Incident Report

Base: Ile Ste. Roche, Louisiana

Date/Time: June 24, 2009

Incident: Fresh out of college, I joined a non-profit program similar to the Peace Corps and ended up posted to Ile Ste. Roche, a small island town off the coast of Louisiana. Long story short, I fell in love with a local man and stayed, eventually becoming town sanitation inspector. My husband was killed in the storm of 2005, and since then, I've lived quietly among his relatives.

A few weeks ago, my daughter Ruth Ann came home from school crying. When pressed, she said Ervie Ewell had told her that if she didn’t help him cheat on a spelling test, he'd have his father feed her to the zombies he keeps in their shed.

The Ewells are local ne'er do wells who live in a little shack on the edge of the swamp. Ervie's father, Ervin Sr., was well known for his drunken antics and general meanness. He and his brother allegedly worked as hunting guides for tourists, but none of the tourists they brought out in the swamps ever seemed to come back with anything.

Still, since zombie outbreaks do happen, I alerted the sheriff--my husband's brother Randy. Randy said he'd keep an ear to the ground, but seemed to agree with me that the story was the fruit of a nine-year-old's active imagination. I told Ruth Ann to tell her teacher to move her seat.

A few weeks later, I was doing my rounds when I got a call from Randy. Amanda T-, Ervin Ewell’s closest neighbor, was reporting strange sounds from their shack, not to mention a foul smell. Randy was afraid the Ewells were trying to cook methamphetamine, and wanted me on hand to inspect for health violations; enough was finally enough.

I climbed in Randy's pickup and off we went with his deputy to contend with what we thought were half-bright drug dealers. But as we got closer, we could smell the rank odor Amanda had complained about. We also heard weird hollow moaning and clanking sounds. When we pulled in, we didn't see any sign of the Ewells. We climbed out of the truck and Randy called for Ervin Sr. and his brother Buck to come out.

No answer, except that hollow moaning. Then we noticed three figures dragging themselves from the barn at the edge of the property, with chains still wrapped around their necks. Randy and his deputy ended the poor creatures' misery and we prepared to go inside.

Randy kicked the door of the shack open. Buddy Ewell was there next to the table, deep in the throes of a zombie coma and still clutching a knife. His brother, Ervin Sr., was tied to a chair. He had been duck taped to it, wrapped neck to ankles. His face was grey and his eyes stared and wandered. He was snapping his jaws at us, and Randy noticed a wound on his cheek--a fairly small one that must have been the infection vector.

From above us we heard a little voice, calling my name. When I responded, little Ervie jumped down from the loft and flung himself into my arms, sobbing with terror. The kid might have been a repulsive little puke, but a person would have to have a heart of stone not to respond to his fear. I sat outside with him in my lap, and the whole story came out.

It was a grim one. His father and uncle had the idea to set up "zombie tours" so city people could come and bag a real zombie. They captured a wild zombie--probably a Katrina zombie--and chained it in the barn. Over the next few months, they went "trollin' for deaders" a few times a week. Then when a tourist came, they'd release one in the swamp and the tourist would track and kill it.

The inevitable happened: Ervin Sr. got bitten. His brother Buck, fearing the law, decided he could treat the wound with alchohol and herbal remedies. After Ervin Sr. turned and bit him, Buck had taped him up, as he evidently didn't have the heart to destroy his own kin. Buck soon fell into a coma and little Ervie fled upstairs, pulling the ladder up with him.

The zombies in the barn had been chained to stakes like large dogs. Three out of five had worked their way loose and had punched a hole in the barn door to get out. Thank God we arrived when we did.

The police came and deposed us and took the zombies away. The papers never covered it, and Randy and I both received visits from various agencies offering us generous "gifts" not to alert anyone. I couldn’t do that; people deserve to know.

The story has a kind of happy ending, at least. Ervie's done very well in his foster home, and hopefully, with him away from his father's influence, the horrors of the incident will never be repeated.

Comments From Dr. Pecos: Thanks for sharing your report. Authorities want people to keep quiet about zombies and vampires because they fear widespread panic among the populace, but the truth is, keeping a lid on these incidents only heightens the potential for a serious outbreak.

As I've mentioned elsewhere on the site, making sport of zombies is an absolutely deplorable activity. Zombies were human once and deserve to be put down swiftly rather than kept alive for the entertainment of others. It is reckless and irresponsible to keep them captive, as the people you describe above found out.