by Sara Clancy
She gave the door a sudden, hard shove and it slammed shut. He could hear the locks flicking over and lifted his hand to knock again, but decided against it. That solid weight he had felt on him since he approached the house now felt like a hand slipping around his heart. He ran.
***
Marigold pressed her back against the door and tried to dislodge her heart from her throat. Aunt Delilah had been gone all day but she hadn’t really felt the emptiness of the house until now. The man had almost knocked the door off its hinges. She had been sure he was going to get in and all she could think about was the man that had attacked her at the hospital. Her fingers wrapped protectively around her forearm as the battered flesh pulsed. She managed to peel her hand away long enough to snatch her painkillers out of her pocket and swallowed them dry. The house was in complete darkness and she was rendered blind. Pressed against the solid wood, she waited for her eyes to adjust but it didn’t happen. The house remained completely hidden. She couldn’t even begin to discern silhouettes. There was only nothingness.
Her free hand fished her phone out of her pocket and she clicked it open. The screen lit up as bright as the sun before it switched itself off. She hit it repeatedly but it wouldn’t turn back on. Engulfed once again, the darkness felt oppressively heavy. Every second bore down on her until her knees felt weak. She needed a light. At least this explained the line of candles that were stacked in the kitchen cupboard.
Hands outstretched, she shuffled down the hallway, always a step away from hitting into something, but it never happened. There was only empty space. Just when she was certain that the whole world had fallen away, her fingers brushed a door frame. She gripped it tightly and felt the little satchel that the man had thrown to her, dig into her palm. After a moment of trying to orientate herself, she staggered across the kitchen and felt around for the cabinet she remembered from earlier. The matches were tucked into the corner of the bottom shelf and, after a few flicks, a small flame came to life.
The soft glow created a small visible ring around her but didn’t touch the endless darkness beyond. She couldn’t find a candle holder so held the long, slender candle with one hand and protected the flame with the other. As she turned away from the counter, her foot hit a slick patch. She grimaced and lowered the candle to see what she had just stepped in. A patch of water caught the light. The puddle was small and as she crouched, trying to figure out where the leak was coming from, she noticed that it was part of a trail.
The little splotches crossed the floor and slipped into the shadows. By the light of the tiny flame, she followed the path they created. Bit by bit, the puddles gathered definition until they were perfect footsteps. They were small, childlike. Confused, Marigold crouched down and pressed a fingertip into the puddle. The flame flickered, something shifted out of the corner of her eyes. She scrambled back, candle high, eyes locked on the darkened space below the table.
Jasmine stared back at her with wide eyes. Water covered her blue skin and dripped from her long hair to form a puddle on the floor. Marigold didn’t dare blink, scared that her sister would disappear, terrified that she wouldn’t.
Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Jasmine.”
Jasmine’s eyes grew impossibly large. “Shh, the boogieman will hear you.”
“The boogieman?”
Water drizzled from her sleeve as she unfurled one trembling arm to point a tiny finger over Marigold’s shoulder. Hot breath washed over Marigold’s neck, putrid and thick, toying with the loose tendrils of her hair. The flickering candlelight shone in Jasmine’s eyes.
“Jas,” Marigold whispered. “What’s behind me?”
When her sister didn’t say a word, she skirted her eyes to the side, unable to see anything beyond the tiny rim of candlelight. Slowly she turned her head. A short burst of breath pushed past her face and blew the candle out. Marigold screamed and scrambled over the floor. She clambered into chairs and made them scatter. They slammed against the floor, each slap like thunder claps in the absolute darkness.
They tangled in her legs as she pushed up onto her feet and ran. She slammed into walls, tripped over stairs, but didn’t stop running until she was on the third floor. Gripping the rail until her knuckles hurt, she crumbled onto her knees. Each breath ripped open her throat like barbwire. Hand pressed against her chest like she could keep her heart from breaking her ribs, she tried to still her mind. The pills. It had to be the pills. No matter what the doctors prescribed, the visions only got worse.
It can’t be real. Just go to bed.
Marigold dragged herself off the floor. Each step was exhausting and when she smacked into a wall, she didn’t care. Not even when she tasted blood and realized that somewhere along the line she had opened her lip. She would deal with it in the morning. She felt along the wall until she found the groves of the hidden door and pushed it open. With one hand braced against the wall, she forced her legs to work. Each step groaned. She could barely keep her eyes open.
From somewhere behind her, she heard the door scrape over the floor as it slowly swung shut. She stopped, eyes searching the darkness even as she knew she wouldn’t see anything. But she felt it. Something was in there with her. Slowly she took another step up the stairs. The floor creaked with her weight. The sound was met with an answer somewhere far below. She held her breath and froze, straining to hear even the slightest sound. A soft creak broke the silence. One step. Then another. Silence.
Suddenly, the stairs were screaming as something barrelled up towards her. She spun on her heel and ran as fast as she could. The sound got closer. Closer. She slammed into the door at the top of the stairs and hurled herself through, throwing it shut with both hands. There wasn’t a lock. There was nothing she could push in front of it. The darkness was her only ally and she prayed it would hold her for just a few seconds more.
There was only one place to hide and she ran for it. Her outstretched fingers found the battered surface of the cupboard. The only possible weapon it offered was a wire coat hanger and she clutched it tightly as she curled in the cupboard and pulled the door shut. For a moment, the only sound in the world was her own laboured breathing. The rush of blood as her heart pounded. She clamped her mouth shut when another sound intruded on existence. The untreated floor rasped as the door to the room inched open.
All she could see was a memory of the man in the hospital. It was burned into her mind’s eye. Every line of his face, the fever of his eyes, the calluses of his hands. Her face throbbed with the memory of his fist driving into skin and bone. She bit her lips until she could taste blood. Held the wire tightly enough to hurt. Silence settled back down onto her and she strained to listen to the slightest sound. She didn’t hear anyone come into the room. She didn’t hear anyone go down the stairs.
A scream ached to be released when she first heard the scraping. The cupboard door was just a thin slap of wood. One that held no lock. On the other side, someone began to trail the thin tip of something sharp in idol patterns. Up and down. Round and round. The door rattled softly at the pressure the razor tip created. Trapped inside, huddled in the darkness, she clutched at her pathetic weapon and waited for the door to open.
Chapter 5
There was no way to tell exactly when the scratching had stopped but even after it had fallen silent, she hadn’t dared to open the door. Without the constant threat, her adrenaline had crashed and pulled her into a restless sleep. She woke up as slips of sunlight slithered through the cupboard doors. Her back felt like acid had been thrown in the cuts. The muscles of her legs had been replaced with stone. The air in the cramped space was humid enough to make her head spin and she was in desperate need of a shower. Eventually, she couldn’t put it off any longer and, taking courage from the sunlight, cracked open the door.
Nothing charged at her. Nothing reached in. She held the hanger high like it could actually work as a weapon and pushed the door open with more force. It swung open to reveal an empty room. Already the sun
had poured heat into the space, but it was better than the cupboard. Her muscles protested each step she took to the small sink hidden behind the dividing curtain. She sighed at the luxurious feel of cold water sloshing over her hands and guzzled down as much as her stomach could take. Stripping off her shirt was a special kind of agony and she cringed when she realized that the ripe-smelling shirt was the only thing she had to wear. She realized she should have bought two.
She peeked out around the curtain to ensure the room was empty before she peeled off her shorts. She stared at the tub. It sat there as wide and open as a gaping mouth, ready to swallow her whole. Unseen hands wrapped around her lungs and squeezed. Her throat crumbled. Edging closer like it was a wild animal, ready to strike, she snatched up a face cloth and retreated back to the sink. A sponge bath would have to do. The untreated wood floor soaked up as much of the run off as it could, but she could feel a puddle forming around her feet. She couldn’t look at it. Each drop that hit her back felt like it sliced into her skin, but she forced herself to finish the job. With the temperature already climbing, she decided to go without a bandage over her stitches. Her clothes felt waterlogged as she put them back on with a twist of disgust. The shirt had just settled into place when the bedroom door slammed open.
Delilah stormed in, fury in her eyes and her fist clenched tight. Before she could say anything, Delilah hurled the little satchel at her.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Too dignified to yell the words so they came out in a strained hiss.
Marigold glanced at the satchel but didn’t understand enough to answer.
“You dare to bring voodoo into my house?”
“Voodoo?”
Delilah pointed to the offending satchel like its very presence revolted her to her core.
“I do not have such things in my home.”
“It’s just a pouch.” Slumped against the floor, the tiny leather satchel didn’t seem worth all the fuss.
Delilah’s eyes flared as she charged a few steps towards Marigold, one slender hand wrapped tightly in the neck line of her dress.
“Do not contradict me,” she spat. “You will get rid of it this instant and you will never bring such barbaric filth into my home again. Am I understood?”
My home. The words rattled in her head and settled as a heavy weight against her heart. My home, not our home. Logically, she knew that it was silly to let it bother her. But being rational didn’t make it hurt any less.
“Yes, Aunt Delilah. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know?”
“A man showed up last night and–”
“You are inviting strangers into my home?”
“No, no,” she rushed to say. “He just started banging on the door and scared the hell out of me. I didn’t let him in.”
“And he gave you that?”
“Yes.”
“And you took it?”
“I was busy slamming the door shut.”
“Stupid child,” Delilah huffed. “New Orleans isn’t like the backwater squaller your father raised you in. Voodoo has a hold on the heathens here. It has power.”
“You don’t actually believe there’s anything to this?” Marigold asked.
Marigold’s startled laugh turned bitter in her mouth as Delilah glared. For a moment, she thought that the older woman might actually run at her. But the instant passed and Delilah kept eyeing the satchel like it was a snake.
“Voodoo witches hold tightly to their grudges. They say their chants and a La Roux dies. Wait till they come for you, then you’ll believe.” Her eyes drifted back to the bag. “But then it looks like they may have come already.”
“It’s just a bag, Aunt Delilah.”
“It’s a curse,” she hissed. “A witch sent something dark your way. Get rid of it, now!”
“Okay, okay, I will.”
“Today.”
“Of course.” Marigold took a step forward as Delilah turned to go. “Aunt Delilah, would you like to go shopping with me? I could use some extra clothes and thought it would be nice for you to show me the town.”
All the anger that had strapped itself to Delilah fell away like it had never been there. “I wish you had asked me last night. I’ve already made plans for my day and can’t break them. You understand.”
“Oh, yeah, I mean. Yes, Aunt Delilah. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Perhaps,” she was already on the staircase. “But don’t wait for me. By the smell of it, you are in dire need.”
***
She couldn’t bend without snaps of pain slicing along her back. Her body screamed for her pain killers, but each time she tried to take one, images of Jasmine, scared and pale, flashed across her mind. It was easier to handle the pain than see that again. Finding a few cheap tops took surprisingly little time and she was left with endless hours stretched out before her. With nowhere to go but back to that house, she found herself wondering the streets, hoping that the energy would once again drown out the sounds of her own thoughts.
By noon, the heat was intolerable, so she lingered in the stores that had air-conditioning. But there was only so long that she could stare at the same Mardi Gras mask before the owners grew concerned she was going to steal it. She bought a daiquiri in hopes that the cup of ice would offer some relief, and spent most of the time lamenting that she couldn’t have alcohol in it. Not with the chance that there were painkillers still in her system.
The ice quickly melted into watery slush. She wiped the cup across her forehead, sighing into the lingering chill that remained against the plastic. As she crossed the street, her eyes were drawn to a dangling, brightly colored sign. ‘Ava Key’s Voodoo Shop’. It was awkward to juggle her bag and her drink at the same time but she managed to find the little pouch in one of the pockets. With it tight in hand, she chewed her lip and edged towards the door. Through the large storefront windows she could see rows of towering shelves. Every inch of space was taken by perfectly ordered items, candles, beads and roots. The few scattered people browsed the aisles but appeared more interested in chatting than in the exotic items. She squeezed the bag and reached for the door just as it opened.
“You!” she shouted as she shoved her hands into his chest.
The satchel’s cord wrapped around her finger but the cup crumpled between them, its bright red contents erupting like a volcano. The man from her doorstep last night staggered back with the blow and she charged in after him. She shoved him again and he tripped into the counter. He ducked out of the way when she came at him again, hands up to fend her off.
“You jackass! You and your friends need to stay away from me!”
The second the words came out she was certain they were true. It hadn’t just been in her head. Someone had done that to her and her hands shook with rage.
His brow unfurrowed as he backed up for each step she took forward. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Liar! You were, what, the distraction? Does it make you feel good to scare women?”
“What are you talking about? I never intended to scare you!”
“What did you think would happen? I spent the entire night trapped in the cupboard because of you and your sick little friends.”
“I would never associate with someone who would do that,” he replied.
“So it’s only a coincidence that they rocked up just after you left?” she laughed bitterly as she swung her hands out wide, making the little satchel swing and regain her attention. She ripped it off and threw it at his daiquiri soaked shirt. “A little hint. When you’re going to scare someone with a curse, make sure they know a thing or two about voodoo.”
The last words left her along with her bravado. Deflated and exhausted, she was able to feel the constant hum of fear that now lurked in the depths of her cells. She turned to leave and he reached for her. Her glare stopped him in his tracks.
“Miss, there has been a grave misunderstanding between us, and I believe I ha
ve handled your scorns against my character rather well.”
Despite her best efforts, his southern genteel accent was a balm against her frayed nerves. “But before we get into that, I think we should discuss your lip.”
“What?”
“You didn’t have that cut last night.”
Her anger spiked again, “I ran into a wall.”
“This the same wall that gave you that black eye?”
“Go rot,” she pushed out through clenched teeth as she turned back to the door.
He came up behind her again and she whirled around to avoid his touch. Her damaged back hit the door and she couldn’t keep in her gasp of pain. As the man edged closer, she noticed the small audience they had created.
“Are you alright, miss?”
“Now you care?”
“I don’t know what you think I did.” He was nothing but calm and polite and it got under her skin. She had the strongest urge to shove him again.
“You distracted me so your sick little friends could break into my home.”
“If you recall, cher, I warned you that there was something in the house with you.”
“Something?”
“Well, it sure wasn’t human,” he replied, calmly.
For a moment, all she could do was stare at him. Her sudden burst of laughter caught them both off guard.
“And here I thought you were just cruel. Turns out you’re insane.”
“I know what I saw,” certainty laced his words. “So do you.”
“Are you seriously messing with my head? Trying to make sure I believe in this stupid curse?”
“What curse?”
She pointed to the bag that had been discarded on the floor. He diverted his eyes to it and his brow furrowed.
“The gris-gris?”
“Whatever you call it.”
He scrubbed a hand over the black stubble of his shaved head and glanced at her over his thick rimmed glasses.
