Long Night Moon (Bad Mojo Book 1)

by Sharon A. Austin

  Inside the barn she paused long enough to catch her second wind. Lifting one side of her nightgown to climb the ladder she saw rivulets of blood trailing to her ankle. A wave of nausea washed over her. Virgil had refused to take her to the hospital. He’d seen animals miscarry before, he told her, and they survived.

  She heard him slap the screen door open and stomp out into the yard. She gathered her waning strength, and climbed the ladder. Balancing perilously close to the edge of the loft, she tried to haul the ladder up.

  Amused, he stopped to watch. Since he’d already seen her hiding place there wasn’t any point in struggling with the damn thing. “Dumb stupid idiot.” He hopped up and grasped the bottom rung. She hooked her right arm around a support post at the end of the loft railing, and hung on to the ladder with both hands. For one split-second the tension on the ladder was just right in their dangerous game of tug-of-war. She let go, causing him to fall backward, ladder and all. Embarrassed, he exploded in a tirade of expletives.

  She scooted away from the edge, at long last understanding her predicament. Her mamma, a descendant of Madame Laveau, died in unexplained circumstances along with her husband, Marie’s stepfather, whose smarmy gaze lingered too long on a young girl’s body.

  Marie never had any friends. Virgil said her place was in the kitchen. He never knew she married him because she lived in her car behind the feed and seed store where he’d met her, or that the only reason the married proprietor had given her the job in the first place was because she’d agreed to frequently perform the act of fellatio while he sings hallelujah.

  No one in the whole wide world would ever ask what had become of Marie Alma Wentzel—who tried to make a life for herself on a farm outside of New Orleans—except for, maybe, her weird daughter and a preteen son she barely knew anymore.

  I held the power of life and death in my hands, but mamma disapproved of Madame Laveau’s voodoo magic so much she forbade me to ever practice what I knew. Now, in a time of great need, I can’t recall a single spell to save my soul. Marie frowned, viewed the loft in one glance. Where is my grimoire? And my special box?

  Virgil tossed the ladder aside, disrupting her thoughts. He spread his legs wide, parked his fists on his hips and glared up at her. The familiar stance reminded her of the green giant on an old television commercial. She would’ve laughed had the look in his eyes not been so deadly serious.

  Marie crawled to the far left corner, and got in behind several hay bales. Knees drawn up to her chest, she crossed her arms over them and buried her face. Sobbed, quietly. She had nothing. No television to watch. No newspapers to read. She had no idea what went on outside the perimeter of Virgil’s fifty-acre farm.

  She jerked her head up. What was that?

  Another eerie sound pierced the silence. She stopped breathing. Recognized the squealing sound of nails being forced out of wood.

  Her heart jumped into her throat when she identified the source.

  Originally, the barn had a dirt floor. Below the loft, in the far left corner of the building, a rectangular section of the floor had been hollowed out. Measuring eight feet deep, five feet long, and three feet wide, the hole was intended for cold storage. The first time Marie saw it she thought it was a grave. Virgil got tired of the dirt becoming a muddy mess every time windblown rain found a way in so he hired a contractor to install flat-timber flooring.

  And now he’s tearing it up!

  Marie returned to the start of the loft. Lying flat on her stomach, she inched her body under the railing that stretched from her right to the wooden post in the center. Careful not to drop any hay, she craned her neck to see over the edge.

  A long board was tossed to the middle of the barn by unseen hands where it landed with the sound of gunshot. She screamed. Moved fast to her hiding place.

  She lay on her side, curved her body into a fetal position. Intense abdominal pain nearly took her breath away. Wracked with chills from a high fever, she piled hay on top of her nightgown. Raised her head and saw the bloody trail she’d left behind.

  A new sound alerted her.

  Marie sensed it no longer mattered if he saw her.

  She hobbled back to the railing.

  He had propped the ladder against the wall, and now stood in the open doorway. “You’re pretty good at getting up there. Let’s see if you can get down.” He shut the doors fast, cutting off her screams, and slid a pitchfork through the metal handles.

  >+<|>+<

  Virgil returned to the barn several days later. He knelt beside her, covered his nose with a soiled handkerchief. She was as stiff and bloated as any dead armadillo he’d seen on the side of the road. Flies and beetles had arrived to feed on maggots and the decaying flesh.

  He managed to keep her balanced on his shoulder the way he would a side of beef, while descending the ladder. Wasn’t until he touched bottom that it occurred to him he should’ve just shoved her off the loft. Wouldn’t have matter none if she’d broken a bone or two. He laughed a little at his lack of common sense. Remembering the bugs, he swiped a hand down each shoulder. A deep sigh. “Ah well, that’s the way the cookie crumbles.” He got the whiskey bottle out of his hip pocket. Sat on the floor beside her.

  CHAPTER 4

  Bernie turned seventeen the month he was released from the county jail after having been found guilty of criminal mischief in the fourth degree. With time served he’d done an additional three months, and fined $500. He apologized. Told the judge he’d found God, and his feet were on the path of righteousness.

  Virgil had sent Bonnie to live with his brother’s family in the swampland near Chalmette soon after her mamma died. Jessup sent her back when she turned thirteen, declaring he and the missus had literally beaten the Devil out of her.

  Long bouts of heavy drinking had taken its toll on Virgil and his farm. Wild Joe-Pye weed had crept across the land, and stood at least five feet tall. Observing his property from an upstairs window he realized he should’ve stayed at his house in the city and kept his job at the water company, but when old age caught up to his parents and the family lawyer told him he’d inherited the mortgage-free farm he was eager to move. Now, all he wanted to do was sell the place and get out from under it.

  He summoned Marie’s kids to the barn. Told them their mamma was a no-good selfish whore who had an affair with a salesman. He showed them her final resting place.

  >+<|>+<

  Virgil awoke late at night to the hum of machinery. Went out and stood in the yard. Lightning bugs darted in and out of view. He followed the noise though the dry and rotted field where eggplants no longer provided an income. As he got closer to the source a sudden flash of light blurred his vision.

  “What in the hell’s going on?” He shielded his eyes from the brightness, bobbed his head behind his outstretched hand and tried to see who’s there. “What’re you doing? Get your damn ass down from there!”

  The monotone sound of chanting reached him right before he was struck deaf and blind. A single gunshot to the forehead, he fell backward into the water, his arms outstretched like Jeebus Christ on the cross.

  The chug and churn of a small backhoe lumbering back and forth sent bullfrogs leaping into the darkness. Scoop after scoop of mud and rock was lifted and dumped until nothing remained of Virgil Wentzel or the shallow end of a mosquito infested pond.

  CHAPTER 5

  PRESENT DAY

  Jeff sat on the stoop at the front of the farmhouse, and flicked a cigarette butt at the trunk of a nearby live oak tree. He noticed the fly on his jeans didn’t gape open like a hideous gold-toothed grin, as mamma used to say. “If I see that worm of yours peeping out again, boy, I’m gonna nail it to a tree stump and then whack it off with an axe.”

  The whole time she yelled at him she also wagged a finger close to his face, making him cross-eyed. He often thought about how nice it would be to bite off that finger. Many times he bit his lower lip until he tasted blood to ward off the urge.

  Marie
never knew she didn’t accomplish what she’d set out to do the day she sent him to school wearing a dress. Rounding the bend in the road and out of her line of vision, he ducked into the woods, checked to see if the coast was clear. He ran through the field as fast as his legs could carry him, propelled by the anger always just beneath the surface, and hid in the unused outhouse. Watched the house through the crescent hole in the door for a chance to sneak up to the attic on the third floor.

  He went to the secret place inside the closet. Later on, he sneaked into the barn and got started on his chores. He was right where he should’ve been when his father walked in.

  He hated his mamma for what she had done to him. But he hated his father more for allowing her to do it. There’d been a time or two, though, when she was actually good to him. Memories of the small acts of kindness still brought tears to his eyes.

  Well, his jeans fit now. All seven pairs he’d stolen, one at a time, from a major department store at one of the malls in New Orleans, in honor of making it to his thirtieth birthday.

  Jeff lit another cigarette. Took in the wraparound porch in one glance. The property was in a serious state of disrepair. He and Bonnie had tried to stay there, but even with him working full-time at the nearby Homer’s Quick Mart store and her babysitting part-time, they scarcely brought in enough money to afford anything more than regular monthly bills and a few groceries.

  When Bonnie lapsed into a coma after being hospitalized for head trauma sustained in a car wreck while joyriding with her intoxicated boyfriend, Jeff had to do a long stretch in the Army just to get three hots and a cot. Harboring deep-seated hatred of her, he saw no reason to remain by her side. Why should he? If it hadn’t been for Bonnie and the salesman, his mamma wouldn’t have been murdered. His father wouldn’t have become meaner and angrier than he already was.

  An image of the tree loomed up in his mind pushing aside all other thoughts. Way beyond the field and the scummy pond, the mature live oak stood tall and proud, its long branches shading a portion of the covered bridge over the single-lane road that led to his school.

  Anybody driving by could’ve seen him if they looked long enough. The dark brown dress blended well with the tree trunk, and he’d stood as still and unblinking as a palace guard. A clothesline had been tied to one wrist, pulled tight around the wide tree trunk, double-knotted on his other wrist. He’d done his best to become invisible, even while carpenter ants crawled up his arms. He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to do the same with his ears and nose to keep the ants from getting inside his head and laying eggs. He squeezed so hard he wet his underpants.

  “Little Bernieee, tied to a tree. A horde of ants, he wets his pants,” Jeff softly chanted the merciless taunt.

  Bernice. That’s what they called him. All those assholes that showed up one day to hunt for crawfish in the creek below the bridge. They found him tethered to the tree. The worst of the lot was the popular kid; the rich one who’d moved there from Corpus Christi, Texas. The one who’d made up the catcall others were too eager to follow.

  If he hollered would they have let him go?

  Jeff stood in the shade of the old elm near the barn. “The moss gatherer.” He wished the tree had been this big when he was four.

  He trudged across the field under a hot sun, the tips of his sneakers kicking aside dirt clods. He loved wide-open spaces. Mostly he loved having lots of elbowroom more than ever since boot camp and his unfortunate days of incarceration.

  Over the years, the field suffered more and more neglect. The eggplants had either been choked to death by weeds or devoured by a horde of marauding insects. Thinking of bugs, he kept a wary eye out for fire ants, God’s ultimate revenge upon mankind. He fanned his face with his ballcap swatting flies and mosquitoes at the same time. Sunshine had turned his forearms a medium shade of brown. He pushed a shirtsleeve up to his shoulder, and observed the patch of pale skin underneath. A farmer’s tan. He could easily imagine the guys at his new job poking fun at him while he changed clothes in the locker room. Jeff grew sad. He wondered if they’d stop laughing when they saw his scarred back? With no one around to see, he peeled off the damp shirt and tied it around his waist. Perspiration glistened on the muscular pecs and abs that made all the young girls swoon.

  When he reached the pond he noticed the drought they’d been experiencing since the flooding rains of early spring had caused the waterline to recede, exposing many frogs and turtles. And bones. Jeff squatted. Picked up a human skull and examined it.

  The salesman? Did the sonofabitch actually live long enough to crawl onto the shore? “Cool.” One by one, he tossed the skull and bones to the center of the pond. Set in motion, the stagnant water stunk worse than the septic tank did that day a guy showed up to empty it. The soil all around the water’s edge had split then curled into hundreds of brownish clay saucers. Short natural rock formations dotted the shoreline. He sat on the closest one, stretched out his long legs and crossed his ankles.

  Eli, wasn’t that his name? The rich brat, two years older than me?

  “Jeebus Christ, I hated that jerk.”

  Jeff lit another cigarette as the memory unfolded.

  He always wondered how it felt to be hugged and kissed. He’d thought about that one day while peeking out from behind a tree in the woods. He watched Eli and his girlfriend, Vanessa, ignore the bullet riddled No Trespassing sign hanging sideways on a weather-beaten post. Eli stuck up his middle finger at it, eliciting a giggle from her. Both were juniors at his high school. Eli was the hotshot captain of the football team. Vanessa, a brainless cheerleader, had nothing else going for her except big bouncy tits. They spread a blanket on the ground. Clothing was quickly strewn about.

  Jeff stripped, as well. Neatly piled his clothes and shoes under a bush behind the tree.

  Lying on their sides, bare legs and bellies touching, Eli sucked the side of her neck making a little passion mark. Vanessa giggled. Had she opened her eyes she would’ve seen the fifteen-year-old boy with black hair and fierce dark eyes, clutching a sturdy branch in his hands, sneaking up on them.

  Jeff swung the limb in a wide arc and whacked Eli upside the head. “Strike one,” he shouted, prancing like a show pony. The girl stared at him in utter disbelief. “Strike two? Naaah.” He flipped the limb over his shoulder. Pulled Eli aside. Naked as a bluejay, he tried to lie down on top of her.

  Vanessa rolled out of the way and got to her feet just in time. “What’re you doing, you, you perverted little creep?” He tilted his head from one side to the other. So akin to his mamma she was. She wagged her index finger at him. “I’m calling the cops just as soon as I get home!” She scooped up her clothing, and ran away.

  He caught up to her. Making a fist, he slugged her with all his might. Vanessa fell on her side striking her head against a large rock. He bit off her finger, spit it out on the ground. Blood oozing from her nose and hand mingled with pond water. He straddled her, closed his eyes so he couldn’t see her face, and finished what he’d started.

  “All that, and she wasn’t even a good lay.”

  Jeff threw a pebble at the middle of the pond. “I think that’s where I left them.” He watched the water ripple outward.

  Are they crawling around down there like big ole mudbugs?

  The smirk vanished when he heard an unusual noise in the woods. He jumped up, absently searched the ground for something he could use for a weapon.

  “Ki moun ki Ia? Who is there?”

  CHAPTER 6

  A young woman rose up from behind a dead live oak tree uprooted during a storm years ago. Jeff believed it was the night his father went to see the man in the barn.

  “Its just me,” she offered in a small voice.

  Kelly Murphy. I’ll be damned. She was the only kid who’d never made fun of him. Overweight and bucktoothed, she was a socially unacceptable misfit. He was just a brooding loner. The other kids shunned her, too, but she never seemed to mind. There’d been a strangeness about her that
appealed to him, creating an unspoken bond between them.

  He sliced the air with his arm. “C’mon over.” He was as happy to see her as he was not.

  He took in her overall appearance. Beaver teeth. Frizzy short locks held in place above her ears with two red butterfly hairclips matching her hair and dress. Plump cheeks were pale and sweaty. Hadn’t changed one bit. He turned, and walked toward the house. Heard her trotting to catch up.

  At the rear of the house, he opened the screen door with one hand while turning the knob and pushing in the interior door with the other. He stepped aside, opened the screen door wider. It screeched noisily, reminding him of the box springs on his parent’s bed. Jeff shuddered, nodded at the open doorway for her to go in.

  They stood, awkwardly, in the middle of the kitchen. His eyes kept returning to her rather large chest. Oblivious, she took in the room. He bent down and kissed her. Shuddered with revulsion while he wiped a string of her saliva off his lips with his shirt. When she smiled, he tried but failed to give one in return.

  “I am so happy you’ve come home, Bernard Jeffrey Wentzel,” she gushed. “I’ve missed you sooo much. Good golly, you’ve grown into such a pretty boy. I’m a little embarrassed to tell you this, but I’ve been watching your house for a long time, hoping and praying you’d come back to me, er, umm…”

  A little smile.

  An image of Eli and Vanessa popped into his mind. He wondered just when she’d started spying on him. What did she know and how soon did she know it?

  Jeff rubbed a hand down his face, shifted his weight.

  She took a deep breath, released it in a huff. “Okay, I’m ready to give myself to you.”