“Do not go out alone tonight.  The moon is full.  The zombies will get you!”

Harry chuckled at the maid’s superstitions.  “Better watch they don’t get youfirst,” he said, reaching toward her as if he’d suddenly become the Frankenstein Monster.

“You must take these things seriously, Mr. Stone.  More goes on in Port Au Prince than any man knows—except the Prince of Darkness.”

“I’m just going to Café Blanc, Bahody.  It’s only three blocks away.  What can happen in three blocks?”

“Bad things happen in the blink of an eye in Haiti.  My neighbor’s chickens died last night.  All four.  One minute alive, the next—poof!  A very bad omen.  Listen.  The drums speak of doom.”

Ethereal percussive sounds rode the humid breezes, fading in and out. Something about the atmosphere seemed unholy. Harry didn’t give in to a creepy feeling that suddenly struck him.  It didn’t pay to get the willies in Haiti.  Once they took hold, they were difficult to shake. 

“Zombies are people who’ve been brainwashed to think they’ve died and resurrected,” Harry said.  “It’s a delusion.  Threats of zombification keep people in line, and suppress crime in the jungle where there’s no police protection.  Keeps villages free of child molesters, rape, adultery, senseless killings.  It’s a fascinating sociological phenomenon.” 

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

“I must go. Thanks for bringing tea and turning my bed down.”

“If you must go, take this for good juju,” she said.  Within her palm was an inch long, black fetish with red eyes. She blew on it three times, made gestures over it like a stage magician, and mumbled some mumbo jumbo.  Giving it to Harry, she said it was blessed and would protect him.

Amused, He dropped it in his shirt pocket and left.

He didn’t tell Bahody was that he was about to meet a shaman at the Café Blanc. From there they’d head for a village deep in the bush where the shaman would demonstrate his powers.

On the way to the café, Harry saw enough strange people in the evening shadows to almost make him believe in zombies.  Sallow-faced wretches leaned against blighted buildings, staring at nothing, saying nothing, doing nothing.

Following instructions received from the shaman’s helper, he stopped at a vendor’s hovel and bought three fresh chicken eggs. The shaman had insisted he bring them for the demonstration.  

Harry looked forward to the foolishness.  If it were entertaining enough, it might end up as a paragraph or two in his book on Haitian folk rituals. 

The shaman and his helper were waiting at a grubby outdoor table.  If Harry didn’t have the willies before, he sure had them now. The man had a malevolent presence with laser eyes that seemed to penetrate Harry’s psyche. Trying to look directly into them made Harry woozy.

The moment he sat down, the shaman related embarrassing events from Harry’s past.  Harry had witnessed clairvoyance many times before, so he wasn’t impressed. 
 
Getting down to business, the shaman told Harry to give his helper the hundred-dollar fee for the demonstration.  Then he told Harry to pick a small object and it would be magically replicated within one of the eggs. Harry never heard that one before.  He passed Bahody’s black fetish.  The shaman waved his hand over it, mumbled some words, and said, “It is done.  A duplicate is now inside one of your eggs.”

Yeah, sure, Harry thought, returning the fetish to his pocket.  Pull that one off, and I’ll give you a whole chapter in my book.  Especially since you ain’t getting near these eggs until the ritual begins.

Minutes later, they left by rickety jeep for the shaman’s jungle village.

The ceremony was definitely worth mentioning in Harry’s book.  The shaman danced and leapt like a crazed man to invoke a voodoo entity.  When a spirit god possessed the shaman, the transformation was amazing.  Harry had seen ersatz and real possessions before, but this was the most theatrical. 

With blazing eyes, roaring voice, and body quivering like a jellyfish, the shaman’s new persona demanded the eggs.  The helper placed them on an altar. The shaman filled his mouth with rum, and then spat the liquid onto the eggs.  The drumming, chanting, and frantic dancing became more intense.
 
From several feet away, Harry watched the eggs very closely to make sure nobody tried to pull a trick by replacing them.     

Dozens of worshippers collapsed signaling the end of the ceremony.  

“Pick up the first egg and break it with your hands,” the shaman commanded in a voice not his own. 

Harry broke the egg, letting the slippery mess fall to the ground.

“Pick up the second egg and break it with your hands.”

Hard as he tried, Harry couldn’t break it. 

“You cannot break it, because I have moved all the energy from your body and placed it inside egg.  Take the egg with you when you leave.  Upon arising tomorrow, strike it with a hammer to break it open. Eat the egg raw, and your strength will return.  Do not lose or break the egg before then, or your strength will be lost, forever.   Now, break the third one.”

When Harry broke the third egg, he almost jumped out of his skin.  Within the slimy yolk was a tiny replica of Bahody’s black fetish!  He’d seen enough.  Unnerved, he wanted to get out of there immediately.

“Luzu will drive you back to your hotel.”  The shaman clapped his hands.  “Luzu!  Come!”

A native woman wearing tattering clothes came out of the jungle.  She walked slowly, as if in a stupor, arms flopping at her sides. 

“She looks drunk,” Harry said.  “I never ride with drunk drivers.”

“Luzu is not drunk.  She is a zombie.”

“What was her crime?”

“No crime.  She is dead. Tell him, Luzu.”

“I…am…dead,” the woman said in a flat voice. 

“I ain’t going anywhere with somebody who’s in a hypnotic trance.”

“She is not in a trance.  She is as awake as any zombie can ever be.  She died, was buried, and then resurrected.  Luzu is one of the living dead.” 

“Nonsense!  There’s no such thing.  Con artists like you convince weak-minded people to believe they’re zombies.  To punish them for crimes, and enslave them.  Screw you!  I ain’t going anywhere with any of your brainwashed robots.  I’ll walk back.”

“Don’t be foolish.  Many things prowl the jungle at night.  Strange things.  Evil things.  You could be eaten alive.  Besides, you’re too weak.  Have you forgotten I’ve put all your strength into the egg?”

“My fetish will protect me.  As to feeling weak, you’re full of crap.”   

The shaman sneered.  “Your fetish is represents a fertility goddess.  It has no power here.” 

Harry slipped the egg into his pocket and started walked away.  Suddenly he collapsed and hit the ground.  He found himself so weak, he couldn’t move a muscle.

“I told you I put all your strength in the egg,” said the shaman.  “For a hundred dollars, I will return it to your body.  Wait. Your trousers are wet.  You fool!  You've smashed the egg!”

“Help me,” Harry gasped.  “I’ll pay whatever you want.”
 
“It’s too late.  It cannot be done at any price. Your strength has spilled into the soil and cannot be returned.  Soon, your eyes will darken, your body will turn to dust.”

Luzu lay on the ground next to Harry.  Embracing him, she kissed his mouth with cold, fetid lips. “Give him to me, Master.  Make him a zombie.  Let him walk with me in the twilight.”

*      *      *

During the next full moon, hundreds of zombies gathered to feast on jungle rot and witness the abominable yoking of Luzu and Harry by a possessed shaman.

*         *         *

Every time the moon is full, a white zombie digs his fingers into a solitary patch of soil deep in the Haitian jungle. 

Some say he moans horribly.  Others say he keeps repeating the word egg.

Nobody knows why.