New Release: 13 Déjà Vu (Thirteen Series Book 2)
Following the huge success with 13: An Anthology of Horror and Dark Fiction that released last October (keeping on the top charts for horror anthologies ever since), Limitless Publishing has decided to bring even more dark fiction and horror. 13: Déjà Vu (Thirteen Series Book 2) has just released and as one of the authors in the anthology, I couldn’t be any more excited. The authors you enjoyed in the first 13 book are back with brand new tales, most of which are either sequels or continuations in some way to the work done in the original 13, to include: by
For my part, you will find the next installment in my continuing Twin Pines Hotel stories, completely exclusive to the 13 Anthology Series. You witnessed Will Fenning’s strange demise in Room 313, now bear witness to the story of mass murderer Andy Derek and his confrontation with Room 249. iScream Books had this to say regarding the story:
A disturbing story of a cross country cold blooded murder spree. The murderer hides out in a unique hotel while the man hunt ensues. I found myself cringing and grossed out with this story but I also found it very unique and clever with its plot.
Pickup your copy today on Amazon for only $0.99!!!
Get Knocked Up!
Okay, maybe the title of this post is a little what kids call”clickbaity,” but hey…I make no excuses. The world is what it is. Filled with click baits…and fake news sites…and paranoia…and silent conversations over Thanksgiving dinner… (sighs) Well, now that I have you here, assuming you fell for my ingenious trap, I’m more than ecstatic to announce the release of my new book, Conceiving. Now available on Amazon, B&N, and iTunes. This book really does feel like a long time coming, especially when considering that Dwelling and Emerging released back in December 2015, almost a full year ago. Anyhow, if you’re new to the series and don’t want to spend time catching up by reading the first two books, no worries. Information regarding the first two books is included in this new one without being drab, but only generally. So you know what happens and are not lost in this new book. If you’ve read both Dwelling and Emerging and have been waiting for this new book to release, I bid you welcome home. The real benefit of reading the entire series is the intimacy of getting to know the characters and experiencing why and/or what they are in Conceiving.
Conceiving is a supernatural thriller of which I would humbly compare to the likes of a mashup between Rosemary’s Baby, The Omen, and Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man. Old and new readers will follow the somber adventures of Bobby Weeks, one of the major carry overs from the series, and Luna and Ronna Blanche, minor characters in the series that now have larger roles. New characters include Boris and Neville Petry, and yes Neville is a girl.
The Petry’s are my new favorite. A young couple wanting what most young couples want, a family, a dream home, and dream jobs. I imagined Boris like this “cool” history professor if such a thing can exist. He loves his area of expertise and wants to move up the ranks of his profession and among his peers. Like most academics, he wants to be respected and revered for his work. Neville, on the other hand, I saw as this young college educated woman who doesn’t really believe women need to be “stay at home” moms or wives, but choices to take on that role. She often compares herself to her mother, but not always positively.
In the fashion of how I typically tell stories, these individuals and groups begin separated, facing their own troubles alone, but there are forces at work pulling them together, inching them toward some cataclysmic event that will shatter their perception of reality and perhaps take more than just their sanity.
Conceiving is available on Amazon kindle or kindle app. You can get your copy here for the low price of $3.99……..https://goo.gl/4EWzSU
Or if you’re a traditionalist and prefer paperback, you can get your copy here for $15.99…….https://goo.gl/5pTAQ4
Bewitching Book Tour: REINHEIT
Good evening boils and ghouls, if you haven’t already seen on the various social medias I tend to infect, my debut novel is currently on a book tour through Bewitching. Though Reinheit has bounced around from place to place, this will be our first official blog tour. Bewitching is also hosting a rafflecopter of the book, with a chance to win 2 FREE signed copies of Reinheit. The tour started Monday. Never too late to join in the fun and check out some of the spotlights, guest posts, and later interviews this week.
And, as an extra bonus and because I love October so much, the price of Reinheit has been lowered for this week only, from $2.99 to $0.99!! Only on eBook. Paperback is available, but not on sale. Here is some info on my book, released with Booktrope this past summer.
Author: Thomas S Flowers
Published date: July 29, 2015
Publishing: Forsaken Imprint
Rebecca Moss never questioned the purchase of the strange seductive armchair. She wanted to please Frank. But the armchair has a dark purpose. Nazi officer Major Eric Schröder believed fervently in Hitler’s vision of purity. Now the chair has passed to Frank, an abusive thug who has his own twisted understanding of patriotism. There are those who want to destroy the armchair, to end its curse. But can the armchair be stopped before it completes its work?
Barnes & Noble
The Eastern Front, Lithuania. July 1941.
The armchair moaned delightfully as Major Erich Schröder sat. Outside, the sun burst into the mountain ridge, filling the sky with brilliant orange and red flames. Schröder watched out the open window from his seat in front of a dormant fireplace. He poured a glass of Berentzen Doornkaat schnapps from the decanter he had brought with him from home. Helen had packed it for him, wrapped with last month’s funny pages. One of the strips discarded in the waste bin revealed a valiant rosy cheeked Dutchman named Conrad, demonstrating the power of solidarity in the factory workforce. The energetic and turbulent rhythm of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony floated into the room from some far off record player in the barracks. Love this performance. Schröder closed his eyes and sunk farther into the armchair. The cool leather and haunting harmony of Beethoven set his mind at ease, comforting his weary bones. The comfort abated his thoughts, for the moment at least, of what lay ahead and the unordinary expectations levied upon his young shoulders by high command.
Expectations? he thought. God help us. Schröder lifted his glass and took a long gulp, biting down against the burning sensation crawling in his throat. Expectations… Horrible, horrible expectations… But it must be done. Himmler has given the order, and so it must be. Ein Völk, ein Reich, ein Führer. For we are one people, one nation, of one leader…
Schröder had believed in the vision for a thousand-year Reich ever since he was a young boy, serving in the Hitler youth movement, following in the shadow of Herbert Norkus, the child martyr. Schröder believed in his führer fervently and demonstrated so by enlisting in the Waffen officer program when he became of age. And that strong belief made him stand out from among his peers to become a full party member of the Schutzstaffel order, the dreaded and feared SS. And even after receiving his first orders, being forced to follow on the boot heels of the regular army into the Eastern Front, he retained his faith in the great commission, the plan to save Germany, to bring the Fatherland into rebirth, renewal, into purification…but at what cost? he wondered.
“Major?” called a strong male voice from outside the door, interrupting Schröder’s thoughts.
“Who is it?” asked Schröder. He took another long swig before rubbing the cold glass against his temple, struggling to abate the crest of an emerging headache.
“Lieutenant Braun, sir.”
Ah, yes, Braun. The thought of the handsome lieutenant was not unpleasant. Unlike the rest of the old reservists assigned to his unit, Braun was different, younger than Schröder, which wasn’t saying much. But Braun is local, Schröder recalled, just like the other swine. Well…the lieutenant must be the exception, proving not all of Lithuania is as ghastly as it appears. Perhaps there are some redeeming qualities, he thought with a hungry smile.
“Enter,” Schröder finally answered. His face returned to its narrow coldness. He brushed his short-cropped, wavy, blond hair to the side. He crossed his legs and stared into the fireplace, as if contemplating a fire.
The door opened. Schröder listened to the marching of feet coming to a halt directly behind the armchair. He guessed there were at least two men, uniforms flat as iron, brown as earth, with burning red armbands and swastikas on each muscular biceps. The last being a fantasy, of course, most of the men under his command were police reservists from the rural portions of the country, not at all the physique of physically disciplined soldiers. Well, except for Braun. He is most certainly fit. Schröder took another gulp from his favorite schnapps, quietly fantasizing Braun’s undergarments, waiting on either of the reservists to speak, but no one did. Only silence, except for the ice cubes ringing against his crystalline glass.
“What is it?” Schröder asked impatiently, his breath on fire. His head felt dizzy.
“Sir…” began Braun, his voice boyish but prudent.
“For God’s sake, spit it out,” Schröder barked.
“The delivery, sir. It has arrived.”
“The cases of schnapps, sir.”
“Oh, yes, good,” said Schröder taking another swig, nearly killing the glass. “Assign a small detail and unload some of the boxes into one of the storage rooms. Keep the rest on the truck,” he ordered with heated breath.
“Use the quartermaster’s room, if you must. When you’re finished, have the rest of the company form up in the courtyard,” Schröder ordered. His mind began to drift between his nearly empty glass and the sound of crows squawking about outside the window, desperately searching for a place to nest before winter. A strong breeze found its way inside. The odor of pine and spruce filled his quaint personal quarters decorated with yellow flower wallpaper and a quaint single bed covered in soft linen sheets. An old quaint oak dresser and vanity sat next to the bed, and a small quaint circular kitchen table, also made of solid oak, sat on the other side of the fireplace. The burgundy leather Queen Ann high back armchair was last of the furniture.
Schröder waved his hand in his usual form of dismissal. He listened to the snapping of boot heels as the men shouted in unison, “Sieg, Heil!”
“And, lieutenant…” Schröder added.
“Yes, major?” asked Braun.
“Keep it quiet.”
“I don’t want a bunch of questions about why we have the liquor on the truck. I want this done quickly and quietly, understood?”
The men filed out, leaving Schröder alone again. He sat there and took another sip of schnapps, watching the dead untouched logs with little interest. Outside, the sun had fully disappeared behind the mountain ridge. The sky was black. His mind went to the hundreds of boxes of cheap apple liquor in the cargo truck outside in the courtyard. The men will need it, after today, he thought. After tonight, and the next night, and the night after that, and so on and so forth until this madness is over. Until the solution has been answered. When the vermin are eradicated, removed, liquidated from the purity of the Reich. The rats, the money-grubbing Jews, stabbed us in the back in Versailles, but never again. Schröder smiled weakly and took another gulp, finishing off the glass with a grimace. The ice was cold, but the liquor burned going down, warming his otherwise empty stomach. Licking his lips, he slumped deeper into the armchair. The cushions felt more than welcoming. The Queen Anne was soft, yet sturdy, dependable, and dare he say, comforting? Yes. Yes, even in a waste of a country as Lithuania, given nightmarish orders. Yes, even here, something as simple as a chair could be comforting. It whispered to him. The tall backrest shielded him from the world and told him everything was going be fine. The voice lingered with Schröder like a fat dark cloud caught in a valley before a storm. Where have you been? he wondered. Who last sat on you? Who else have you comforted? Who will you comfort when I’m gone? You’re mine, you know that? You’ll always be mine. His thoughts teased real jealousy.
Schröder recalled when the armchair had first arrived. He remembered when Himmler, the führer’s shadow, had delivered it personally from Latvia. A gift, supposedly, for Schröder’s first command. Himmler arrived in the dead of night and Schröder had thought it odd for someone of his stature to take the time to visit someone new in the order. Or perhaps that was the reason for the visit. Did he come to inspect me, my men, our resolve? Schröder waved the thought away with his empty glass. Does it matter? Was it really so strange for a man like Himmler to drop in, even unannounced? No. Schröder knew of Himmler’s obsessive reputation and the simple fact that the man commanded all of the SS, including all the Einsatzgruppen units, with the entire final solution for the Jewish question residing on his shoulders, was warrant enough for paranoid examinations. I’d do the same thing in his place, Schröder believed. How could he not? While the regular Waffen army served a purpose, driving back the vile communist filth, the Einsatzgruppen, the killing squads, as rumored to be called by some of the men, were given orders of the upmost import. On our shoulders alone sits victory for Germany. Only through us can Himmler succeed and thus Hitler’s final solution be answered. Only through us can the one-thousand-year Reich be achieved. So, when an officer like Himmler drops in unannounced, bearing a gift for your recently awarded commission, you do not turn him away, and you most certainly do not ask questions, Schröder weighed, pouring another glass of schnapps when his door thundered yet again.
“Major?” called Lieutenant Braun in his usual vigor manner.
“Yes?” answered Schröder.
“The detail is done and the men have begun to form up, sir.”
Schröder peeled himself begrudgingly from the armchair. His skin felt as if it were being ripped away from the leather. It was difficult, more than it should have been, for Schröder to get to his feet. It was as if gravity were working against him. The more he moved, the more he didn’t want to move. He hesitated to leave the warm comfort of the high-back armchair, or the warm breeze from the window, or the bottle of schnapps, or even his lonely late-night fantasies of a bare-backed Lieutenant Braun in his chambers. Schröder pictured the young lieutenant naked, erect, pulsating with heat, and smelling of plums. But Schröder knew he had no time for fantasies such as those, not now. Now he had a job to complete, the commission, and until then he would not be able to return home to Munich, to his beloved Helen, and their faux marriage, and her ravenous breasts and plump lips he absolutely had no desire for. But, despite his pretentious social mask, of which he so often hid, that fairy tale existence was more enjoyable and pleasing than the cold nothingness of Lithuania. At least in Munich he could have something more than fantasy. Full moons he could sink his teeth into and lustful adventures out on Blumenstraße’s dark avenue, where men and boys overfilled his cup. A place where names were never asked, never given. Or at least not real names.
God help me if anyone ever found out. He shuddered. They’d stich a pink badge on a pair of rags and send me on the midnight train to Dachau, or worse. Auschwitz-Birkenau. And what would poor Helen think of the charade? That her husband loved the taste of cock? She would be absolutely abashed! Schröder let loose a faint dry laugh despite the remnant fear of being caught lumped heavily in his heart.
There was another soft knock at the door. “Sir?” asked Braun. “Is everything okay?”
“I’ll be out in a moment,” the major barked.
Schröder pulled himself from the comfortable armchair and smoothed out the wrinkles in his black uniform. He noticed a scuff mark on the toe of his otherwise perfectly gloss black boots. Frowning, he crossed over to the small table, set down his empty glass, and picked up a rag. Kneeling, he polished out the blemish in quick sweeps. He stood and looked himself over in the vanity. Satisfied with his appearance, Schröder opened the door to his room. Lieutenant Braun was just outside, alone, and snapping to attention. One hand shot down to his side while the other flew upward, palm down, fingers held firm together and straight, as one might imagine how the Romans may have saluted Caesar.
“Sieg, Heil,” shouted Braun.
Schröder returned the salute, smiling on the inside. Licking his lips. At least there was more than just the lieutenant’s physique and beautiful bright blue eyes that he admired. Braun was, if anything else, dedicated, loyal, and obedient. Qualities one should always surround themselves with.
“Sir,” Braun’s arm returned to his side, “If I may, why have we assembled the men at such an hour?” he asked, nodding toward the dark sky outside the hallway window.
“Judenfrei,” replied Schröder.
Braun did not mask his confusion.
“Do you believe it is possible?” Schröder added, almost singing.
“To be free of Jews? Yes, major.” Braun still looked confused.
Major Schröder knew the young lieutenant could not answer. How could he? He had only the slightest idea. A rumor, at best…as for the particulars in how the Reich would free themselves of Jews. Only the higher echelons knew. Most assumed the same fate the POWs met, when the Communist sympathizers and partisan survivors had been gathered to the labor camps, and would think this seemed a possible solution for the Jews as well. Made sense. To collect them and then transport them off to the camps as well. But how can that be? Schröder thought. Of all the camps, certainly they could not hold all the Jews in Lithuania, nor all the POWs, gypsies, criminals, or homosexuals, all of the Reich’s undesirables. There were too many enemies and simply not enough room for them all. Certainly, Braun has mulled through all this.
“Well, lieutenant?” prodded Schröder. “Let’s hear it.” The Major smiled foxily.
Braun looked white, befuddled in his confusion. He almost seemed to laugh. Perhaps a sudden idea had sprung to mind? A terrible idea? Whatever the cause, the lieutenant remained silent. Is he thinking of what I’ve been ordered? Of mass extermination? All of them? Schröder could sense the lieutenant’s unease. He looked flushed and short of breath. He knows. He simply doesn’t want to say it out loud. It would be too horrible, unfathomable to say out loud, the major thought. He understood because he felt the same unease within himself, the unease of exterminating an entire people. The annihilation of European Jewry. The weight of killing not just the men, but women and the children, both the very young and the infirm. But we must, for the nation. For the purity of the Reich.
“Lieutenant, I am going to tell you something that will not be easy to hear. In fact, it’ll be damn near impossible to hear,” Schröder began. “But we must. Such courage will be needed if we are to succeed in our mission…for the purity of the Reich.” Yes, Erich, keep telling yourself that. But at what cost? How much are you willing to pay? At the cost of your own soul? Your sanity? Schröder pushed his weakness away. “Our goal will require the strongest will. Tonight, we will march toward Kovno, arriving at the break of dawn.” Schröder paused. He took a deep breath. “We will then begin the process of eradicating the vermin from the Kovno ghetto. For the purity of the Reich, the infestation must be absolutely eradicated. There can to be no survivors, lieutenant. Do you understand what I am saying?” Schröder watched. Waited.
Braun was a ghost, as white as death. “We are to…kill them, major? All?”
“Is it villainess to put down a diseased dog? Or is it an act of mercy?” asked Schröder.
Braun was silent. He nodded quietly.
Schröder nodded as well, but said nothing. They said nothing for some time. Neither would look at each other. In the silence, Schröder could hear voices stirring from outside through the second floor hallway window. In the courtyard below, Bravo Company was beginning to wonder, no doubt, why they had been ordered into formation at such a late hour in the night. Schröder oddly began to wonder himself what Helen was doing back home. Meeting up with a friend for dinner, perhaps? A male escort? That would be something, he thought numbly. Finally, Schröder looked at Braun, who stood as a specter in the hallway. Schröder wanted to embrace him, to hold his firm chest against his own, to feel the panicked and disturbed heartbeat in rhythm with his. Schröder wanted to brush Braun’s slicked black hair, to part his lips and pull Braun close, and feel his large bulge and well-manicured hands. But Schröder pushed away the fantasy. Instead, he told Braun of Himmler’s orders, the commission of the Einsatzgruppen units. That they were to enter the Eastern Front, in four separate commands. In Kovno, Bravo would herd the Jews into the town square, dividing the men fit for labor from the rest.
The laborers would be ushered to the train yard, destined for Höss’ newly operational Auschwitz camp, while the others would be marched into the nearby forest. They would dig graves deep enough for a city municipal bus and then the Jews would strip. And the brave, ordinary men of Bravo Company would aim their shot with bayonet and fire into the base of the skulls of countless girls, boys, hags, gimps, and the sick. The infants would be bashed against the side of walls to make quick use of their time. One round per Jew… God forgive us, but this is how the Reich will be judenfrei. This is how the Reich will become pure again, Schröder thought, his hands quaking terribly. He gave one last longing look into his bedroom, his gaze settling upon his high-back armchair.
‘I can do this, I have to do this, and so it must be done,’ a strong whispering voice reassured him. With his eyes still on the chair, tracing the elegant blemishes were blotches of brown grew darker and then lighter, Schröder exhaled, “Ein Völk, ein Reich, ein Führer,” just audible enough for Braun to hear him.
Braun snapped to attention, still ghostly, and threw out his right arm, “Sieg, Heil!”
Schröder returned the salute vigorously. And then the two abandoned the hall to join the men of Bravo Company outside in the courtyard. Nearing the tall pine door entrance, Major Schröder stopped and turned.
“Have my armchair loaded into one of the cargo trucks,” Schröder said. “The Queen Anne will accompany us to Kovno.”
Braun did not question the order.
Schröder did not explain.
Thanks for taking a look and I hope you enjoy the rest of the tour. Be sure to get your copy of Reinheit now while the sale lasts!
Hobo: A Horror Short Story
There isn’t a real post per say. There is no real discussion going on here. This is just some good old fashion shameless self-promotion!
Besides posting articles on this site, ranging anywhere from history to horror movie reviews and even a random political conversation, besides all that, I also fancy myself a fiction writer. I dabble a little in the dark arts of horror fiction and suspense and while I’m waiting for one short story title to be considered for publication with TOR, I’m biding my time with another short story. For whatever reason, other than just getting this out there for people to read, I’ve decided to self publish this second piece, called “Hobo: A horror short story.”
Here is an exurb for your reading pleasure:
The red glow of the traffic was eternal. Beverly wiped what looked to be a crumb off her Ivanka Trump dress pants, pretending as if the hobo was not there, in the median, next to her luxury car. She said a small prayer of thanks that the valet had stored her shopping bags in the trunk. She remembered handing the young twenty-something a Hamilton as he closed her door. He was handsome and young. She fantasied a late night rondevu, perhaps a bar encounter. “What are you having,” she’d ask. He was silent in her mind; his deep blue eyes did the talking, and his toned arms, and legs…and the tight bulge in his designer jeans. Her smile curved with hunger, but quickly went away. From her peripheral, she could tell that the hobo was talking to her now, muttering something inaudible through her tinted driver’s side window. He began to tilt the sign to give her a better angle. Beverly thought of turning on the radio, but decided against it. She did not want to make any movement that would suggest she was reaching for anything. Her eyes remained fixed on the light.
“Please turn, please turn. Come on – turn,” she breathed.
The man abandoned his resting place and shuffled toward her. Beverly dared a glance. And for a moment they locked eyes. She could see his deep brown irises’ and the swollen blue and purple bags underneath. His cheeks were hollow. Afraid to take breaths through her nose, Beverly swore she could smell his stink of skunk and booze choking through the window. Sneaking another glance, she could see something else in those browns, there was something other than hunger, perhaps anger or resentment because she was well off and he was poor, or maybe she was the only vehicle stopped at the light, the only one he could beg and bother. Or perhaps because he didn’t like women and meant her harm. Or maybe he was drunk, she wasn’t for certain, but whatever it was, she despised those morose eyes. She despised that he was looking at her, judging her for not giving him money.
The hobo was off the curb and in the gutter when Beverly waved her hand, dismissing him with the universal sign for, “Sorry, no money. Please go away.” The man kept coming. Reaching her driver side door, he placed a surprisingly large hand on the dark glass. Smearing dirt or whatever else collected from lying in the street. The hobo smiled at her, exposing gaps where teeth had once resided, and those that remained were both yellow and nasty. He let his sign drop to the ground, moving his other hand up, cupping the tinted window, peering inside. Beverly reached for the locking mechanism, again. The bolts danced back and forth, unable to lock any further. The man opened his mouth wide, brandishing his black tongue, and fogged her window with a long drawn exhale. With one large finger he wrote, “Hungry” in the cloud.
If you are interested in reading more, you can check it out on Amazon Kindle.
Or, if you are interested in being an “not so” advanced reader and receive a free copy (PDF) of Hobo and are able to leave a review on Amazon, just let me know via comment or private message.
There is Something About Bub
“Hello! Is anyone there?” There are no better words for an opening scene in a zombie movie!!! This particular verse comes from George A. Romero’s third “dead” installment, Day of the Dead (1985). In the scene, as Dr. Sarah Bowman and Pvt. Salazar call out from their nearby helicopter, searching for other survivors, the camera pans out, revealing a ravaged and empty tomb of a city slowly echoing with the hungry cries of the undead. This scene is one of the first images shown in Day of the Dead; with it we’re given a very chilling and unforgettable moment in horror, the feeling of desperation.
How desperate have things become? Following Night of the Living Dead, where folks were simply trying to survive the night, and following Dawn of the Dead as folks were escaping the cities, abandoning attempted containment zones and searching for safe havens, Day of the Dead shows us a group of survivors after the flood, the last ditch effect of a collapsing government desperately looking for a cure, while also searching for other survivors near the area of their underground complex. How desperate have things become? In the words of Nick Furry, “very desperate,” and they might not like the outcome their kind of “situation” tends to bring out in people.
Day of the Dead is a highly regarded zombie movie, though, typically, fans of the series will rate Dawn of the Dead as the better “dead” flick within Romero’s trilogy, if only marginally. To be honest, this holds true for me as well; Dawn was simply a better movie. The things Dawn said about society and people resonated with me better than with Day; however, this doesn’t mean Day didn’t have something valuable to teach us regarding said society. If anything, Day of the Dead told the tale of desperation and how people react when cornered better than the other two movies combined.
There was also something about Bub that wasn’t told in the other movies…not until Land of the Dead at least. Bub was a very unique character; a zombie interacting with peoples both positively and negatively. With Doctor Logan, aka Dr. Frankenstein (who by the way reminded me of an aged Herbert West), Bub was rather nonviolent and friendly, but with Captain Rhodes, while Bub started out friendly, he turned violent in response to Rhodes aggressive attitude. Though Rhodes was a total jerk and was constantly boarding a nervous breakdown, it was hard not agreeing with him. How were they supposed to “train” millions of undead? While Logan was looking towards domestication, Rhodes was hoping for some kind of WMD. Logan was obviously mad, but we can’t ignore Bub as proof that some form of domestication was possible…or maybe Bub was just the next evolutionary stage for the zombie within the Romero universe.
The strangest bit with Bub was when he discovered Logan’s dead body. Okay, so you can train Bub by showing him things he “remembers” from when he was alive. I can buy that, its not a huge leap of faith to see a zombie interacting with something it remembers from its past life. This was the theory in Dawn of the Dead for why the undead were coming to the mall. But when Bub finds Logan in the freezer, he reacts with emotion, Bub is sad and then becomes enraged. You can see on his face a desire for resolution. Bub is strange because he forces us to question the existence of the zombie. Are they not mindless beings? Do they feel? Do they cry? Obviously, in the movie world, these undead beings are a huge threat and very dangerous, but with Bub we have to question everything. However, in Day of the Dead, Bub is an anomaly, he’s the only zombie we see behaving with cognition, the rest simply follows the food. The lasting imagine with Bub is how Logan falsely thought he had domesticated him. Did bub stop seeing people as food? Sure, but that doesn’t mean he stopped seeing them as the enemy. In the case of Rhodes, Bub guns him down, pushing him into a horde of zombies to be pulled apart. The final scene with Bub shows him giving the disemboweled Capt Rhodes a mocking salute.
The great flaw Romero highlights in his stories are how incredibly messed up people are, the ones who react poorly in face of some earth shattering event. His movies show us the ugly truth: when folks are scared and desperate they make selfish decisions. But Romero doesn’t take away hope, he also shows us the smaller band that pulls together and survives. This smaller group of heroes goes back to the original play-on-words that spawned his zombie vision, Romero’s response to Richard Nixon’s call for the non-violent silent majority to stand up and be counted (1968), still lives on in Day of the Dead. However, now the silent majorities are no longer mindless zombies, but evolving, and perhaps not in the way Nixon had originally intended.
On September 17, 2013, the Collector’s Edition Blu-ray/DVD Combo Pack for Day of the Dead releases nationwide. The cover art, conceived from the morbid mind of Nathan Thomas Milliner, is amazing and just how mama used to say, “First impressions are everything.” Some of the special features include, but are not limited to:
• New High-Definition Master
• Audio Commentary with Writer/Director George A. Romero, Special Make-Up Effects Artist Tom Savini, Production Designer Cletus Anderson and Actress Lori Cardille
• Behind the Scenes: 31 Minutes of Production Footage from Special Make-Up Effects Artist Tom Savini
• Audio Interview with Actor Richard Liberty
• Wampum Mine Promotional Video
• Photo Galleries
• Theatrical Trailers
• TV Spots
• And More…
You can pre-order your copy here with Amazon. Which, in my opinion, is worth the $20.96 cost, especially as this edition comes with both the blu-ray and DVD. And the Bottom Line? Good story, awesome traditional effects, what more could you ask for in a zombie movie? Was Day as good as Dawn? Not for me, but that doesn’t mean Day of the Dead wasn’t worth watching, it is; Day of the Dead is an amazing movie full of characters you’ll love and hate.