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    White Zombie: Special Edition
    White Zombie: Special Edition
    White Zombie: Special Edition
    Ebook258 pages3 hours

    White Zombie: Special Edition

    By Stephen D. Sullivan

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    About this ebook

    In addition to the novel, this Special Edition of White Zombie contains a recreation of the original film script!

    When Madeline Short travels to Haiti to marry her fiance, she’s soon caught in a web of superstition, lust, and fear. Will she find wedded bliss, or fall victim to the witch doctor known as Murder Legendre and become a White Zombie?

    Award-winning author Stephen D. Sullivan brings White Zombie into the 21st century with this modern novel based on the classic horror film starring Bela Lugosi.

    “I’ve reviewed over 400 zombie films, novels, comics, games, television programs, short stories, and even a zombie opera. Some of this zombie media was great. A lot was not. Stephen D Sullivan’s White Zombie belongs in the great category.” -- Derek M. Koch of Mail-Order Zombie, from his Foreword

    Also Available in a general edition (without the script).

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherStephen D. Sullivan
    Release dateOct 28, 2013
    ISBN9781311211484
    White Zombie: Special Edition
    Author

    Stephen D. Sullivan

    Stephen D. Sullivan has written more than 50 books across many genres: fantasy, SF, horror, detective, movie adaptations, and more. Readers the world over enjoy his fast-moving prose style and hard-hitting action sequences. He has won numerous awards for his work, including the 2016 Scribe Award for his horror-comedy novel, Manos: The Hands of Fate.Not sure where to start? Try these:NEW! Manos: Talons of FateBEST SELLER: Manos: The Hands of Fate (2016 Scribe Award Winner)HORROR & MONSTERS: Daikaiju AttackFANTASY: Tournament of Death novelsSCIENCE FICTION: Heart of Steam & RustADULT: Elf Erotica (Elf Princess on Mars)OVERVIEW: Martian Knights & Other TalesThere are plenty of others to choose from, too. (Including some books from other authors published by Steve's Company, Walkabout Publishing.)Browse! Buy! Enjoy!

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      Book preview

      White Zombie - Stephen D. Sullivan

      CONTENTS

      FOREWORD by Derek M. Koch

      WHITE ZOMBIE

      CHAPTER 1 – Madeline’s Arrival in Haiti

      CHAPTER 2 – Neil’s Impressions at the Beaumont House

      CHAPTER 3 – Charles Beaumont’s Plans

      CHAPTER 4 – Neil’s Fears Allayed

      CHAPTER 5 – Beaumont’s Rendezvous with Murder

      CHAPTER 6 – Madeline Prepares for Her Wedding

      CHAPTER 7 – Beaumont’s Last Chance

      CHAPTER 8 – Madeline’s Shadow-Free Wedding Celebration

      CHAPTER 9 – Murder Visits the Beaumont Mansion

      CHAPTER 10 – Neil’s Wedding Nightmare

      CHAPTER 11 – Beaumont at Madeline’s Funeral

      CHAPTER 12 – Neil’s Despair at the Cantina

      CHAPTER 13 – Beaumont Claims the Bride

      CHAPTER 14 – Neil’s Awful Discovery

      CHAPTER 15 – Beaumont’s View from Legendre’s Castle

      CHAPTER 16 – Neil Meets a Witch Doctor

      CHAPTER 17 – Madeline at Death’s Door

      CHAPTER 18 – Neil’s Fever Dream

      CHAPTER 19 – Murder’s Fiendish Plan

      CHAPTER 20 – Beaumont’s Horror Rises

      CHAPTER 21 – Neil’s Quest Ends

      CHAPTER 22 – Beaumont’s Last Act

      CHAPTER 23 – Madeline’s Final Fate

      WHITE ZOMBIE – THE SCRIPT

      Introduction to the Script

      WHITE ZOMBIE: The Original Screenplay Recreated

      Afterword

      Special Frost Harrow sneak preview!

      Author’s Notes

      About the Story

      About the Author

      Music to Read by

      Alternate Covers

      * * *

      For Bela Lugosi.

      FOREWORD

      by Derek M. Koch

      In the end, it all comes back to White Zombie.

      Or should I say, in the beginning?

      Sometimes it’s hard to believe that there were zombie movies before George A. Romero and company set up shop in a small farmhouse in Pennsylvania to create (the original) Night of the Living Dead. The truth is, there is a rich cinematic tradition of non-flesh-/brain-eating zombies that began decades before Johnny told Barbra someone was coming to get her. If Night of the Living Dead is the granddaddy of zombie films, then White Zombie is the great-granddaddy.

      Not only is White Zombie an important film in this regard, but it’s also a great film. The amount of mood and dread director Victor Halperin was able to pump into his movie is palpable and at times, deliciously suffocating.

      And it’s this sense of dread that Stephen D. Sullivan has kept at the forefront of his novelization.

      I’ve watched a lot of zombie movies over the years. From 2008-2013, I produced the Mail Order Zombie podcast and reviewed over 400 zombie films, novels, comics, games, television programs, short stories, and even a zombie opera. Some of this zombie media was great. A lot of it was not.

      Steve Sullivan’s White Zombie belongs in the great category.

      Steve doesn’t just reiterate or regurgitate what he saw on the screen when he watched White Zombie, but he also found the truth of the characters and lays this in front of his readers. We’re not just watching Madeline and Neil as they make their way to Charles Beaumont’s home that dark and mysterious night; we’re actually there with them. And when Murder Legendre first appears and casts his gaze upon our heroine?

      I think Bela Lugosi would have been proud.

      I’ve known Steve for a few years now, and I know he’s a fan of all things gothic and spooky. He’s not shy about his influences. His Frost Harrow series is thick with the flavor of Dark Shadows, and I think his love of classic monster movies casts its shadow across his adaptation of White Zombie. I can’t help but imagine Steve grinning as he wrote dialogue for Legendre. I don’t know a monster kid alive that wouldn’t want to put words in the mouth of Lugosi.

      And I don’t know a monster kid who could have done it as well as Stephen D. Sullivan.

      I’m excited for you to read this novelization of White Zombie, and then maybe when you’re finished, you can go back and watch the original film. Now THAT would be a great double feature!

      —Derek M. Koch

      (The Mail Order Zombie podcaster formerly known as Brother D.)

      WHITE ZOMBIE

      The Novelization

      Stephen D. Sullivan

      CHAPTER 1 – Madeline’s Arrival in Haiti

      ~ 1932 ~

      The horse-drawn carriage lurched over another bump in the unpaved road and sent the moths in Madeline Short’s stomach whirling once more. Back in New York, she would have thought of the fluttering insects as butterflies, but Madeline hadn’t seen any butterflies since arriving in Haiti, only swarms of black and gray moths. Some of the awful creatures were almost large enough to be mistaken for bats; others had white deaths-head patterns on their winged backs.

      The very thought of them made Madeline shiver, despite the heat of the night.

      Outside, the tangled forests of Haiti reached up around the coach, as if the trees might close in and seize the rickety conveyance at any moment. Perhaps during the day, the jungle would have seemed lush and green, but in the dark it was a place of strange sounds and unseen menace—at least as Madeline and her moth-filled stomach perceived it.

      She had to admit, this bouncing carriage ride through the unknown was not the sort of arrival that she’d hoped for on her wedding night.

      Still, for better or worse, she was in Haiti now, and Neil Parker—her fiancé—was sitting beside her, his warm body pressed comfortingly against hers, his muscular arms encircling her, his handsome face smiling at her.

      In moments like these, it was easy to remember why she’d fallen in love with him almost the instant they’d met. Neil was strong and reliable (if not thrillingly imaginative) with a decent bank job that could support them both—at least, it could with a little scrimping. And if her new friend Mr. Beaumont actually came through with that promised position for her fiancé…

      I can hardly believe it, Neil blurted, as if continuing her thought. He beamed at her, love brimming in his hazel eyes.

      I hardly can, either, Madeline replied softly, not entirely sure what had brought on his outburst.

      To her, this whole trip seemed dreamlike… the long, relaxing sea voyage south … meeting the charming plantation owner Charles Beaumont at the captain’s table … Charles’ indulgence of her whims aboard ship … his invitation that she and Neil should wed at his house … and finally her twilight arrival in this eerie wonderland.

      Was it truly all happening, or was she really back in her cold-water flat on the west side, experiencing some kind of wild fever dream?

      I can hardly believe that you’re here with me, at last, Neil continued, oblivious to his fiancée’s reverie. …And in just a few hours, we’ll be married.

      Yes, she replied. Married. She burrowed into his arms, feeling his strength surround her. After so long apart, she was with Neil, about to become his wife. This would be a big step up from her job as a café waitress. Surely she had nothing to worry about anymore.

      Neil held her tight, and the moths in Madeline’s stomach calmed, despite the bouncing of the carriage. He stroked her hair as she pressed her head against his chest and listened to the beating of his heart. The strong, regular rhythm reminded her of the surge and thrum of New York City—the urban pulse that had lulled her to sleep every night since childhood.

      But…

      Was it Neil’s heartbeat, or were those really drums in the distance?

      She lifted her head and listened.

      Yes. She felt sure of it now, drums … and singing, coming from the outside the carriage.

      The noise had caught Neil’s attention as well.

      Deep voices chanted in the humid darkness, rising and falling, ebbing and flowing over the underlying drumbeats.

      If there were words, Madeline couldn’t make them out—but then, she spoke neither French nor the Creole language of Haiti. If Neil understood what the mingled voices were saying, he gave no sign.

      As the carriage clattered forward, the singing grew louder, and though it was beautiful in a way, the mystery of it all caused Madeline’s moths to take flight once more.

      Their driver jangled the reins, and the coach slowed.

      Madeline clutched Neil’s arm apprehensively. What is it?

      Neil shrugged and stuck his head out of the carriage window; Madeline craned her neck to see, too.

      It looks like a burial, Neil told her.

      In the road? Madeline asked, curious. She could see Haitians milling around the carriage now. Despite the singing, they were somber of dress and face. Some carried lanterns, others shovels, a few, drums.

      Madeline leaned out of the window opposite Neil. Driver … What is it?

      It’s a funeral, Mademoiselle, the coach driver, a dignified Haitian in top hat and cloak, replied. They’re afraid of the men who steal dead bodies, so they dig the graves in the middle of the road, where people pass all the time.

      Madeline almost wished she hadn’t asked. A heat-defying chill ran through her again, and she tucked herself back into the coach beside Neil.

      Well, that’s a cheerful introduction for you to our West Indies, her fiancé said jovially.

      Madeline giggled, both because it seemed such an odd custom, and to chase away the shivers. The ploy didn’t entirely work.

      The gravediggers and other funeral attendees parted to let Madeline and Neil’s coach through, but quickly rejoined their task once the vehicle had passed. Even as the carriage moved through their midst, the villagers continued their singing and chanting.

      The coachman hurried the horses down the deserted road and through the jungle, apparently just as anxious as Madeline to leave the weird procession behind. As they drove on, she glanced out the window, back the way they’d come—unable to shake the feeling that they were being followed … or, perhaps, watched.

      But the dark shadows of the Haitian night surrounded them, and she saw nothing.

      Neil, sensing her anxiety, put a comforting arm around her.

      Now, now, dear, no need to be worried, he said. The natives here have some strange customs and superstitions, but you’ll soon grow used to them. Besides, we’ll be living in the city, where things are much more … civilized.

      Oh, I’m not worried, she told him, willing herself to believe it. I’m just not accustomed to it, that’s all. It’s all so … strange.

      As the singing and drums faded into the humid night, the driver cut back their pace, which, thankfully, smoothed out the ride a bit as well.

      Soon, he clucked to the horses and pulled on the reins, slowing the carriage considerably.

      Are we there already? Madeline asked.

      Neil shook his head. I don’t think so, darling, he said, looking around.

      They’d come to another crossroads, this one next to a steep-banked hillside cemetery. Fog shrouded the countryside, and there were no clear signposts or other markings indicating which way to proceed.

      Neil smiled and stage-whispered to her: I didn’t want to mention this earlier, but I’ve never come this far out in the countryside before, and I doubt our driver has either. I’m not entirely sure he knows the way.

      Madeline sighed. Charles—Mr. Beaumont—had offered to send a coach for them, but Neil had been too anxious to wait; he wanted to get to Beaumont’s house to be married tonight. Madeline could hardly blame her fiancé; it had been a long time since she and Neil had been alone together. The driver seems a competent fellow, she replied. Perhaps that uncanny funeral has thrown him off.

      Neil laughed and hugged her. Don’t tell me it’s given you the willies, too! Never mind, darling. Perhaps this fellow up ahead can help us out.

      Madeline hadn’t noticed before, but there was indeed a man standing by the side of the road, a few yards further along. He seemed to almost materialize out of the fog and darkness, a tall figure, dressed in a long black cloak and round-brimmed hat. A trick of the carriage lights made it seem as though the man’s eyes glowed of their own accord in the darkness.

      The driver reined in next to the man. Pardon, Monsieur, the coachman said. Do you know where is the house of Monsieur Beaumont?

      The stranger didn’t reply, but instead stepped up next to the window on Madeline’s side of the coach. He peered inside, inquisitively.

      Madeline could hardly take her eyes off of him. He wasn’t handsome, exactly, but his face was very distinguished. A goatee beard, parted in the middle, graced his angular chin, and an odd moustache—thicker on the edges than below the nose—surrounded his thin lips. Dark, arched eyebrows crowned his aquiline nose, and his eyes … in the dim light, those eyes seemed ablaze with a fierce inner fire.

      The man didn’t say anything; he just stared at the couple.

      Neil and Madeline couldn’t find the voice to speak, either. Something about the man and those fascinating eyes—like black pools on a starless night—held the two young people mesmerized.

      Madeline felt the stranger’s gaze burning into her, as though she stood naked before him, as though he could read her innermost thoughts and desires. Despite herself, she found her lips parting, her breath coming in short gasps.

      With the grace of a panther sliding across the jungle floor, the man’s long-fingered hand reached out and clutched the end of the silk scarf wrapped around Madeline’s neck.

      Madeline’s whole body seemed to be tingling. Who was this man? What did he want with them … with her?

      She and her fiancé sat enraptured by the man’s stare, mice fascinated by a swaying cobra. For a moment, everything but the black-garbed stranger seemed to go away. Then the driver cried:

      Zombies!

      Madeline blinked, and the world swirled back into focus.

      Shambling down the gravestone-dappled hillside came a half-dozen ruffians, dressed in tattered clothing. Their bodies were dirty, their faces pale, and their eyes … their eyes were blank, lifeless orbs—doll’s eyes.

      Before Madeline could figure out what was happening, the driver shook the reins and called, "Allez vitte! Allez!" and the horses hurried off down the nearest path.

      For a moment, the scarf tugged tight around Madeline’s throat, but she quickly loosened it, and it trailed out the carriage window, still clutched in the stranger’s hand.

      The man gathered the fabric and tucked it into his breast pocket, and though Madeline barely caught a glimpse before turning away, she would have sworn that the man smiled.

      Why did her throat still feel so tight? Was some remnant of the scarf still choking her?

      She reached for the gossamer cloth again, but, no … It was definitely gone, lost to the stranger and vanished into the Haitian darkness.

      Fear and the black moths welled up inside her again. She looked at Neil. I-it felt like hands clutching me.

      There, there, darling, he said confidently. It’s all right now. He’s gone, whoever he was. We’ll soon be safe at Mr. Beaumont’s house.

      But it wasn’t all right; they’d barely escaped the grasp of this diabolical man. And as the horses and coach fairly flew over the bumpy road, Madeline

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