by Dan Foley
Wolf motored into the swamp at slow speed, waiting for Ben to appear. When the ghost didn’t, the sky and swamp surrounding him seemed to close in on him like the submarine never had. “Where are you, you old spook? I know you want me. Well, this time I want you too.”
Noon came and went and still Ben did not appear. Wolf was frustrated and impatient. Then, when he rounded a bend, Ben’s slough was waiting. What happened next was like watching a movie you hadn’t seen in years. The temperature started to drop and mist formed above the surface of the bayou. There were other things Wolf didn’t remember; it got eerily quiet, the water’s surface became like glass, the surrounding swamp seemed to disappear into a gray fog. When Old Ben started to rise from the swamp, Wolf felt a fleeting instant of fear, but then a cold determination gripped him. This was the spirit that had driven him from his home — the spirit that had haunted his nightmares — the spirit that wanted to invade his mind and body to consume the power that infused him. “Come on old enemy, it’s time for you and me to dance.”
It was as if Old Ben heard him. One instant he was rising out of the water, and the next he was wrapping himself around Wolf and seeping into his body, searching for his mind. Wolf let him in, gave him access to some of his fears, and when Ben was feeding on them, Wolf invaded his being. What he found there repelled him. Ben not only had a lust for power, he had a lust for inflicting pain and death. And once he had killed, he held onto the spirits of his victims, tormenting them until they were torn apart.
Wolf waited, let Ben taste his power, and then exploded into the invading spirit. Ben recoiled from the onslaught, but was too enmeshed in Wolf’s being to escape. Feed on this, you bastard, Wolf told him and dug into Ben’s memories to find his greatest fears. He made him relive being hunted and then captured by the white men who had killed him — being hung and burned. He fed Ben all the fear the ghost had taken from the men he had killed. And finally, Wolf poured his own rage into him. It wasn’t a fiery, out of control rage, but a cold, calculated anger he had been cultivating since leaving the bayou all those years ago. He fed Ben more and more of it, stuffed it into his being until there was no room for more, and then forced more into the old bastard. Then, when Wolf’s anger was at its peak, his blood surging with heat — he was alone in his mind. Ben was — gone. There wasn’t even an echo of him for Wolf to torment.
When his mind cleared, Wolf was alone in the bayou. The mist and the cold were gone. It was still unusually quiet, but the sounds of the swamp were coming back. The only thing he could see out of place was a dead gator floating in the water a few feet from his jon boat. But then it sank and was gone. Wolf took a minute to gather himself, looked around and suddenly realized where he was. He knew this place — he had seen it in Ben’s mind. This was the very spot where his enemy’s cabin had stood when he lived in the swamp. This was where he had died.
Wolf polled the jon-boat to shore and carefully got out, all the time looking for snakes or gators. Then he made his way to the center of where the cabin had stood. There were still traces of the old structure; a broken stone fireplace, bits of charred wood that had somehow escaped rotting away, rusted bits of metal. Wolf scratched the earth with the toe of his shoe and uncovered an old coin. When he brushed away the dirt, he found it was an old two-cent piece. Ben’s, he thought. He was about to put it in his pocket, but then had a better idea. He untied the string holding his gris-gris closed and put it in there. That done, he got back in the jon boat and started to make his way back to Grandmere’s.
Charlotte and Grandmere sat together on her porch, staring out into the bayou. Little Wolf sat unmoving on Charlotte’s shoulder. The tension was practically electric. Eventually, it became too much for Charlotte to bear. “I can’t take much more of this. It’s the not knowing that’s the worst.”
“Nothin’ be happenin’ yet. That boy on your shoulder let you know when it does.”
Charlotte hadn’t thought about that. Little Wolf was a part of Melvin, after all. Of course he would know when Melvin found Old Ben. As long as he only sat and stared out at the swamp, Melvin was fine. An hour past noon, Little Wolf stiffened, jumped off her shoulder, and growled. Charlotte and Grandmere both knew the battle was on.
Charlotte wanted to reach out and hold the creature, but Grandmere stopped her. “Leave him be. He be fighting that old haint along with Melvin.” She was right, every muscle and tendon stood out on Little Wolf’s body and his claws were digging deep scratches into the porch’s wooden floor. Charlotte was suddenly glad he was no longer perched on her shoulder. The fight only lasted twenty minutes or so, and then Little Wolf relaxed and climbed back to her shoulder.
“Melvin, he beat that old haint. That swamp be his now.”
“You’re sure?”
Grandmere nodded and pointed at Little Wolf. “Course I’m sure. If Melvin lost, that boy wouldn’t be sitting on your shoulder, he’d be dead.”
Renee LaPoint was stunned. She had watched the entire encounter between Melvin Lobo and Old Ben through the eyes of the dead gator. She had expected a longer fight, and that Ben might even win. It hadn’t happened. The boy hadn’t even looked like it was a struggle. When it was done, the tiniest sliver of doubt crept into her mind. Is this one too strong? Should I leave him alone? No. Never. This is my home, I rule here. I’ll drink his blood and eat that boy alive.
Part Two: Renee La Pierre
1 – Voodoo Queen
Renee La Pierre — Voodoo Queen, Witch of the Delta, a descendent of Marie Laveau. She was none of those things. She had started the rumors and cultivated the image since coming to the delta and it had served her well. She had outlived three husbands, easily done with her talents, and each had added to her considerable wealth.
Her home, a two-story Victorian type structure was more suited to the Garden District of New Orleans than a rural delta town. Its grandeur added to her mystique. That it was haunted was a well-known fact. Only La Pierre knew that the ghosts were those of her deceased husbands.
She had made a life well suited to her needs. And now this boy, Melvin Lobo, Rose Leritz’s grandson, could ruin it all. She would not, could not, allow it.
2 – Bubba
Mose had to know the boy was strong when he sent him back here. He had to know I would not allow him to come into my world and challenge me. Is the boy a pawn in the old man’s plans? He must be, so I must be cautious. I must study the boy, learn everything I can about him before I challenge him. And I must take him down without the old man knowing.
Does the boy know about me? Did Mose tell him that he and his grandmere were not Mose’s only pupils? Did he tell the boy how she and Mose had parted? Mose, who only used his power if necessary — who left the ghosts of the Quarter be if they let the living be. The old fool. I knew that I had to feed my power ... and that the only way to do that was to hunt the spirits down and suck the energy from them. He had been stronger than me then. Did he tell the boy that he was my legal guardian, that he adopted me? Did he tell him how we argued and he drove me from the Quarter? Well, maybe after I kill this boy and suck the power from his blood, I’ll go back and settle with the old fool. I’ll leave this place, and after I drink that old fool’s blood, I’ll claim New Orleans for my own.
These thoughts ran through Renee La Pierre’s mind as she drove south to Stella’s catfish shack to check on Bubba’s condition, and to see if Skeeter had discovered anything worthwhile. He better have. He was no use to her if he didn’t, but she could always use another one like Bubba. She was going to have a lot of use for that boy.
The truck Skeeter had driven off in the day before was parked in front of Stella’s when Renee arrived. Skeeter was at his normal place at the picnic table. This time he was alone. Stella wondered where Bubba was. Somewhere where anyone driving by couldn’t see him, she was sure. Stella would have seen to that.
When Renee approached Skeeter, she saw he was drinking coffee instead of beer. Maybe this one’s not as
dumb as he looks. Of course, that wouldn’t be difficult. He looks as dumb as a bag of dead fish. “What did you find out about Lobo?”
Skeeter shrugged and tried to look confident. It didn’t work. “I found out he has a girlfriend, and I think I know where she lives.”
“Really? Tell me about it.”
“I drove all over that damn town looking for his car and never saw it. Then, at the end of the day, I stopped at the Seven-Eleven to get something to eat. I decided to just sit in the parking lot hoping he might drive by.”
“And did he?”
“Even better. He pulled in and parked. That’s when I saw the girl. She got out and went inside. He waited for her. When she came out, she got back in and he drove north. I followed them until they turned off on a side street. I didn’t want them to see me, so I kept on driving. I’m pretty sure there was only one house on that road when I drove down it earlier in the day. I’m going back there to check today.”
“Good. Make sure you do. Now, have you seen Bubba yet today?”
Skeeter shivered and shook his head no.
“You need to. You need to know what happens to those who disappoint me.” Then she turned to her car and called out, “Come here my darling.” The creature that had bitten Bubba emerged from the open passenger side window and ran to her side.
Skeeter cringed away from it and La Pierre laughed. “Don’t worry; you have nothing to fear from her as long as you do what I tell you.” Then she turned to the creature. “Go and get the other one.” It made a chuckling sound that froze Skeeter’s blood before skittering away toward the back of the catfish shack. It reappeared a minute later with Bubba close behind.
La Pierre watched Skeeter to make sure the sight of his friend had the desired effect on him. She had no need to see Bubba to know what he looked like today. The poison had moved up his arm to his torso and head. Soon it would spread to his lower extremities and left arm. His mind was already gone. Renee hadn’t needed to send her familiar to fetch him, she could have done that with a thought, but Skeeter didn’t need to know that ... yet.
Skeeter cringed when Bubba appeared. If La Pierre hadn’t been staring at him from across the table he might have run. She could see it in his eyes. “What did you do to him?”
“Me? Nothing. It was my assistant. Her bite is very ... toxic, shall we say?”
“But what’s happening to him?” Skeeter whined.
“That’s a good question. What, exactly, is happening to him? It’s so hard to explain it in a way you could understand. Let me show you instead. Bubba, let me see your arm.”
Except for a low moan, Bubba didn’t answer as he held his blacked arm out.”
La Pierre could tell Skeeter was repelled at the sight of the rotting appendage. “Do you have a knife skeeter?”
“What?”
“I asked, do you have a knife?”
“Yes, ma-am.”
“Good, take it out and cut him.”
“What?”
“I said take it out and cut him. “Do it now,” the witch hissed when Skeeter hesitated.
Skeeter almost jumped to obey. His knife appeared in his hand in what had to be a practiced move. Then it flicked out he cut a shallow path across Bubba’s forearm. La Pierre laughed to see it. “I said cut it, not scratch it. Do it again, deeper, this time.
Skeeter moaned and did as she commanded. This time he opened a deep gash in his friends arm. The flesh parted like rotted meat. The only thing that escaped the wound was a black ooze and a putrid smell. “Soon his whole body will be like that. Fascinating, don’t you think?”
Skeeter must have found some backbone because he didn’t. “No, I think it’s disgusting. It’s killing him. He didn’t deserve that.”
“Of course he did. And, even if he didn’t, it doesn’t matter, it’s happening. And he’s not dying by the way, he’s just changing.”
“Changing into what?”
“My slave.” What she didn’t tell him was that soon, the only thing that would keep Bubba animated was the sliver of her consciousness that she would insert into his brain. When she was done with him she would abandon him, and he would just be one more lump of dead meat.
“Today I want you to find out who this woman is. I want to know everything there is to know about her. Do not let her, or the boy, know you are watching them. Do you understand?”
Skeeter stared at Bubba and answered, “Yes ma’am.”
“Good, now go.”
Skeeter didn’t have to be told twice — he went.
In his heart, Skeeter knew that Bubba was gone. The silent, hulking mass of rotting flesh sitting back there with the witch, that’s what she had to be, a witch, was not his friend. He didn’t know what he was now, but he wasn’t Bubba. The thing now, Skeeter knew, was to make sure whatever had happened to Bubba, didn’t happen to him. He thought of just riding north and not stopping. If he was sure the witch wouldn’t find him he might have done just that. But he wasn’t, so it wasn’t worth the risk. He would do what she told him and hope for the best.
He had just entered Bayou La Pointe when he saw Lobo’s red Torino parked in front of a cabin on the edge of the water. He almost braked to a stop, but then remembered what the witch had told him — do not let her, or the boy, know you are watching them. So, instead of stopping, he drove on with one more bit of knowledge he could pass along to Renee La Pierre. By the end of the day, he intended to have a lot more.
Skeeter made the turn when he got to the street Lobo had gone down the previous day. He found Charlotte’s house and her pickup at the end of it — another tidbit for the witch, but it wouldn’t be enough. He had to find more, and do it without making Lobo suspicious — that was the problem. He couldn’t just wander around town asking about the guy. Bayou La Pointe was too small for that. These people would clam up at the first question, and Lobo would hear about it before Skeeter could get back to Stella’s. Nope, he had to find another way. Maybe this place, he thought when he saw Buster’s Garage.
Buster came strolling out of the office wiping his hands on shop rag that looked like it had enough oil in it to fill one of the empty glass quart jars that sat on the floor of the garage. “What can I do for you?” he asked, as he eyed Skeeter and the truck.
“I had to borrow a tire from a friend because I didn’t have a spare. I was hoping you might have a tire to replace it.”
“New, or used?”
“Used would be great, as long as there’s some tread left on it.”
“That’s good,” Buster told him, “because used I got. New would be a problem. You gonna need a rim too?”
“No, I’ve got the flat in the back.”
“Then why don’t I just fix that?”
Skeeter reached into the back and pulled the tire out. “Look at it.”
One glance told Buster the thing was way past fixing. It was so bald the threads were showing through. “Right, let me see what I’ve got,” he said, and walked back into the garage. He came back a minute later with a used tire with decent tread on it.
“How much?” Skeeter asked.
“Fifteen, ten for the tire, five for the service.”
“Okay, do it,” Skeeter agreed.
“It’s gonna take a few minutes. You can wait in the office if you want.”
“That’s all right. I think I’ll stay out here. Mind if I watch?”
Buster gave him a “what, don’t you trust me” look. “Suit yourself.”
Skeeter didn’t want to seem too interested in Lobo, so he waited until Buster had the old tire off the rim before asking him what he really wanted to know. “I saw a fancy, red fastback parked down the road on my way up here. It had out of state plates. Looked pretty hot. You don’t see many cars like that around here.”
“Nope you don’t,” Buster answered as he started to fit the new tire.
“I wouldn’t mind getting a look under the hood before whoever it is takes it
back north.”
“Oh, he ain’t going anywhere. That’s Melvin Lobo’s car. He’s from right here in Bayou La Pointe. He just got out of the navy and brought that car home with him.”
“This ain’t no place for a car like that. He’s gonna ruin it driving it around here.”
“Nope, he got himself a pickup for around here. People say it was haunted, but he don’t seem to have any problems with it.”
“You mean that old pickup that guy shot himself in a few years back?” Even Skeeter had heard about the “haunted” pickup of Bayou La Pointe. It was a bit of a local legend. Bubba had even said he’d stopped to look at it, but the thing had given him the creeps.
“That’s the one.”
“What do you think something like that would cost?”
“The pickup?”
“No the fastback.”
“Not sure, but somewhere around thirty-five hundred, four grand, I would think.”
“Damn, that’s a chunk of change for a car.”
“Yep, sure is,” Buster agreed as he filled the new tire with air. “Now, let’s get this back on your truck. You want me to throw the one you rode in on in the back?”
“That’d be great,” Skeeter answered as he dug in his pocket for fifteen dollars. Not a bad price for a tire and a shitload of information. That should make the old bitch happy. He considered calling it a day, but then an image of Bubba’s arm flashed through his mind and he thought better of it. He had to find out about the woman who had been with Lobo.
But, how do I find her without raising suspicion? That was the problem. He could only think of two ways. Park near the road to her house and wait for Lobo and her to come back, or park at the Seven-Eleven and wait for her to drive by. If she was with Lobo, they would have to pass him on their way back to her place. Neither one was very attractive. A strange pickup parked along the road, or in the Seven-Eleven lot all day would attract all sorts of attention. He’d have to think of something else.
