“Lenore was not a voodoo queen.” Nick’s mom looked at herself in the mirror, patted her hair, and adjusted one of her earrings. It was October 31, the morning after Nick’s discovery, and the day of the funeral.
“Mom,” Nick said, trying to catch her eye in the mirror, “you saw what was in that room downstairs. How can you not believe your own eyes?” His parents had locked the basement door and declared the room off-limits. Clearly they were freaked out by what they’d seen. So why wouldn’t they admit what it meant?
Mom turned to look at Nick with her no-more-nonsense stare. “Your father has a room filled with model airplane parts and engines. But that doesn’t make him a rocket scientist, now, does it?”
“I resent that remark,” Dad said from the other side of the room, where he was trying unsuccessfully to knot his tie for the fourth time.
“That’s different,” Nick said, unable to believe she wouldn’t admit what was right in front of her. “Lots of people build models. But how many keep coffin nails and snake poison in their basement? What else would she use them for, if not voodoo?”
Mom glared at him, and Nick knew he’d pushed her too far. “I don’t know what Aunt Lenore did with those…things. And frankly, I don’t care. Her hobbies are her business. I refuse to speak ill of the dead. Now go get dressed for the funeral. If we’re not out the door in twenty minutes, we’ll be late.”
“Don’t you even care that she tried to kill some guy?” Nick looked to Dad for help, but his father seemed to be intentionally avoiding Nick’s eyes as he undid his tie and started on it again.
“Fine!” Nick huffed as he walked back to his room. His parents could deny the truth all they wanted, but Nick had no doubt of what his aunt had been. He thought his parents knew it too.
She was a voodoo queen. She had to be. And not the good kind that helped people—making love potions and cures. She’d been the kind that cursed people. Tried to kill them.
Might there be other voodoo queens at her funeral? Nick wasn’t sure if the idea was scary or exciting. It would be awesome to meet a person who practiced real voodoo. But if they’d been enemies of his great-aunt, they might like the idea of putting a curse on her relatives. And what about the army of the undead she’d written about? Was that real, or was she just nuts?
He wished he’d taken a little more time looking around her voodoo supplies. Maybe he could have found a gris-gris, an amulet to protect him against dark magic.
Knowing how his parents felt about it, Nick didn’t mention voodoo the entire drive to the funeral. He tried to keep his mind on how excited Angelo and Carter would be to hear that he had a real, honest-to-goodness voodoo queen for a relative. But even that couldn’t keep him from remembering that, along with being the day of his great-aunt’s funeral, it was also Halloween. The first one he could remember when he wouldn’t be out trick-or-treating.
Mom looked at him in the rearview mirror and seemed to read his thoughts. “You know, there’s nothing that says you can’t go trick-or-treating here. I’m sure we could find a nice neighborhood with lots of kids—as long as there are no alligators.”
Nick shook his head. “No, thanks. It wouldn’t be the same without my friends. Besides, I didn’t bring my zombie costume.”
“Not a problem,” Dad said. “There are plenty of old sheets back at Lenore’s house.” He opened and closed his fingers like a pair of scissors. “We could cut a hole for a mouth. Add two for eyes. And voilà, a perfect ghost.”
“Holy lame.” Nick groaned. “Why don’t you just buy me a Barbie costume and tie me to a pole so kids can walk by and throw rocks at me?”
Dad grinned evilly. “That can be arranged too.”
The funeral was held in the graveyard outside a small chapel. Nick was surprised to see at least a hundred people crowded around his aunt’s casket. Had all of them known Lenore? And how many knew what she really was? Most of the people were dressed in black or dark blue, but as they entered the graveyard, a whale of a man in a bright yellow suit stepped toward them.
“You must be Lenore’s nephew,” he said, wrapping Nick’s dad in an immense yellow bear hug. “I tell you this thing. I know that face anywhere.” He spoke with a strange accent that made his words hard for Nick to understand. That sounded like dat, thing like ting, and I came out as ah, like what the doctor told you to say when you opened your mouth.
“Yes. I’m Daniel Braithwaite,” Dad sputtered, trying to squirm out of the big man’s grasp.
“Coo! You look just like her.” He gave Nick’s mom a hug that lifted her completely off her feet.
“Who are you?” Mom squeaked, her face going red.
“Felix Mouton,” the man said, lowering her to the ground. “I’m Lenore’s entrepreneur de pompes funèbres. Her mortician.”
“I didn’t… I mean, we didn’t…mortician?” Mom stood a few steps away, looking like she wasn’t sure if she was more afraid of alligators or the big, yellow mountain of a man. Nick knew a mortician was the person in charge of a funeral. But this man didn’t look like any mortician he’d ever seen.
“Mortician, pastor, and realtor,” the man said. “But everyone just calls me Mazoo. I’m the one who left you the key. How did you like the house?”
Nick started to open his mouth. If this man had been inside Aunt Lenore’s house, he must have seen her voodoo stuff. But his mom gave him a sharp look.
“And who’s the p’tit boug?” he asked, engulfing Nick’s hand in his giant fingers.
“I’m not a bug,” Nick said.
The man roared with laughter. “Not bug, boug. P’tit boug means little boy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Pastor Mouton,” Dad said, seeming to regain a little of his composure. “The house is…unusual.”
“Please call me Mazoo.” The man looked at Nick and winked. “It is full of surprises.” He turned back to Nick’s dad and asked, “Have you given any more thought to staying here? It would be a shame to have the house leave the Braithwaite family after all these years.”
Mom gave a firm shake of her head. “It is a lovely house. And she has some simply marvelous furniture. But our lives are in California. We’ll be flying back tomorrow morning.”
The man sighed, his bushy eyebrows hunching over his eyes like a pair of angry black beetles. “Oh well, at least I tried.”
Mazoo opened his bright yellow umbrella to block the sun from his eyes and began to speak. Nick looked to see if he could spot any other voodoo queens. Or anyone who looked like they’d been cursed recently. But other than a man with a very large, very hairy mole on the side of his face, no one seemed obviously cursed. The only person who appeared to notice him at all other than Mazoo was a pinch-faced woman with long gray hair and an angry expression. She glanced over her shoulder more than once with a scowl. But Nick couldn’t tell if she was looking at him or the guy with the mole.
An old woman in a flowered hat leaned over to the woman beside her and whispered, “I don’t see why they buried her here. This cemetery is for decent people. And everyone knows perfectly well Lenore was one of them.”
The two women turned their heads to the left at the same time. Nick followed their gaze and found himself looking at the woman who’d been scowling at him all through the service. She glared, and the two women quickly went back to their business.
One of them, the woman had said. Nick thought he knew what they meant. They were upset that a voodoo queen was being buried in their cemetery. Was there a different cemetery for people who practiced magic? If so, why wasn’t his aunt being buried there? And if they were talking about voodoo queens, that meant the woman they’d been looking at—the one who’d been watching him—was…
He risked a quick glance to his left and saw that she was staring at him again—her eyes narrowed and her thin lips pressed tightly together. A voodoo queen was staring at him, and she didn’t look happy. He gulped and tried to blend into the crowd. As the minutes dragged on, Nick tried to listen to Mazoo
’s words, but all he could think about was the gray-haired woman in front of them. Maybe she wasn’t really a voodoo queen at all. Maybe she was just a woman whose love potion had backfired and now she was eternally grumpy. He couldn’t imagine any potion strong enough to make a man fall in love with a face like that. Or maybe that was her curse. Maybe she’d been beautiful until Aunt Lenore stirred some mysterious powder into her drink.
Nick and his parents stood as the casket was lowered into the ground. A line of people came by and told them how much they had loved Lenore. Nick kept watching for the woman, but she must have left. Relief washed over him.
Once the funeral was finished, people carried out long tables and filled them with all kinds of food and desserts. For a while, Nick completely forgot about voodoo and undead armies. Instead he focused on stuffing as much good food into his mouth as he could. Piping hot slabs of sugared ham, fresh corn on the cob, pulled pork sandwiches that made his mouth water, shrimp longer than his fingers, and the desserts….
He was finishing off a slice of strawberry-rhubarb pie with a huge scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream—wondering if he could possibly eat a slice of blackberry crumble without throwing up—when a hand clamped onto his elbow.
“Hello, my little friend.” Nick looked up to find Mazoo towering over him. “Getting enough to eat?”
Nick tried to swallow the last bite of his pie and ended up choking on it.
Mazoo gave him a firm whack on the back and the pie cleared Nick’s throat. “Did you enjoy the service?” the pastor asked when Nick had stopped coughing.
“Uh, yeah.” Nick looked around for his mom and dad, but his parents were nowhere in sight.
“Your aunt, she was a very special person,” Mazoo said.
Nick licked his lips and nodded silently. He had a weird feeling about this guy.
“You look very much like her,” the man continued. “Perhaps you have things in common as well?”
“I have to go.” Nick swallowed. “My parents don’t like me leaving their sight.” He tried to edge away, but the man was still holding his elbow. Could this be the man Aunt Lenore had cursed? Did he want revenge?
“You explored her house,” Mazoo said. It wasn’t a question. “Perhaps saw things you have questions about.”
Nick looked wildly around. His father was just coming out of the church carrying a pair of chairs. “Dad!” he shouted.
The pastor’s eyes narrowed. “The owls are filled with wisdom,” he hissed.
“Hey there,” Dad called, coming over. “How about you give me a hand setting up these chairs? I’m bushed.”
Mazoo lifted his umbrella into the air, the silver tip gleaming in the sun. Holding it like a sword, he swung the sharp tip out and down.
“No!” Nick gasped, sure the man in the yellow suit was going to kill his father. But when Mazoo lifted the handle again, the only thing impaled on it was a piece of folded paper.
“I’ll have no littering on my chapel grounds.” Mazoo held the umbrella tip toward Nick. “Mind throwing that in the trash for me, p’tit boug?”
“Sure.” Nick pulled the paper off the umbrella and jogged toward a trash can. As he was leaning over to throw it away, the folded sheet blew open and Nick saw a single line of handwriting inside. He turned it around so he could read it.
Trust only the cat.
“Dude!” Carter sounded both surprised and happy when Nick called from his mom’s cell phone that night. “How are you doing?”
“Okay. The house we’re staying in is totally creepy.” Nick smiled. It was great to hear his friend’s voice. It seemed like it had been a week since he’d seen him last, even though it had been less than two days. He wanted to tell Carter and Angelo about Aunt Lenore’s basement and the woman at the funeral, but his parents were only a few feet away eating pizza, and he knew his mom wouldn’t be happy if he started talking about voodoo. Instead he asked, “How do the costumes look?” It was two hours earlier in California, and although it was dark here, his friends would just be getting ready to go trick-or-treating.
“Gertrugic!”
Angelo took the phone and said, “Carter stuffed his mouth with sloppy joe, but I’m pretty sure he said ‘fantastic.’”
Nick laughed. “That sounds like Carter.”
“Hang on,” Angelo said, “I’ll send you a picture.” A moment later a chime sounded from the phone and Nick opened an image of two terrifying zombies—one tall and wearing glasses, the other shorter with bright red hair. As usual, Carter had applied too much blood to his fake wounds. But Angelo’s peeling latex skin was perfect and the human hearts looked amazing.
Nick bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the disappointment he felt, knowing he should be there too. “You’re totally going to show up Angie and her friends.”
Angelo must have heard something in Nick’s voice, because there was a pause before he said, “The costumes are great. But not as great as they’d be if you were doing them.”
“You won’t even notice I’m not there,” Nick said, knowing he was feeling sorry for himself, but unable to stop. He’d thought that calling his friends would cheer him up, but it was doing just the opposite.
“No way,” Carter said, coming back on the phone. “Angelo’s right. Your plans are awesome. But they’re not as good without you here to do the final touches. You’re, like, a monster artist.”
“Thanks.” Nick swallowed.
“Are you going trick-or-treating…you know, out there?” Angelo asked hesitantly.
“Nah, probably just a bunch of lame little kids in superhero costumes around here. I’m going to go out on the porch and read that book you gave me.”
There was a long pause before Carter said, “That’s it. We’re staying in too. It’s not right going without you. I can steal my sister’s candy when she gets back.”
“Not a chance. I’ll see you guys Tuesday morning and I want to hear about every little kid you scared.” Nick wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “I gotta go.”
“See you soon,” Angelo said, his voice somber.
“I’ll save you all my best candy,” Carter said.
Nick knew the odds of Carter saving candy were about as good as the odds of Angie admitting the Three Monsterteers had better costumes than her and her friends. But he said, “Sounds good,” and hung up the phone.
He was glad his friends would have fun, but it was going to be a horrible night for him.
“Sure you don’t want to go out tonight?” Dad asked as he chewed his sixth slice of pizza and washed it down with a slug of cold root beer. “We still have time to run by a store and get a mask or something.”
“No, thanks.” Nick sighed, handing his mom the phone.
Dad slumped in his chair, and Nick knew he felt bad about ruining the holiday. But not nearly as bad as Nick felt. It was twelve months until next Halloween. And by then he and his friends would be some other creature. He’d never have a chance to show off the zombie costume he’d worked so hard on.
“Do you think I could maybe look around Aunt Lenore’s basement for just a few minutes if I promise not to touch anything?” he asked. It was the only thing he could think of that might take his mind off of his troubles. Besides, he also wanted to see if he could find anything else about those mysterious notes in the burned book.
Dad swallowed his last bite of pizza and opened his mouth, but Mom spoke first. “Absolutely not. Some of that stuff is poisonous.”
“It’s not like I’m going to start randomly putting things in my mouth.”
“Your mom’s right,” Dad said. “It’s not safe. I’m going to make sure that whoever cleans the house throws all of that stuff away.”
Nick bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something that would get him sent straight to bed. First they ruined his Halloween, then they wouldn’t let him look at the only interesting thing on this entire trip.
“By the way, what were Pastor Mazoo and you talking about after
the funeral?” Dad asked, eyeing the last two slices of pizza in the box.
Maybe it was because he was upset at his parents for not trusting him, or maybe it was because he didn’t know for sure exactly what Mazoo had been talking about, but Nick wasn’t ready to tell his mom and dad what the pastor had said to him. He just had a feeling that if he mentioned the weird conversation they’d had, his parents would be even more concerned than they already were. “Nothing really. He asked me if I liked the service.” At least that part was true. He sighed again and rested his chin in his hands.
“If you’re going to sit around and mope, I’m sure I can find you some more homework to finish,” Mom said.
“Fine.” Nick grabbed the voodoo book out of his backpack—not caring if his parents saw it or not—and carried it out the front door to sit on the porch.
“Stay away from the woods,” his mother called as the screen door banged shut.
“Like you care,” Nick said, making sure to keep his voice low enough that his parents couldn’t hear him. Outside, the sun had set completely and a full moon was rising above the horizon. Nick fished the piece of paper from the cemetery out of his pocket and studied it for what felt like the hundredth time that day. The moon gave off plenty of silver light to read.
Trust only the cat. What was that supposed to mean? How exactly were you supposed to trust a cat? It wasn’t like the cat had a lot to say. In fact, he hadn’t seen the cat since they came back from the funeral.
Maybe it wasn’t even a message. It could be some guy was just writing a note to himself, like, Remember to pick up orange juice. Although he couldn’t imagine what kind of person would remind himself to trust a cat. Even if it was a message, that didn’t mean it was for him. It didn’t have his name on it or anything. It had just been blowing across the ground. Anyone could have picked it up, and anyone could have dropped it.
Case File 13 Page 4
