Bethany And The Zombie Jesus: A Novelette With 11 Other Tales of Horror And Grotesquery Read online

  Mama’s eyes narrowed, but she seemed to remember herself and that it was Rev Jones askin’, so the suspicion was gone faster than it showed itself. “Of course, Rev.”

  “Oh, and could you get me one from the cafeteria?” the Rev asked. “It tastes so much better in a cup with some crushed ice. If I’m gonna have one, I best enjoy it fully!”

  Mama smiled, looked at me then nodded and left the room.

  “What’d he say to you, Bethany?” the Rev asked. No explanations, no questions, just right to the point. That was Rev Jones.

  I looked at my feet. “He said he done come back already and that the Rapture had happened and we were the children of the doomed,” I whispered.

  Rev Jones sighed. “You’d think after two thousand years he’d come up with a better con,” Rev Jones said. “He has all the time in the world up on that cross, and it’s always the same hook. I guess he is right about the already comin’ back part.”

  I gasped and pressed my hands to my mouth. Rev Jones frowned and waved my alarm away. “No, girl, you got me wrong,” he said shakin’ his head. “That isn’t the real Jesus. Well, it is his body, but it isn’t his soul. When the Lord Jesus Christ’s soul returns to earth then the Rapture will come.”

  Rev Jones pushed himself up a bit in his hospital bed, wincin’ at the effort. I stepped to his side, takin’ his arm and helpin’ him get comfortable.

  “No, Bethany, what you talked to, what tried to trick you was just a soulless shell,” Rev said. “Just an empty vessel lookin’ to spread Evil anyway it can.”

  “So it ain’t the Devil?” I asked.

  “No, no, not quite the Devil,” Rev Jones said. “But an agent of the Devil. A ghoul in a way.”

  “A what?” I asked, not ever hearin’ that word before.

  Rev Jones thought for a moment. “I guess you’d call it a zombie,” he answered finally. “That’s probably the most modern term for it.”

  “A zombie? Like them movies?” I asked, not sure Rev Jones really knew what he was talkin’ ‘bout.

  “Yes, Bethany, like the movies,” the Rev answered. “Just as bloodthirsty and hungry for the flesh of the livin’.”

  I don’t knows why, but that gave me comfort. Knowin’ it was just a zombie and not the Devil was a lot easier to swallow.

  The Rev Jones reached out and took both my hands in his. They were old and cracked, but most of all they’s was cold. Deathly cold.

  “Bethany, I’ve been watchin’ you your whole life,” he said, his eyes burnin’ into mine. “From the moment you crossed the threshold of my church, I knew you were the one. He did too.”

  “Who did? The zombie?” I asked, my voice just a croak.

  The Rev nodded. “Yes, the zombie. That’s why I picked you to help watch the church while I was gone. I could see the Spirit in you. I could see you had what it would take to keep the world from fallin’ to Evil. I knew you wouldn’t be taken in by his lies and half-truths. But, now I need you to do something else for me, Bethany. Can you do something else for me?”

  I nodded, not sure my voice would work anymore, not with the Rev’s eyes burnin’ into my very soul.

  “Good,” he said, closin’ those eyes for a moment. “In my office in the church there's a safe behind the painting of The Last Supper. Combination is 12-25-00. In that safe is everything you will need to find and capture the monster and place him back on a cross. He must go back on a cross, Bethany. He must be watched over.”

  It got hard to hear the Rev, what with my heart poundin’ in my ears so loud like.

  “You can’t kill him, Bethany, just capture him,” the Rev said, slowly opening his eyes. “That is very important. The book in the safe will tell you all you need to know. You have to do this Bethany, only you, and you don’t have much time. Don’t tell no one, not even your Mama.”

  “Don’t be tellin’ me what?” Mama asked, Coke in hand, as she came back into the room. “What you two keepin’ from me?”

  Rev Jones fixed me hard with his eyes and I nodded so he knew I understood. He smiled weakly and reached out for his Coke. “You are an angel, Althea.”

  Mama looked from me to the Rev and back again, but didn’t ask for either of us to clarify. “I think the nurse saw me bringin’ that in here, so you best be finishin’ it soon,” Mama whispered.

  “Don’t you worry,” the Rev smiled, already suckin’ down the Coke like he was racin’ the Devil himself. “It’ll be gone in a blink.”

  Mama watched me closely, but I kept my eyes on the Rev.

  “Well, we best be goin’ and let you rest, Rev.” Mama took me by the elbow. “Thank you again for puttin’ my mind at ease about Bethany.”

  “No trouble, Althea,” he answered. “You have a good daughter there. Always remember that.”

  “I will,” Mama said, pushin’ me out the door. “Hope you get well soon and get back to us, Rev.”

  “I’ll do my best,” the Rev said and I knew right then he weren’t comin’ back to the church ever again.

  ***

  I kept waitin’ for the questions, but Mama made it all the way home and into the kitchen before tearin’ into me.

  “You will tell me what you and The Rev was talkin’ about, Bethany Lynn!” she ordered. Ain’t no arguin’ with Mama when she has her Boss voice on.

  “I cain’t, Mama,” was all I said, hangin’ my coat up. “I promised the Rev.”

  She scowled at me somethin’ fierce! Near turned my knees to jelly!

  “I am your Mama!” she shouted. “That Rev Jones is a good man, but he cain’t be comin’ between a girl and her mama!”

  “He ain’t,” I said, my back straightenin’. “Nobody can come between us, Mama. Not the Rev Jones, not God, not nobody! But, I cain’t tell you what we was talkin’ ‘bout!”

  Mama stared at me for a good long while. “Well, if you ain’t gonna tell me then you best be makin’ lunch,” she snapped.

  “I don’t have time, Mama,” I said, knowin’ that wouldn’t sit well with her. “I have to get to the church right away to help…clean up.”

  “Half the parish already cleaned up the mess, Bethany,” she said sternly. “Nothin’ left for you to do, but make your Mama some lunch!”

  I didn’t answer. What was I gonna do? I couldn’t be sayin’ why I had to go back to the church.

  “There’s somethin’ I have to do,” I said finally.

  “For the Rev?”

  I stayed quiet.

  Mama made a rumble in her throat, Daddy used to call it her “bulldog growl”, and she pushed past me to the parlor. “Do what you will, girl. If I have to fix my own lunch then don’t be expectin’ supper to be waitin’ for you when you get home! You are on your own!”

  Mama was more right than she knowed.

  ***

  I read the small, leather journal from cover to cover and started over again before I noticed the light was gone and I had to switch the desk lamp on.

  “So, it’s you then.”

  I screamed so loud I near burst my own ear drums!

  “Lordy, child!” Deacon Lawrence cried out. “I’m already half way deaf! You tryin’ to take the other half from me?”

  I stared at the Deacon for a moment, watchin’ him glance from the journal clutched in my hands and up to my face. “Deacon Lawrence…what you doin’ here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing, Bethany, but I knows the Rev has told you not to talk to anyone about what’s goin’ on,” Deacon Lawrence said, wavin’ away my question as he pulled a pack of Pall Malls from his shirt pocket. The old man lit his smoke and watched me through the blue cloud that soon drifted between us. “You think you up for it?”

  I just watched him, his cigarette glowin’ red each time he took a drag. Deacon Lawrence rolled his eyes.

  “You gonna have to trust someone, sometime, Bethany,” he said between puffs. “Just like the Rev had to trust me. And many like me before. You won’t be able to do it alone forever.”

&nbs
p; “Nothin’ is forever, Deacon Lawrence,” I said.

  The Deacon snorted. “You may have read that old book there,” he said stabbin’ his Pall Mall towards the journal in my hands. “But, I can tell you ain’t understandin’ it.” He took two more long drags then let the cigarette fall to the floor, snubbin’ it out with the toe of his shoe. “It’s a lifetime gig, Bethany and your definition of a lifetime and the Good Lord’s definition of a lifetime may not quite jibe. You’ll see.”

  He smiled at me softly then turned heel and was gone.

  “Oh, and you best be hurryin’! Read that book quick, you ain’t got much time!” he called to me from the front door. “Good luck, child.”

  I listened to him leave and when I heard the front door latch, I got up and removed what was left in the safe, just as the book said I should. I cleared the desk and spread the items out in front of me.

  One long piece of rope, laced with silver and supposed to be blessed by the Apostle Paul himself.

  One long, thin knife, like for cuttin’ catfish, with a handle made of some kinda bone. The blade was real sharp, which I found out the hard way as I tested it with the meat of my thumb and watched the blood well up.

  The small clay whistle, made from the earth of the Potter’s Field where Judas The Betrayer killed hisself. At least that’s what the journal said.

  One leather pouch of grey powder that was to be mixed with water and painted all over the Zombie Jesus once he was back on the cross.

  Last was an iron hammer, heavy as Sin, with a short wood handle, said to be made from the original cross itself and three iron nails.

  I scooped all these items up and threw them in a satchel bag Rev Jones had hangin’ from the back of his door. And with the satchel bag over my shoulder, and more fear than I’d ever known in my belly, I left the church to find the Zombie Jesus.

  ***

  The journal said the same as Rev Jones, that the Zombie Jesus was just the body of the Savior, not the Savior hisself, and was left on earth to test us. Since the creature crawled from outta the cave, there has been one person tasked with keepin’ him from startin’ the Apocalypse. It hadn’t been the same person over the years, but it didn’t sound like there had been more than a dozen or so.

  You see, the movies had it more right than they knew. If the Zombie Jesus was left to his own devices, that thing would attack every last person until all that was left was the dead. But, just like the movies, if he bites you then you become like him, a undead abomination tryin’ to spread Evil until only the dead walk the earth, lettin’ the Lord know to start the End of Days. I guess that’s when the real Jesus comes back to bring all the Righteous home to Heaven, but the book didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout that part.

  What it did say was to blow the clay whistle and that would light my way to the Zombie Jesus and anyone he had corrupted with his bite. It also said that it would show the Zombie Jesus the way to me.

  I really didn’t want to blow that darn whistle.

  If that didn’t beat all, the book said that once I blew the whistle I wouldn’t never die, neither. Well, not never, but close to never, unless the Zombie Jesus bit me, then God couldn’t save me. Made me wonder what happened to Rev Jones to put him in the hospital.

  The book also said that the rope could be used to bind the Zombie Jesus so I could nail its Evil ass. That’s some handy rope. ‘Cept it wouldn’t hold forever. That’s what the nails were for. The nails would freeze the evil, keepin’ the monster immobile until it was secured back up on the cross. Then there was something about needin’ my energy, so it weren’t no permanent solution.

  The knife was for takin’ care of anyone the Zombie Jesus bit. Supposed to cut clean through bone and sinew like they’s made a butter. Seperatin’ the head from the neck was the only way to stop the things. No shootin’ them in the head, no sir, the head had to come clean off and only by the knife. Nothin’ else would put those bodies to rest. And I had to put them all to rest or they’d spread the Evil just as fast as the Zombie Jesus.

  The hammer, well, that was for hammerin’. Didn’t say much else. Pretty simple, I guessed.

  All this swam through my head, and a helluva lot more, as I walked through the church parkin’ lot and into the pines across Route 18.

  From the second I stepped into the darkness of the woods I could feel him. Not like he was watchin’, but like every step he took had corrupted a bit of nature. Kinda like when somethin’ goes bad in the fridge and even though it didn’t touch anythin’ else, the smell just gets into it all and you have to throw everythin’ away. It was like that.

  I knew I didn’t need to blow the whistle right away. No, the Zombie Jesus would be hungry, be lookin’ for some victims to chew on for a spell, and there was only a few places between the woods and town where he could do that. The first place bein’ the Tuckwiller farm, and that was where I headed.

  Oh, and the last thing the book said? I had ‘til dawn to make it all right again or nothin’ would work against Zombie Jesus.

  ***

  Miss Tuckwiller was knowed for three things in our parish: raisin’ the best tastin’ chickens in five counties and bein’ able to eat more of those chickens fried in one sittin’ than anyone in seven counties. She done proved it year after year at the State Fair.

  When I found her sittin’ on her back stoop, she was fixin’ to break her chicken eatin’ record. Trouble was, those chickens weren’t fried. Heck, she hadn’t even bothered to pluck ‘em clean. No, sir, she’s was a eatin’ them raw and the one in her mouth was still kickin’.

  “Missus? Miss Tuckwiller?” I called out as I came up on her, bloody feathers stickin’ to her cheeks and all. She spit out what was in her mouth and I looked down at the mangled chicken head that done landed at my feet.

  “He says you’d a come by,” Miss Tuckwiller snarled, her voice thick like tar. “He says you’d try to take my chickens froms me. Ain’t no way no ones takin’ my chickens!”

  Mr. Tuckwiller had died ‘bout same time as my daddy, so I knew there weren’t no one else around, but I turned my head nonetheless, just to make sure she weren’t talkin’ to someone behind me. She weren’t.

  “Miss Tuckwiller, I’m awful sorry,” I soothed, steppin’ closer with each word.

  Her face turned all scrunchy and mean-like when I spoke and she jumped up from the stoop, screamin’, “The Lord Jesus Christ says I gets to keep my chickens forever! Alls I gots to do is brings them with me!”

  The third thing Miss Tuckwiller was knowed for was her size. She weren’t no taller than me, but she outweighed me, Mama, Rev Jones and any other two peoples put together. And that was what came at me. That and her chickens. The dead ones. But they didn’t move like no dead chickens and Miss Tuckwiller didn’t move like no four-hunert-pound farmin’ woman.

  I stumbled back, the knife held up like it was a crucifix wardin’ off some vampire.

  “Whatcha got their, girl?” Miss Tuckwiller grunted. “That ain’t nothin’ but a tiny ol’ pig sticker! You gonna kills me, you better brings a hatchet!”

  Then she was on me! And I do mean on me!

  I stumbled onto my backside and this undead monster was crushin’ the life outta me. I tried to bring the knife up and slash her throat like I’s supposed to, but her body be so big I couldn’t get around her belly.

  So I cut her belly. And, Dear Lord, I really wish I hadn’t.

  Her cold guts spilt all around, pouring from her insides like a sausage truck done fell over.

  Miss Tuckwiller grunted and her face, ready to rip my face off with its nasty zombie teeth, got this hurt look on it and she pushed away from me. Good thing, too, since her chickens were comin’ for my eyes.

  While I was busy slicing the heads off her zombie chickens, Miss Tuckwiller was busy shovin’ her stuffin’ back in. Ropey intestines were slippin’ through her fingers and she was getting’ more and more frustrated with every failed attempt.

  “Damn you, girl!” she shouted. “L
ook what’s you gone and done! How’s I goin’ to eat your face if I ain’t got no guts?”

  With the last chicken head fallin’ to the ground, I looked at her and frowned. “I really don’t rightly give a two-peckered goat turd about that, Miss Tuckwiller. My job is to send you to Jesus.”

  “Silly little slut! Jesus already came!”

  “No, he didn’t, ma’am,” I corrected her, keepin’ my knife arm behind my back as I moved closer. “That weren’t the real Jesus. That was Zombie Jesus and he’s just a plain ol’ ghoul in disguise.”

  The look of hurt on Miss Tuckwiller’s face done near broke my heart.

  “You mean Jesus didn’t tell me to eat your face? I ain’t saved?”

  “No, ma’am. You’re dead. I’m gonna have to cut your head off.”

  “Well, that ain’t very lady-like, Miss Bethany. No girl should be goin’ ‘round cuttin’ neighbors’ heads off!”

  “I surely wish I didn’t have to, Ma’am. I truly do.”

  The wind shifted and blew at me from behind as I inched ever closer. Miss Tuckwiller lifted her head up and sniffed like an old hound dog.

  “Oh, Bethany,” she said, her mouth widenin’, showin’ me her nasty, zombie teeth. “I’m ‘fraid I cain’t let you kill me. I’m just too hungry. That Zombie Jesus said I’d be hungry, and he sure was right.” Her eyes shifted and the whites done turned bright red. “I think I’m gonna have to eat your face after all.”

  My knife was ready when she let her guts fall and leaped at me. I couldn’t believe any blade could cut through a person, let alone a person as big as Miss Tuckwiller, as fast as that blade cut.

  Miss Tuckwiller’s body fell in a bloody heap and I watched her head roll off under the chicken coop.

  I said a prayer, hopin’ Miss Tuckwiller’s soul would be at rest. The journal didn’t say nothin’ about the soul, just the body. Guess she’d be judged just like the rest of us, but I liked to think what I done helped her on her way.