The sat in a dark, little, damp space under the city. Mole folk lived close by, but they give zombies a wide berth. Vampires, at lease the 'noble' variety have a certain sense... a certain basic civilization. You can deal with them. But Flesh Eaters are different. When they're hungry, they're hungry. They crack through windpipes and ask questions later, often while savoring meaty thighs, or a nice, fresh, raw, human rump roast.
This particular hidey-hole was a natural cave. Excavation gangs found it a hundred years ago, when they dug all the subway tunnels. Left it just like it was. Called it 'the grotto.' Lit candles down there for them what died during construction. Not a big place. Maybe sixteen feet deep by ten or twelve feet wide. They say the ghost of a small American Indian girl frequents the place. Not a permanent presence. Why would a child want to re-live their death? No one knows what killed her. They found the bones, a complete skeleton. Some saw cut marks on femurs and other long bones, but that was just conjecture. They weren't deep, or sharp. There's no way to tell for sure. But Lars has his own opinions. He leads the zombies in these parts. They call them 'dukes.' Some say 'king.' Some don't use a title at all. Followers just know. And they facilitate more than dictate. But each 'duchy' is different. Here we got The Grand Duchy of Philadelphia. Goes all the way down to the South Jersey Shore. You can figure it out. Each metro area is a 'duchy.' And our duke, Lars, is a hard worker. Keeps things organized. Ain't even Scandinavian. Used to like soap operas. Had one back in radio days called I Remember Mama about an old, immigrant Norwegian family. He liked it, 'cause it was homey and all. Identified with the son called Lars, so he called 'Lars.' Zombies are ruthless, but that don't mean they're not sentimental. That's why he cares about Opal. Uther got her all cleaned up. Scrubbed off all the blood. Flossed her teeth real good. Washed her hair. She says she misses her mama, 'cause the mama had a special way a dryin' her hair. But that ain't gonna happen no more, 'cause 'mama' got herself all ate up. Papa got ate up too. Little sister don't wanna get all ate up, so she run away. Dog goes with her too. Zombie don't eat dog, but that don't mean they don't kill 'em. Zombie kill bobcat too. Ain't no bobcat in this thing now, but just in case you want to know.
It dark in that little hidey-hole. Not all dark. They got two Sterno cans goin'. Sterno like gold down them tunnels. Mole folks get it from a guy in jersey. He like a wholesaler. Subway go all the way to Camden. That how they get there. But two Sterno cans mean in like 'Halloween on a back porch' dark. You can see nuff to know who folks are, but not like to put in contact lens or squeeze a pimple. Lars go - Let me get a good look at that gal..... Uther nudge her and she get up. She got clothes she grabbed from home, after she done all the killin'. Stuff she got for Easter... new jeans and like a smock top for dinner at Aunt Tootsie's house. Kids her age don't dress up no more. That just for babies.
Uther go - She the one. Been watchin' since eighth grade examination. Doc brother a zombie. They still talk, so he know. Got 'the traits'.... ran blood tests... did scans. Mama go - Why you all doin' this to my baby? Ain't this jus' like a scoliosis check?... Doc go - We checkin' for 'sugar' and other crap too.... Mama go - So we can't go to Friendly's after?... Doc say - No, you can do that.... They run DNA test on the blood, but she ain't gotta know.
Fungus what cause this zombie thing usually stop baby-makin'..... Not the 'doin' but the 'havin.' Only this girl... this, Opal, I mean, got the marker in the blood. Mold make her zombie, but her baby-makin' parts still prime. She gone be a 'Big Mama' and that a very, very special thing. Only had like four or five a them... maybe two or three 'Big Daddies'. I talkin' 'bout this country an' up in Canada, naturally.
Opal little bit nervous. She don't know what they gone do to her, or who gone do it..... She go - I thirsty. You got any cherry soda?.... Zombies do alright with liquids.
Lars go - Shut up, girl. We gotta talk..... So she sit there, tryin' a read an old Archie comic in the dim, flickering light, but you can see she little bit scared...
This your favorite disembodied spirit narrator, the Cajun Gentleman known as Mister Never-You-Mind, signing off.
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THIS IS GOING TO BE IN (loosely) SCRIPT STYLE...
Scene - Night, shabby, though definitely not chic, little house down by a woodsy, Bucks County creek.
Dark car dowses lights, approaches dwelling and stops. Anime looking Zombie-Girl, Opal, gets out. Car silently rolls away, as she walks toward door, puts key in lock and enters.
Int. Worn, drab, Lazy-boy festooned sitting room lit by Carson Daly show flickering out from flat-screen sitting on a broken, console, 60's 'furniture' television.
Grizzled, itinerant 'contractor' DAD snores and drools in one recliner. Rough-house, T-shirt wearing MOM stares at screen in the other.
Big DOG curls atop old Scooby-Doo quilt in the corner.
Door opens BOOM! Opal's home.
MOM - (gasps) OH GOD! JESUS CHRIST! JESUS CHRIST! (runs to OPAL) You're alive! You're alive! You're home! You're here!... (smothers her in kisses, but Opal shakes her off) Carl! Carl! Carl! Look! look! Look!
DAD snorts, awakens and just looks. DOG quietly gets up and slinks into another room.
MOM guides Opal to sofa, sits her down, sits next to her and smooths her hair.
MOM - (quietly) Where were you? What happened?What happened?
MOM hugs Opal. She inhales her mother's scent. We see the hunger grow. MOM showers her with kisses - My baby. My baby. My baby.
Opal puts her hands on her MOM'S cheeks, like she wants to kiss her back, but her eyes never change. The 'dead' hungry look never leaves.
And DAD watches as she leans in, bites through the facial bones on either side of MOM'S nose, excavating a huge hole right in the middle of her face.
MOM gags. Blood pours from the shocking wound.
A blood-soaked OPAL grins, exposing her gory teeth.
DAD jumps up and yells - JESUS CHRIST! You're a F#CKING ZOMBIE WHORE!!!
CUT TO - EXT of house. We hear screams, crashes and mayhem, as the flesh tearing continues.
Then a rear door opens and the DOG accompanied by a little girl, silently runs out and disappears into the night.
A few heartbeats later the noise stops, but the light from the TV still flickers through the windows...
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I tell tales of my youth. Some are false. Some are amalgamations. Some are true. And that's not just me. All 'fleisch essers' are like that. We live life close to the vest. It's better that way. Fit in. Nod to the neighbors. Say 'hello.' A bit like simplified, more visible vampires. I learned a trade. A shoemaker, I was. And as unusual beings tend to find each other, I traveled with two dwarfs. Picked them up in Calabria. Runaways from the Saracen ruler of Malta. Professional buffoons they were. 'Slapstick' comedians of a very high nature. You know, 'slapstick' originally meant - to slap with a stick, as in Punch and Judy shows. In old Schwarzwald fables many were slapped with axes. Bad children, disobedient serfs and the like had to be taught lessons. Sticks were an improvement. But I digress. Unusual creatures often do.
The Great Hunger hit when I was already one hundred years old. The dwarfs and I were well set up in an Alpine town, a comfortable little place cleansed by brisk mountain breezes. We had a narrow, half timbered house wedged among others of its kind on a winding lane. Wrought iron, basket weave boxes, laden with moss and flowers hung from every window. Do you know how the custom of flower boxes came about? Towns used to stink. Gutters were sewers and sewers were toilets, rife with turds, piss and butcher shop throw-a-ways. Needless to say, access to swift flowing, easily diverted streams was a big thing. Thriving floral displays provided masking fragrances too. Thus the flower boxes. What you call the Middle Ages were practical times. Everything and everyone served a purpose. The shoemaker and his elves, we were. Not zombies. They were never that, just cannibals and even that happened gradually. Famine hit in 1312. Crops failed. that was it. Food, even the most simple fare, became quite dear. The rich ate. The poor did not. Mauritanian (North Africa) grain smuggled in through Majorca, Genoa, Venice and such places, delivered under cover of darkness, in plain leather sacks meant life. Grandparents stopped eating so their loved ones might live. Farm animals went from barn to pot. House cats soon followed. Dogs, except for hunting and herding breeds, were vermin then, little better than wolves. Within weeks they slaughtered the Jews, a defenseless resource often at hand. Perhaps they had some coins, or grain brought in from brethren among the Mohammedans? It released the tension. At least it did that and silver chalices and devotional objects stolen from synagogues could be sold. Occasionally churches were looted too. What was a zombie, or even a cannibal, back then but one of the crowd? And isolated monks in remote granges, since they were often fat, tasted oh so very good. .... A 'chivalrous age?' Please don't make me laugh... Oh, another thing..... Hansel und Gretel legends started then. Parents took their littlest children for woodland hikes (perhaps with the last bits of sausage) and left them there. Useless eaters they were. Older offspring might earn something...... The middle ages were Purgatory on Earth. Vampires and zombies did a rush-in business.
And now on to another strange thing . I took Opal to her parent's house, a small, frame structure with a sloping porch and a dilapidated garage just over the line in Bucks County, not far from the Neshaminy Creek. Before I found her, she lived with an aunt in the city. That's where she met Sophia and Sybil, who now babble incoherently and have a paranormal call in podcast and eight hundred followers on Twitter. They don't go to school no more, but the kid at H&M, or whatever it's called, likes their show. He lets them boost halter tops and whore pants, so they're happy. Ellen wants them for her show too, but only if they wear tutus and dance around, 'cause that's traditional. You can get rich doing that. School's for schmucks.
Now Opal was nervous. She wanted this. Media forgot all about her disappearance. It was getting warm out. Three year olds were falling down wells every day. Some were actually cute. You know how the TV girls always ask for pictures? One makes John Belushi Eyes, so you know they're gonna save her first. She'll probably be on Ellen too. Wonder if she fell in wearing a tutu? See, most little boys can't play that game.
I think Opal's gonna devour her family next time. She needs immunities only her 'own kind' can give her. Look, I don't think. I know, 'cause I'm the one that put the idea in her head. It's a zombie 'thing' and can be quite a liberating experience. But I can't tell you about that now, 'cause it's 4AM here and OK TV's coming on.
Billy channels this, but I (Uther aus Ulm) dictate and I gotta relax too you know.... Ooh, they got Snoop Dogg!
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I hate spies, especially everyone else's.
Here's the first video offering addictive tidbits and insights from FX's critically acclaimed examination of high level espionage in the final years of The Soviet Empire. Watch this. I'll put a few more videos up. Oh, writer Joel Fields is on Twitter too. Click the name. Go see.
Professionally bred spies are the REAL VAMPIRES, only they want to suck out everything.... Google FX's THE AMERICANS
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Time passed. They moved around, sheltering in caves, abandoned factories and some rarely used out buildings at the zoo. Although they had to be careful to steer clear of any vampires lurking about. The Society Hill contingent, just beginning to recover from Tomas' passing, bunks with polar bears from time to time, but hibernation is over. so they won't be around for at least six or seven months. Few vampires frequent the facility during the warm months. Vampires sink into a somewhat depressive state when nights are short. They miss the dark. They hide and they wait. Tomas used to retreat to the deep tunnels under the subway. But he's dead, so we're no going to talk about him, OK?
Opal functioned fairly well. Still craved her family. Uther made her wait. Figured news coverage would die down in a few weeks. Humans move on. New mysteries enter their lives. What looked like a three year old boy was found living in deep, locked, dusty store rooms far down beneath some such museum or other. Philadelphia is an old, old place. Museums condense out of the ether. And the three year old boy survived on old, dried animal specimens from Venezuelan jungles. Large, aquatic rodents were his favorites. And he had a vestigial tail too, like what a Springer Spaniel keeps after the docking. Press called him 'Zippy the Ferret Boy.' Can't stand light. They have him in Doctor Franklin's compound under the Navy Yard now. You should see him swim. Loves the dim, blue undulating pool where the sea-hag lives. Sea-hags are old mermaids. They try to keep a brassiere on her , but she rips it off and eats it. Gobbles it right down. That way they can't get it back. And she chortles like a maniac. They say that's normal for merfolk. Some agency took blood from the boy for DNA testing. He's human, a little different, but closer to us than say a bonobo, or chimp. Sea-hag swims underneath and tickles him. He giggles and paddles away. She hand feeds him sardines. People from the tabloids come around. Guys from The Bureau shoo them off. Doesn't stop them. Write their own stories and print computer generated images.
She had to feed though. Opal, I mean. Uther didn't want to hunt. Didn't want to risk being spotted. Security cameras are everywhere. But they have these suppliers... fresh victim... no questions asked. Uther saves jewelry from his victims. Most of his stash is in Europe. But he's got some here too in safe deposit boxes and all. Gave a guy a few real nice pinky rings, star sapphires, miners' cut diamonds. Bought a big, drunk, homeless guy from behind The Wanamaker Building. Gets free Texas Tommies from a little, greasy lunch place. That's how he keeps his weight up. Took him to the zoo in a taxi one night. I don't know what the cabbie thought. Maybe he got a ring too? Uther knows this little tunnel in the woods. Whole place is surrounded by woods. Fairmount Park has eight thousand acres. You could hide Noah's Arc in there. Strange dead things turn up all the time. Groundsmen go - What the hell is this?... But they take care of it. Eighteen hundreds were even worse. Like a butcher shop it was. Gangs dumped 'meat' there all the time. Death was like 'in style' back then... Guy tried to run away a couple times, but Uther had this thing he did. Pinched his neck a certain way. Not like Spock, but ... well, it was a little bit like Spock. Drunk starts twitching. Legs give out. Cries... begs.... Goes - Jesus Christ! What are you gonna do to me!? What are you gonna do to me!? By then they had him dragged through the tunnel, to a pitch black place behind a picnic grove. The wolves saw, but they knew better than to make noise when other predators feed. They just stand, pant and lick their chops.
Opal went into a frenzy. It's reflexive. It's instinctive. Zombies do it all the time. Uther held him from behind, one arm over his chest, one hand clamped over his mouth. She ripped his clothes off like a buzz saw. Drunk guy kicked. Uther squeezed his neck til he went slack. When they got a body staked out, when they can eat at their leisure, fleisch essers, as Uther aus Ulm calls them, start at the extremities and work in. That way the heart pumps longer. Prolongs the fresh taste. But this wasn't like that. She was hungry and Uther wanted to be done with it. The belly! The belly! - he hissed.... So she tore into the liver, all hot and steaming. Wolves got a little agitated when she did that. Whined and all. They're always hungry. They wanted some. That was natural. Uther stopped her, when she went for the entrails.... Not the guts! Not the guts! - he said. You don't want the stink. Leave 'em!..... She looked up, her mouth and chin gleamed with dark red, viscous liver blood. Then she focused on the pancreas (all yellow and bitter) and tucked in. He made her eat a lot of the subcutaneous fat to prevent her own decomposition. Little by little she learned. When the torso was stripped bare (a backward meal) he looked at the twisted, stricken face, pulled her off and heaved it over the fence. The wolves made short work of the rest. Let the keepers worry about it...
Soon he'd take her home.
When some large barn spiders give birth, the mother just sits there, deep in the shadows, surrendering her body to an army of tiny fangs. She nourishes them with her own flesh. New zombies seek a similar meal. The genetic match of the tissue serves them well... like immunities drawn from mother's milk. Except this is just a one time thing.
And Opal misses her lot real bad...
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You might want to google the title after to hear and learn more. An enchanted tale based on Highland Legends of a special hamlet that exists in each century for just one day so that they may live true to their own and not be changed by the big, wide world.
'BRIGADOON' comes from a Gaelic word meaning 'brink of doom.' Yet this story is anything but that.
More Vampire Wonderland later tonight. But take a chance. Expand your horizons and listen to BRIGADOON...
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In a few days she was all healed. Not zombie looking at all. Had a rank, meaty smell, but Uther ran out for some kind of perfume or deodorant to cover it up. Opal wanted DEGREE, Just Dance, Juicy Berries for girls, but our eight hundred jahr alt fleisch esser brought her some Axe Body Spray thing. The gender specificity of modern packaging means nothing to him. A sweet smell is a sweet smell. But he did get her the right jeans, so that part was good. Got a bra... a pack of Hanes for Her all cotton panties, some no-name 'bo-bo' sneakers from Target (I think it all came from Target) and whatever else she needed. Then he sat there playing with a little red, plastic, twelve ninety nine, hand held, battery poker machine (that, he got for himself) while she went into the bathroom to get ready.
Zombies, at least the non-decomposing kind, wash pretty often. Not when they suffer from occasional bouts of stuff-falling-off-itis. Don't want to make it worse. But during good times, when they're smooth and all, they do. Some require human flesh once a month. Some every week or so. In between, just like vampires, they can tolerate water, alcohol and broth, but their bodies don't consume it all like night-folks do. Zombies dump and pee.
Opal almost felt normal in there. Hot water and soap can do that. Brushed her teeth real good. Colgate Optic White. Flossed. Still had some tough, little fibers in the back from that guy she ate. Then she started to cry, because she knew she wasn't normal. When she came out and saw herself in the mirror over the bureau, she just stood there. For the longest time she just stood there. Uther didn't notice. He was really into that poker game thing.
Opal said - How long will it last? How long will I stay this way?.... He looked up and said - I don't know. You might be a 'once a month' feeder, or maybe sooner. I don't know..... What's it like right before? - She asked..... Right before you eat? - he said... She nodded..... You'll see changes. Dryness. Stiffness. It effects us inside too, you know...... Will anything fall off? - she asked.... Don't let it go that far. You'll get into a rhythm. You'll know - he said. There are things we use, certain skin creams, certain oil supplements. Aromatic spices, herbs. Some 'zombies' maintain close relationships with physicians, dermatologists. That's how it is........ Where's your accent? - she said..... I can turn that off. I've lived in many places. I fit in. I get along. It's who I am, but it's not all I am - he explained........ You have something planned for me? - she asked....... You'll find out. You are very strong for an eighth grader - he said.... I know I am. I'm a ninth grader and I want to go home. I want to see my family.... He just looked at her.... She whispered - No, I do. I really do........ You realize you haven't been there in approximately one week. Maybe more. I lost track. God knows what your friends told them. You don't think the police are involved? We're not magic. We're not vampires. I can't sneak you in there. It's not that easy...... No, I guess it isn't. But I want to go. I have a little sister and I want to go.
The eight hundred year old fleisch esser knew she really meant it. But he had to stall her off, or it'd never work. So he took her to some late movie at a suburban repertoire house where they saw the thirty year old Italian classic, CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST. And Opal liked it. She really liked it. What did them lousy, crying, sniveling, naked, God damned people think? Just because they were 'uncontaminated' they deserved to live forever? She saw the cannibals as zombies, even though they weren't. And she saw the people as live, swimming carp in a fish market.
And whether they were, or were not that, made no difference at all...
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