by Sara Clancy
“Whoever told you that doesn’t know voodoo as well as they think they do. That gris-gris is for protection against evil.”
“And you just happened to have one on you?”
“Any time I go near the La Roux house,” he said as he pointed to one of the racks filled with different colored bags. “We sell them here. Open one up, cher. You’ll find all the same ingredients.”
Shifting her weight she could feel the eyes on her. “My name isn’t Cher.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You keep calling me Cher. I’m Maggie.”
A soft chuckle tinkled through the crowd, making her all the more awkward. The man smiled, a flash of white teeth that he quickly tried to supress.
“It’s a term of endearment and a habit.” As if to draw her attention he said with more volume, “My name is Louis Dupont.”
“Hi, Louis.”
“Louis,” he said, his accent meeting with a French tilt.
She tried to match it. He shook his head almost indulgently and corrected her again.
“That’s what I said.”
“It’s really not.”
Most of the crowd nodded in agreement just as the door behind her opened. She scurried out of the way before it could hit her back and found herself eye to eye with one of the most imposing women she had ever seen. Her nose was slender, lips full, and skin like black velvet. Marigold felt her insides shift as the woman’s intense gaze locked onto her. The bottomless depths flicked up to something over Marigold’s shoulder before narrowing.
“Get out.”
“Ma,” Louis smiled. “This is–”
“I know who she is.” Her eyes were still fixed above Marigold’s shoulder. Then she added, “And I know what you are.”
Marigold’s stomach plummeted as memories of last night filled her head. She glanced over her shoulder, floored with relief when she saw nothing but empty space and rafters. The woman pressed into her personal space.
“You shouldn’t be here, La Roux.”
“How do you know my name?”
Something akin to sympathy softened the woman’s gaze as she met Marigold’s eyes. Her voice reduced to a whisper.
“Oh, child. You should never have come here.”
“Excuse me?”
“New Orleans ain’t like other places. The ghosts here are restless, and they ain’t done with your family yet.”
Marigold smiled softly, “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“They don’t care.” Her eyes turned to iron as she looked back past her shoulder. “You need to get out and take that abomination with you.”
The hair on the back of her neck prickled and she fought not to look behind her again. It was just a trick. She just needed some sleep.
“There’s nothing there.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “You have no knowledge about your family, do you, child?”
Marigold shrugged. “They’ve been in New Orleans for a while.”
“Your family is cursed.”
“Cursed?”
“It’s following you. And it will keep getting closer until it can touch you.”
“This is insane. You’re insane,” Marigold said as she pushed past the woman and wrenched the door open. “My family is screwed up? What about yours? Do you both just get off on scaring people?”
Louis stepped forward but stilled when his mother rose a hand. Without a word exchanged between them, he zipped up the pocket of Marigold’s backpack, the one that she couldn’t even remember dropping, and handed it to his mother. She held it out but didn’t release her grip when Marigold grabbed it.
“I offer you this warning out of kindness. Beware the dead, but fear what was never alive, because both are coming for you.”
A thousand creative swear words filled Marigold’s head but all that worked its way out of her clenched throat was a pathetic, “You’re a horrible person.”
With a violent tug, she yanked the bag out of the woman’s hand and escaped back into the heat.
Chapter 6
Marigold ran until her lungs ached and her legs throbbed. But no matter how far she ran, her thoughts wouldn’t grow silent. Tears blurred her vision as she pushed her way through yet another crowd. She could barely see them through the haze of her memories. They layered on top of each other until it all blurred together, twisted and distorted into a feral mess. Finally, she couldn’t keep her pace any longer and crumbled against the nearest wall. Sobs racked her as she slid onto the hot pavement. Every inch of her twitched in pain as she hugged her bag to her chest and struggled not to cry.
Just breathe, she told herself as she balled her hands into the soft material of her bag. You’re okay. Just breathe.
Slowly, she became aware of the world around her and of the people casting glances in her direction. Her legs shook as she climbed back onto her feet, one hand braced against a wall for balance. A tall grey stone wall that ran the length of the street, broken only by a massive metal fence. A few people were gathered near the gate, maps held high over their heads as they called out about the tours they offered. She edged close and glanced up at the copper plaque. St. Louis Cemetery. With renewed energy, she approached one of the tour guides and hurried through a greeting.
“This is one of the older cemeteries, right?”
“Opened in the 18th century,” he confirmed.
“And families have group mausoleums?”
“Yeah. Some even have a few generations in the same box.”
“This is a weird question, and you probably don’t know, but is there a La Roux mausoleum in this cemetery?”
The man gave her an indulgent smile. “You’re looking for our paranormal tour. Don’t be so embarrassed, the La Roux’s are a big draw. Everyone likes the macabre and they sure deliver. Want me to sign you up?”
The idea of having a crowd staring at her dead relatives made a foul taste twist around the back of her throat. And to have to stand there and listen to more people spitting vile words at her family would be too much.
“I wasn’t looking for a tour,” she said. “Not today. Would you be able to tell me where it is?”
He looked hesitant but pulled out a small paper map. “It’s right off the path. Don’t wonder too far and keep with bigger groups.”
She forced a smile. “Or the ghosts will get me?”
“More like muggers.” He looked at each of her injuries in turn as he handed over the map. It took everything she had not to reach up to re-adjust her scarf. “If this wasn’t on the main path, I wouldn’t be giving it to you. The place is a maze. Don’t wonder off.”
“I’ll be quick.”
He handed her the map and she ventured through the gates, keeping close to a group of four in front of her. The first mausoleums were as tall as any other and as soon as she stepped past them, she was surrounded on all sides by the weathered white structures. A long, thin stretch of black concrete served as a pathway and lifeline. As she trailed along with the flow, she looked down the little avenues created by the layout of tombs. No one went far from the path, leaving most of the little city to the dead. Every now and then, she would pass an avenue made of grass. It was always lush green in the middle but withered and died before it touched the slabs.
Following the map brought her to a few taller structures. Some looked more like a set of draws than standalone buildings, and others had crumbled enough to expose the earth red bricks. All too soon, she was standing before her family’s tomb. It was tall, rivalling most of the other structures, but didn’t have the little fence some of them did. Twin Greek pillars bracketed the door of rotten wood. Dirt and age tarnished the white stone and most of the designs had eroded flat. The roof was a blanket of vibrant green moss. It crept unhindered down the sides and slipped through the voids of missing stone. Unlike the other tombs, there had been no attempt to maintain it, and in some places, whole chunks of stone had been scratched off or removed. At one point, giant letters had spelt out her family name across the top o
f the doorway, but now, it was all but lost to time.
Her heart hammered with every step. She hadn’t been allowed to see her parents’ graves, Jasmine’s grave, and a part of her brain had taken this absence as hope. They weren’t here, but it hit her all the same. They were gone. Really gone. This wasn’t a nightmare or a tick, it wasn’t something she would ever wake up from or be able to take back. She was alone. Her hands shook as she pressed them to the stone that held her relatives as dust. A part of her had expected it to be cold, but the stone was sun warm and strong.
As she ghosted her fingers over the gouged out hunks, she could feel some of the words they had tried to remove. Following them with her fingertip she managed to decipher ‘murderer’, ‘demon’, and ‘rot in hell’. It shocked her when she felt the first of her tears fall. Wasn’t there a limit on the amount of tears someone could shed? How many could she possibly have left? She pressed herself against the stone but it offered no comfort. Only certainty.
Anger rolled up from the pit of her stomach; a small wave, at first, that soon flooded her veins and filled every inch of her being. She smacked the stone with a sudden scream, kicked and clawed until her skin began to tear. It didn’t sooth the ache inside her, only opened it more until she thought it would drown her. The skin of her neck burned, her vision blurred, and threw herself against the wall. All her efforts had no effect upon the mausoleum. It remained uncaring and silent, taunting her until she could barely breathe through her tear-mangled screams.
“How could you?” she bellowed to the ghosts in her head. “She was just a little girl! They trusted you!” Her knees gave out as she leaned against another building, panting and staring up at the unfathomable stone. “I loved you.”
She raked her hands over her cheeks, brushing off the tears that remained. Drawing herself to full height, she could almost see her parents before her.
“I didn’t get to say everything that I wanted to. I didn’t get to say anything. And you should have to hear it. You should have to live with the knowledge of what you did. You took something from me. I don’t know what to call it. Safety? Security? Trust in other human beings? It’s bits of it all and so much more. It’s something I never even knew I had until you stole it.
I feel its loss, like this gaping wound inside of me that’s never going to heal. There will always be this agonising pain inside of me, and it’s there because of you. How am I ever supposed to trust someone again? Trust myself? People think that you just took my future, but you didn’t. You took my past, too. Everything I ever believed was a lie.”
She shook her head and wiped away the fresh tears. “I wish they were right. That you were ghosts. So you’d have to live with what you did.”
Anger still pumped through her. She trembled with the weight of it, unable to move or speak, not sure if she wanted to do either. Sunlight pushed through her hair and turned it into strands of fire. As it blocked out the rest of the world, she couldn’t decide if it was shielding her or trapping her to burn in her own hatred. Sucking a breath in through her clenched teeth, she lifted her eyes. Ice encased her within a second. The world broke away in ragged pieces. All but the door. The decrepit wood loomed in front of her, streaked with fresh scratches that formed warped letters. Like a child’s handwriting.
Jasmine’s handwriting.
‘The boogieman is coming’.
Unable to fathom how the words had appeared, she twisted to look down the alleyway. She couldn’t see anyone. The words were still there when she turned back and she reached out to touch them. Just as her fingers made contact, she sensed something behind her. She felt air bush against her ankle, her knee, her thigh. It rose up along her whole body in heavy grunted breaths but she couldn’t move, couldn’t turn. Her skin crawled as it breathed over her backside and along her spine.
A voice like screeching glass whispered into her ear. “I smell you. I taste you. You’re mine.”
She screamed and whirled around but something struck the back of her skull. Forced forward, her forehead cracked against the door hard enough to splinter the wood. Dazed, she crumbled onto her knees and looked over her shoulder. No one was there. Heart throbbing in time with her head, she searched every shadow. Nothing. The wood crumbled under her hand as she clawed at the door. Braced against it, she scrambled up onto her feet. Her eyes skirted to the walkway.
Just when she was about to bolt, a sudden breath burst across her face. She screamed and leapt back. But she didn’t hit the door. Her feet tripped and she fell back against the cool stone of the tomb floor. Dust puffed up all around her, forming a cloud that played with the minimal sunlight. The door gently began to close. She scrambled onto her knees and lunged towards the fading light. Within an instant, the door slammed shut and she was swallowed by the darkness.
Chapter 7
The stone floor ground against Marigold’s knees as she clawed at the door. The aged wood flaked into splinters under her fingers but she couldn’t force it open. Dust clogged her throat with every scream until she choked on it. Sound didn’t penetrate the thick stone walls. Could anyone hear her? Did anyone see her come here? A hand latched onto her ankle and violently yanked. Her leg almost popped from her hip as she was dragged further into the abyss of the room. The door left her fingers. She flung her hands wildly, searching for something to hold onto and finding only chipped stone and dust.
It felt like an eternity and a second all at once, but finally, the unseen hand released her. Instantly, she pushed herself up. In her haste, she pushed too hard, her hip clicked, and she fell back down. She looked around but all that existed was darkness, the stench of earth and rot, and the sound of her own erratic breathing. The pit of her stomach turned to ice the second she felt rings of solid metal enclose each of her wrists. Before she could flinch away, they squeezed tight enough that she could feel the encrusted rust. With unrelenting strength, they snapped her arms out until her chest slammed down against the stones. Every ounce of slack fled from her new restraints. She couldn’t so much as bend her wrists. She couldn’t see anyone. Couldn’t move. Her screams bounced off the walls until they sounded like mocking laughter.
Dust ripped her throat raw and crippled her screams into pathetic whimpers. That’s when she heard it. That same sickly sniffing from before that made her skin crawl and bile rise. Strapped to the ground, she laid bare for whoever was behind her to once again peruse her body. The wet, hot push of his breath oozed over her bare legs. She kicked and thrashed but found nothing but empty air. The bars around her wrists shredded her tender skin as she tried to break away. She couldn’t move. The putrid breath climbed up her legs. Hot, sticking, gusts of putrid air. It slithered along her spine, her hair, along the curve of her neck. Its voice was carved from a grotesque growl, barely an inch from her ear.
“You’re mine.”
Her screams hurt her own ears as she lashed out. Adrenaline flooded her until she couldn’t feel the metal slicing into her wrists. Her struggles worsened the damage, carving off the skin until they finally granted release. Heart hammering in her throat, she twisted around and scrambled back. It was too dark to know if she was moving towards or away from the man, but the only thing she hit was a thick, twisted candelabra. It toppled onto her with a solid crack. Pain sliced through her back as she latched onto the shaft of the candelabra and wretched herself to her feet.
Squeezing the shaft until her knuckles popped, she blindly looked around the room and backed towards the door. But all she found was stone. Refusing to release her only weapon, she reached back with one hand and swung her fingers back and forth. Only cool stone met her fingertips. She couldn’t find the wood of the door.
Where is it? Where is it? she thought while her battered fingers searched over the stones as she ran along the wall. It has to be here! She passed eight corners in the four-corner room and still hadn’t felt a single change in the surface. Where is it?!
Her fingers ached as she tightened her grip on the candelabra. Holding it like
a baseball bat she swung it into the nearest stone. Each strike resulted in a resounding crack and a sharp shockwave along her arms. Hunks of rock chipped off and tumbled over her feet like hail. She could feel him watching. Edging closer. His breath brushed against the nape of her neck as she swung her weapon with every ounce of strength she possessed. A chunk of stone cracked off and a thin stream of sunlight sliced through the darkness.
Desperation shook her hands as she chipped away at the stone, nurturing the light to grow. Voices flowed in with the sunlight. She clawed at the gap, nails splintering, and screamed as loud as she was able. The light burned the world from her eyes. The stones became warm under her hands. Fresh air washed over her, hot and humid, and she clawed towards it. Shadows shifted across the light. She flinched back before she realized they were trying to help her. Hands gripped her arms in the same moment a grip as cold as death enclosed her ankle. She screamed and thrashed, almost dislodging the hands on her arms but barely affecting the grip on her ankle. The stones became loose around her. They struck her back, her legs, building to a crushing weight. She pulled forward, blinded by tears and burning light, and kicked at the unseen specter. The hands pulled until her shoulders strained and finally the one on her ankle slipped. She slithered through the thin, ragged gap and spilt onto the ground.
Humid, blistering air poured down her throat and she choked on it. Screams broke over her fitful hacks. She whirled around and stared back into the abyss she had just emerged from. A part of her longed to finally see the man that had been tormenting her, to have someone else see him. But that would make it real. She wasn’t ready to make it real. The humidity couldn’t conquer the chills that ran down her spine as she saw it. A twisted, rotten, corpse slumped out of the ragged hole. Its skin was slick and slopped from its bones. Its jaw slumped at a broken angle and patches of its skull peeked out from the discolored flesh. Marigold could only stare at the empty sockets that were once its eyes. It stared back.
