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November 2008

Comet Press open for submissions

Our print division, Comet Press, is currently accepting submissions for horror, suspense, and dark crime novels and novellas. Visit www.cometpress.us for details.

Available for order from Comet Press

DEADLINES: AN ANTHOLOGY OF HORROR AND DARK FICTION, will be released in November of 2008! Visit www.cometpress.us

Searching for Dr. Harlow
by Michael A. Kechula

“Do you believe in zombies?” I asked Winston Dithers, a private detective.

“About as much as the Tooth Fairy,” he replied.”

“My fiancee, Dr. Helen Harlow, believes they exist. She took a sabbatical from the university and went to Haiti to find one.”

Dither’s chuckled. “A zombie hunter, eh? What’s she gonna do if she finds one?”

“Bring it back here to Chicago to conduct experiments. She has this wild idea that it will somehow put her on the path to winning a Nobel Prize. Look, I feel the same way you do about zombies. I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn’t listen. We had a terrible argument. So, I figured I’d let her go and get it out of her system. I got emails from her several times a day until two weeks ago. Then, nothing. I’m worried that something terrible’s happened to her.”

“Maybe she realized she was on a wild goose chase, changed her plans, and went on vacation somewhere.”

“No way. She would have told me. Look, I love her. We’re supposed to get married in a few months.”

“Have you checked with the U.S. Embassy?” Dithers asked.

“I sent inquiries to them and the Haitian government, but neither claims to know her whereabouts. Do you think you can find her? I’ll pay you ten thousand plus expenses. A thousand right now, and the balance when you bring her back.”

Dithers agreed. We signed a contract stipulating that he was to give me daily progress reports. On the third day of his search, he sent me a note saying it was hopeless, that he was returning without her.

Upon his return, he phoned and expressed his regrets for not finding her. “The few people who knew of her said she disappeared. The people at her hotel said she never officially checked out. The concierge pointed me to a chambermaid named Bahody who cleaned Helen’s room. Interviewing her was a waste of time. All she’d talk about was zombies and how they kidnap people who venture out at night. I kept running into dead ends and a bunch of superstitious jerks. That’s one hell of a weird place. I’m glad I’m home.”

Feeling desperate, I decided to look for her myself. I took two week’s vacation from my engineering job, bought a plane ticket, and flew to Haiti.

I’ve been to a lot of weird places in the world, but none have ever made me feel so creepy. Something about the atmosphere seemed unholy. Ethereal sounds of jungle drums rode on humid breezes, fading in and out. Wretches meandered aimlessly, looking stupefied. Weird voodoo symbols festered on graffiti-covered walls. For the first time since I was a kid, I found myself getting the willies.

Nevertheless, I got to work immediately. I showed Helen’s photo to taxi drivers and street vendors. Everyone shrugged indifferently.

I headed to Hotel Balzac where Helen had stayed. As soon as I arrived, I asked for Bahody, the chambermaid.

“Who are you?” Bahody asked.

“Ed Walsh. Her fiancé. I’m sure she mentioned me.”

“Many times. She’s crazy in love with you. But it’s too late for love. Take my advice, Mr. Walsh. Go home. Forget her. She’s gone forever.”

“What the hell are you talking about—gone forever?”

“You can look from now until doomsday. You’ll never find her.”

“How can you say such a thing?”

“It’s not me who says it. My sister speaks to voodoo gods. They told her Dr. Harlow is lost forever. Zombies stole her.”

“Nonsense. Zombies don’t exist.”

“Is that what they taught you in America? If so, they teach lies.”

“Zombies are nothing more than characters from overactive imaginations,” I said. “They were invented to scare people into complying with laws, especially in remote villages where police are nonexistent. Chances are, people won’t molest kids, rape women, or kidnap if they think they’ll be turned into zombies when caught. Haiti isn’t the only place in the world where phony tales control the population through fear. I could name a dozen other nations that have legends just as goofy. Hey, it works. I’m all for law and order. Call them zombies, vampires, werewolves, or whatever. Keeps people home at night and off the streets. The more scared they are, the less likely they are to commit crimes.”

“That’s not what Dr. Harlow, believes. She’s a very intelligent woman who knows the truth about zombies.”

“OK…let’s say zombies kidnapped her. Where would they have grabbed her? Is there a place in the city where zombies prowl?”

“There’s not just one place. Zombies are everywhere in Haiti.”

Realizing I’d get nowhere with such an uneducated woman, I tried a different approach. Pulling a fifty from my wallet, I laid it on a table. “Tell me what happened the last night you saw her.”

Grabbing the money, she said, “It was the night of the full moon. The air was foul. The drums spoke of doom. I begged her not to walk to Café Blanc alone. She wouldn’t listen.”

“Why did she go there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is it?”

“Don’t go there,” she said. “You’ll lose your soul.”

“My soul? When will this lunacy end? Zombies. Souls. Stop talking nonsense and tell me how to get to Café Blanc!”

“No. It’s an unholy place. Even rats die when they get too close.”

“Then I’ll get directions from the concierge.”

“If you must go,” she said, “take this for protection.” She tried to push a small, black, red-eyed statue into my hand.

I called her a stupid, superstitious woman and stormed out.

A waiter at Café Blanc remembered Helen. “She drank much rum with a voodoo priest, a dangerous man from Destrudo. They left together.”

“Where’s Destrudo?”

“In the jungle. They say it’s a terrible place with zombies and terrifying voodoo ceremonies.”

I couldn’t find anyone who’d risk driving me anywhere near Destrudo.

“Perhaps Mobu will take you,” someone whispered. “They say he’s from Destrudo. A strange man who talks slowly like a zombie. Some say he’s husband of a white zombie. There he is now.”

I approached his battered jeep. Waving twenty dollars, I said, “I hear there’s a white woman in Destrudo. Take me to her.”

“You…not…fear…to…ride…in…dark…with…zombie?” he asked with breath reeking of jungle rot.

“Save the baloney for gullible tourists,” I said boarding the jeep.

“You…not…believe…me…zombie?”

“Nope. Let’s go. I don’t have all night.”

“Foolish…American,” he mumbled.

I snickered at his ludicrous words and slow speech.

Ten minutes later, I was on the verge of screaming. While driving manically through jungle paths, his skin took on a greenish glow. Before I could jump from the jeep, he slammed the brakes.

“White…woman…there,” she said, pointing to a jungle clearing.

Something with a greenish glow approached. It had Helen’s face!

“Helen,” I called. “It’s me. Ed.”

Moaning, she approached and touched my face. Her fingers were icy. Their stench sickened me.

When I tried to grab her to put her in the jeep, her putrid teeth ripped flesh from my cheek. The pain was horrendous. I tried to get away, but tripped.

Suddenly, Helen and Mobu were biting my face and growling like mad dogs.

I don’t know how I broke loose. I raced through the jungle like a madman until I blacked out. I’m not sure how I got back to the city.

* * *

Since that horrible night in Haiti, my cheeks have dripped pus continuously. Modern medicines can’t stop the flow.

Many shamans have exorcised me. I’ve sacrificed countless chickens to voodoo gods. I’ve consumed putrid, hoodoo potions. But nothing heals my wounds, or stops Helen and Mobu from invading my dreams and feasting on my flesh while I sleep.

Yesterday, I woke up hemorrhaging. The fingers of my right hand were gone!

I don’t wanna die. Please help me. I’ll pay anything.