Hoodoo

by Ronald L. Smith

  And then I saw it.

  Daddy was wearing the ring.

  Even though it was tiny, I could still see it, sparkling in the sun.

  In my room, I took the powwow book out of the trunk and flipped through it, looking for anything that could help me defeat the Stranger. There were a bunch of drawings in the back: owls and birds and little shapes I didn’t understand. I turned another page. My heart skipped.

  THE ALL-SEEING EYE

  The all-seeing eye is the eye of God, for

  He is always watching.

  It was the painted eye from Daddy’s ring. Underneath the picture there were some words in the middle of the page:

  FRATERNAL ORGANIZATIONS, SARDIS, ALABAMA

  Freemasons Lodge

  Order of the Eastern Star

  Prince Hall Lodge 33

  Knights of the Wise Men Lodge 1

  I didn’t know what it all meant, but one thing stuck out—“Wise Men.”

  A wise man don’t look for danger, but he’ll die for a cause he knows is righteous. That’s what Mrs. Snuff told me.

  Wise Men. Daddy’s ring. It all meant something. I knew it. But what?

  I flipped through the book some more but didn’t see anything I thought would help, so I stuffed it back into the trunk. A piece of yellow paper was under all those things I found a long time ago: the bird skull, the flattened pennies, and the bottle caps. I moved the stuff out of the way and picked it up.

  It was a picture, yellow and faded.

  A whole bunch of men stood in front of a brick building, all dressed up in suits and ties. The ones standing at the edges held long sticks at their sides, with something on top that looked like a star. None of them were smiling. I shook my head. Who were these people?

  The funny thing was, they all had on some kind of apron, like Mama Frances used to wear in the kitchen when she was cooking. But these aprons had the same symbol that was on Daddy’s ring: the all-seeing eye. I swallowed hard and lowered my gaze to the bottom of the picture:

  Knights of the Wise Men

  Lodge 1

  Sardis, Alabama, 1920

  Grand Archon: Curtis Hatcher

  That was Daddy!

  My left hand started itching. I blinked and looked at the group of men again. Daddy was in there somewhere. All of their faces were serious and dark. Some had beards and some little mustaches. Some were fat and some were skinny, but only one of them wore a tall stovepipe hat on top of his head, just like Abraham Lincoln’s: Daddy.

  I knew it was him wearing the hat. I’d know those dark eyes anywhere. Grand Archon. That sounded like he was the boss. Why else would all those people be standing around with him in the middle?

  I’d seen that building before, the one they were all standing in front of. It was over where Zeke showed me that strung-up hog, the one with the cut down its belly, right next to Mr. Haney’s farm.

  I knew what I had to do.

  I had to go there.

  I touched my pocket.

  And keep that mojo bag close, you hear? Don’t let nobody else touch it. Keep it in your pocket.

  I started down the stairs. Aunt Jelly was scrubbing out pots in the kitchen. She heard my steps and turned. “Hey, Hoodoo. You should get some rest, baby. These are trying times.”

  I sat down for a minute. I didn’t need no rest. I needed to get to that building and see what I could find. Maybe there was something in there that could help me stop the Stranger. You gotta use your head, son, and your heart.

  “How long are you gonna stay here?” I asked her. “You can’t stay here forever. You got your own house too.”

  The red scarf Aunt Jelly wore around her head had some sweat on it, and she didn’t look her usual put-together self. “Don’t worry about that, Hoodoo. I guess you’ll come stay with me or your Pa Manuel.”

  “But what about this house?” I said, my voice cracking all of a sudden. “This is Mama Frances’s house. We can’t just leave it. It wouldn’t be right!”

  I didn’t want our home to start looking like one of those old broke-down shacks I’d seen around the county: full of weeds and trash and stray dogs roaming around doing their business.

  Aunt Jelly pulled out a chair and sat down next to me. The sweet smell of her perfume was heavy in the room. She touched my cheek and her hand was soft. “Hoodoo, you just need to sit tight. Your Pa Manuel’s gonna take care of this here business.”

  Now she was telling me what to do. Everybody thought they knew what was best for me. But I was gonna show them all.

  I closed my left hand into a fist.

  “Now, you just settle yourself,” she said. “I got some sweet tea and some hoecakes. Just like your Mama Frances used to make. Everything’s gonna be okay. All right, baby?”

  “I’m not a baby!” I shouted, jumping out of my chair. A pitcher of sweet tea crashed on the floor.

  “Hoodoo!” Aunt Jelly cried.

  I stared at her for a second and then at the glass on the floor. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I have to go now, Auntie.”

  “Child,” she said, giving me one of Mama Frances’s sideways looks.

  But I shot out the door before she had a chance to say anything else.

  I ran.

  Like if I ran hard and fast enough, I could bring Mama Frances back. But I knew that couldn’t happen.

  I passed Miss Carter’s. A black cat sat on the tin roof, eyes gleaming like two little jewels. A dog let out a lonely bark every few seconds. The moon had come out, and some streaks of red ran through it. Mama Frances would’ve called that an omen.

  Music was coming from a beat-up shack on the corner. The man I’d seen back at Miss Carter’s a while back sat out front playing the guitar and drinking from a bottle. I heard shouting and then glass breaking through the closed door. The people inside of there were probably drunk on moonshine and who knew what else.

  I kept walking, and pretty soon passed Mr. Haney’s farm. Some of his chickens were running around in the dirt road, pecking at the ground. They must’ve gotten past his fence.

  I came to a place where the road was crossed by another road at a right angle, and cut through some high grass. The building I was looking for sat on the corner. That made me scratch my head.

  It’s also a place where two roads cross at a right angle, and where powerful mojo can be done, but it’s dangerous, because the old devil himself can sometimes rise up and cause confusion.

  The crossroads.

  The building was old and broke down now, with smashed windows and some trash laying around. It had an upstairs and a downstairs. Most of the bricks were dirty and more than a few of them were gone, like missing teeth. Tall, scraggly weeds grew in the front, and some smashed-up pieces of wood were stacked on the concrete steps.

  I walked through the weeds. Somebody’s old truck was hidden in there with the hood open and the windows smashed. I wondered why the Knights of the Wise Men didn’t use this place anymore.

  Right in the front, the all-seeing eye was painted on one of the bricks in blue and gold, but the colors were dull and old-looking. A little slice of moonlight shined right on it and made it glow. That had to be a sign. The powwow book said that the eye meant that God was always watching. I thought back to when I was snooping around in Mrs. Snuff’s house and Mama Frances’s bedroom and felt ashamed.

  I blew out a breath. The air was hot, and crickets sang in the weeds. “A wise man don’t look for danger,” I whispered, “but he’ll die for a cause he knows is righteous.”

  I didn’t understand it then, but I did now. Righteous was doing right, if you didn’t know. I learned that word at church when Preacher Wellington read from the Bible. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness.

  I looked up at the night sky. “Dear Jesus,” I whispered, “if You’re watching, I’m just trying to do what a wise man would do.”

  Two small windows were on one side of the building. I chose the on
e farthest away from the roads and lifted the sash. It slid up with a rusty squeal that broke the still night. I looked both ways, grabbed onto the ledge, pulled myself up, and crawled through.

  I landed on a hard floor with a thud. A zing of pain shot up my elbow. I stood up and started walking—short little steps, like an old lady. Darkness surrounded me.

  One step. Two steps. Three steps . . .

  My toe hit something solid. I reached out and felt a smooth wooden surface, like a table of some sort. I ran my fingers across it and touched something else. It was cold and hard, like metal. I trailed my fingers up along the sides and felt something soft but kind of firm. It was a candle in a holder. I could feel the wick. I shuddered.

  He who holds the Hand of Glory may use the dead man’s fingers as candlewicks.

  With one hand on the candle, I slowly ran my fingertips across the table, looking for matches. There had to be some. Can’t have light without no matches. I didn’t feel anything, so I lowered my hand down the side of the table. Most tables had drawers, I figured, so that’s what I was looking for. I found one, pulled, and the drawer squeaked open, echoing in the darkness.

  I spread my fingers around and felt the sharp end of a nail, some paper, and then a small box. I picked up the box, and shook it. That was the sound of matchsticks rattling around. I took one out and scratched it against the rough, pebbly side of the box.

  Light surrounded me. I looked down.

  It wasn’t a table in front of me, but some kind of pulpit, like at church. The all-seeing eye was painted on the wood.

  I wondered if God was watching me right this instant, sitting on His throne in heaven with all the angels around Him.

  I held the candle up high. The floor was checked with black and white tiles, and big chairs with fancy woodwork sat at both ends of the room. Two other chairs faced each other in the middle. I walked toward the far end, holding the candle out in front of me. The feet on the big chairs looked like lions’ paws.

  A staircase was to my left. I walked up slowly, the old floorboards creaking under my feet. A closed door was at the top. I took a few careful steps and turned the handle. It didn’t open all the way, just a little, so I gripped the candle, put my shoulder up against the wood, and pushed until the door scraped open.

  The room was small and cramped and smelled like moldy rags and paint. A few broken chairs were stacked in one corner, and a small table was off to the left. On the right, a bunch of rusty keys on a big metal hoop hung from a nail in the wall. Moonlight flowed in through a window. I gazed about the place.

  A human skull sat on the floor.

  But I didn’t get the shivers this time. “I’m done with the damn shivers,” I whispered. But then I got the shivers anyway because I said a curse word.

  I moved the candle closer to the skull so I could get a better look. I didn’t know why I needed to do that. It was definitely a skull. There was no mistaking that. Why would a skull be here? But there it was, its jaw hanging open until the end of time. I reached out with my left hand to touch it but snatched it back at the last second. I imagined those teeth closing over my fingers and taking a bite.

  A bunch of old books were scattered around, all covered in dust and spider webs. I set the candle on the floor, then knelt down and started rooting through them. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I studied each cover, waiting for something that could help. I picked up each one, flipped a few pages, and then set it down on the floor next to the others. When I moved a big one aside, a black hole stared up at me. A piece of floorboard was missing and the stack of books had been covering it. I bent my head down to look inside.

  A wise man don’t look for danger, but he’ll die for a cause he knows is righteous.

  I didn’t even think about it—didn’t even get the heebie-jeebies—just reached in right quick with my left hand and spread my fingers around. I felt something hard. Something solid. I closed my hand around it and pulled it out.

  It was another book.

  A cloud of dust flew up into the air when I blew on it. A coughing fit seized my throat. I needed some water and swallowed a few times, trying to work up some spit.

  The words on the cover were easy to read:

  The Sixth & Seventh

  BOOKS OF MOSES:

  Magic, Spirits, Art

  Moses was from the Bible. Did he write this book?

  I ran my left hand across the letters, and just like that, my fingers started tingling. That meant I had to be getting close to something. I shook my wrist a few times to get the feeling back.

  I let out a breath and opened the book to the first page.

  What I was staring at didn’t make sense. It was a drawing of a square box with a bunch of scrambled letters inside it. I scrunched up my eyes and tried to read the words.

  Maybe it was some kind of hoodoo spell. The word SATOR was on the top and going down the left side. ROTAS was spelled on the right and along the bottom. I thought about that for a second. ROTAS was SATOR spelled backwards. My head was spinning. I didn’t know what it meant. A breeze tickled my arms. The room had been hot just a minute ago, but now it was freezing cold. Someone had written their own words under the square, and I whispered them out loud.

  Where he walks, it burns.

  In ash, he shall be known.

  Cipher and speak the Sator Square.

  The evil that draws nigh is vanquished.

  That didn’t make no kind of sense either. The box must’ve been the Sator Square—I did figure out that much.

  I flipped through the book and saw a bunch of pictures: there were stars, a wheel in the sky, stone tablets with squiggly marks on them, and a snake wrapped around a stick. All the other pages had tiny words crammed together, and my eyes hurt just looking at them.

  A rustling sound made me jump. I whipped my head around. It was a mouse, snuffling through a pile of papers.

  If I was afraid of a mouse, how could I face the Stranger?

  I felt like a coward, but then Mama Frances’s voice echoed in my ears:

  It was the Stranger. He did this to me. You have to find him, Hoodoo. You got to destroy him!

  I stood up and tucked the book under my arm. I didn’t want to steal it but I knew I’d need it. There was something I had to figure out about the Sator Square.

  I took the steps real slow. I didn’t want to go falling through a hole like the one that book covered up. Hot wax dripped down the metal candleholder and almost burned my hand.

  When I got to the first floor, I stood next to the window and blew out the candle. I set it on the floor and then pulled myself up and over.

  Outside, I breathed in the fresh air, glad to be out of the cold and dark. I got to the road the way I came in, passing the broke-down truck and all the other stuff. The moon was white and soft, glowing around the edges.

  The black cat was still sitting on the roof of Miss Carter’s, and watched me pass with yellow eyes. As I looked up at it, I had only one thing on my mind.

  Getting back home and ciphering that Sator Square.

  The Sator Square

  Aunt Jelly’s perfume hung in the air when I got home. She must’ve been up waiting for me. The dishes were washed and put away and the wooden floor scrubbed clean. The table was pushed back together, making everything look normal again, like it did before all those people were here, stuffing their faces and drinking liquor.

  The hoecakes Aunt Jelly had made sat on the table on a yellow plate. I picked one up and took a bite. It tasted like ashes in my mouth. I got real sad right then, thinking about Mama Frances. I’d never smell her food rising up in the morning or hear her calling me down for breakfast again.

  I crept upstairs into my room. The window let in a little moonlight. I found my candle stub on the end table and lit it, then sat on the bed and took out the book.

  The Sixth & Seventh

  BOOKS OF MOSES:

  Magic, Spirits, Art

  I opened it up to the page with the Sator
Square.

  Where he walks, it burns.

  In ash, he shall be known.

  Cipher and speak the Sator Square.

  The evil that draws nigh is vanquished.

  I rubbed my chin. Cipher means to write something, if you didn’t know. Mama Frances used to say that word a lot. Make sure you go to school and learn how to cipher. And I knew the word nigh meant near or close. Preacher Wellington used it in church all the time. The time draws nigh, he’d say, when the Lord Jesus will return.

  But what about the other part? Where he walks, it burns. Who was “he” and what was the “it” that burned?

  Maybe I needed to write down the words in the square first, to see if anything happened.

  I reached inside the table drawer and took out my pencil and paper, the same ones I used to draw the Stranger’s face before I nailed it to that tree. By the time the schoolhouse opened, I might be out of paper, I figured. “Here goes,” I whispered, and started writing the letters:

  SATOR

  AREPO

  TENET

  OPERA

  I had no idea what the words meant, and I had to scrunch my eyes to make sure I was spelling them right. Finally, I wrote the last word—ROTAS—and waited for something to happen.

  One Mississippi . . .

  Two Mississippi . . .

  Three Mississippi . . .

  The hoot of an owl broke the silence. I jumped, thinking something was about to happen, but after a few minutes, there was no sign of anything. I looked at the words in the book again.