J. Gonzalez - Back From The Dead

“Tell me again what you did.”

Gordon backtracked a bit and related how he’d read over the passages from Back From the Dead where the houngan in the story resurrects the corpse of an ally for use in an upcoming battle with an enemy. The passage itself wasn’t very long, but it was enough to mix fact with fantasy to paint a very vivid, realistic picture. “I just gathered the stuff that’s mentioned in the book. Those roots and herbs I got at Madam Crosswell’s in Lancaster. I got the candles and salt and purchased a rabbit at Mill’s Pet Store in Hempfield. And then I went to Zuck’s Woods and found a nice secluded spot and just did the spell, the one that hung…how do you pronounce that?”

“Houngan,” Tim said, carefully enunciating the words.

“Right. I just followed how he did that spell in the book, the one that consecrates the ground for use in a ritual designed to raise the dead. It was kinda hard because it was dark and I had to keep looking from the book to what I was doing. Some of the words were hard to pronounce, so I just did it the best I could. In fact, the rest of that spell is just plain gibberish. I skipped that part and just recited the stuff in English — ”

“You skipped some of it?”

“Yeah. Why?” Gordon looked at Tim as if he’d done something wrong.

What are you going to tell him now? That skipping over parts of a make-believe spell, from a make-believe book, might have altered the spell he was trying to conjure ? Tim knew enough about the occult from his scant reading of it to know that rituals and formulas had to be followed precisely. Any deviation could alter the effects of the spell drastically. He kept this to himself. No need to tell Gordon, especially when he was having a hard time coming to grips with Gordon’s story.

“So you consecrated the ground and then the next night you brought Neal’s body back and did the resurrecting spell,” Tim said, choosing his words carefully. “Did you deviate from it at all?”

“No. Some of the words were hard to pronounce so I might have…skimmed over some of them.” Gordon looked frustrated. “You think I fucked it up by mispronouncing them?”

“I don’t know.” Tim’s mind was racing. He still didn’t know what to make of this, but he had to keep Gordon on his side. Had to maintain Gordon’s trust. After all, Gordon had come to him for help. “It sounds like everything worked, though.”

“So how do we get it to unwork?” Gordon asked. “Is there a spell in the book to counteract what I did?”

“No,” Tim said. It was obvious from that last question that Gordon had not read Back From the Dead in its entirety.

“So what can we do?”

“What can we do?”

“Yeah.” Gordon was looking at him expectantly. “You’ve gotta help me, Tim.”

“To be honest, I’m having a hard time believing this.”

“Would it help if I showed you?”

“You can show me?”

“Yeah. I can take you to Scott’s place. Sneak you in the back.”

“I don’t know…” Tim’s instincts were screaming don’t trust him! It’s a gag !

“I can take you tonight. Scott’s going out with Rebecca, and his parents either won’t be home or won’t notice. It’ll be a quick sneak into their yard, a peek through the door, and you’ll have all the proof you need.”

It still didn’t sit right with Tim. He tried not to let his nervousness show. “I don’t know. I’m kinda on house arrest now since…you know.”

“We can do it real late at night,” Gordon said, and now his expression changed. It became more animated, more persuasive. “I know you want to put this whole thing behind you and maybe…maybe this can be the thing that’ll do it.”

“How would my going over to the Bradfield estate, and seeing what you’re telling me are zombies, help?”

“You’re having a hard time believing what I’m telling you, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’ve got to see them. If you see them, you’ll believe me.”

“Okay, say everything you tell me is true, and by this time tomorrow I’m a believer. Then what? How am I supposed to help you outside of calling the police?”

Gordon’s enthusiasm faltered. “You don’t want to do that, Tim.”

“Why not? I thought you wanted help.”

“I want to help myself get out of this. That means ending the spell, ending Scott’s insanity, so he won’t do this again.”

“You think he’s going to try it again? Kill another homeless person, bury them in Zuck’s Woods and make another zombie?”

“Yes.”

Tim contemplated this. Gordon still spoke with the air of somebody who was deadly serious and not joking around. Still, the very idea of what Gordon was insinuating just wasn’t very believable. “You think I can stop it somehow?”

“If you see, you’ll believe that what I’m telling you is the truth. And maybe that’ll help you find a spell to stop this.”

Why the hell do you think I’ll know a spell to stop this? I’m not the fucking devil-worshipper you and your idiotic friends have made me out to be! I wouldn’t know the first thing about casting a spell ! Of course, saying this would be useless. Gordon not only believed Back From the Dead was real, he believed black magic was real.

And with that thought, something tugged at him.

Suppose some of it was real?

Tim had a healthy interest in the supernatural. He was fascinated by it. The romanticism of life after death was highly intriguing, and part of him wished there was some merit to his spirit living on after death. He had no solid belief in any form of organized religion. While the idea of ghosts, of spirits, of some form of supernatural power that could be used for good or evil purposes was intriguing and held his interest, he pretty much rejected all concepts of a supreme diety that ruled from the sky. That didn’t mean he’d slammed the door entirely on that particular school of thought, just that he’d pretty much rejected all the traditional dogma of Judeo-Christian thought.

But that didn’t mean he’d rejected everything entirely.

“I’ve gotta be honest with you,” Tim said, choosing his words carefully. “I’m finding this hard to believe, and even if I did see what you’re…alleging is true…I don’t know how I can help. I don’t know much about the occult and black magic, just what I’ve read in horror novels and a few non-fiction accounts. I’m no expert.”

Gordon acted as if he hadn’t heard Tim. “Let me spell it out for you. You have to help me out of this. If you do, I can help get the Dean of the school off your case and I can persuade the police to drop their investigation of you and your friends in that grave-robbing thing. I can also ensure that nothing like that happens to you guys again.”

Tim felt his face flush with anger. “I’ve listened to enough.” He rose to his feet. “You’re going to have to go now, Gordon.”

Gordon didn’t budge from his space on the sofa. “If you don’t help me I’ll make it worse for you.”

“How are you going to make it worse?”

“I kept some of the bones from that corpse I dug up. I planted some last night in your garden while you were asleep.”

“Bullshit!”

“Wanna try me? Say no to my offer now, the minute I leave I’m calling the police and leaving an anonymous call that the remainder of that corpse is buried in your garden. They’ll find it, too. They’ve got a hard-on for you, Tim. It won’t take much for me to get them out here.”

“You’re full of shit!” Tim got up and strode to the kitchen. He looked out the window that overlooked the garden his mom had tended ever since they’d moved in, the one where she planted tomatoes, beans, turnips, and red peppers every year.