By M. L. Erwin & T. J. Scott

Victor was a bit fed up.  He checked his watch.  It was five-thirty.  The ceremony would start at seven.  Ceremony, he thought.  Ever since high school every nerd male and female had hung together starting their own occult.  In Clearsprings, Texas, there wasn’t much else to do, especially for the outcast students.  The town was small, population three thousand.  Oddly enough not many people left for the city.  Your parents got old and you took over whatever shitty job they were doing.  For Victor is was running the local furniture store.  He looked at his fingernails.  They were painted black.  At their ceremonies they wore expensive black robes and odd type of jewelry.  Occasionally they sacrificed a cat or a chicken.  That’s as violent as things got.  They chanted and recited spells in Greek, but no devil ever appeared.  They bought expensive potions and more spells, but nothing ever happened.  Tonight he was supposed to go get a small jar of graveyard dirt from a fresh grave.  Luckily Mrs. Edwards had died.  It was Winter and the sun was already down.  He cut on his lights and pulled into the graveyard.  As he glanced up he thought he saw a figure.  Driving along a little further he saw it again.  A nude woman, as white as paper, strolling through the graveyard.

A zombie maybe, he thought.  Hell, what was he saying?  There were no zombies, ghosts or vampires.  There was only death, taxes, Bush, and the war.  Those were the only things real in this day and time.  He saw her again.  Maybe one of their local rivals put the girl up to it.  Maybe it was the guys in the occult with him, playing a joke.  That couldn’t be.  Those guys couldn’t get an eighty year old woman to drop her drawers.

He followed her, getting out of his car.  What if it wasn’t a joke?  Maybe she was some crazy drifter?  Besides his normal curiosity his male urges insisted he check her out.  The woman finally came to a stop sitting on Mrs. Edwards’ grave.  Victor hid behind a large stone.  Slowly the girl turned her head his direction.

“You come here,” she said.

Victor froze.  For a moment he just stared at her.  She was an Albino.  Everything on her was white.  In the darkness her eyes looked eerie.

“You come over here.  I need your help.”

Slowly Victor approached her.  She was pretty, but her face was fixed in an odd type grimace.  All her teeth were displayed, but she really wasn’t smiling.

“What’s your name?” she asked, and this time maybe she was smiling.

“Victor.  What’s yours?”

“Porsha.  Come here.”

He knelt beside her.  Goose bumps spread all over his body.

She picked up a fistful of the fresh dirt.  “I need you to feed this to me.”

“What for?”

Her eyes looked into his.  She was an Albino.  She had to be, but he’d never seen one this white.

“Feed me this dirt so I can live.”

He’d always wanted to experience eerie.  Now that it was in front of him, he was more than a bit afraid.

“Feed it to me so I can live, then we can have fun.”

He didn’t have to ask what kind of fun she was talking about.  He read it in her eyes.  He picked up a fist full of dirt and started feeding it to her.

“More, feed me more of it.”

She seemed to shake and chuckle.  The more dirt she ate the more lively she became.

“It’s good and it’s fresh.”

The mental institution.  She’d escaped from the mental institution.  That would explain her bouncy demeanor.

“Ouch.”

She bit his finger and it was bleeding.

Before he could pull it back she grabbed it and started sucking it.

“Blood, I need blood, too, especially yours.  Our souls are linked.”

He felt a bit dizzy as she sucked his fingers.

“Why do you say that?”

“You were drawn to me.  Our souls linked together, that’s why I was able to rise.  It’s like I’m now your wife.  More dirt, give me more dirt.”

He had begun to feel strangely comfortable with her.  He put the dirt in her mouth, but now he did it seductively.  She wrapped her tongue around his fingers and licked between them.  She chuckled and he found himself laughing with her.  The clouds passed over the moon and they sat in darkness.  He could still see her because of her white skin.  She touched his crotch and laid flat on Marsie Edwards’ grave.

Their bodies joined and their lips.  He half expected her to suck the life from him, turning him into a walking skeleton.  That or bite his neck, turning him into a vampire.  Nothing happened except good sex.  Her flesh was hard but smooth.  When they finished she smiled at him, her teeth full of dirt.  The institution thoughts returned briefly.

“I’ve got to be at a meeting.  Where are your clothes?”

“They rotted away a long time ago.  You know that.”

“Yeah, sure.  Well, I got my ceremonial robe in the car.  You can wear that.”

She stood up abruptly and he got the sense she was amazingly quick.

“So I’ll be the Queen of our little occult.  Really, we don’t need them.”

“Who?”

“The other members.  They don’t have any power.  Only we possess any power.  We have the power,” she giggled.  “Let’s go.”

They ran to his car.  She was as excited as a small child.  But the skill in which she made love to him let him know she was no child.

“I knew you had a car like this.  You like black or red cars.”

“How did you know that?”

“Because we’re as one.”  She put her feet up on his dashboard.  “Do you like my toes?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty.”

”When I clean them up they’ll look even better.  You like women’s toes and you like big butts.  I’m skinny, but my butt is big.  See?  Feel.”

She spun around exposing her backside.  He grabbed a handful and she laughed.  He noticed she stayed turned around, staring at the older part of the cemetery that had been closed.

“That section’s closed, been closed for years.”

“I know.  That’s where I came from.  It feels so good to be out.”

That was it in his mind.  She had to be crazy.  He couldn’t take her home with him no matter how good she was at sex.  Besides, the police were probably looking for her.

“Look, where do you want to go?”

Slowly she turned her head toward him.  For the first time she was not smiling.  “I’m with you.”

“The police are looking for you.  This is a small town but you’ll surely be noticed here.”

`”No police are looking for me.  I belong to you now.  We’re both out.  We’re free.  I’m the whore you’ve always wanted.  Spiked heels and tight dresses and makeup, somebody you can fuck any time, any place.  I’m what you’ve been asking for.”

He shifted in his seat.  He didn’t want to appear afraid of her.  “Calm down.”  His voice cracked.  She looked evil, her brows bent.  He felt like she had the power to rip him apart if she desired.  “Take it easy.  We’re together.  I’ve just never met anyone like you.”

“There’s not many like me, at least not in Texas.”

“Oh?  Where are you from?”

“Cuba, but we moved to New Orleans when I was a very little girl.”

She turned her face to him and she looked old.  “Did you know I was once a little girl?”

“Sure.  Everybody was a child at one time.”

“I wasn’t.  Not for very long.”

Her sadness made her look sinister.  “Hey, cheer up.  Like you said, you’re out now.”

“That’s true and it’s all because of you.”

“Really?  How?”

“You wished for me.  You wished for me so strong that I felt it in the grave.  You gave me power and strength and I will give you my power.  And I have a lot of power.”

He cut the radio on and she stared at it.

“Music.  I like music.”

“You do?  What kind?”

There was a song playing.  She began to move her shoulders and girate, her feet on the dashboard.  She began working her hips in a circular motion.  She wasn’t in rhythm with the song on the radio.  She was moving to her own tune.  She mumbled something in 18^th century Cajun, some type of bayou lingo.  Victor was having trouble breathing and steering the car.  Women have been saying for centuries men are dogs.  Well, Porsha or whatever her real name was, was bringing out the dog in him.  He stopped the car on the side of the road and they made love like wild beasts.  He tried to drive her through the car seat.  She met him with the same intensity.  Afterwards he was spent.  She smiled at him.  Her small gappy teeth displayed.  She rubbed herself.  “Did you like that?” she hissed.

“Very much so,” he said out of breath.  “Listen, at the meeting say I picked you up hitchhiking.  Okay?”

“Sure.  You can’t tell people you came from a grave,”  She turned to him.  There was a little bit of foam at both corners of her mouth.

“They might think you were crazy.”

“Right, right.  We wouldn’t want them to think that.”

They held their meeting in a small cabin.  They’d spent years decorating it in gothic horror.

“Is this where you all meet?”

“Yes.”

They held hands and he slapped her ass hard, almost knocking her over.  She looked at him.  He had a wicked smile on his face, one she approved of.  She bent her knees and he slapped her again, this time even harder.  Five, six, seven slaps.  She was twisting her butt and he was sweating.  He caught his breath and pointed at the side of the cabin.  “Over there.  Hurry.”

Inside, the group chanted in a circle.  On the floor was a hexigon.  Sam thought he heard something.  He excused himself and went to the other room.  It took him a minute to get a fix on where the noise was coming from.  He looked out the curtain and right into the face of madness.  Her white wavy hair was rocking.  She was laughing through barred teeth.  Thick foam littered both corners of her mouth.  Her eyes were on fire.  Sam looked at Victor and he looked almost as mad as he drove his body into hers with amazing force.

Fernando walked into the room.  “What’s all the noise?”

“Go back into the other room.  I’ll take care of it.”

Sam sneaked out the house.  He was sure the mad woman saw him in the window.  He caught the tail end of their lust.  She shook and trembled and the words that escaped her lips were more eerie than any Linda Blair had uttered in the Exorcist.

“Victor, are you okay?”

He put Porsha’s robe on, then turned to Sam.  “I’m fine.  This is Porsha.  She’s a new member.”

“We’ll have to talk about that.”

Porsha fixed him with her eyes and a chill shot up Sam’s spine.  On the way in she whispered in Victor’s ear.

“He’s a fake.  He’s afraid.  He’s afraid of real power.  He doesn’t want to be unclean.”

Inside, Victor introduced her to the group.  “This is Arthur, Sam, Fernando, Cora, Brenda, and Deloris.  Everybody, this is Porsha.”

They stared at her and she looked at them.

“Did you bring the graveyard dirt?” Cora asked.

“I’m sorry.  I forgot.”

An eerie snicker escaped Porsha’s lips.  She opened her mouth and a rush of black dirt and rocks rushed out.  She caught it in her hands and presented it to the group.  “Here’s some.”

Victor was their unspoken leader.  Most of the time anything he’d say they gladly agreed to.  They made it clear they wanted no part of Porsha.  Victor went back into the other room to get her.  At first he wasn’t sure what he was seeing.  She sat in front of the fireplace, her feet placed directly in the flames.

“What are you doing?”  He rushed over to her and pulled her away.  “Are you all right?”  There were no signs of any burns on her feet.

“I was cold.  I’m okay.  They don’t want me, do they?”

“I’ll talk to them again tomorrow.”

“They’re not real.  They want to pretend to be different.  Buy hexagons, kill a chicken or two, but really they’re just like everybody else.”  She stared at him.  “We’re different.  Don’t you forget that.  We’re different.”

“I won’t.  Let’s go.”

Inside the car she went right after him.  He rested his head as tiredness and pleasure seemed to overtake his body.  When he awoke he could see it was morning.  He’d slept all night.  There was an odd smell and he heard a smacking noise.  Slowly he turned his head.  Her mouth and hands were covered with thick red blood.  Victor could hear his heart beating.  He turned his head.  Everybody’s car was still parked where it had been last night.

“They were weak.  They wanted to play pretend games.  We have the power.”

For a moment he thought of going inside.  But he knew what he’d find.  He started the car and sped away.  “Why’d you do it?”

“They were weak.  They’re better off.”  She was chewing something and Victor let out a scream.  He pulled to the side of the road.  She quickly licked her fingers and put her hand inside his shirt.  “You thought of killing them a million times.  We don’t need them.”

His hands were shaking as he gripped the steering wheel.  “The police will question me first.  They’ll wonder how I escaped.”

“They don’t know what’s inside you.  They wouldn’t think you capable of such a crime.”

“I’m not capable.”

“So you miss them?”

He looked at her.  There were traces of blood around her lips.  Slowly he leaned toward her.  He began licking the blood from around her mouth.  They kissed.

“Take me to your house, but stop by the graveyard first.”

“For what?”

“I need some more dirt.  When they bury Arthur and the rest I need dirt from each of their graves.”

“Why?”

“Every soul I possess makes me stronger.”

She kissed him, her tongue lapping inside his mouth.  He noticed it was cold.

By 11 a.m. the Sheriff and the Minister were at his house.  Bill Tate spit tobacco on the grass.  “Well, Preacher, that’s six souls you weren’t able to save.”

“I know.”

“Let’s see how this last nut managed to escape.”

Victor answered the door..  “Hello, son.  Can we come in?”

Victor was nervous.  “Sure.  What’s happened?”

“Who says anything has happened?”

“Then why are you here with a Minister?”

“Your occult members are all dead.”

“What?”

“You heard me.  I’m thinking having their necks broke and having their brains eaten wasn’t part of any ceremony, was it?”

“Their brains were eaten?”

“That’s what I said.  Their heads chopped open with an ax and their brains eaten.  Would you happen to know if they knew any zombies?”

“Sheriff, they were Victor’s friends.  There’s no humor in their deaths.”

“Preacher, I got to find who killed them.  And believe it or not I didn’t exactly go to college to get this shitty job.  So Victor, you know any zombies?”

“No.  No, I do not.”

“Who’s she?”

Porsha was coming down the stairs dressed in one of his long shirts.  “Oh, I…”

“Victor and I are married.  My name’s Porsha.”

“I guess this explains why you weren’t at the cabin.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can I see the marriage license?”

“There was no official ceremony.  We got married by a grand wizard in Houston.”

“Can I have his name?”

“What is this, Bill?  Am I a suspect?”

“Maybe.”

Bill smiled.  “Hell, no, but this things all over the news.  It’s just me and two deputies on the force.  We got a detective big wig coming down from Houston.  Anyway, I kinda like to solve it myself.  You know, hometown pride.”

“I understand.”

“Was anybody in the group seeing any outsiders?”

Porsha interrupted.  She sat in a recliner.  She was patting her hands together like a child.  “Maybe Satan caused them to kill one another.”

“Well, that’s a thought little lady.  But you see, I knew this bunch of losers.  None of them were capable of violence.  Well, Victor, let me know if you think of anything.”

“I will, Sheriff.”

Roberto Gomez was the Minister.  He was staring at Porsha.  “You have no soul,” he said to her.  Porsha stared back at him.  She was smiling.  “Victor, where did you meet this woman?”

“That’s none of your business, Pastor.  Now if we’re finished here.”

“I don’t like your behavior, Victor.”

The Sheriff stepped up to him.  “You make sure you and chalkie-white don’t go any place, you hear?”

“I haven’t got a thing to hide.”

“Victor, can I pray for you?”

“Prayer never helped me,” Porsha muttered.

“No, get out…”
Porsha laughed.  “Get out.  We got fucking to do.”

Victor watched them drive away.

“They know something.”

“I told you.  Now if we leave town they’ll be suspicious.”

“I’m hungry.  Get the dirt.”

Victor closed his eyes.  Years of trying to contact Satan, trying to raise the dead.  Was it all just a game?  The thing in his living room was no game.  She was all too real.

“We don’t have any more dirt.  I’ll have to go get some.  You’d better stay here.”

“Go ahead.  I want to watch cartoons.  Show me how to work the … What did you call this thing?”

“A remote.”  What was she?  Where did she come from?  She’d never seen a remote or ridden in a modern car.  She’d never seen a dishwasher or a cell phone.  Where had she come from?

He drove to the old grave yard.  It had been fenced in but kids had torn numerous holes in the fence over the years.  There were graves dating back to the Civil War days here.  He looked about.  He seemed to know exactly where to look.  There was a grave that had been torn up.  The coffin was old.  The grave hadn’t been uncovered but something had come out of it.  It had been located at the very back and there was no headstone.  He felt cold all over.  She was a… a… he couldn’t say the word.

He got back to the house.  There was music playing.  When he went in, there she was.  She was dancing atop the coffee table.  It was a ritual type of dance.  She smiled at him.  Her body shook and trembled and Victor was struck with a rush of energy and sexual desire.  Her movements were so seductive.  She smiled when he started to undress.  “Come here.”

“No, feed me the dirt first, the dirt.”

He pushed it in her mouth.  Suddenly she bit his finger hard, drawing blood.  He watched as the blood slowly dripped into her mouth, mixing with the black dirt.  She sucked the last of the dirt.

Victor flopped on the sofa.  He began to laugh uncontrollably.  “She’s out!” he yelled.  “And she’s never going back.”

She leaped onto his lap.  They were face to face. “Don’t let them send me back, not ever.  Promise me you won’t let them send me back.”

“I promise.”

“Say it.”

“I won’t let them send you back.”  He looked in the face of pure evil.  At that moment he thought her capable of killing him.

“Watch this dance.  My Grandmother taught me this dance.”

He wondered to himself did zombies have grandparents.  Her body was mostly thin, skinny arms, slim torso.  She danced with her shapely hips.  They were as round as two bowling balls with thick thighs to match.  She bent low to the front, her dance was so intense she was sweating.  He noticed the sweat and his mind thought maybe he could be wrong about her.  The undead couldn’t sweat, could they?  He stared at her as she shook and girated.

“This is a dance of death.  A death dance.”

“Who’s death?”

At first he thought she hadn’t heard him.  Then she mumbled.  “Everybody’s, anybody’s, all those with no power.”

He watched her closely as she danced.  She cut her hand and began making a pattern on the floor using her blood.  Her pretty toes danced over the blood staining her feet.  Victor clutched at his chest.  Whatever she was doing was affecting him.  He felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest.  He stood up and looked down.  She’d made a pattern on the floor with her blood.  She pulled him inside the circle into her arms.  They kissed and he felt a euphoria he’d never felt before.

Hours later he awoke in bed.  His entire body was sore.  He managed to turn his head to look at the nightstand.  It was 5 a.m.  Where was Por…  Suddenly he remembered the events of the night.  Her name wasn’t Porsha.

“I found a newspaper.  It had a picture of a car in it.  The car’s name was Porsh.  So I called myself Porsha.  That hadn’t been all she’d told him, not to mention the things she’d made him do.  Sick perverse things.  He laid his head on the pillow and smiled.  He remembered everything now.  Where was she?  Suddenly he felt well enough to rise, him and his cock.  Slowly he made his way through the house.  With her you couldn’t tell what you might run into.  He found her looking out the curtain.  She had her leg propped up on a stool.  His attention went to her shapely ass.  He entered her roughly from behind and heard her hiss.  He could smell her foul breath; his was just as foul.  She fell into rhythm with him, but kept looking out the curtain.

The Minister Roberto Gomez and two ladies from his congregation stood on the sidewalk.  They had black bibles in hand.  They’d been praying and looking at Porsha for the last two hours.  Ida Gonzales noticed what was going on inside the house.  The creature had flung open the curtains.

“Sir, look.”

Roberto raised his head.  “My God have mercy on his soul.  Keep praying.  Pay no attention to her.”

Victor finished.  The unnatural sounds she made did not frighten him now.

“What are you staring at?”

She said something in Cajun.  “That man.  He knows what I am.”

Roberto Gomez was a miracle of sorts.  He sat in a classroom twelve years unable to read.  The teachers passed him along so he wouldn’t be a problem being with kids too young.  Roberto had gone to a small church when he was twenty-five.  At that small church Roberto Gomez had found God.  When he left the Church he could read, write, do arithmetic like anybody else.  Everybody in the small town believed he was a healer and prophet of sorts.

“I went to school with Minister Gomez.”

“He wants to send me back.  You can’t let him.  I won’t go back.”

“I’ll get rid of him.  You stay inside.”

“Roberto, get from in front of my house.”

“There’s a small boy missing, Timmy Holcom.  He’s seven years old.”

“So?”

“He’s inside that house.  Most likely he’s already dead.”

“Nobody’s inside that house.”

“The Devil is.”

Victor felt uncomfortable in Roberto’s presence.  Maybe it was all the perverse acts he’d performed.  Roberto seemed to read his mind.

“Come back to us, brother.  Let her return to hell.”

Now Victor was upset.  “Our meanings of heaven and hell are different, preacher.”  He began telling the Preacher every sorted detail of their sexual exploits.  Porsha could hear him.  She jumped up and down and patted her hands.

“Now you tell me, Preacher  Am I not in heaven?”

A scream shattered the night.  The women got behind Roberto.  Victor smiled.  Porsha had screamed with delight.  When he returned he found her on the sofa.  She was trembling, shaking so violently the floor shook.  He took a fistful of the graveyard dirt and put it in her mouth.  He crammed the dirt in violently as he molested her at the same time.  Her lips shook as she tried to speak.

“T… The… There’s sa… so much pleasure in pain.”

They kissed, smashing their faces together, his hand digging at her insides.

As crazy as she could be she slept like a small child curling up in a ball.  Victor threw a huge rug over the hexigon that was drawn in blood.  He went to the bathroom tossing dirty towels in the corner.  He noticed something sticking out from the pile of clothes.  It was a small hand.  He violently uncovered the pile.  There was Timmy.  He had a blank stare, his blue eyes looking straight ahead.  The top of his head was smashed open and his brains pulled out.  Victor dropped to his knees and Porsha touched him on the shoulder.

“Get me the ax from the garage.”

He obeyed her.  He no longer had a will of his own.

The town was stricken with a rash of people disappearing.  Experts from Dallas and Houston were called in to no avail.  Victor had to sell the furniture store.  Nobody would buy from him.  He reflected back on his life when he was alone.  All the occult gatherings in Salem and Seattle and New Orleans.  People trying to find a way out of their torment.  He viewed himself as superior.  Not many men could embrace what he’d embraced without loosing their sanity.  Maybe he’d lost his sanity but just didn’t know it.  Who would tell him?  Certainly not Porsha.  She was the walking dead.  Her footsteps could kill grass.  Her piss could kill a full grown tree.  Her saliva was as lethal as strychnine.  He spent hours watching her dance, her face painted in different colors.  Each dance meant some sort of spell and afterwards there was always sex.  He closed his mind to the missing.  They were only food for her.  With all the streets being patrolled she still managed to find a victim.  With the cops everywhere they often kept them alive.  Locked away in the basement.  Their heads cut open, exposing just enough brain matter for her to pinch off it.  They had made plans to leave the small town.  The Sheriff had cut his wrists.  It was a pity he hadn’t died.  He looked out of the back door curtain.  She sat in the yard like a small child playing.  She often ate insects, grass and dirt.  But it was his blood and graveyard dirt that kept her alive.  She had no heartbeat.  For all he knew her chest might be empty.  She’d been made into a zombie in 1920 New Orleans by a witch doctor her Mother had had an affair with.  In 1939 she’d been bound by rope and buried by Christians that had had pity on her.  She’d remained in that grave until her soul could connect with another’s soul.  Mary Ann Newman’s soul had connected with Victor Charles Scott’s soul.  He’d dreamed of her and his dreams had helped her rip her way out of her prison.  “You’re the only one who can send me back.”  She told him that fifty times a day.  Suddenly he jumped.  There was a loud blast that came from the backyard.  Victor stood still.  Then there was a second and a third and a fourth blast.  “Porsha?”

When he got to the backyard there was Roberto Gomez holding a double barreled shotgun.  The Sheriff stood beside him.  He’d fixed his gun on Victor.  Three feet away from them in a messy pile lay Porsha.  There was no blood, instead a residue of black runny slime.  Her body was blown to pieces by the shotgun.

“What the hell was she?” the Sheriff asked Roberto.

“She was from hell.”

The Sheriff arrested Victor, only so he would have no knowledge of where they took her body.

Weeks later the small town jury gave Roberto Gomez probation.  Victor put his house up for sale.  It would be his last night in town.  That night he dreamed of Porsha.  Her wicked insane smile.  Her wild dances, and their perverse sex.  He awoke, his body covered with sweat, his cock hard.  He spoke out loud.  “Only you can send me back, only you.”  He got up and threw his bags in the car.  He drove around the countryside.  Finally he was struck with the urge to get out of the car.  He walked slowly, then he began to trot.  The urge became stronger and he began to run.  Finally there it was.  A hump of dirt in the middle of nowhere.  He got down on his hands and knees and began digging like a dog.  He dug until his fingernails were bloody and torn away.  Finally there she was.  There was no coffin.  They buried her in the clothing she had been shot in.  He pulled her out and held her limp, dirty body in his arms.  He wept for a few minutes, rejoicing in the fact he’d found her.  He took out a pocket knife and sliced his palm open.  Inside his pocket was a vile of graveyard dirt.  He stuffed it in her mouth and inside the huge wounds that riddled her body.  He let the blood stream into her mouth, then the open wounds.  He rocked to and fro like a mad man.  Finally her mouth spread, her dirty teeth barred in a wicked grimace.  Her eyes sprang open.  He screamed “Yes!” as loud as he could, hearing his voice echo throughout the forest.

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