped through the body; it can heal, but it can’t regenerate organs or limbs. You could also remove the stomach, I suppose, because it receives the blood and processes it for use, working differently than with humans. Then there’s decapitation. The spirit will still be trapped inside, but without a head, what can it do?” With that said, he picked up the butcher knife, brought it down on the gerbil’s neck, and slid the head off the table with the blade.

  “Oh, Ichobod.” Bob sighed as his pet’s head hit the floor with a tiny splat. He sat there for a while, trying to absorb all that he had witnessed, and then said, “Well, I suppose that was more interesting than a movie-“

  “-or listening to Celine Dion.”

  “Don’t start with that. What do we do now?”

  Jeezy grabbed his coat from the chair. “Let’s go to Crank
y’s and shoot some pool.”

  Chapter 4

  Jeezy could have raised an army of zombie midgets, awakened Cthulhu, and had sex with a kangaroo; they would have still ended up at Cranky’s, their favorite hangout at the edge of town. It was Friday night, after all. Goldschl„ger shots were half-priced and it was the only time of the week that Bob’s friend, Mike Pervitz, got totally blitzed. It was his way of relieving the stress of a long week and his wife, who worked late that night anyway, didn’t mind. She depended on Bob to ensure a safe trip home for him, as Mike loathed the local taxi service.

  Cranky’s was rather unattractive from the outside, having been converted from a gas station/cafe built fifty years ago. The pumps were long gone, but the metal canopy remained, big enough to shelter two vehicles side-by-side. The parking lot consisted of dirt, gravel, and patches of weeds too stubborn to die. Light poles were scattered about, and a few of them worked, offering just enough visibility to keep people from crashing into one other. The building showed its age, but had a comfortable feel to it, made more so by the pictures of various animals and proud pioneers painted on the outer walls by a local artist.

  Through the front doors was the cafe area which was now the bar, still serving burgers, onion rings, and tenderloins. Beyond that was the billiard room with a jukebox in the corner; a small section near it was set aside for dancing. The atmosphere was like that of a hunting lodge, minus the stuffed animals. It even had an old fireplace in the wall next to a small arcade’s entrance.

  Cranky used to be the owner; the nickname was self-explanatory. After he committed suicide a year ago, Mr. and Mrs. Peckelton bought the place and resumed business. At first, they considered changing the name, but then discarded the idea because the regulars might have trouble accepting it.

  Aerosmith’s “St. John” boomed from the jukebox when Bob and Jeezy entered the room. Mike Pervitz had just finished a game of pool and stood next to the table. He was rugged with dark hair and a five o’clock shadow, but he had a charming smile and green, friendly eyes - now bloodshot.