Hunting alligators normally involved a baited hook hanging a foot or so above the water. Rooter used a whole fresh chicken from the supermarket using only a string with no hook, as he didn't believe even the strongest of hooks could hold Lu. The idea was for the alligator to take the bait and sleep off the meal. The GPS transmitter hidden in the cavity of the chicken would end up in the alligator’s belly and lead him directly to it.
This gator was different from the others, traveling almost twice as fast, and not stopping to rest within the hour of swallowing the bait. Rooter had a good feeling he found Old Lu, especially when it turned up a narrow tributary flowing into Pass Manchac alongside the actual Black Swamp area.
That good feeling gave way to foreboding fear as every story his father had told him about Black Swamp and the witch rolled through his mind.
‘You stay away from there if it the last t’ing you do. Give, Swamp Witch Addie, her peace. She give you yours,’ he remembered his father saying on more than one occasion. A lesson Rooter had always adhered to. Until now.
He invested too much time into this endeavor already. He shook off the fear as ignorant superstition and sped toward his target.
***
The Swamp Witch’s shack loomed against the orange light of a full moon on the horizon. Its outline reminded Rooter of a haunted house in a picture book Gaston loved. The front of the house was so dark that if it had any windows, it was impossible to tell. There was no way of knowing if Addie was on her porch waiting and watching.
The blip on the GPS locator had him within a few yards from the alligator. Careful not to shine his flashlight in the direction of the house, Rooter scanned the waters, looking for the telltale signs of a resting gator.
In less than a minute, he found it. The beam of light bounced off what first appeared to be an empty red Coca Cola can. He knew different. It was the eye of an alligator. From the size of it, a huge one.
It was difficult to tell if this was Lu at first, the gator’s body hid under a patch of lily pads. But as it snaked its way parallel to his boat through the lilies, there was no doubt it was Lu. Lu, was short for Lucifer.
The reptile clearly exceeded 20 feet in length. Rooter estimated it weighed over fifteen hundred pounds. The only albino alligators he had seen were at the Audubon Zoo in New Orleans. This one would be the largest ever on record, looking like a creature time forgot.
Rooter grabbed his Rock River Arms AR15, complete with night-vision laser scope. A descendent of the Late Cretaceous period, Lucifer turned toward him with an alligator smile that made the back of his neck tingle. The wicked smile was definitely a warning. Rooter considered abandoning the hunt but once again pushed his fears aside.
The red dot of the laser danced between the eyes of the alligator. A single shot cracked through the songs of insects, bringing a creepy silence over the swamp. The unnerving scream of a woman filled the void.
Lucifer lay still on the water. His legs rose from underneath and floated on the surface by his body.
Rooter whipped his rifle around the bank, using the night-vision in hopes of finding the source of the woman’s scream. He questioned if it was a really a woman’s scream he had heard. Maybe it was just a startled heron and my imagination, he wondered.
A shadowy figure appeared at the end of the pier in a long, black robe. The moon lifted above her shack as if on command, bathing her in its dim light. The witch lifted her gnarled cane made from corkscrew willow. “You have committed the greatest desecration to the lost souls of the waters since the storm banished them to wander the face of the Earth.”
Rooter froze, as her words seemed like long needles penetrating his spine.
Ethereal fireflies forming a mist swirled above the dead body of Lucifer. The wind blew Rooter’s hair across his face as faint voices suffering from toil and abuse whispered around him.
Rooter relived the sorrows of a hundred departed souls. Drowning him in a sea of despair, and filling the emptiness he felt with a sinister conscience and mindset intent on revenge.
The Swamp Witch lowered her cane. “It is said, ‘an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ The evil you have caused the innocent will take you a hundred lifetimes to repay. You do not have a hundred lifetimes to give.
“You are cursed. You, and your family. Until the old man of Black Swamp is replaced. Only then can the lost souls once again find a safe harbor to dwell, until the sky opens and all the souls of humanity are called home to heaven.”
Rooter collapsed, falling out the side of the boat. The waters of Black Swamp swallowed him whole.
***
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen.
“We begin the 6 PM edition of Channel 4 News with two tragic events that have authorities and locals scratching their heads.
“One of Lake Manchac’s own, Albert Gilchrist, age 30, was reported missing by his wife, Claire, this morning when he failed to return from an alligator hunt sanctioned by the local Sheriff.
“Gilchrist was on a mission to capture, or kill, a reported twenty-foot-long albino alligator. Legends of the giant albino alligator have circled these parts for the past eighty years.
“His boat was found empty around noon today, floating down Pass Manchac near Black Swamp. Authorities sought local resident, Addie Landry, for questioning on Gilchrist’s possible whereabouts. No one was home at her residence.
“And now the news gets even stranger.
“Shortly after 7 AM at the Cyprus Point development located on Pass Manchac, a creature described by one witness as ‘part alligator and part man,’ attacked a crew of five heavy equipment operators.
“The only eyewitness, Robert Sanchez, said the creature moved with uncanny speed, mauling his four companions to death. Sanchez narrowly escaped by running to Highway 44 and hitching a ride on an eighteen-wheeler.
“Blood, but no bodies have been found at the scene of the crime. Four pieces of earth moving equipment at the site had been driven into the waters of Pass Manchac. The owner says the two bulldozers, excavator, and dump truck are total losses.
“Authorities are questioning the authenticity of Sanchez’s story. The FBI has been contacted to see if the events are retaliation from a Mexican drug lord whose drug ring was recently broken up in St John the Baptist Parish.
“Here’s Donna, with the brighter side of the news.”
***
“You want me to move the umbrella? You in the sun.” Clovis said.
“No, that last frozen daiquiri made me cold. I'd like to catch some rays right now,” Claire said, repositioning her swim top.
Clovis pulled another beer from the cooler and brushed the chips of ice off the top before popping it open.
Claire let out a huge sigh. “None of this seems real. It’s been a month since Rooter disappeared, and I've been in a haze ever since. I don't even know what I’m doing on Pontchartrain Beach, like nothing happened at all.”
“It’s July 4th, little one. The world, she still turn. Not just you world, but Gaston’s too. I know he misses his Daddy, but look at him out there, playing in the sand with his friends. He need to be around other people. So do you. You still a young woman. I will be here for you and Gaston, but you need a man in you life, and Gaston, he need a daddy.”
“Stop it! My mind isn’t thinking like that right now. I don't even know if it’s even possible, ever. There’s such a hole in my heart.” Claire stopped as the tears came.
“The swamp, she a dangerous place. It always been dat way. People watch too much TV, think dat modern convenience can change the wild of the land. Mankind, he can only push so hard against nature. Nature forgive to a point, but once that t’reshold is reached, Nature, she get her revenge.”
The shrill alert from a lifeguard’s whistle cut through the air. Claire stood from her chair before Clovis pulled his mouth away from a gulp of beer.
Gaston and the boys building the sandcastle were no longer there. A distorted voice over a megaphone blasted, �
��Everyone out of the water, now! Go to the beach area. Get out of the water, now!”
Claire sped away with sand flying toward the crowd gathered by the water. Clovis winced in pain from arthritic knees while chasing after her.
From the Lifeguard’s perspective, sitting twelve feet above the sand, all he could see was something in the water overtake the swimmers the farthest from the beach. A momentary thrashing left each swimmer floating lifeless. No one cried for help, no one had time to.
The Lifeguard pushed through the crowd of gawkers, commanding everyone to get out of the water. Most preceded to the shore, some intentionally lagged behind, wanting to be the last one out.
“Say dude, why’d you make us get out?” a teenage boy said, pulling the back of the Lifeguard’s shirt.
The Lifeguard turned. “Hands off! We've got a situation. Off the beach, now!”
The first to scream, a ten-year-old girl, did so when a wave deposited a young man’s severed head at her feet.
“Oh, my God! Somebody's head!” a fat old woman in a black bikini yelled, before fainting and falling face first near the surf.
An arm arrived next, and then another head, a young girl’s this time. Waves pushed the torsos of four other bodies into view.
Claire saw Gaston standing in the back of the crowd, peering around a tall man’s hairy leg. She breathed out a sigh of relief and slowed to a fast walk.
Without any warning, the throng of people turned and ran straight for her screaming in terror. Gaston was knocked over and fell face first into the sand.
Claire yelled his name just as Clovis ran in front of her, wrapping his arms around her chest. The mass of people ran past, only one bumped into Clovis.
Claire tore herself from his embrace and ran to the side of her son lying still in the sand.
Standing in the water not far away from the two, Clovis saw why the people fled in panic.
The monstrosity stood on two legs holding the lifeguard by the throat with its alligator mouth. Its arms and legs were uncannily human-like, except for the rough alligator like skin. The claws from its four-fingered hand ripped the lifeguard’s lower abdomen, spilling intestines to the foamy, brackish waters of Lake Pontchartrain.
Gaston woke while Claire sat gently patting his cheek. A large goose-egg raised above his left eye where a knee caught him in the stampede. Her attention was only on her son, and she almost jumped out of her skin when Clovis yelled for her to run.
The Man-Gator slung its head to the side releasing the dead lifeguard and hissed like an angry dragon.
Every hair on Claire’s body stood on end. She turned and saw the Man-Gator drop to all fours and charge toward her.
Clovis raced past coming between his loved ones and the creature.
The Man-Gator stopped and turned, its tail arched through the air and smashed Clovis on the right side of his chest.
Clovis tumbled into the sand, his mind spinning toward oblivion, and cried out in agony from his broken ribs.
Once again, the Man-Gator hissed. Clovis laid in the shadow of the magnificent creature, mesmerized by a certain beauty found in its uniqueness. It was a perfect killing machine.
Then, Clovis understood.
The Man-Gator bent over him, its mouth agape with rows of blood stained teeth with bits of flesh wedged between.
Clovis closed his eyes and repeated his departed wife’s favorite prayer, and waited for the deadly jaws to snatch his life away. Each second passing felt like a minute while he laid frozen in fear.
When death didn’t immediately overtake him, he looked up and saw the creature no longer there.
Claire screamed from behind.
Rolling to his stomach, Clovis turned and watched the Man-Gator snatch Claire in his arms, and then run on two legs back toward the Lake.
Gaston yelled out for his Mommy, his voice hoarse from strain.
As Clovis struggled through the pain to stand, the Man-Gator and his prey disappeared into the water. Each step he managed sent a wave of sharp knives throughout his body. It hurt for him even to breathe. By the time he reached the shore, the Man-Gator and Claire were so far away he could barely see them bobbing between the waves.
Gaston ran up behind him. Clovis dropped to his knees and hugged his only grandchild.
While Clovis had waited to die, the Man-Gator hovered over him. The sun reflected off a gold St. Christopher medal that hung from a chain around the Man-Gator’s neck. It once belonged to his wife, the one his son wore in her memory.
Clovis severed the heartstrings pulling at him to stay with Gaston. If he had any chance of finding Claire alive he had to act now. If there was any chance that Rooter could be returned to normal he had to act now, and he had to act alone. No one believed in the Swamp Witch’s magic. The Sheriff and his deputies would shoot first and ask questions later.
The first ambulance arrived. Clovis handed Gaston to the EMT as she exited the door, telling her the boy had a head injury. He didn't wait for the police to show up to give a statement. Hurrying to his truck, he cranked it up, and burned rubber as he headed for Saint Gabriel Catholic Church.
***
Once inside the church, he met with Father Presley and told him to have someone go and stay with Gaston at the hospital while he went to look for Claire. He gave the Father the briefest of details of the kidnapping and did not include anything about the Man-Gator. The story changed to a crazed man at the beach taking her by gunpoint and fleeing in a boat.
Clovis demanded that Father Presley perform his Last Rites, in case he would lose his life in the attempt to rescue her. Fearing Clovis’s sanity and his personal safety, Presley complied after hearing his confessional. The Father performed the ancient ritual, punching Clovis’s ticked to heaven.
After thanking the Father, Clovis drove home and armed up for what might be his final conflict.
***
By the time Clovis pulled to the end of Addie’s pier the sun had dropped below the tree line, casting eerie shadows silhouetted in the orange fire of moss filtered light.
He was certain the Swamp Witch knew of his arrival. He had raced up the tributary at full speed and did not intend on taking her by surprise.
As soon as he killed the outboard motor a woman’s cry came from within the witch’s shack. It was unmistakably Claire’s.
Clovis stepped out of his boat onto the pier. A fresh wave of pain from the broken ribs nearly dropped him to his knees. Fighting nausea, the anguished cries from Claire helped him push past his physical chains as he staggered toward the house.
He kicked open the door, and yelled, “Don’t move or I shoot.” His double barrel shotgun led the way.
Claire laid spread eagle naked on the rough wooden floor of the one room shack. Her hands had been tied above her head to a bedpost. Ropes nailed to the floor bound each ankle.
The Man-Gator hissed as it rested on all fours between Clovis and Claire. The old witch stood next to a small metal bucket of smoldering roots that filled the air with an acrid odor reminding Clovis of mothballs and ammonia.
“You devil sacrifice stops now! Let my Claire go!”
The Man-Gator crouched lower, as if ready to leap on command.
Clovis pulled back one hammer on the shotgun. His wife’s rosary dangled from the barrel like a strand of tensile off a Christmas tree branch.
“The gun is useless here,” the Witch said.
The shotgun turned extraordinarily cold. Clovis’s hands became completely numb and began to burn. He dropped the gun to the floor.
“If you do not leave now you will die,” the Witch said.
“I’ll leave when you give me Claire, and when you return my son to me,” Clovis said, feeling some control returning to his fingers.
“Your son must pay for his sins. His debt is great. His family must pay too,” the Witch said.
Clovis lifted his shirt revealing six sticks of dynamite wrapped in gray duct tape around his waist. The dynamite was left over from simple
r times when ‘fishing’ with explosives ensured a large catch.
“D’is will end in one of two ways. Either I get what I want or we all die.” Clovis popped the safety guard off the trigger switch, his finger moved in position on the button.
“Stop!” The Witch said in panic. The Man-Gator stood on his legs and hissed again.
His fingers jerked nervously, almost triggering the explosives.
“You will do nothing but bring harm to everyone in Black Swamp if you do that,” the Witch said.
“The smart t’ing to do then is to give me what I want.”
The Witch mumbled something in a tongue that had died centuries ago. Then said, “Very well.”
The Man-Gator fell to the ground and cut the ropes holding Claire’s feet with one slash of his sharp nails, and then did the same freeing her arms.
Claire had not uttered a word from the time Clovis had broken into the shack, seemingly disoriented from the torture.
“Claire, come to me,” Clovis called.
Claire steadied herself and stood as if she were on a boat casting about on trouble waters. She managed to shuffle to Clovis's side.
Clovis whispered to her, “The boat is at the end of the pier. Get in and get as far away as long as you can still see the shack. If I return to the pier come back and get me. You will know if I’m not coming back.” He pointed to the dynamite around his waist. Claire saw it as if it were for the first time.
“You two, leave now,” the Witch commanded.
Clovis pushed Claire out the front door. “Go now, hurry,” and returned inside.
“I want the other half of the bargain. I want my son back to normal.”
“You have the woman and your life. Leave while you still can.”
“I keep my word, old crone. I leave with my son normal or we all die.”
“Your son brought the curse on himself. He still has to pay!”
Clovis stood rock solid, his finger set to push the detonator. “I count to t’ree, then I push button. One . . . two . . . t’ree!”
Mind Hemorrhages: Dark Tales of Misery and Imagination Page 13
