Zombies at the Bar Mitzvah: a novella

by Michael Homler

  About two seconds into my flight someone tipped the chair and I fell down on my arm. What the bejesus! I don’t recall that being part of it. Then they put me back on the chair as if it didn’t matter once they saw that I was not hurt and began the whole thing over again. This lasted all too long before the celebration calmed a bit where I could hobble around holding my arm.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just dandy.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “How’s the arm?”

  “Up yours.”

  The beauty of all the noise was that you could say whatever you wanted to whoever you wanted and no one would ever know what you were saying, especially Grandpa who had hard hearing. The only person who knew what I was doing was sis, and I actually think she admired me for talking my mind like that. It was hard to tell but I saw the faintest smile escape her lips while I nearly had to shake hands with all two hundred people in attendance.

  I wished I had known this would have been part of the ceremony. I immediately began to wonder about all the diseases I was going to catch jut from doing this. Then we all sat down to dinner.

  While we did this and my parents came to tell me how proud they were of me, the rabbi also dropped by to congratulate me and then he excused himself explaining that he had to go check on something.

  Okay, whatever.

  FIVE MINUTES LATER I WOULD PULL THE SAME STUNT

  I went up to Mom and Dad. They were talking up a storm with some guests. I interrupted them. I made a face.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m not feeling well,” I said. “I’m going to go to get some fresh air.”

  “But it’s your celebration.”

  “I’ll be back.” A lie.

  And then I walked away and for the first time in weeks had a huge grin on my face as I banged the Hebrew school doors open and found myself outside in the parking with the sun in my face.

  MEANWHILE IN THE BASEMENT THERE WERE STRANGE THINGS AFOOT THAT NONE OF US KNEW ABOUT AND PERHAPS MAYBE WISHED THAT WE DID GIVEN WHAT WAS GOING ON

  Rabbi Meyorwitz’s brother came running into his office, out of breath, disheveled, his black robes caked in sweat, clay, and blood. His yarmulke was missing. His eyes were panicked, face white. Heartbeat erratic, fast. He was yammering on about something, tears flowing as if from the mighty Ephraities itself. The rabbi tried to calm him, repeated his question, this time in English.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I didn’t get it right!”

  “Didn’t get what right?”

  He had spent all night long working on the golem so that they would have protection for the synagogue during the Bar Mitzvah.

  In times of need it was believed that the Jewish people, one of the proper know-how, could bring about the Golem. It was their time of need. The brothers had agreed after the vandals had attacked their synagogue for the umpteenth time, they would call upon the force of G-d for help.

  “I tried carving the letter Aleph in his head but…”

  “But… what?”

  “—I was supposed to go down when I accidentally sneezed—I told you it was too dusty in that basement for the ceremony!—and my finger went up! Oh my god, my finger went up!

  “So?”

  “So it wasn’t the letter Aleph. I also sneezed when I did it.”

  “You sneezed?”

  “It was dusty, brother. You need to a better job cleaning. It didn’t hurt to that that bulb kept winking in and out.”

  “Okay, enough. What the heck happened? What did you carve into the creatures head?”

  “Well, I tried to mash it back into place and fix it but the clay had dried too much. It was so dark in the basement.

  “What happened—?”

  “I guess… perhaps it looked like a Pentagram?”

  “Vey is mir! We’re doomed!”

  “David, please!”

  “I knew we should have gone to the police.”

  Sobbing.

  “You schmuck!”

  He raised his fist at his brother, the rabbi, but it didn’t matter.

  “Look out!”

  In that instant the door to the office flew across the room and struck David Meyerwitz where he sat, struck him cold, lifeless.

  Rabbi Meyerwitz slowly backed against the wall, his entire body trembling. He didn’t scream, not even when the creature opened his head like a coconut and began to slurp his brains.

  OUTSIDE THE SYNAGOGUE I WATCHED THE RETURN OF SOME SERIOUS ZEALOTS

  I waited in the parking lot, playing my weight from one foot to the other. I had loosened my tie and had my hands in my pockets. I thought I looked cool. I probably didn’t. I probably looked like some loser kid hanging out in the parking lot during his Bar Mitzvah celebration.

  I had not returned to the party nor did I have any intention of doing so. Yes, it was my party, but more in my honor, than in my wanting to be there. I mean, I was being subjected to the will of others and partaking in the traditions of my ancestors (whom I didn’t particularly know).

  Did no one ever stop to think of this as an outdated ritual?

  I had to be by myself. I had to think.

  As a man of major proportions, I needed some alone time to really figure out exactly what had just happened. It was my duty, my right.

  Unfortunately I didn’t get my wish. I really couldn’t have anything my way this day.

  The hubbub started in the parking lot. Engine roars caromed off the parked cars. They hurm hurmed as they drew closer. It was only when they came within sight that I spotted them for what they were: a cavalcade of grumbling Harleys.

  Great. I had a feeing I knew who these guys were. We all did. Knew a lot more about them now too. I got the information from a source at school who had an older brother in high school who knew about these guys and said they were trouble. They were a group of high school dropouts who modeled themselves off the Hell’s Angels, but they called themselves the Hell’s Angles, because the leader, Kirk Winters, a.k.a. Murderface, had had all their leather jackets spelled wrong (being a dropout meant not having certain skills) and they couldn’t afford to purchase another set of leather jackets for everyone, so they stuck with the name. That’s one way to cover up a mistake.

  Notorious trouble-makers, they hucked rocks through windows, toilet papered homes and spray-painted objectionable material on sacred ground, such as the swastika they had introduced to the parking lot weeks ago.

  I quickly made my way behind a Suburu stationwagon and tried to watch what they were up to. If Mom had only let me have a cell phone that recorded video I’d get them in action and then we’d have a case on our hands. I peeked out at them over the hood of the car.

  They vurmed and swerved and motored around in the parking lot, almost as if they were doing donuts in the asphalt. They finally drifted to a stop, kickstands coming out. A few dismounted from their bikes. They began to go car to car banging on the hoods, in one case smashing a window.

  Distracted by the motorcycles earlier, I failed to notice that the station wagon was bouncing up and down, also squeaking. I nervously rose back up and looked in through the window’s fog of sweat. There were two people inside hugging and kissing. I recognized them too! My Hebrew School teacher, Sandra Green, and the handyman, Paul Ettinger. Shouldn’t they have been working my Bar Mitzvah? They picked an unfortunate time to neck in someone’s car.

  “Oh no,” I said, under my breadth.

  I ducked back down.

  I didn’t know how or why I knew, but I sensed there was going to be trouble. I tried to crawl around the car. I needed to get out of here. Panic coming on strong, my asthma tried to outrun me. I fumbled for my inhaler, slipped under the station wagon and fed my lungs to keep calm.

  The biker gang made their way to the car, getting louder, more boisterous. I heard the window break. Saw a tire-iron dangling down.

  “Wells well,” said a kid in
ponytail and sunglasses, hair the color of orange Gatorade. Kirk Winters. Leader. He looked like an ape, a skinny one. “Yo, what have we here? What up, bitches?”

  He leaned into the broken window, careful of the shards.

  “Why don’t you both come out of the car so we can have a proper introduction? We didn’t mean to interrupt you. We just saw this Hebrew school and thought you guys might have some money. So come on out and we can talk. Oh yeah, say Shalom.”

  “Don’t! Please don’t!” shrieked Sandy.

  “Why not?”

  “There’s a Bar Mitzvah inside. There are children.”

  Children? I’m a man!

  “Well, I’m here to get some protection money. You guys pay us and we leave you alone. Something to show me I know you Jews aren’t cheap and we leave the place be, but you look in no condition to pay me anything.”

  Sandy and Paul were dragged out of the car and, from the look of things, they were given time to straighten out their clothing. Get a room next time! Before they went anywhere Paul took off running, huffing it.

  Nobody went after him.

  “Real brave man.”

  Sandy was crying.

  “You like him?”

  She nodded.

  “Guess you don’t anymore.”

  He laughed.

  Then he tilted her head up.

  “What’s a broad like you doing with a loser like that?”

  She didn’t say anything, just sobbed.

  “So you said there was a party going on inside.” He got some whoops from his gang. “You ought to invite us all in. It’ll be fun. We haven’t been to a party in a while. Now what’s this Bar Mitzvah thing?”

  “It’s when a boy becomes a man.”

  They laughed, all of them.

  “I got to go check this out then. Follow me, bitches.”

  “No, no please don’t! This isn’t right.”

  “Lotsa things ain’t right chicky-baby. Don’t mean I care. Ha, ha ha ha.”

  AFTER THEY LEFT I CROUCHED THERE THE SILENT HERO TYPE CONTEMPLATING WHAT TO DO

  I crawled out from under the car wanting to crap my pants. My schoolmates, my family and people I barely knew (and probably in some cases didn’t like) were all inside. They were all in danger.

  I could run away, but that’s not what I was going to do. But what could I do other than warn them?

  I knew where the back entrance was. I started to run, really hard.

  WHAT I HAPPENED UPON AND WAS NOT EXPECTING

  I ran around the building and found my legs pumping harder than I thought they were capable of. They were really chugging. When I looked down I saw a blur of movement. I was scared. This was serious. These Jew legs were going to take me far and fast. I made it around past the dining area where the exit was where the janitors took out the trash. I started racing in when all of a sudden I heard glass breaking. Startled, I turned to see where that was and couldn’t place the sound, but then I heard screams filling the hallways. It was the sound of terror, worse than anything I could have expected.

  I stumbled into the celebration area and saw all my friends and family there confronted by Kirk Winters. He tossed Sandy Green towards them like a rag doll. He began to pace the little area that was the dance floor.

  “Hell alls you fellow people,” he shouted. He bumped Cantor Stein out of the way, taking his microphone.

  “We’re not afraid of you.”

  He shoved him to the ground.

  Two of his biker cohorts circled over him to make sure he wouldn’t give any more trouble. One was a girl about five six with pinked spiked hair Mohawk and nose rings. The other was a big, and I mean big guy with a mafia boss type body and a thick disheveled beard.

  “Yes, you are.” He paused. “So my gang the Hells Angles.”

  “Don’t you mean angels?” someone shouted out.

  “No, I don’t, it’s angles.”

  “Boss, I thought we were the angels?”

  “Shut up, Buzz.”

  He sheepishly demurred.

  “Nows back to all of you. I understand you are having a celebration with me and my fellas and ladies. We just wanted to drop in and have a little fun with you all. Namely we want something to drink, eat, and wouldn’t mind donations for our cause—this being a house of worship you must have a donation tin somewhere. Donate to us and we leave you alone. Don’t, and I can’t promise what comes next.”

  “Go away, you losers.”

  “Who said that?”

  Grandpa! Crap! Things were going from bad to worse.

  “Come over here old man, and I’ll kick your ass.”

  Before anything happened, there was a sigh, almost of relief when folks saw Rabbi Meyerwitz hobbling his way towards the scene. I was worried about what he was going to do. He was just an old man himself.

  “Thank goodness you are here,” said Cantor Stein, standing up. “These men are out of line and you must do something. Get the police, rabbi.”

  The rabbi lifted his head and his yellow eyes shone like dagger points. His mouth opened and drool escaped out of it, dropping to the floor. The way it dropped made it seem almost as if when it hit the ground it began to burn, but this was not the case. He then looked up, gave some primal, guttural moan, and moved forward and took hold of Cantor Stein. This was where things got really strange. He pressed his face into the cantor’s neck and bit him. He held on for a long while rearing his head back and forth like a dog with a bone. Cantor Stein sank to his knees howling and then to the ground spread-eagled. The rabbi kept munching.

  We all stared in shock. Even Kirk Winters and the Hell’s Angles seemed unsure what to make of it all. Then the rabbi stood up, and there were few among us that didn’t yelp. He was dripping in blood. The screams didn’t kick to life though until Cantor Stein all of sudden sat up, his arms held out in front of him. He climbed to his feet and began to moan.

  “Holy spit!” someone yelled out, and then pandemonium broke.

  The room, as one, began to run. Then when two figures appeared stumbling at the door way, the as one part of that, fell apart. People began to scatter in all directions. I didn’t get far in that mess before I saw a handful of people from my class running towards me. Some of them tripped and fell. Getting back up, they were being trammeled upon.

  I saw Laura Moody. My breath stopped. Even while running with a look of deformed terror on her face, she was beautiful. I was so struck by her beauty I didn’t think to help her up from the floor when she face-planted. Then I did.

  She had tears in her eyes, looked as if she had seen a ghost, not a biker gang. She was babbling, blubbering.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “Ugly monsters! E-everywhere.”

  “No, it’s just a biker gang.”

  She shook her head rapidly.

  “I pissed my leg!”

  I couldn’t tell but there was a strange smell coming from her. I hoped she didn’t. That took away any romantic notions I had of her. Plus, she was clinging to me in mortal terror. I could barely get her off me so that we could run. Finally I pried her away, took her hand, and insisted on her coming with me. She did. Maybe I’d scored points for bravery. We pushed through throngs of guests, limbs flying into vision and away and then back and away again. It was a horrifying mess.

  She was right.

  Ugly monsters…

  Scaly, flesh-peeled creatures ambled around the room gnawing on friends and family. One of these creatures was on top of the table bent over a body that was smashed into my celebration cake and chewing amiably at the neck. When his fleshless visage came up, it met my eyes. I saw the strange letter carved in the creature’s head. This thing was huge too. At least seven feet tall, if not bigger. It looked like a real monster, but I had always thought Frankenstein was make-believe.

  Of course this could have been Satan for all I knew.

  Laura sniffled and then buried her face in my arm.

  Kirk Winters ran up to me screaming li
ke a schoolgirl.

  “Outta my way!” he squealed.

  He barreled through, knocking us over. He stopped when one of those man-things blocked his path. He schoolgirl-screamed again.

  “What a jerk,” I said, helping Laura up.

  “They’re everywhere!” he said, running back in my direction.

  He grabbed the two of us and began to push us forward, towards the zombies.

  “Knock it off!” I said and knocked his arm away.

  He let go. “You’re dead,” he said, pointing at me. “You are so dead.”

  He made a fist, and was about to throw it in my face, when a deformed hand landed on his shoulder and pulled him backwards. I saw him put his foot to the creature who I recognized as my former science teacher Monique Patterson and shoved her over. He screamed as high pitched as I’d ever heard anybody scream and then ran in the other direction.

  He somehow found the time to extend his middle finger at me as he was running and crying.

  “What a wuss,” said Laura.

  “I know, you’d think the leader of a motorcycle gang would have more to him than that.”

  “Well, what now?”

  “Well, we’re Jews. We’re good at surviving. Let’s go find my family and figure this whole thing out.”

  She just looked at me and kind of smiled. It was a smile laced with fear. Damnit, we were screwed.

  MY UNFORTUNATE FAMILY REUNION AND THE TIME I PICKED TO SUDDENLY DECLARE I HAD A GIRLFRIEND