Two zombies walk into a bar…
No joke: That’s the way this story started.
Around this time last year, I met two zombies at the Emerald. Carlos Culbertson, aka Zulu Painter, rocked the voodoo skeleton look, all sharp airbrushed lines in blacks, greys and whites, while his partner-in-fright, Jason Bromley, was downright atrocious, his torn and gaping hole of a mouth like the aftermath of a zombie kiss; I could barely look him in the face. Both were tied to M6FX, a special effects makeup and production company that’s been inspiring terror at Busch Gardens’ Howl-O-Scream for several years now.
M6FX is run by the Malice brothers (really, that’s their surname). It was founded by the eldest, Morgan, who started getting his hands dirty in the mid-’90s doing make-up for Gasparilla. Now he has high-quality help from brothers Jesse and Aaron (who’ve both been doing it for more than a decade themselves) and a small group of artists/friends they’ve tapped to be part of the M6FX team, including Carlos and Jason. A few weekends before Halloween, they assemble friends and family for a blitzkrieg FX make-up session, after which they all venture out to creep around downtown St. Pete.
I’m a big fan of Face Off (that SyFy reality competition show for FX make-up artists), so I told Carlos, “I want in on the next one.”
7:55 p.m. In the center of Bloom’s main room is a table scattered with stencils, pre-made latex molds, clay paints and other implements. Airbrush machines are set up at “stations” where people are getting transformed into creatures of the night.
Jesse explains the ingredients in my own transformation: sealant to fill my pores and keep the natural oils in and paint on; a layer of liquid latex for added texture, which he pinches and warps to make it look like torn skin; cool layers of airbrush paint to add bruising and veins; red tacking paint for oozing sores; and stripes of black clay paint under swipes of white that look like bone peeking through. “The blood is what sells it,” Jesse insists. The grosser I get, the more inclined I am to maniacal laughter of the “Muahahaha!” sort, but I’m not very convincing so I practice looking scary instead. With the make-up finished, it’s not too hard; I might’ve been the victim of a motorcycle accident, with the righteous road burn to prove it, but I’m sticking to my story of mosh-pit mishap, ending in a half-body smear across a shitty club floor.
11:30 p.m. Once everyone is bloodied up, we’re a pretty freaky-looking group, about 15-20 in all. Morgan arrives directly after his Howl-O-Scream gig; he’s the last one to make his gruesome grand entrance, but it’s worth the wait. Scary Santa is in the house, replete with a chest appliance that looks like a cumberbund of innards and a neck piece that appears as if he tried to rip off his own jaw, and failed, mostly. This year, Jason looks like a demented tourist: straw hat, Hawaiian shirt, exposed bones and hanging pieces of flesh. Carlos — dusty grey face, slightly askew black wig, grunting outbursts — is doing his best zombie James Brown.
12:15 a.m. By the time our group of walking dead crosses Central to the always-lively 200 Block, we’ve already had a Michael McDonald sing-a-along and a “virgin sacrifice,” with the lady of the hour carried overhead by Carlos and all of us bopping and dancing down the street while passersby look variously shocked, frightened and amused. Bromley has a knack for sneaking up behind folks to give them a good startle, and it’s always funny; he’s among the most disgusting (and playful) in the group. The walk to Yard of Ale might be my favorite part of the night, though the country-rock band that dedicates a funky, grooving cover of Steve Miller Band’s “Fly Like an Eagle” proves an unexpected highlight.
1:30 a.m. While the rest of the group wheels toward Push Ultra Lounge, I drag myself down Central toward home, stopping at Emerald for a quick sip, scare and snicker before finally calling it a night.
