This is the only novella about Thomas Jefferson and zombies to be recommended by the facebook page of the Thomas Jefferson Library in Charlottesville, Virginia. I’m not kidding! Their recommendation is in these words:

“you know you’ve been waiting for this!”

So start reading if you haven’t done so already.

(A great thing about the college I used to attend in New York is that scattered throughout the campus are statues of great Americans. One of these statues is in front of the student center, where there is a statue of Thomas Jefferson. Near to Jefferson, also near the student center, is a knight on horseback representing — as far as I can remember — the fight for education. There are other statues around the campus, generally of great Americans like Jefferson. One thing I regret is that, while going to that college, I never wrote a novella about the statues coming to life and fighting zombies. I intend to make up for that oversight right now, in a story starring one of the figures represented in campus statuary: Thomas Jefferson.)

My name is Thomas Jefferson.  I wrote the Declaration of Independence and the Virginia Statute of Religious Freedom, and I founded the University of Virginia.  I was also President of the United States at one time.  But since July 4, 1826, I have been in the afterlife.

My soul’s usual abode after my death is in a spiritual kingdom where I could converse with the shades of many great men of antiquity, such as Socrates, Euclid, Cicero, and Spinoza. It is a comfortable and stimulating existence, and I can keep current with events back in America thanks to a disembodied Voice which continually announces the news from the United States, combining the news with extensive commentary explaining the news which he had just announced. My post-mortem home is known as Limbaugh.

One day, the presiding spirit of Limbaugh began announcing horrifying news from my native United States. A group of natural philosophers working for the United States Army (oh, how I had warned my countrymen about the dangers of large military establishments! Apparently in vain) had concocted a chemical compound which, applied to a cadaver, could re-animate its tissue and metamorphosize the corpse into a being of unspeakable evil, known as a zombie. A number of zombies were created in this fashion, and proceeded to break out of the laboratory in which they had been fashioned. Attacking helpless people, the zombies communicated their infection and made their victims become zombies in their turn. The Army had proved powerless against its own creations, and now the country had become overrun with the monsters.

After making this sad announcement, the spirit of Limbaugh summoned me to his headquarters, to which I repaired with alacrity, rightly suspecting that this summons had to do with the strange new attack on my homeland.

“Mr. Jefferson,” said the Spirit of Limbaugh, “do you wanna fight these zombies?”

“You know well that I do, sir,” I replied. “Nothing would be more after my liking than to return to my country and defend it in the hour of its peril. And yet I had understood that souls in Limbaugh, such as myself, were unable to return to the world of the living.”

“In general, yes,” the Spirit of Limbaugh answered. “But there are certain links between our world and the world of mortals, allowing selected souls to cross over. It’s technical spiritual stuff — I don’t understand it myself, I’m not an egghead like you. I’m just an ordinary guy with common sense. The point is that your soul, and a few other souls, have a special link to Earth. A famous American sculptor made statues of you, and of these other people. These statues are scattered all over a college campus in New York, and they have a special spiritual energy thing which can attract the people they’re modeled after. So I can send your soul into the Thomas Jefferson statue, and you will then be able to move around on Earth and fight the zombies.”

“This is indeed good news!” I exclaimed. “With my soul animating a stone statue, I will be able to fight and overcome these monstrous zombies.”

“It’s not like that,” said the spirit. “Once your soul is in the statue, the statue won’t be stone any more; it will turn into regular flesh and blood — specifically, the flesh-and-blood form you had in middle age. You will have the abilities and weaknesses of a human being. You’ll be vulnerable to the zombies — and if they kill you, you’ll die all over again.”

“I shall bear those risks,” I said. “Even in a merely human form, it is my duty to fight the enemies of my country, or perish in the attempt. Now, you said something about a few other statues on that campus? Will those statues become ensouled as well, and will I be able to meet with them to plan common action . . .”

My words trailed off as I looked up and found that I was no longer in Limbaugh. I was standing on some kind of pedestal, of the sort where statues are frequently raised. Yet there was no statue here, only myself. I had been transformed into flesh and blood, wearing the style of clothes I had been accustomed to wear in life.

The landscape of the campus around me was nearly as good as my own beloved University of Virginia. A smooth pavement lay in front of the building. Well-maintained trees, bushes and tulip gardens provided a garden-like air.

The place should have been filled with crowds of students, but upon this occasion I could not observe anybody. I appeared to have the place to myself except for the statue of the mounted knight across the pathway. At this juncture, I observed the knight statue riding toward me, and I realized that the statue had become ensouled like mine.

“Hail to thee,” said the knight, “art thou the companion who was to be assigned me, or art thou one of the demons I am to slay? Speak quickly!” and he brandished his lance.

“I am no zombie,” I hastened to reassure the knight as his lance grew uncomfortably near. “Like yourself, I was sent here to fight the zombie plague.”

“Zwounds,” said the knight, withdrawing his lance and raising his visor so that he might better observe his surroundings, “I pray you will forgive me, but the spirit of Limbaugh hath told me that in this place it shall be difficult to distinguish friend from foe. These abominations whom we must face are in the form of man, and may be taken for men. We must not be deceived by them, for if we permit them to approach us we shall be devoured and our bodies shall become dwelling-places for more fiends like them.”

I replied with such lore as I knew about zombies.

“It is my understanding,” said I, “that one may tell a zombie from a living man from the stench of death which surrounds it.”

“Then the zombies are like to be within yon castle,” said the knight, pointing to the student center building next to where we stood. The windows were broken and bloody footprints covered the floors.

The knight rode his horse through the broken door leading into the student center.

“Why not tether your horse outside, sir Knight?” I asked.

“I wish not to leave Bucephalus where he shall be slaughtered by these fiends,” the knight said, “and forasmuch as the main hall of this building has a very high roof, I need not fear bruising my head upon the rafters.”

“Very well, let us see what is inside,” I said, following my companion into the building and towards the foetid stench which we both detected.

Now continue to Part 2 of this exciting saga!

About Maximilian Longley

Tags: creative writing, ends & odd //