The scene is like this. Julia’s guidance counselor who vaguely looks like hot Top Gun Kelly McGillis pushes her reading glasses up from the tip of her nose while holding out a manilla folder like she’s going to tell Julia something important about college applications or her next term schedule. Julia hopes that the anti-learning book banners aren’t trying to cut the school’s Latin program, again. Aside from working with marionettes, translating The Aeneid is Julia’s favorite thing. But no, to both Julia’s annoyance and relief, Miss Langtree doesn’t say this. Instead, the moment turns noir weird.
“The prophecy says that you will be the one,” Miss Langtree says as she smokes a cigarette. Even though it’s a no smoking building, this throwback to Reagan era lung-killing behavior doesn’t surprise Julia. The day feels like a day when a black and white film version Humphrey Bogart or a scary Gaslight Angela Lansbury (who didn’t always play matrons in her pre-Murder, She Wrote Mrs. Potts days) might walk out from behind some misty lamppost with a message.
Julia scoffs and leaves the counselor’s office. She can’t believe they called her in for this. But she knows why they didn’t tell her about it in advance. Because, if they had told her, she wouldn’t have gone. Even if a meeting with the guidance counselor does give her an excuse to escape the sweaty lockers of PE.
In contrast to the dusky counselor’s office, the halls are bright, like they were designed by a group of Skateboarders from the 1980s. In order to encourage art and discourage delinquency, the school administration allows graffiti art inside the building. Near Julia’s locker, someone has written the title of the Billy Joel song “We Didn’t Start the Fire.” Also in Barbie pink spray paint on the wall it unironically reads “The Wall.” Julia sometimes wishes that the halls were apolitical boring normal like they used to be in the before-the-zombies times.
Julia opens the door to the outside, which couldn’t be in starker contrast to the neon Material Girl-like vibes of her school. Of course, because her school was built in the days before accessibility was a thing, exiting the building requires going down a formidable staircase, one that rivals the famous stairs to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Julia has a theory about this. She believes that the designers of the school somehow knew that kids would always hate being penned in, and so they built the school like a fortress. The steps make it harder for people to invade. An unforeseen benefit of it is that the zombies, like primitive robots, for some reason can’t climb stairs. Julia always thought that zombies in the event of an apocalypse would be harder to get away from. But they walk slow and talk slow and die as easy as Star Wars Stormtroopers. All it takes to eliminate them is one or two whacks with the baseball bats that people now carry everywhere, and then the zombies fall and bleed out on the sidewalks. Later a removal crew in zombie-proof suits comes to clean up the remains.
Zombie survival skills appear to be as crappy as that or Killdeer. Honestly, Julia’s surprised, given how easy it is to kill them, that any zombies are still around at all, and frankly she’s inclined to wonder if the rumors are true. She wonders if Dr. Lowenstein really does have picnics for faculty members from Coven Lake University at his house and if they really do include wild pool parties that run amuck and produce new zombies every time. If that’s true, then Julia wonders why anyone would go. Instead, couldn’t they just fake a root canal or a funeral to avoid the zombie feeding fest?
Winston, Julia’s best friend who recently graduated from the high school and now works as a firefighter, believes the rumor. He says that the death toll in Dr. Lowenstein’s neighborhood has been astronomical ever since his wife died and his Dr. Frankenstein routine reportedly began. If the rumors are true, then Winston’s explanation seems more believable than what most people think than what most people think, which is that the zombies came because of the prophecy.
Exiting the stairs, Julia descends into the creepy hell pit that her town has become ever since the zombies appeared. Julia isn’t sure which came first, the zombies or the Invasion of the Body Snatchers-like hysteria. There are some in town who won’t even let visitors into their houses unless they can cut them with a small scalpel and watch them bleed. And there are others, the Pacifists, who won’t kill the zombies because they believe in the sanctity of all sub-human life from conception to beyond unnatural death. So instead of carrying baseball bats like the sane among us (though yes it’s true that some who weren’t actually zombies have mistakenly been beaten to death), they dress up like werewolves. Because zombies are afraid of werewolves, and the undead can’t tell the difference between a real wolf and a fake one.
This, of course has led to an opportunity for actual werewolves who stayed pretty hidden until they Pacifists started cosplaying as them. Now the werewolves walk around brazenly. So, to deal with this issue, everywhere from CVS Pharmacy to Walmart has started selling stinky Wormwood to keep the werewolves away. Garlic is popular too though no one knows for sure if actual vampires are on the prowl though there have been reported sightings. But, with werewolves and zombies lurking in the shadows and everyone carrying both bats and Wormwood, it doesn’t seem that weird to add a clove of garlic and a Crucifix to your weekly grocery list. Crucifixes disappear surprisingly often. Some believe that they are stolen by ghosts, but cynics like Julia believe that scavengers take them for their metal and sell them at the scrapyard. The only thing that’s certain is that nailed down things don’t always stay nailed down.
Julia wants to text Winston to tell him about the useless meeting with the guidance counselor, but she is too annoyed to type out the details. So instead she texts to ask him if he could please meet her at the cafe.
Winston knows her well enough to know that she doesn’t generally ask him to meet her unless she is having a really bad day.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
She texts back a meh emoji and proceeds to walk through the John Carpenter movie-like fog that fills the preternaturally dark afternoon sky.
Her alert app buzzes to tell her that the zombie levels are especially high, which she would have known without the notification from the National Supernatural Service since she feels like she is having to play Wack-a-mole today as she walks. It is during times like this that she is grateful for her martial arts training, because even if she loses her bat and her mini backup bat, she is confident that she can take most of the zombies out with a swift kick. As a precaution, she wears bite-resistant shoes.
One reason she picked the cafe to meet Winston is that the café is safe. It is a building made of silver that sits on the top of a steep hill where ample sunlight always streams in no matter how dark or dreary the day.
Because of all the creatures that Julia has had to fend off while walking, she doesn’t text Winston again until she is inside the cafe and at a table.
“I’m here. Lots of zombies out. Be careful,” she writes.
“I don’t see any zombies. But you always see zombies. You’re a zombie magnet.”
She knows that Winston’s comment is meant to be humorous, but, in light of the day’s events, his comments trouble her.
Is she really a zombie magnet, and, if so, why?
Some people say that zombies are like mosquitos and that they are attracted to a person’s scent. In that case, maybe she just needs to change her shampoo.
At the café, Julia orders The Desperado, which featured garlic-infused tequila. Although the cafe has a simple sounding name like it’s just a coffee shop, it’s actually so much more. In addition to basic coffee, customers can purchase doughnuts, eggs, alcohol, CBD oil, and baklava.
Because both the doughnuts and the marijuana-laced brownies are excellent, the café is a spot where cops and minor criminals mingle uneasily. In fact, some cops even met their informants there while making their meeting look like accidents rather than planned rendezvous.
By the time Winston walks in, Julia is already three quarters done with her drink and thinking about ordering another one.
“Hey, what’s up,” he asks. “You okay?”
Starring up at his comforting chocolate-colored eyes, she didn’t feel good, but she feels a little better.
“It’s stupid really,” she says as the waitress comes to ask if she wants another drink (she does). Winston orders a coffee. Technically, he is still on call till 7, so that’s all he can really have.
“I’m sure it’s not stupid,” he says. “What’s it about?”
“The Prophecy,” she says, not meeting his eyes. She already knew that his eyes will be filled with both concern and compassion and seeing that will just make her feel worse.
“You know,” he says evenly, “this isn’t the first time that this has come up.”
When she didn’t answer, he asks, “What happened this time?”
“My guidance counselor called me into her office to tell me that the prophecy said I was the one.”
“And then what happened?”
“I walked out,” she says.
After a pause, he asks, “Is she the one you have a crush on?”
“Had,” she says. “And not anymore. I think I’m swearing off both women and men who aren’t you.”
“We’ve talked about this, these boundaries,” he says. She hates it when he tries to act like he is her therapist. She starts to point out that maybe since he’s never even been to college, he shouldn’t behave like he is Dr. Phil. But once she notices the way he is looking at her, she stops. He is looking at her with something like judgment but also desire.
“You’re no better with boundaries than I am,” she said. “And besides if I’m about to go risk my life to save the world, maybe you could ignore them for one night?”
“What do you mean?” he says, sounding worried.
“Have you looked at the calendar?” she asks.
“Yes, why?”
“Well, according to the prophecy,” she begins.
“I thought you didn’t believe in the prophecy,” he says.
“I don’t, but, if it turns out to be true then it doesn’t really matter if I believe.”
“Okay, what does the prophecy say then?” he asks.
“On the morning after the first new moon in the month after the skies turn purple,” she says, “the high priestess of the temple of Artemis will raise a wooden army.”
“What wooden army?” he asks. For he already knows the other criteria for the high priestess. That she be an orphan from the House of Aquarius who is skilled in language. And he knew that she is both.
“My marionettes,” she says, sighing.
“How many now?” he asks.
“Seventy,” she says. “Now I have seventy.”
There is a silence between them. For they both know what seventy means. Seventy is a number of completion.
“I’ll have to call Olivia,” he says. Olivia is his fiancé.
“What will you tell her?” she asks as she eats the eggs that he has ordered for her. They don’t mention though they both knew that if the prophecy were true, this could be her last meal.
“I’ll tell her that it’s an emergency,” he says.
“Yes,” she says. “And will you help me prepare them?”
He nods. For they both know that if the marionettes are to face the spirits in battle, they need to be animated. And they have to do the ceremony tonight.
“Do you know the spell? he asks.
She doesn’t answer. But he knows what her answer means.
“How long have you known it?” he asks.
“Since I was seven,” she said. They both know the significance of that year. It was the year her parents died.
There were other things that she doesn’t tell him. One is that love will unleash the spell. So it isn’t only that she wants him to spend the night with her. She also needs him to. But she can’t let him know. Otherwise, he might not agree to it. And, if he didn’t, and if she is the one, she won’t be able to save the world.
When they walk out of the cafe, there are fifteen zombies waiting, but he beats them off singlehandedly.
“You really are a zombie magnet,” he says. This time, there is no humor in the joke, only sadness.
She knows that he is thinking of the prophecy. All the creatures of the night will come for her. But if she is victorious then she will lead a wooden army to fight for the soul of the world. She should be careful because her victory isn’t guaranteed.
“Yeah,” she says trying to lighten the mood. “But you’re a zombie fighter.”
One of the zombies was like Michael Myers and just won’t die. So she cathartically gives it the final blow.
“You’re a zombie fighter too,” he says as they get into his car.
When they reach her house, there were more zombies there lying in wait. They beat them back to the ground and enter.
“Where are the marionettes?” he asks, and she leads him to the room that was once been her parents’ and then had been the domain of the aunt who came to live with her and raise her.
“You know,” said the aunt when Julia turned sixteen, “that I must leave you.”
Yes, Julia said without resentment. For her aunt was dying. And the prophecy had said that the chosen one would spend her final years alone.
“I’ll see you soon,” the aunt had said. Julia had questions but didn’t ask them then. Instead, she had tearfully told her goodbye.
“You’ve been working on these for a while,” Winston says. It isn’t a question merely an observation.
“We’ll come back to these,” she says pulling him close to her. Not just because of the prophecy but also because she wants to.
The prophecy said, In her final hours, she will not be alone.
If the prophecy isn’t true and she isn’t the one, then she wonders if he would regret this.
It isn’t a question that needs to be asked though for the sky was blazing a fiery red, just as the prophecy said it would.
As the day descends into darkness, there is a knock on the door, and Winston gets up to answer it, but she stops him.
“Did you order food?” he asks. For they can smell it through the door.
“Don’t let him in,” she tells him. Though the creature does have food and the food smells enticing, accepting it isn’t worth the consequences.
“He’s one of them?” he asks.
“Yes,” she says, wondering how many more creatures of the night will come to try to kill her.
Outside, she hears the howls of wolves coming closer.
“We have to pull down the shades on all the windows,” he says.
They rush to do so as they sky shifts and the wind wails and the world turned a terrible shade of black.
“Now,” she says, “we must begin the spell.”
Her parents had taught it to her as a nursery rhyme. They were clever, and it was too catchy to forget.
When the sky turns to black, the little girl and Wilson Mack will raise the wood then burn the shack.
She doesn’t tell him that his name was in the rhyme. She doesn’t tell him that when they left she would throw a match. If the house is still standing, then the creatures of the night could use objects that she has touched against her. But if she burns it then they will have no way to harness her power.
In the predawn hours, Julia leads her wooden army to the clearing as Wilson watches in horror and awe.
“You’ll win,” he says.
She nods. But she knows that she will also lose. Her wooden army will defeat the creatures of the night and be destroyed.
Then she will do what the prophecy requires.
Julia watches as her puppets slaughter the creatures of the night with their wooden blades, and the creatures howl in pain.
No, they scream as their bodies are pierced with steel-tipped wooden arrows, and the remaining awful souls are banished to hell.
Winston races towards her smiling triumphantly. “It’s over. You won!”
But she sees what he doesn’t. The portal has opened and is waiting for her.
As she walks toward it, she thinks of the prophecy: For her victory, she will pay a heavy price.
The sky seems calm now, but the calm is only tenuous. To keep them safe, she will have to cross through the portal. Once she does so, it will close.
She crosses over before he understands what is happening. And then he calls her name. But she is gone now, and the blazing sun and the bright sky seem so cruel. Everything looks so peaceful and calm, but he knows that the calm is tenuous. At any moment, the dark spirits can rise up again from the depths. And, without her, there is nothing he can do to push back the emptiness he feels. Despite the seeming beauty of the world, he knows now that it is streaked with the darkness of her sacrifice.
Lori D’Angelo’s stories have appeared in various magazines such as Divinations, JAKE, Litmora, Thin Veil Press, Worm Moon Archive, and Wrong Turn Lit. Her first book, a collection of short stories titled The Monsters Are Here, is forthcoming from ELJ editions in 2024. Find her on Twitter @sclly21 or Instagram at @lori.dangelo1.
Idle Ink 