Rev. Zombie

Jeremiah, known by the town as Rev. Zombie because his head is always shaved, arrived at his voodoo shop early to find the door open and busted glass on the floor. "Oh my God!" he said as he looked around. He called and waited for the sheriff to arrive. Sheriff Reed was the first one to step inside; glass cracked with every step.

His shop was a shambles. Dream catches and pendulums that once hung from the low ceiling now lay broken and thrown about on the floor. Jars of potions, oils, and herbs were smashed and scattered. The bookcase laid face-down busted, books ripped apart and tarot cards everywhere. The skulls, artwork and bones that had adorned the walls were gone. The purple tapestry, a gift from his aunt Jaclyn, was ripped to shreds.

Jeremiah had opened his shop, Zombie VooDoo, three years ago. It was located on the edge of town close to the river. Business was good; people came from all over to visit his shop.

“I’m sorry Rev. Zombie,” sheriff Reed said, “we need to close this off and take fingerprints. I need you to step back outside, please.”

Jeremiah nodded as tears welled up in his eyes. He stepped outside, and sat on the sidewalk. How could this happen? Who would want to do something like this?

A deputy came over and sat next to him. “Rev. Zombie, I’m so sorry, but I have to ask you some questions and get your fingerprints.”

“Jeremiah, I heard what happen. I’m so sorry baby,” Aunt Jaclyn said as she walked upon the horrible scene. She had taken Jeremiah into her house and raised him as her own when his parents were killed in some kind of boating accident. She was a tall dark skinned woman who always wore three white beads together on the right side of her hair.

“Thanks Aunt Jaclyn.” He stood up and hugged her.

“Madam Jaclyn, may I ask you some questions?”

“Sure deputy Johnson. I’d do anything I can to help the investigation.”



Smoke billowed from the cauldron. Jaclyn released something into it as she chanted. Using an over-sized spoon, she stirred the potion and continued to chant.

“Whatcha doing Aunty?” Jeremiah said as he lend against the door frame of the root cellar.

“Never you mind, boy. Now scat. I need to be alone.”

Jeremiah climbed the stairs back into the kitchen. He heard a knock at the backdoor. The screen door creaked open and in walked Jessyca. She was short and curvy; her bangs were pulled back with butterfly barrettes. She was the town psychic.

“Hey there Rev. I heard about the store. How are you holding up?”

“I’m holding up,” he said with a smirk. “Whatcha doing Jess?”

“I come to offer my services.”

“Do you think a card reading is going to help?”

“It couldn‘t hurt.” She sat down at the table, and threw the cards.



That night at dinner, there was a knock on the door. Jeremiah opened the door. “Evening Sheriff Reed.”

“Rev. Zombie, I need to talk to you and your aunt. May I come in?”

Sheriff Reed walked inside. In the living room he explained, “Late this afternoon a man walked into the office and confessed to breaking into your store. Then he pulled out a gun and shot himself.”

“That’s great news sheriff,” Jaclyn said, and she clapped her hands together.