Love, Lust, and Zombies

by Mitzi Szereto

  “When his eyes turn black, it is time to break the spell,” Grandmè told her the night after the ritual. “That is when the spirit of the Zonbi goes bad.” There was no stumble in his step; his tread was slow but deliberate. Something stirred in her loins when she saw him, and she felt that sweet spot between her thighs go moist with desire.

  “Come to me, Jack,” she said, holding out her hands to him. He walked toward her, but never spoke. His hands felt cold and tough against her skin, nothing like the warm hands that had once touched her, but Odette did not care. The cold fingers explored her breasts with even more fanaticism than they had done when he was alive. He was here to please his mistress, and he would do only what she wanted him to do. She lay down on the wooden porch of the house and spread her legs. He pulled off her clothing, tearing it with the strength of the dead. She pulled at his clothes with a similar force, which revealed his grayish flesh. There was a mark on his body where he had been stabbed. Odette drew her fingers over it; she realized that it symbolized his obedience to her.

  Jack pushed her down. His cold lips, dry and rough, found her nipples and he sucked them. Then he moved his head down, nipping at her flesh. His tongue was as cold as ice and rough as sandpaper and when he scraped it along her clitoris, she felt a jolt of painful pleasure. His fingers pried her labia aside and his tongue slithered inside like a frosty snake. She shuddered with pleasure at the contrast of the hot weather and the cold flesh of her lover. His tongue flicked inside her, the top lip of his mouth massaging her clitoris as it moved.

  Odette screamed with pleasure and begged him to put his penis in her. It was swollen and looked larger and harder than it had in life. With force he brought the thick flesh inside her. Like his tongue it was cold, which brought an extra pleasure to the sensation of it slipping in. He pushed and she felt the delicious motion rubbing inside her. His fingers played with her clitoris as he pushed deeper, retracting a little, only to push again. Odette did not worry about his pleasure, only about her own. She had killed him and she could embrace her selfish nature now. Once you stepped into the darkness, you could never go back. Her body twisted under the weight of his corpse and she shivered with pleasure. Only when she felt fatigue did she push him away from her, and he obediently left. I love you, Jack, she whispered, but there was no expression on his dead face. You are mine forever. She felt no guilt and no regret.

  She lusted for the dead Jack more than she had ever done for the living man. He was everything she wanted, a walking pleasure slave. He did not age, nor did he ever complain of his fate. He made love to her whenever she desired it. There was no shame in his eyes if she asked him to perform those things that a living man might find repulsive; he obeyed her every command.

  Odette learned more about Vodoun from her grandmother. She decided to follow in the old woman’s footsteps. Two years after Jack was returned to her, Grandmè died. Odette took over the small house and the tributes that the people on the island paid the Bokor. Odette knew that everyone knew about Jack, but no one spoke of him. It was as if he did not exist. She realized the natives were as afraid of her as they had been of her grandmother; Odette had the same darkness. Her life with Jack alienated her from the living. She had a hunger for power and Jack made her feel invincible. All she had to do was spread her legs and his eager mouth would run its cold tongue over her labia and push its way into her warm gaping vagina. He was never tired, never found her unattractive, even as her flesh lost that tightness of youth. When she saw herself in his dead eyes, she saw the young beauty the living Jack had lusted for. Her lover was undemanding and ever loyal, but as the years went on, the milky white of his eyes grew grayer. After forty-five years, the gray was turning black.

  “Break the spell when the eyes go black.” The warning words of her grandmother were not quite forgotten. But if she broke the spell, she would lose him. Jack was her all; without him she would be lonely, there would be an emptiness in her life. She had no living companions.

  I am a powerful Bokor, she thought with the arrogance of old age, far more powerful than my grandmè ever was. I can handle Jack. She could not let him go, not after all these years. He was still so beautiful. I can’t live without you, Jack, not yet.

  One night when she beckoned him to come to her and he pushed the chilly flesh of his penis inside her, she saw something in his eyes that frightened her. There was some spark there, something she hadn’t seen before.

  I will break the spell tonight, she thought as her legs shivered with pleasure. Jack put his hands on her breasts, squeezing the nipples so hard that she cried out in shock and pain.

  “Jack!” she scolded, but before she could go on she realized what was happening. Jack’s movements were faster now, more painful. She struggled to get away from his grip, but he would not let her go; he pounded into her vagina with such force that it brought tears to her wrinkled eyes. He pulled out of her, but when she tried to scramble away, he grabbed her hair and jerked her back toward him. Then he forced her to bend over, pulling her hair roughly downward. His thick meat pushed painfully into her as he continued to fuck her with the ferocity of an animal. Odette screamed; she tried to remember the chant she needed to control a Zonbi, but her head spun with the pain. Then he pulled her toward him again, forcing her upright, his cock still inside her. Two cold hands wrapped around her neck and squeezed. Her fingers clawed at his hands, but they were dead and could not feel a thing. Her breath was forced from her throat; she tried to gasp for air, but it was no use. Her throat burned and she saw black spots before her eyes. It took a few minutes for her to lose consciousness, and when she finally did, she died moments later.

  Officer Couchan found the Zonbi Jack and the Bokor a week after Odette died. The officer told the horrific story of what he found in the little house that afternoon. The Zonbi was naked, as was the corpse of the Bokor, and the undead man was still making love to the lifeless figure. One of the officers took pictures of the dead woman to serve as evidence. There was nothing beautiful about Odette now; she lost all beauty years ago. Her thin gray hair was spread out in the shape of a Chinese fan. Her eyes bulged from their sockets and a thick blue tongue protruded from her pale lips. A pair of old breasts wobbled gently with the rhythm in which the Zonbi rode her. Officer Couchan pulled the animated dead man away from the body, but the image was burned on his mind’s eye. Later, in the dead of night, he would wake up in a cold sweat and remember that moment. The officers did not know what to do with the Zonbi of Jack. The only thing they could think of was to burn him. They decided to burn the corpse of the Bokor as well and all her Vodoun possessions. The wooden house was old, so to make life easier they set it on fire, burning the Zonbi and the Bokor together. No one but brave children and foolish tourists dared to come near the spot where the burned remains of the house stood. A new ghost story was brought to life on the island of Île-à-Vache, but the spirit of Jack was finally free.

  NOT READY TO LET GO

  Deanna K. Deavers

  I closed my eyes, unable to bear the pain that I saw in his. The burning in my chest increased as each breath lingered just out of my reach. I longed for the rich, deep scent of the honeysuckle bush by the back patio. Each spring we stood together and inhaled the aroma with long, deep breaths. To feel that one more time. To take in air. To live. I knew the pain would be unbearable. It would rip into every part of my being and turn me into something I would not recognize. But to leave this world in the dark silence of nothing, a medicated coma, was something I could not, would not do. His strong hands holding mine, gentle eyes bringing me comfort and soothing words made the pain worthwhile. I opened my eyes and smiled.

  He leaned in and whispered, “Let go, baby.”

  “But, will you…” I said as fragile air escaped my lips.

  “Be okay?” he said, then squeezed my hand. “Yes, I’ll be okay.”

  I knew better, knew the truth. I could see his heart ripping from his chest as tears filled his charming green eyes. “I can�
�t leave you.”

  “Stop the pain. Find peace.”

  I watched as his gaze dropped to my lips. “I hurt for you,” I whispered. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

  “I won’t be,” he said as he leaned in and kissed my cheek. “You’ll be with me always.”

  The kiss was so soft I hardly felt it. I turned to look at the photo on the nightstand. We were at the beach, in the sand. Our little girl with her blonde curls and pink swimsuit smiled at me with a grin so familiar I could pick it out of a million smiles. The pain eased for a moment as the thought of joining her in death brought comfort. I would see her again, my little girl.

  “She’ll be waiting for you,” my husband of fifteen years said to me.

  “Yes, she will.” I turned back to stare into his eyes. Stifling a moan I continued. “But…she has others, my mother, your grandmother. You need me here more than she needs me there.”

  “Kay, it’s all right. I’m all right. Let go. Stop the pain. Just… let yourself go.”

  I reached deep within myself and fought. I fought the desire to let go. Fought my failing body and the invader that had taken over. I must live, I must hold on. Minutes turned into hours as I lay in my bed and listened to Thomas read my journal to me. We relived every moment of little Liza’s life, our life together. As he approached the week of her death he stopped reading and made excuses to fetch dinner. I knew he was not hungry and he knew I could not eat. It was more pain than his weakened spirit could take.

  I grasped the leather-bound journal in my hands and hugged it up under my chin. This could not be it, all of it. So much life left to live. A pain greater than I could imagine gripped my chest and squeezed. I was losing no matter how hard I tried. No matter how hard I prayed. I muffled my cries and waited as the locomotive of pain barreled ahead, then rolled past. I could hear him in the kitchen and hoped he would get back before it was too late. Focusing on the picture again, I concentrated on every breath. Quick, shallow and raspy, death selfishly consumed my life.

  “Do you want some broth?” he said as he walked back into the room.

  I turned to face him. My eyes told him all he needed to know. He fell to his knees by the bed and slid his hand under my head. His fingers laced through my short, thin hair as he stroked my cheek. The tears that flooded his eyes earlier now rolled down his cheeks. Without a word he smiled and reminded me of why we fell in love. I slid the journal to the side and reached for his shirt. He leaned closer and whispered, “I love you madly.”

  “Kiss me,” I said with no sound.

  The last breath that death allowed escaped my parted lips as I closed my eyes in anticipation of his contact. I felt the warmth of his face as he lowered it close to mine. My husband always had full, smooth lips but in all our kisses, they never felt so sweet, so gentle as they did in that moment. The electricity that flowed through my body with the taste of his tongue filled my senses one more time. What felt like minutes was probably only seconds as my body gave up and death took over. The last thing I felt in life was his kiss.

  The first thing I felt in death was pressure. A pressure on my chest that provided warmth and maybe…comfort? Yes, comfort and no pain. No pain! It must be heaven. I tried to open my eyes to see, to face what lay ahead, but I only found the dark and the nothingness. I lay there in the murkiness of the in-between, unable to move. Time took on a different meaning as I sought another existence. The minutes could have been years as my somber state evolved into a semblance of life. The first thing I noticed was sound, and then light that seemed to filter through my closed lids. I heard Thomas weeping and the pressure on my chest grew stronger. Is this heaven? But where is my daughter? Why isn’t she greeting me? My heaven would not include a weeping Thomas.

  The pressure gave way to lightness as Thomas stifled his sobs. Now. Now she will come. The weeping turned into a hushed conversation as I discovered the ability to open my eyes. Although cloudy, I could see the light-blue ceiling of my bedroom and the large ceiling fan. A shadow stretched across the room drawing my attention. As if learning to move for the first time, I clumsily turned my head to see Thomas blocking the window. With his back to me, he spoke smothered words on the phone. Ending the call, he put the phone in his pocket and leaned against the window frame. His forehead pressed against the glass; he allowed the tears to return. Maybe this is my heaven after all. I’m with Thomas. How could it be any other way? With each passing moment, control of my body was turned back over to me. I slowly pulled up and reached for him.

  “Thomas,” I tried to say but only a gargle escaped my dry lips.

  He lifted his head and turned to find me sitting up in bed. He rushed to my side and sat down. “Oh my god, Kay. You’re… you’re…alive?” He squeezed my hands. “But…but how?”

  I’m in heaven. My personal heaven, I thought, but could not yet speak.

  “You’re…with me. You’re…alive?”

  He held my face in his hands and kissed me. This kiss was deeper, harder than the last. I sensed his excitement as his tongue explored my mouth. I wrapped my arms around his back and pulled him into me, closer and with purpose. He tasted as he always did but it now seemed different…something was different. My desire for him intensified as he laid me down on the bed. With his body covering mine, my urges for him were growing, changing.

  He released my mouth to explore my neck and shoulders. As his lips teased my skin, his scent wafted up and filled my nose with a delicious aroma and my belly with hunger. As I reached for his head and ran my fingers through his wavy hair he stopped.

  “My god, it can’t be. Jesus. Thank you. Thank you.”

  I smiled and focused on the perfect jawline and freshly shaven skin that covered it. I wanted to taste him there. As I placed my lips against his hot flesh he said, “Babe, you are so cold. Too cold.”

  He sat up and grabbed the blanket at the foot of the bed. “Let me cover you up.”

  No, I want your body to cover me up, I moaned as I pulled him back on top of me.

  He looked into my eyes and said, “Wait. Wait. This isn’t the time for this. We need to get to the doctor. This is…all wrong. You died. You were here for thirty minutes, lying here…no pulse. Nothing. You…” His voice cracked as he cleared his throat. “You…died.”

  I rubbed his face and smiled, then I shook my head and squeezed his cheek. Thomas reached up and grabbed my wrist. Holding on, he placed the fingers of his other hand on my neck at the carotid artery.

  Babe, I started to say but still couldn’t get the words to form. I wanted to comfort him, convince him that I was okay but my words came out as groans.

  “SSSHHH.” He looked into my eyes.

  What are you doing? I pulled from his grasp.

  “I can’t feel your pulse. Kay, at its weakest I could always find it.” He placed his ear against my chest. He lay motionless on my chest for several seconds before he said, “You’re not breathing, Kay. You’re not breathing.”

  He jumped from the bed and stood over me as I thought again about his delicious flesh. I sat up and leaned against the headboard with my arms crossed. Come here, baby. Sit with me. He heard only groans and gasps.

  Thomas sat on the bed and grabbed my hand. He looked into my eyes, then leaned in and took me in his arms. “You’re back. You’re with me. I don’t understand how.”

  I’m here. I rubbed my lips against the soft lobe of his ear.

  “But…” he started as he sat back up. Holding me at arm’s length, he looked deeper into my eyes.

  But what? I tilted my head and focused on his face. Things were still cloudy and blurry.

  “We need a doctor. No way this is possible.”

  I leaned in and tried to say, Does it matter?

  “Your eyes. They’re…can you see?”

  They’re what? His scent filled my head as the moisture in my mouth increased.

  “They’re cloudy. Gray.”

  Through the haze, I could see the worry in his brow, feel the ten
sion in his grip. My husband has always been strong, sturdy. I needed for him to see it was okay, to be strong again. I also needed to nibble on his lip. Nibble his lip? Why? What am I thinking? I fought the urge to lunge forward and hold him down. Instead, I leaned in and licked the side of his neck. As my tongue reached his jaw I felt a sudden loss of control again. I wanted to taste him, really taste him. I closed my teeth on his jaw and nipped. He tried to pull away as I sucked a small drip of blood from his skin.

  “Kay, dammit, what are you doing?”

  He tried to remain calm but I could sense his confusion. Can you sense mine?

  I could not think of the answers to his questions as my thoughts became foggy with desires, hunger and my newfound appetite. He grabbed my wrists and held my hands on my lap.

  “That hurt, baby. Please. Just lie down and rest. I need to get the doctor and we can figure this out. Is there no pain?”

  There was pain. The pain related to need and the fulfillment of hunger. The other pain was gone but was replaced by new sensations. A part of me could hardly speak but another part told me to ease his mind, lessen his pain. That’s why I was still here wasn’t it? Because he needed me still? Or because I was not ready to let go?

  “No pain,” I moaned as my mouth began to form words. “Better.” I’m not better, I’m not right. Nothing is right. Isn’t this what I wanted? To be back with him? Am I alive or dead? Does it matter?

  He glanced at the photo on the nightstand then looked back at me. “You’re not you.” He released my wrist and stroked my face again. The perfect contrast of his steamy-hot skin against my ice-cold flesh stirred the desire again, stirred my appetite. I needed him now more than ever.

  “Look at me,” I mumbled as I placed his hand on the large scar hidden beneath my gown, the place that used to be my breast. “Feel me. I am me.”

  “You can hardly speak. You’re not breathing. You’re ice cold. You bit me,” he said without moving his hand.