I have been reading “Cure, A Strandville Zombie Novel” by Belinda Frisch and I have to say that this lady has the creepy figured out.
This is a zombie story. As soon as you hear that, you know some of what to expect; zombie killing, zombie killings and people doing stupid things. She does not disappoint in these areas. However, she has also done a good job of giving each character their own story. While some of the characters earn you dislike, it is easy to see how each is the hero of their own story. The cast is relate-able and interesting.
I was surprised by the level of cruelty that she wrote into the doctor. This story is a clear case where the worst monster in the book is not the monster you expected. She also gave some wonderfully sickening and disgusting descriptions of what was going on. If you have a weak stomach, you might not want to eat while reading.
I only really had one complaint. The people in the book actually let the zombies loose as a diversion. I just couldn’t suspend my disbelief that far. Nobody, and I really mean nobody, would do that. I just can’t get behind that.
Otherwise I was impressed with this bloody, macabre and horrible book. If you are a fan of the walking dead then you should give “Cure, A Strandville Zombie Novel” by Belinda Frisch a look.
I am not a fan of the five-star system. It doesn’t give enough variation. I would say this book is a little more than a seven out of ten. Well done and enjoyable.
L. E. White
Each time another of the group had been taken away, there was crying. Each time a person had been drug through the door, there had been yelling. Each time the door closed, there were panicked noises that were muffled after the door was closed.
Then, there was screaming. Screams that cut off suddenly and then came back louder. Screams that put the women in the creepy movie matinee to shame. Screams that made you want to piss yourself.
I didn’t know about the others, I didn’t care to ask, but I had no idea how I had ended up here. The last thing I remember was walking through the park on my way home from the gym. It was a blustery day, the wind whipping around me as I drug my tired limbs along towards home. It had been free weights day and I remember thinking that I could actually see some improvement.
The door opened, light streaming into the room and I looked up at whoever it was that kept dragging us out. There was a little light leaking in through gaps in the walls. It looked a lot like the inside of a barn in one of those slasher horror movies, streaks of gold in the gloom that just gave you enough to see who was trapped with you. Until the door opened and the monster came in, just like our monster just had.
I am guessing it was a man because I doubt most women are strong enough to grab and drag a fat man out of the room the way that this person just did. He, because I think it is, shuffled in, feet moving through the straw that was scattered on the floor with a sound that reminded you of a kid walking through leaves after their dad finished raking the yard, and grabbed a fat man wearing a Jets coat. The man began cursing and trashing, though his hands and feet were still as tied as they had been while the last half-dozen people were drug out, trying to free himself so that he might not be drug to the screaming. Our captor was dressed like a scare crow, with a pumpkin on his head and a big hat on top of that. The pumpkin was painted like an old-fashioned jack-o-lantern. There were triangles for the eyes and nose and a wide, serrated grin that was white against the orange of the pumpkin. He even wore bib overalls.
Our fat friend was threatening the scarecrow. “You don’t wanna do this,” and “My family is gonna make you wish you was dead,” alternating between profanity and “If I get my hands on you I’m gonna twist your head off your shoulders and bake it inside that stupid pumpkin.”
His threats stopped the moment the door shut. The last couple of us, a short, round black woman; two valley girls in sorority t-shirts and running shorts; a security guard and me; all heard our cursing friend yell, “Oh sweet Jesus save me,” before the first of a string of blood curdling screams.
The silence that followed was terrible.
This is what continued for a few more hours. I was tossed against the back wall and was therefore the furthest from the door. Tall, thin and orange came back in again and again. He grabbed whoever was closest each time and each time, there would be more yelling and then more screaming.
Finally, it was down to just two of us. The black woman and I were staring at the door, knowing that it should open at any moment. She was crying and when the door opened, I started crying to. I waited to be grabbed but when I heard dragging I looked up to see that he had lifted her up. The poor woman’s eyes were closed and she just kept crying. I didn’t hear her yell or curse. She didn’t beg or anything, she just cried.
Until she screamed.
I was quiet when he came back for me. I knew that the rest of the yelling, begging and screaming didn’t help, so I tried to be quiet. I closed my eyes, squeezing them tight, but once I was in the air I couldn’t help it, I opened them.
I was facing my handler’s chest and I could see the stem of the pumpkin facing down. As I looked closer I realized that there were leaves around it as well, but that I couldn’t see the guy’s neck. I then looked down at my legs, where he had hands wearing green gloves holding on to me. The more I looked, the more I was sure that those were rolled leaves instead of gloves.
I turned my head to look around the room. I could see two others walking around. They had pumpkins in place of a head but there were no faces painted on them. No clothing covered the fact that their bodies were just twisted vines. I had been captured by the main ingredient in my favorite dessert.
When he turned toward the table, I could see the blood all over it. There was a bucket on the end that was filled to over-flowing with what looked like a mixture of dark and light rope. Across from the table, the other people were all propped up. Each one had their arms in the air and an eerie glow escaping from inside their heads. I could see the bright spot of a candle flame behind the fat mans missing nose. The others just glowed the same yellow and red that a child’s face does when they hold a flashlight under their face.
I could see the second candle that had been placed inside each stomach. The clothes cut open and a hollow place carved into the once human jack-o-lanterns. A plate had been shoved in to give the candle a flat place to sit.
When one of the walking pumpkins came towards me with a gore covered pair of pruning shears, I began to scream.