Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #20 November 2015 | Page 16

Dead Woman’s
Hand:
A Carolina
Daemonic Short
Story

incantation. “They’re not listening... They’re not under
my control anymore!”
Bana couldn’t waste any time wondering what
happened. People were getting bitten, and before her
eyes, she saw people choking, spewing the greenish
saliva of the dead men, their eyes suddenly lacking
life.
“They’re changing them!” Bana shouted.
Christine grabbed Bana’s arm and pulled her
in another direction, running away from the dead men.
“Come on! I know who can help us!”

Part 3

The zombies continued to invade the camp,
infecting the helpless denizens that weren’t quick
enough to maneuver away from them. Creeping
slowly behind the monsters was their cloaked master
with the flute, the sailors crowding him.

By Brian Barr
As Christine and Bana ate dinner, growling
surrounded the camp.
Bana looked up with perplexity in her fine,
dark brows. “Sounds like your dead men are agitated.”
A sudden look of worry entered Christine’s
face. She had never heard the zombies sound so
vicious this close to camp before.
Screams broke out. Bana and Christine stood
up in shock as they turned to look at the front of the
camp. Zombie were roaming in, attacking campers,
and biting into their skin as people ran.
Bana drew her musket, packing it.
“They aren’t supposed to penetrate the circle!”
Christine shouted. She turned to Bana with frantic
eyes. “That won’t work on them!”
“I know it won’t,” Bana concurred, “but what
else can I do?”
Christine held up her hands and started to
chant something in Ewe. Her hands and eyes glowed
with violet light. The zombies seemed ignorant of her

Some of the campers had reached into
their tents and pulled out weapons from collected
stockpiles. Guns and swords were used against the
creatures, though they knew it was in vain. Hopefully,
they could hold them back long enough for Christine
to gain control of them. Christine was the only one
that really knew how to handle them. The other few
knowledgeable Vodun practitioners of the camp were
only good with conducting ceremonies, guiding
meditations and connecting people to visiting loas.
Besides that, they were helpless.
As the zombies ripped through the camp,
Christine pulled Bana up another mountainous path.
They ran quickly, moving towards a brick building
with many sculptures displayed on the outside.
“How did they turn so quickly against you?”
Bana asked.
“A necromancer,” Christine stated with
certainty. “He interrupted my connection with them.
Stole them.”
“Why?”

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