Hoodoo

by Ronald L. Smith

  Where he walks, it burns.

  In ash, he shall be known.

  Cipher and speak the Sator Square.

  The evil that draws nigh is vanquished.

  Cipher and speak. I’d already ciphered them. Maybe I needed to say them out loud. I blew out a breath and looked at the paper on the floor. “Sator,” I whispered. The candle flame flickered in the dark room.

  “Arepo,” I continued. “Tenet. Opera. Rotas.”

  Silence.

  A branch scraped the window. I imagined a long-beard tree coming to life and grabbing me off the floor with hairy arms.

  I knew the words meant something. I could feel it. They crept into my head, like daggers sticking into my brain. They had something to do with defeating evil, and I needed to figure out what.

  Where he walks, it burns.

  Where . . . he . . . walks.

  Where the Stranger walks?

  But what burns? The ground?

  My left hand started throbbing, like it did when I picked up J.D. in a stranglehold. I was getting close. I knew it.

  Where he walks, it burns.

  In ash, he shall be known.

  It burns? What burns?

  If you burned something, you’d get ashes. I stared at the paper.

  Paper.

  Where he walks, burn the paper.

  Where the Stranger walks, burn the paper.

  That was it! I needed to burn the paper!

  I snuffed out the candle, grabbed some matches, and walked down the steps quietly. The Sator Square paper was in my right hand and the candle in my left. The front door opened with a squeal and I stepped outside.

  The moon was white when I left the Wise Men’s club, but now it was blood-red. I saw a fat possum creep under the porch. There was no noise except for some crickets singing in the weeds. I walked around to the side of the house, right where Mama Frances had fallen.

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

  I knew what I had to do. Now was no time to be a scaredy-cat. I lit the candle and then bent down low and waved it across the ground from left to right. It had to be here. It hadn’t rained. Where was it?

  I moved a few steps to the left and stumbled. I was in front of the big iron pot Mama Frances used to wash clothes. I lowered the candle down to the ground.

  And then I saw it.

  A footprint.

  The Stranger’s footprint.

  “Where he walks, it burns,” I whispered.

  The footprint was big and ended in a sharp point, like a boot. I sat down in the dirt and held up the paper with the Sator Square. Moonlight passed over the letters and I read them out loud: “Sator. Arepo. Tenet. Opera. Rotas.

  “Only one thing to do now,” I said, and folded the paper and set it in the Stranger’s footprint.

  I held the candle to the paper. A yellow line of fire ran along the edge, growing brighter. I looked up at the window to Mama Frances’s room. That’s where Aunt Jelly was sleeping. If she saw fire or smelled smoke, she’d have a fit. But this was more important than Aunt Jelly having a fit.

  The paper crumpled into ash, and wispy trails of smoke curled up and into the night sky. Wind sighed through the trees.

  In ash, he will be known.

  I waited, trying to breathe like normal even though I could hear the blood pumping in my ears. “C’mon,” I hissed. “Do something!”

  The pieces of ash started to glow.

  Little sparks of red, yellow, and gold winked and flashed in the Stranger’s footprint. My heart pounded in my chest. My left hand trembled. The sparks swirled in the air like a twister, then settled back down to the ground.

  I leaned in, looking closer. The ash broke apart and started moving—left and right and up and down. It was making letters!

  I saw a Z and a C. Then an N. The ash was spelling something. The letters moved in the dirt, scrambling around like a bunch of little ants. Everything else was still. Even the crickets stopped their chirping. I took a breath and looked in the footprint.

  It was a name.

  The Stranger’s name.

  The name of a demon.

  I opened my mouth.

  “Zacharias Cain,” I whispered.

  Blinding white light flashed in front of my eyes.

  “Zacharias Cain! Let go of that cat!”

  The black cat shrieked and twisted out of Zacharias’s hands, then scampered away, a bushy tail tucked between its legs.

  Zacharias looked up at his mama. His eyes were so gray, people had a hard time looking at him—sometimes, even his own mama.

  “It tried to bite me,” Zacharias said.

  Flash.

  Moonlight shone down on a circle of trees in the woods. The man called Zacharias Cain stood with a group of other men—black men and white men all standing together. Some wore fancy suits, and some wore nothing but rags. But they were all there because of Zacharias. He was the one they followed. The one they believed in.

  In one hand he held a book, and in the other, a curved knife. He eyed each man in turn and then, in a voice as strong and deep as a preacher man’s, read a verse from the book.

  When he finished, all was quiet. The men looked at him in fear and in praise, for his voice touched them deep, deep, deep in their souls.

  And when he raised his knife and stepped toward the man on the ground, they didn’t look away.

  When it was over, he held his blade over blue and orange flames and let the blood drip down . . . down . . . down . . .

  A voice came up out of the fire. A man’s voice, but different. No one heard it.

  No one except Zacharias Cain.

  The voice promised him great things—things beyond this world.

  Flash.

  Zacharias stood before a judge. Rope bound his hands, and a link of chain coiled around his feet.

  “Zacharias Cain,” the judge said. “You come before this court as a criminal and have been found guilty of murder.”

  A muscle in Zacharias’s neck twitched.

  “Do you have anything to say before sentencing?”

  Zacharias looked up at the man and smiled.

  The judge shook his head in contempt. “Zacharias Cain,” he said. “I hereby sentence you to death by hanging. May God have mercy on your poor soul.”

  The wooden hammer came down on the desk with a bang.

  As they led him away, Zacharias’s gray eyes flickered. He turned to look at the man who had sentenced him to death.

  “I’ll see you in hell,” Zacharias said.

  He took the wooden steps leading up to the gallows without fear.

  He had a life beyond this one, one that was promised to him by the Voice in the Flames.

  He didn’t hear the snapping of his neck.

  He didn’t see the family of the man he murdered.

  All he saw was his master, who spoke to him through a cloud of flame.

  Zacharias Cain would get his eternal life. But it would not be the life up above, where green things grew and the wind stirred and the birds sang.

  No, Zacharias’s life would be here, in this place beyond the Great Void, down in the Valley of Death, five hundred steps. He was cursed by the Great Deceiver and would walk in darkness forever.

  Flash.

  My ears rang. Sweat poured down my neck. I took big deep breaths and tried to calm myself. Wind snuffed out the candle. Darkness fell all around me. The pictures I saw stuck in my head. They were evil—terrible, evil things.

  The Stranger was a demon and a murderer!

  I licked my lips, cracked and dry. “I know your name,” I whispered.

  “Zacharias Cain, I know your name.”

  Death Rides a Black Horse

  I crept back in the house and closed the door quietly behind me. The last thing I wanted to see was Aunt Jelly coming down the steps. My head pounded like somebody was banging on my skull from the inside.

  I made it to my room and lay back
on the bed. I was dang tired. The whole day had been crazy. Zacharias Cain had been a murderer and now he was a demon. And Daddy had called him up from the dark.

  He owes me a debt, and I come to collect.

  I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes. There was no way I could sleep.

  I saw Zacharias Cain in the dream world before. Could I do it again?

  I had to get to him before he got me.

  I took a few deep breaths. Concentrate, I told myself. I let my breathing come slow and easy. My left hand felt like hot water was running over it.

  You got some magick in you, but I think it’s buried. Way down deep.

  I closed my eyes. “Zacharias Cain,” I whispered. “I know who you are. You have no power over me. I know your—”

  A howling rang in my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter and clapped both hands to the sides of my head, trying to block the sound. When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in my room anymore.

  I was out of my body again, back in the shack where I saw the Stranger shooting out of the fireplace with flames all around him.

  The room was dark, with one window and a fireplace where the embers burned low. Something moved in the corner, blacker than the black surrounding it.

  It was Zacharias Cain.

  He reached into his cloak and took out a bunch of things. I could see each one, even though it was dark: a lock of hair, a silk handkerchief, a pair of earrings, a shoe, a gold tooth, a knife, and a Bible. He set each one down on a low wooden table, then shuffled over to the fireplace and picked up a piece of charred wood. Just like before, I could feel myself in the room. My body was back in bed, but my mind was here. The smell of burned cinders floated in the air.

  Zacharias Cain suddenly snapped his head up and sniffed, looking this way and that. I held my breath even though I knew he couldn’t see me. He could feel me, just like I could feel him.

  He shook his head for a second and then drew a circle on the floor with the charred wood. Inside that circle he drew a man who looked like he was part goat, sitting cross-legged in midair. Black wings unfurled behind him. Horns stood up on his head. One hand was raised with the palm thrust out, and the other with a finger pointing to the ground.

  I could smell his breath here in the dream world, hot and sharp. The creature he’d drawn blazed into fire. Flames rose up and danced in the dark room. I felt myself put a hand to my face, trying to block the heat. I guessed I did the same thing back in my bed. What would happen if Aunt Jelly came in my room? Would I be lying there like I was asleep, with my eyes wide open and my hand raised to my face? If she took hold of me and shook me, would I wake up? Could I get stuck here in the spirit world?

  Zacharias threw the things on the table inside the circle and then opened his arms wide, chanting the whole while. I couldn’t hear the words, but I knew they were evil—they were sharp and hard-sounding, each one ending with a hiss from his lips. I shivered.

  I woke with a dry mouth. I needed water. I didn’t even know it was morning until I heard some birds chirping.

  I sat up in bed. Something wasn’t right. It took me a minute to figure it out and then I realized what it was: there was no smell of hot food rising up to greet me. Mama Frances was gone. But I didn’t have time to be sad. I had to take care of business.

  My left hand was throbbing. Once again, I was plumb tired. I leaned back in the bed and blew out a long breath.

  You got to face your evil, Hoodoo, Zeke had said. If people don’t face the danger that’s seeking them, evil will find them first.

  I jumped out of bed.

  What was Zacharias Cain doing with all those things?

  If someone took your things and knew the right spells, they could have power over you. Everybody who used magick knew that, even me. I thought back on what I’d seen: earrings, a shoe, some hair, a knife—

  A knife.

  A pocketknife, just like Bunny’s.

  Bunny!

  I raced downstairs. Pa Manuel and Aunt Jelly sat at the table, talking quietly and drinking their coffee. I knew I was gonna get in trouble for rushing out like that the night before, but I was in too much of a hurry to stop and say sorry.

  Pa Manuel turned to face me. “Hey there, Hoodoo. Hold your horses, boy.”

  “I gotta go. There’s something I need to do.”

  “I’m not gonna scold you for what you did yesterday, child,” Aunt Jelly said. “I understand. You were upset and these are troubled times.”

  “But still,” Pa Manuel said. “You can’t run off like that again, Hoodoo. Understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  He took a sip of coffee and set the tin cup on the table. “Now, listen. Me and your cousin Zeke know some men in Cahaba. What we call hoodoo priests. Some people call them root doctors. They’re gonna help us take care of this here stranger.”

  “Don’t need no help,” I said.

  Pa Manuel cut his eyes at me, but I stared back at him like a grownup until Aunt Jelly leaned forward in her chair. “Now, Hoodoo,” she said, wagging a finger. “You need to listen to your granddaddy. He’s got a plan.”

  I headed for the door.

  “Whoa, there,” Pa Manuel said. He stood up and put his hands down on my shoulders. “What did I just say? Can’t go rushing off again. You worried your poor auntie half to death last night.”

  Right about then I didn’t care if I was gonna get my butt beat, so I let it all out. “I don’t need a plan!” I shouted. “Mama Frances said I had to destroy him! I know his name, Pa Manuel! I’m gonna stop him!”

  “Hoodoo,” said Aunt Jelly, and her voice was sharp. “Now, listen—”

  “No!” I shouted, and raced for the door.

  I ran as fast as I could, down the dirt road and past the train tracks. I jumped over a wheelbarrow filled with rusty truck parts, my legs chugging and my heart racing. I heard one last shout of “Hoodoo!” from Pa Manuel, but it was far away. He couldn’t run after me. He was too old for running.

  My blood boiled as I ran. Zacharias Cain had taken Mama Frances from me, and he wasn’t going to take no one else.

  I kept running—past Miss Carter’s, past the church, past the schoolhouse—but something wasn’t right. It was quiet. Too quiet. Usually this time of day, there’d be people on the street, little kids running and playing in the sunshine. But not today. Today was different. Whatever it meant, it couldn’t be a good sign.

  I was standing in front of Bunny’s house in no time. I needed to tell her what I’d seen: Zacharias Cain holding her knife.

  I bent down and rested my hands on my knees, breathing hard. Sweat poured down my face. The back of my neck felt all clammy and hot. I stood up and raised my hand to knock on the door.

  “Hoodoo.”

  I turned around quickly, my left hand clenched into a fist.

  It was Bunny.

  I breathed a sigh. “Hey, Bunny.”

  She didn’t say anything for a minute, just looked at me. Her creamy brown skin was pale, and dark circles shaded her eyes. I took her hand and dropped it right quick. It was hotter than a stick of blazing wood.

  “You okay, Bunny?” I asked. “You’re burning up.”

  And this is what she said:

  “I live down in the valley, five hundred steps.”

  “No!” I shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Bunny, stop! Don’t sing that song!”

  “I sold my soul to the devil,” she sang, and then she threw her head back and howled, and the voice that came out wasn’t hers. It was Zacharias Cain’s.

  She slowly raised her arm and pointed beyond my head. I turned around. A whole bunch of people from town was shuffling toward me, and they were singing a song I knew well.

  I sold my soul to the devil, and my heart done turned to stone.

  I sold my soul to the devil; he won’t let me alone.

  I live down in the valley, five hundred steps.

  Sold it to the devil, and my heart done turned to . . . eeeviiilll!

  And b
ehind all those people, like a nightmare come to life, Zacharias Cain rode on a black horse with red eyes.

  Darkness spread down the street like somebody had thrown a blanket over the sun. How could it go dark in the middle of the morning? Cold sweat rose up on my arms. White mist streamed from the horse’s mouth.

  Zacharias Cain said nothing. He just rode forward on his horse. Clip, clop, clip, clop, and the people sang in rhythm with the sound:

  I live down in the valley, five hundred steps.

  They were under his spell. I’d seen how it’d happened. He’d stolen their things and now they were his servants.

  “It’s him,” Bunny said. “My master’s here.” And then she put her hand to her mouth and giggled.

  I hated seeing Bunny like that, but I didn’t have time to think about it. Zacharias Cain was getting closer, just taking his sweet time. My left hand was red-hot, like fire, tingling like never before.

  Clip, clop, clip, clop.

  Zacharias Cain reached in the folds of his black cloak and pulled something out. It was a sickle, like I’d seen on that playing card at Mrs. Snuff’s, glowing in the dark that had fallen in the middle of the day. I could see how sharp the blade was from where I stood, and when he turned it sideways, it seemed to disappear.

  “Mandragore,” he said. “The One That Did the Deed. Main de Gloire.”

  The sound of his voice carried all the way down the street. Now the crowd of townsfolk moved closer, eyes rolled back in their heads. They were pushing in on me, people I’d known all my life, the same people I’d seen at Mama Frances’s funeral, the same people that had been at our house—but now, they were all under Zacharias Cain’s spell. They chanted together, and it made my blood run cold.