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o this is how it happened. I don’t care what anyone else tells you. People in this hick town watch the dust blow by their feet in fascination, to give you an idea of what we’re dealing with.
I ended up in the above-mentioned small town two years into my college career. Tulane Medical School sent each student out into the surrounding towns on a summer session to intern in clinics and get a taste of real-world medicine. We met the night before our journeys in the bar off campus called The Gator.
You walk into the Gator and the smell of the humidity outside fades into the smoke and alcohol of the inside. A singer is always in the back and the bar is always filled in the front. The specials are whatever comes into the market. The drinks are strong and cheap. This made it a perfect place for students. I found two tables with my classmates in the back corner. Each person had a file in front of his or her drink. These contained the names of our towns. We all took a shot and opened the files at once. I held up the cover page to my report. There, in the center, read “St. Clair’s Parish.” I put it on the table as our waiter arrived with the drinks.
“You all students?” he asked. We agreed. “Must be the sendoff night. Been comin’ here for years before the sendoff night. I hope you know what’s headed your way.” He cast an eye at my paper when he put down my Hurricane. He looked back at me and his smile broke. He went back to the bartender. I watched them exchange words as a heated conversation arose about the physical qualities of our professor. I decided to investigate as they kept talking. I walked over and caught the end of some French phrases. The bartender smiled revealing a row of crooked teeth.
“Can I get you something my friend?”
“Sure. How about topping this off?” I put my drink on the bar and swatted a mosquito that attempted his own drink on my arm. The waiter stood to my left staring into my face. I tried not to look. The bartender returned my drink and, as I decided against saying something, the waiter grabbed my arm.
“Don’t go,” he said.
“Charles, stop. You’ll scare the boy,” the bartender said. I noticed the still faint smile across his mouth.
“Don’t go. They pick these towns. They do not know. Some places, they not like others. You leave here and get into their world, things be different.”
“He’ll be fine,” the bartender replied. I liked his confidence.
“See,” I fought for his name from my alcohol-fueled memory, “Charles. I’ll be fine. I went back to the table as he dropped his head. |
I woke up early the next morning, packed my suitcase and filled my thermos. Since moving down from the northeast, I decided to skimp on the living conditions and splurge on the vehicle. I put the suitcase in the back seat and started the car. The BMW emblem on the steering wheel always made me smile. The fact that is was outside still without being stolen, made me smile even more. I raised my sheet of Internet directions and started off to the west. According to the sheet, it would take two hours to arrive at the Parish.
During the drive, the city started to fade around me. The summer heat was already in session with dawn and only increased. The luxury air conditioning kept the car cool. The buildings faded as the urban area switched into trees. Rows of willows and wild plants overtook each side of the paved roadway. The paving eventually cracked and the road lines separated their yellow paint. The trees grew closer and threatened to jump across and reclaim their territory as they were before construction ever dared venture into their land.
Wild animals of every kind were appearing on the sides of the road. Snakes sunned on rocks. Fish jumped in ponds that were randomly spread across the countryside. Insects danced in the heat and slowed as they succumbed to the need to find some shade. A group settled on the remains of something unidentifiable on the roadside. Nearing the two-hour mark, I started to look for a sign stating the entrance to the town.
After another twenty minutes of travel, I passed a rusted square on a bent pole settled into the gravel of the road. I stopped, checked for anyone in the area, and reversed. I pulled forward closer to the sign. Barely, the words came through in a neatly flowered script. Welcome to Saint Clair’s Parish. Est. 1750. My brief history classes would place this among one of the earlier settlements in the area. I made a mental note to look for historical landmarks after I’d settled in. I took the turn onto the main road and made my way down into the town. |
The gravel became the road and I slowed down to watch for people and any animals that would cross. Workers tilling the ground stopped from their labor and looked in my direction. They wore torn jeans and shirts. Their skin looked tough in the unforgiving sun. They wielded their tools as extensions on their limbs. I pictured their ancestors on the land two hundred years before and kept driving.
Finally the entrance road gave way to a larger area and into the town square. Instructions in my file said to check in with the local doctor, a Stanley DeGaulle. I searched his address and found no matches on the computer. Looking at the area, it would explain why.
The main town center was comprised of two rows of buildings facing each other across a grassy park. The gravel lapped the park. People ambled across the road and some sat underneath the trees enjoying the shade. I tried to take everything in and a sign at the end of the block caught my eye. It was a simple white board painted with a red plus sign. This had to be it. I parked; at least I assumed it was parking, since my vehicle was the only one on the street. I walked over to the unit in front of the sign. A large glass window let light into the office. I opened the door and the bell attached to the top corner jingled my arrival.
Behind a partition, an older man looked up from a table. A wail came from the table and he looked back down. His receptionist was busy trying to console a large woman who cried hysterically in the corner as she rocked on two chairs that looked unprepared to take her weight. I put my briefcase down next to the wall. The voice from behind the partition rose in a deep baritone.
“You must be the help. Come join me, doctor.” I put my jacket over my suit shirt and went behind the partition. The woman kept crying in front. I looked to the source of the crying and had to fight a grimace. A young child lay on the table, his arm bent at a wrong angle. “This young man jumped from a tree and landed in an awkward position. We are just gonna reset his arm. Do you mind holding him?” The child thrashed. The woman cried. I grabbed his legs. The muscles underneath ran with electricity and energy of youth. In one swift move and crack, the arm was reset. The sound of crying faded. The boy sat up with two paths of tears running down his cheeks. The doctor patted his head and he jumped off the table. |
After the setting and instructions, the woman left. She dragged her son in front of her and the doctor turned to look at me.
“Welcome to Saint Clair’s. I’m Doctor DeGaulle.” He reached out and shook my hand with a strength that betrayed his age.
“Any relation to the French guy?” I asked trying for a joke. He did not laugh.
“You’ve got a sense of humor. I like that. Let’s go for a stroll. Margaret, I’ll be back in five minutes.” His receptionist nodded. She settled back at her desk and turned on a metal-grilled fan. The blade whirred and labored as it spun, blowing back Margaret’s large amount of hair. She adjusted her blouse and opened up a dog-eared paperback. I did not see the title. I followed the doctor outside.
We exited the front of the office and walked to the right. The gravel crunched under our shoes. A group of children surrounded my car and it made me nervous. He must have seen my glances backwards.
“They’re harmless. Machines like that don’t come around here often. How long do I have you?”
“About two months.” The people smiled and waved as we passed. I noticed they waved at him and ignored me. The noon air blasted itself into my skin and the heat came like a blanket. The doctor did not seem effected. He wiped his brow and the creases showed like leather in his skin.
“I hope you last. This isn’t the easiest place to settle. Who sent you out here?” The only name I could think of was the program director at the college.
“Doctor Lewis.”
“Ah. A good friend.”
“Good friend?” The idea that this man had any connection with a world outside this town floored my perception.
“Yes. He was a student of mine. I retired here and he rose to my position.” I kept out the fact that he was a major jerk and hated by most of us. “You can stay in the boarding house at the end of the lane.” He extended a finger diagonally to our left. I noticed another street running out. We were walking around the town circle centered by an old church building. The streets ran out like spokes with the main entrance being the square. “I’ve already paid your fee.”
“Thanks.”
“Not yet. Give it a week and see if you still thank me.”
“No offense but what can actually happen out here?” He looked at me with steel in his glance.
“You really are a student. Just remember that.” We turned and went back to the office. |
After a pair of allergy shots and some fevers, we shut down and retired for the night. I drove down the street he pointed out earlier. Like the square, houses flanked this street. They were connected and most were barely standing. People sat on porches. They talked and looked in my direction. I saw nothing that looked like a boarding house and I neared the end of the row. Against my better judgment, I stopped two men walking up the sidewalk and rolled down my window.
“Excuse me. Where is the boarding house?” They looked at me. One pointed at the very last property. “Thanks.” They kept walking. I drove down and parked in front of the building.
The swamp touched the side of the porch and water almost went to the foundation. A willow stood on the right. This, despite the horrible location, was slightly better kept then the other buildings. Another large woman stood on the porch. I wondered how they were this size when I noticed no major grocery stores or fast food places. I grabbed my bags from the trunk and started up the stairs.
“You must be the doctor. Steven is it?” She smiled. “My name is Shirley LaRoix.” Her voice had a touch of accent. Her smile melted the coldness that had built on my exterior from the rest of the town. Her age was indefinable. Her manner kept almost gentrified. She opened the door.
The inside was laid out in the style of lodging that tourists paid a thousand a week to enjoy outside the major cities. A living and sitting area ran to the right. The dining room was to the left and the kitchen off behind an arched passageway. Stairs were directly ahead that ran up and slightly curved. A library of books was along the right side wall. Lamps and various small decorations sat across the room. I smelled tobacco and cigars.
“It is beautiful,” I said. She beamed even more.
“My father passed it down from his father. They founded this town. Your room is upstairs at the end of the hall. I hope you enjoy your stay. Be down as dinner is almost done.” She went off to the kitchen and I climbed the stairwell.
The hallway ran only to the right and the entire length of the house. I noticed three doors. I assumed one to be her bedroom and one to be a bathroom. The last had to be mine. The doctor called this a boarding house but it could only fit one boarder from my observation. I made a note to ask him about it. I changed into jeans and a t-shirt as a strong smell hit my nose and stirred up a hunger I ignored for the first part of the day. I went downstairs. |
Two place settings were at a long wooden dinner table. Candles were lit on the table and on the chandelier that hung above it. A bowl held a red liquid that could only have been a kind of gumbo. My host stood behind a chair pulled out for me to use.
“Have a seat. Crawfish, veggies, and some other fixings I put together this morning when I had news of your arrival. I hope you enjoy it.” She sat to my right at her own bowl. I tasted it and the spices stung my tongue and brought tears to my eyes.
“It’s amazing,” I said. She smiled. I smiled and, for the first time in a long time, meant it. |
After dinner, I looked over the library with the intent of finding an interesting historical chronicle of the area. A library in a place like this had to have a good find. An entire section of the middle row was copies of the town ledger. The dates, in gold print on the spines, ran back to the founding year. There were texts in titles I could not read or understand.
“My family collected those,” Shirley said. She appeared behind me holding a cup of coffee. I sipped it and tasted a hint of liquor.
“Outstanding.”
“Your evening is not complete without one of these.” She leaned down to a wooden box on the table, painted black with a gold insignia. She slid the cover back and pulled out a cigar. The smell came into my nostrils and forced comfort onto my mind. She cut the cigar. I put it into my mouth and she lit a match.
After settling on a book entitled The History of Saint Clair’s Parish, I sat in the easy chair to read. A brief rain passed through the night. Shirley sat on the couch and knitted. When sleep crept over my mind, I excused myself and went upstairs. She informed me she would be up soon.
In the night, I dreamt of the city. Landscape flew by and my subconscious connected the path of my travel. Childhood memories danced. Fights found their way in. The argument that caused my running away to school flashed like thunder. I saw the hurt in everyone’s eyes. I heard the yelling. When morning came, my teeth were sore from all the grinding. |
I put on a pair of dress pants and my lightest shirt. This was not a place to watch labels and no one would care how much I’d spent. I dressed in front of another antique fan and, by the time I arrived downstairs, a thin layer of sweat coated my shirt and forehead. The agenda of the day was a mystery and I thought to show up a few minutes before opening of the office to make a display of my dedication. I crossed off another day on my PDA calendar and imagined returning to civilization.
My car was untouched and this surprised me. My gut flinched at that thought. It kept becoming a challenge to just accept the circumstances. We were out here together and, whether I liked it or not, my own identity included itself inside this town. A young boy bounced a ball on the sidewalk. The rhythmic smacking pierced the morning air. I walked over to him and he stopped. He looked up and I could catch the smallest pinch of fear.
“Don’t worry. Look, can you do something for me?” I asked. He nodded his head yes. “See that car?”
Another nod.
“Tell me if anyone touches it, okay?” I handed him a folded twenty. He looked at it and smiled. He put it into his pocket and went on his way with the ball. A gray blanket of clouds ushered in the morning and forced a concentration of temperature and humidity. It felt like a magnifying glass turning the streets into a sauna. I decided to forgo the car air conditioning and walk the trip. It would be good for conditioning and give me some badly needed exposure in the town. |
Despite my hopes for exposure, no one said a word to me as I walked. I arrived at twelve minutes until opening. The front door was locked so I went to wait and lean against the wall. People still kept their distance. I noticed the little boy from the day before and his mother walking into a storefront across the street. As the minutes passed, a tide of people moved to the end of the road. At first, they came in pairs and then gradually in threes and fours. Finally entire families were walking. I watched them cross into the grassy area in front of the church. There they formed a semicircle around something I could not see. As their chatter died down, they all sat on the grass in a single moment. Standing now, as their focus, was the frame of an old woman. She looked beyond age. Her hair ran to the ground and braided into random clumps of knots. Her clothes were not more than rags and on her shoulder perched something that resembled a vulture. She started to speak and I could not hear her words. A shadow came on the other side of my face.
“She’s their prophet.” It was the doctor with the receptionist walking a few steps behind. I checked my watch. We still had three minutes. “Something must be happening. They do not usually meet en masse.” We walked inside.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“That depends on who you talk too. They say she appeared out of the swamp. This was back when a single owner ran the plantations that were near the town property. The locals were being abused and mistreated. They begged and she arrived. She met with each owner and the plantations closed while freeing their employees. That created the families you see here. They are bound, by their own beliefs, to this town and to her. If they leave, they will face great misfortune.” The receptionist had started back into her novel.
“Sounds like a good story,” I said.
“Fiction is only fiction because we all agree; same with fact. They believe her powers are greater then anything they have seen. I believe I have no place to interfere. We have a fine balance. Are you ready for another day of medical life?” He smiled. There was a part of his expression underneath the smile that dismissed any more questions I had. I decided to look into the books at my boarding house and even ask my host for what I could find. The doctor poured a coffee for himself and for me. We settled and waited for the day to begin. |
The first patient came in from the fields holding his bleeding hand. His supervisor walked next to him and kept him propped up and standing. The man did not cry or wail. He looked like he would pass out any second. The receptionist did not bother to take a name. They walked right to our area and the man lay out on the bed. The doctor rolled over a light and turned it on. The cut went deep into his palm. His partner spoke.
“Slipped with his machete holding a branch.” The doctor only nodded.
“Grab me material for sutures won’t you?” I went around the corner to the storage area.
The storage area, I learned from our conversations the day before, used to stand as a stock room for a small country store. Double glass doors were the entry and I went through the one on the right. Shelves were painted white to match the walls. Medicines were stored in glass containers running the length of the shelves and floor to ceiling. The room was replenished once a month by a medical missionary who would make the trip out. Her local church sponsored the town. She was not well liked. It took me five minutes to find the necessary instruments.
It took the doctor another ten minutes to complete the sutures. The men left and went back to work. We waited without patients, for another two hours. The receptionist stood.
“I’m off to lunch now.”
“Thanks Margaret. Enjoy yourself,” the doctor said, not looking at her. She walked out. He looked at me. “I think we best grab some lunch ourselves. You can meet the local government. Follow me.” He winked. We walked to the door and he flipped the door sign to read Back in an Hour. |
The diner was the first building from the road on the opposite side of the main street. We walked directly across the road. People were ambling in the shade in their lunch breaks. Some glanced in our direction. I had the impression they were used to seeing this walk being made by the doctor.
The doctor pushed open another swinging door and the crowd inside the diner all looked in our direction. I counted five people but I believed that, in this town, that stood enough for a crowd. The kitchen was to our right, behind another door on loose hinges. The smell from the grill found its way into the dining area and directly into my stomach. We sat at a table in the middle of the room and a waitress appeared from behind the kitchen door. She walked over and smiled.
“Well, hello,” she said.
“How is that tooth?” the doctor asked. He looked at me and mouthed “cavities.”
“Perfect.” She opened her mouth wider and pointed a finger to her back left side. She leaned over and the doctor looked into her mouth. “What can I get you boys?”
“We’ll have the usual.”
“Outstanding.” She smiled at me and turned around to head back to the kitchen. I noticed the place had no menus.
“This place has been here since the fifties. These gentlemen were here just as long.” He waved his hand behind him. The five guys had inched closer to us. “These men make this place run.” I took in their appearances.
Three were identical. They wore faded baseball caps, ripped flannel shirts, and pants that were khakis back in 1960. Despite their age, their eyes betrayed an intense knowledge and experience. The last two men were stick thin. One had a dusting of white hair. The other was totally bald. Their clothes were newer. The last man appeared younger then the others.
“Meet the Royal brothers, Joseph Harvey, and Thomas Devine,” the doctor said. They nodded.
“Welcome to the Parish,” one of the brothers said. His voice rang sweetly in the room. They were now seated around us in a semi circle.
“Thanks. I’m happy to be here and help out.”
“I’m sure you are.” This came from Thomas. I did not like his confidence.
“Why was she here?” the doctor asked. The men all reacted. Most looked away. One sighed. Just the mention of the old woman caused a reaction.
“Says trouble’s comin’.” The second brother spoke up.
“Doesn’t she always?” the doctor asked.
“Trouble comes. This time he’s coming to collect on his debts.”
The waitress came out and put the meals in front of us. A hamburger sat on the place that was almost falling off it with size. Two small portions of fries were next to the burgers buried under seasoning.
“She just wants the donations to keep coming,” the doctor said and then took a large bite of the burger.
“Not this time I’m afraid. She said trouble’s coming and she’s goin’ with it.” The men looked at him in contempt and he shut his mouth. They stood up one by one and left, making us the only ones in the place. A small clap of thunder sounded off in the distance. |
We returned to the office. Margaret was already behind her desk. Two people sat on the old chairs in the waiting area. The doctor smiled at them. We went back around to our area and washed our hands.
“The one on the left is making it up. I see her three times a week. Usually it’s a cold or something small. Her husband died two years back and she comes here for company. The one on the right is a mystery. Which one do you want?” I dried my hands.
“I love a little mystery,” I said.
“Excellent.” He smiled. I let him go and get his patient. Since there was only one examination room, we had to wait our turns. I thumbed through some old manuals on the back wall while he talked with the imagination woman. I heard the bell over the door chime to signal her exit. He reappeared around the corner.
“You’re up.” He went and sat on an easy chair in front of his desk. His desk was a large, older wooden model placed on the wall between the storage room and some exterior shelves. He started writing on a pad and I went to my patient.
I heard Margaret tell her to come back even before I made it to the waiting area. She had her timing down. The woman walked back. She did not make eye contact with me. I stepped out of her way and told her to have a seat. When she was under the ceiling fluorescent, I started to take inventory of her features.
The woman wore a pair of jean shorts and an old t-shirt. Her hair was pulled back and long. Her eyes were rimmed in yellow. I noticed her inability to focus.
“How can I help you today?” I asked. She forced her focus onto me.
“I’m dying,” she said.
“Okay. What hurts?” This was not a usual patient admission.
“I don’t know. I’m dying, I said. Don’t you hear me?” Her voice rose and I could hear her expending force to get the words out.
“Why do you feel like that?”
“She told me.” After this morning, I did not have to ask whom she meant. I took all of her vital signs and everything came back normal. I put her through all the tests I could manage in such a small office and nothing gave an odd result.
“Honestly now, unless there is something you are not telling me, you appear fine and in good health,” I said. I was ready to call the doctor in if needed, knowing my credibility was not up to par yet in the town. She stood from the table.
“Tomorrow. She said tomorrow. You’ll see.” The woman walked out. |
The rest of the day passed and, as winds blew through the main street announcing an oncoming storm, I walked back to the boarding house. I fantasized over the dinner that would be waiting and over a chance to do more research. Despite the surrounding factors, everywhere I looked people had an air of expectancy. Things were happening under the surface and I was determined to get to the bottom of them.
Shirley, as with the night before, greeted me on the steps. My car had not been touched. The little boy was earning his pay. This time we sat down to seafood and rice. I could no longer resist the urge to ask her a question.
“Can you tell me about the old woman?” She turned from her dinner and looked at my face. Her face darkened for a second, then she smiled.
“Of course. My grandfather and the founders were the ones who invited her here in the first place. This building, they originally started here. Let me show you something.”
She rose from her seat and went into the library. She came back holding a dusty picture. She presented it to me. The picture was of eight people standing at the porch of the house. They were all younger. They wore the look of physical exhaustion but laced with happiness. “This is the year of the founding.”
“I can see where you get your looks. The women are beautiful.” I smiled.
“You are much too nice.” She took the picture back, left the room, and returned empty handed.
“So tell me why they cannot leave.” I decided to lean in and take my chance.
“It was part of her demands. Some say she made a deal with the dark one. Some say she died a long while back and keeps herself here to check in on her town. They say she is the lifeblood of the area. They say she regulates the pathways of life and death.” She stepped when she saw my expression. I caught myself and changed it in an instant.
“She looked real too me.”
“She is real.” Shirley picked up our dishes and I went to the library intent on research. |
I started with the original charters. They were hundreds of pages browned with age and dust. The ink writing came in swirled loops. Someone had figured out penmanship all those years back. I found the records of the original families. A handful of pages described the slavery and conditions in Old Testament form. They talked about a miracle influence that allowed them freedom. They worshipped this woman. I shut the records and pulled a puff from an expensive cigar. The warning from my patient during the day rang in my ears.
The people still crowded around her. She could not be as old as they guessed. If the patient’s face said anything, some were getting tired of her presence. They needed a way out. Maybe this woman was a sister or daughter of the original. The town charters mentioned a person. It did not have to be her. I determined to see what would happen the next day and, if needed, do what I had to do to get the town healthy again. |
The clouds of the day before had cleared to a high and intense sun. Walking outside put that same sun directly in my face. It felt like, no matter which way I turned, there was no shade to be found. The kids were still inside and the heat kept the streets like a ghost town. Before I hit the end of the block, my shirt was sticking to my back. I walked over to the front of the office and leaned in a shaded corner to wait for Margaret and the doc. He arrived without her.
“Margaret is staying home today. First time in ten years,” he said.
“Why?”
“Apparently, last night she received some kind of message that she was in danger today.” He looked up at me while he unlocked the door.
“The old woman?” I asked.
“Who else? I really wish she would end the whole act. Are you ready for a new day?”
We went inside and started the process of setting up. |
The morning progressed and, as time passed, people gradually wandered out of their houses. They mostly kept to the shade as they ran their errands. Everyone moved a little slower in the heat. Even the bugs performed their loops and dives slower in the sky. Around noon, a dark cloud moved in over the area. We had seen no patients in the morning. The doctor sat at his desk and read the current journals. I sat in Margaret’s desk and looked out over the town. The cloud took things from a blinding morning to a dark afternoon.
The handful of people who actually came out were walking or sitting in the shade of the square. They all looked up and noticed the cloud. They glanced over towards me. I followed their eyes and stood up, ready to go outside. Before I could, she appeared in the storefront.
The old woman walked slowly towards the church. I had not seen where she came from. She was laughing with the sound of old chains rattling. She walked and laughed past the window. When she finally made it, I went outside and that’s where the second surprise of the morning came in.
A car was making its way down the path. It crept, as slow as the woman, into the square. The people all disbursed and went inside any building they could find. The car took the street directly past the office so I would get a close look.
It was an older white Cadillac with blacked out windows. The tires were whitewall with spotless hubcaps. It rolled down the street and pulled in front of the church. The old woman had completed her walk and waited for the driver to get out. Thunder clapped over my head and rain started to fall. The driver’s side door opened and a man stepped out.
He wore a black suit. I could not clearly make out his face but his hair was black and gray. He walked around the car while he buttoned his jacket. He went over to the old woman and gave her a hug. She led him down the first street in town and he left his car at the church. Ten minutes after I went back inside, the reports started to come in the form of people running into our office. |
I decided not to interrupt the doctor at first. Rain tapped against the window and the thunder kept rolling. I sat back down and found an older paperback in Margaret’s desk. I thumbed through it for a few minutes. The doctor kept thumbing through his journals.
A man threw our door open so hard that the bell snapped off and fell to the ground. His eyes were wide and he dripped of the steady rain.
“Come quick, she’s dying. Come now!” The doctor and I ran behind him and out into the street. We took a right down the street and being so near to the white car bothered me. It was not cold, even in the rain, but a chill came through my body. The man ran by two run-down houses and up on the porch of the third in the row. We followed him inside.
The wooden floor creaked as we followed him to the living room. On an old and lopsided couch, a large woman lay. Despite the rain, which dripped from the roof down into the room, the heat was stifling. The woman did not move. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling. A small pool had formed on the center of her dress where the rainwater dripped its way onto her still form. Her hair was dark but graying at its roots.
“What happened?” I asked. The man stood in the corner was trying to hold back tears. Doctor DeGaulle had moved onto the patient and was checking her vitals.
“I came in from my brother’s house and she was here. That thing and the old woman were walking away from the house. I ran to the window and heard their laughing. She was touched!” The doctor looked up from his checking. He shook his head and covered her eyes. When he removed his hands, they did not close.
“Did that old woman tell you some harm would come?” I asked. The man looked at me through tear-streaked eyes.
“Yes,” he said.
“We will go get help,” the doctor said. He pulled my arm and I followed him outside. People were running our direction from all over the street. A small crowd stopped around us. The increasing rain muffled their cries. They were in different states of distress. Before we could pick out the stories, two women in the group fell to their knees and wailed. The group started to pull us in separate directions. The doctor looked at me over their tugs.
“Go with them and finish this street. I’ll go to the next one. Come back here as soon as you are done.” I took off and five people followed me. The others followed the doctor. The old woman and her friend continued their walk oblivious to the activity around them.
The scenes in the houses were all the same. Different members of the families were dead in the spots where they fell. The choices seemed random. I was ready to call in the state Center for Disease Control to quarantine the area for some strain of an unknown disease. I pulled out my cell phone and had no reception. I ran back to the square and my group had turned into ten. The doctor was already there. He stood on the steps of the church. The crowd parted for us and I stood up next to him. The rain kept increasing and the ground was turning into mud.
“People we must not panic. Most likely this is some kind of virus. Let us go get help. We have a vehicle and we will be back within two hours.” The crowd roared at our suggestion. I looked over top of them to the street of my temporary boarding house residence. The old woman, the man, and Shirley were walking down the street. The man had his arm around Shirley. Her expression was the median stare of one who has given up on sanity. The old woman pointed in my direction. The man looked up and made eye contact with me. He reached his hand over to Shirley’s chest and put it on her heart. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell. They laughed as they continued in our direction.
“We are not leaving!” I heard my voice sound over the crowd noise. They quieted. “This is not a virus. This is caused by them.” I pointed at the old woman and the man. They were almost on top of the crowd now. People shuddered at their closeness. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. An alligator ambled his way across the entrance, enjoying the rain.
“He’s right. This needs to stop.” The Royal brothers stood below us on the steps. The crowd perked up at seeing their town fathers joining in the fight. “For centuries we have dealt with this and it ends tonight. Too many people have died.” I looked at the doctor. He leaned into me.
“I’ll tell you later,” he said. The old woman and her friend now stood in the middle of the crowd that expanded into a circle around them. The old woman raised her hand.
“Is this what you really want? You know the deal. I made the same promise to your fathers and your grandfathers. I walked in this town before any of you were even formed souls. I freed you from slavery and you want out now?” The old woman lowered her hand. The man scanned the crowd. I noticed his eyes were black. A few people shrank away at his glance. The Royal Brothers stepped up again.
“Witch, we are tired. There has been too much loss here.”
“You know what will happen then. You all know,” she said as she pointed at those in the circle. “The blood lines stop. I let him loose. He has wanted this for years. He wants free reign. He wants your souls. Are you ready?” The other men from the diner emerged into the circle. They surrounded the large man and the old woman. Their fists clenched. I looked to my side and the doctor had vanished. I looked back and he stood next to the diner men. They were all soaked in the rain. Silence fell over the crowd. The tapping of the rain on the car hood was the only noise breaking the moment.
“We are ready,” the doctor said. The five men charged the old woman and the crowd all pushed in. I heard her scream. The man with the black eyes swung his fists and each person he touched fell to the ground dead. Souls vacated bodies while the fight continued. Alligators, smelling the blood, had emerged in greater numbers from the entrance and the streets. They walked towards the fighting. I saw an opening, felt for my car keys, and made a run for it.
My shoes slipped in the mud and I could not get stopped, sliding into my bumper and cracking my knee. When I looked up from my injury-produced crouch, I saw the little boy I paid to watch the car. He was crying and soaked, hiding against my door. I opened it and put him inside. He held onto my arm and I blasted the heat. The BMW purred, thankful at the start, and I backed out of the space.
I hit the gas and started up the street to the carnage. The gators were having their way with the dead. I could not pick out main fighters. A doctor’s coat, now mud covered, was being fought over by two of the gators. I turned right and the car skidded to a stop. It felt as if I hit a wall. I banged my bad knee on the steering wheel and yelled in pain. The boy fell limp at my side. Blood flowed down over my eyes and I barely heard the window break.
I fought to focus and saw an old face leaning inside the window. She smiled. Her skeleton hand grabbed my throat and she turned my gaze to match hers.
“You tried, boy. I like that. You have spirit. Your teacher, he was old. This town needs some new blood.” She laughed and let go of my throat. I inhaled and everything went black. |
A tugging on my sleeve woke me up and I opened my eyes to the sunlight. The boy was leaning over my face with an expectant glance. I opened the door and stood, pain shooting through my knee. I looked over to the square.
The gators had dispersed, carrying their rewards to the swamps. The white car and old woman were gone. The survivors wandered around. I walked over and examined the remains of their friends and families. The boy ran around the car and put his hand into mine. I went up to the church stairs. The crowd came over, walking through the battle area.
“Let’s clean up. I’ll make my way around to your houses to look at any bodies that remain. The office will be open.” I limped down and went to move my car back in front of Shirley’s house. The boy tugged my arm.
“Are you staying mister?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I thought of the old woman’s face. “I guess I am.” The people started to clean up the square and I went to move my car, ready to start another day at the office. |
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