The commune of Cabaret was one such place. He heard that a powerful bokor named Hercule Ismera lived there, a bokor who made zombies and kept them for slaves. Marc waited until night to walk to the man’s home at the edge of the forest, a long mile from other homes. As he approached, he heard something at the back of the man’s soccer field-sized property. It sounded like someone was digging.
Careful to move quietly, he circled the house to find the source. The moon was bright and Marc made out shadows under the trees as he finally located the sounds. Two men stood by a mound of dirt and one tossed a shovel into the grass, then both dropped into a waist-deep hole and bent over.
A crude wooden casket emerged, and the two men pushed it up until it rested on the dirt mound. Marc edged closer and watched from behind the trunk of a large catalpa tree some twenty yards away from the preoccupied men who were busy prying off the top of the casket. Several nails creaked as they came out, and within five minutes they had the casket lid off and lying on the grass beside the mound. One went to the head of the casket and the other to the foot, then both put their arms inside and lifted a body from it. Marc saw it was a young man about his age, and tall, like him, but dead. The two men put the body on the grass and straightened. The younger man said, “Hercule, this boy is in the grave for fourteen days; you can do this?”
Hercule said, “Bring me the gunny sack, and don’t break the bottles inside. Hurry.” The younger man trotted to a nearby shed, went inside and returned to the grave at a trot. He extended it to Hercule, who put the sack on the ground and opened it, taking out the contents and placing them along the edge of the dirt mound. He took a sprig of stiff grass, opened a bottle and put the base of the grass stem inside, then drew it out. He leaned over the body and pushed the stem between the dead boy’s lips, running it back and forth, then he threw the stem away.
They waited five minutes, then Hercule said, “Ringo Bazin, rise.” The boy stirred, and in the next half hour jerked and moved in spasms until he sat upright. Another ten minutes and he staggered to his feet.
From behind the catalpa tree, Marc watched as Hercule put this Ringo Bazin boy through a number of movements until the boy appeared able to function. Hercule said to his younger friend, “He will work at anything you show him how to do. He will not complain, and eats very little. You now have your zombie slave.”
He said, “I will pay you the thousand U.S. dollars tomorrow.”
“Then tomorrow you may take him.”
“But, I wanted to take him tonight.”
“He is my slave until one thousand dollars crosses my palm.”
The younger man thought a moment and said, “How do I control him?”
“Speak to him. He understands, in a limited way. Anyone can control him, he has no resistance.”
“How will I keep someone from taking him?”
“I will teach you that when I have the money.”
The younger man said, “Can he ever become truly human again?”
“He can come close, with the right ceremony and potions.”
As they talked, Marc eased from behind the tree trunk and stepped closer to the boy Ringo. Ringo’s head turned slightly and the glazed eyes looked at Marc. A single tear ran down the boy’s cheek. That was enough. The two men still hadn’t noticed Marc. He walked towards them, hands in his pockets and said, “I believe I’ll take the boy.”
Both men jumped at his voice and turned to face him. The younger man snorted, “You’re just a boy yourself.”
Marc pulled the Walther PPK from his pocket and shot the younger man twice in the face. The shots snapped like weak firecrackers, and the man fell backwards into the grave.
“Hercule, tell me how to keep Ringo so no one can take him from me.”
Hercule was angry, but noticed the expensive clothes this tall young boy wore and thought there was still opportunity to be had. He said, “What do I get for this?”
“Your life, how’s that?”
“I have spent many valuable hours on developing him, I deserve something.”
Marc shot him and Hercule flopped into the hole to land on top of the other man. Looking into the grave, Marc said, “If you had been less greedy, you would still be alive. I hoped to visit with you, learn from you. Pity.” He put the pistol in his pocket and took the shovel to begin filling in the grave.
Ringo put out a tentative hand, Marc looked at him, then handed over the shovel. Ringo filled the grave, then stood there, holding the shovel, still as a statue.
“Ringo, leave the shovel here.” Ringo placed the shovel on the grass. Marc picked up the gunnysack with Hercule’s powders and potions and said, “Come with me. My mother is a great sòsyè and will know what to do for you.”
Ringo followed Marc away from the bokor’s house as Marc said, “I have a feeling we a
re going to be great friends, you and I.”
~*~
Malice was shocked when the zombie walked into her home. Marc explained what had happened, and he left nothing out. He added, “There is something with this boy that connects with me. Stronger than anything except my feelings for you, Mother.”