by Bill Myers
“Is that red stain what I think it is?” Scott asked.
Becka nodded, glancing around. “Don’t see any flowers here.”
“Beck, I’m pretty sure that’s blood. And look here. There’s some kind of animal hair sticking to the rock. Something was killed here recently . . . Somebody’s using this place for animal sacrifices.” Scott stepped back as the memory of his terrifying dream about the goat came rushing back.
“Let’s go look for more flowers,” Becka said.
Her words pulled Scott from his momentary shock. He looked at his sister long and hard. Something was up. He was feeling more uneasy by the second. “I think we’d better get you home.”
This time Scott took the lead. He headed out of the clearing and searched for the path. But after about thirty feet, he stopped cold and pointed at something in a nearby ditch. “Look, Beck!”
Becka joined him. “More flowers?”
Scott didn’t respond. He just stood and stared. In the pit were the remains of a slaughtered goat.
“Oh . . . that’s terrible!” Becka said.
“Guess we know now why Aunt Myrna’s goat hasn’t come home,” Scott said sadly. “Big Sweet slaughtered him in one of his rituals.”
“We should go.”
“You’re right.” Scott headed toward what he hoped was Aunt Myrna’s farm.
Becka stopped suddenly. “No. We should go and look for more flowers.”
Scott spun around to look at Becka. Her face was flushed and her eyes looked glazed. The unease in the pit of his stomach became full-blown concern, then anger. Something had happened to Becka. And whatever was wrong with his sister was getting worse by the minute. He had to get her out of there. But as he looked around, he had a sinking feeling that they were lost. He was sure of it.
“Becka? Beck, I think we’d better pray. I think — ”
But when he turned back to her, she was gone.
“Becka!” he shouted, looking around. He began to panic, running first one way, then the other. “Becka!” he shouted again. Dear God, he prayed, don’t let me lose her. Not in here! “Becka!”
But she was nowhere to be found. Desperately he continued the search. Plants were everywhere. Spanish moss hung down thick in his face. Everything looked the same. He had no idea where he was or if he’d been running around in circles.
“Becka! Beck — ”
Then he heard the sound of splashing. And he knew as certainly as if he’d seen it happen — Becka had jumped into the water.
“Becka!”
He raced along a log, following the sound.
“Becka! Becka!”
At last he saw her. She was up to her neck in the water a few feet from the shore.
“What are you doing?!” he demanded.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she treaded water, moving away from him.
“Becka!!”
A moment later he had his answer. She reached out and grabbed a handful of the pink flowers.
“See?” she called. “Flowers!”
“Yes, very nice.” It was all Scott could do to contain himself. “Now if you don’t mind, would you hurry up and get out of there? We’ve got to — ”
Suddenly he saw movement in the water. It looked like a log drifting across the swamp. But it was no log. His heart began pounding. It was an alligator! And it was swimming right for his sister!
“More flowers over here!” she called, starting to paddle even farther away.
“No, Beck! Come back! Get out of there! Look over your shoulder!”
Becka did, but she seemed oblivious to the approaching gator. Its two large, yellow eyes headed straight toward her.
“Look, Scotty.” She pointed past the gator toward another group of flowers. “More flowers.”
Scott was beside himself. “Nooo!” he screamed from the shore. “Look, Beck! I’ve got flowers here!” He scrambled around the shore scooping up flowers wherever he saw them. “See, Beck? I’ve got bigger ones — prettier ones! See? Right over here!”
Becka turned and saw Scott waving his handful of flowers. She smiled vacantly and began swimming back to him.
It was too late.
Her pace was no match for the gator, which rapidly closed the distance between them. It would be on her in seconds.
“Oh, God!” Scott cried. “Please save Beck! In the name of Jesus, please save her! Please . . .”
The alligator was only a few feet from her now. Its mouth opened wide, preparing to attack, when suddenly —
BAM! BAM!
The shots cracked through the swamp like thunder.
At first Scott was unsure what had happened. Then he saw the alligator roll over onto its back. Blood soon appeared in the water. Finally, the creature sank slowly under the green carpet of water and plants.
A sudden rustle of leaves caused Scott to spin around. A huge African-American man carrying a rifle soon appeared. Perched on his head was a battered straw hat. He chewed on a piece of sugarcane.
“It’s all right now, missy,” he called. “You can take your time comin’ back. But you best get outta there soon as possible. This area’s got more gators than that old-timer.”
Scott could only stare as Becka swam toward him. Once again she smiled vacantly.
When she arrived, the big man reached his hand out to help her. “Hello there, missy. Pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Benjamin. But most folks in these parts call me Big Sweet.”
7
Big Sweet continued to hold out his hand to help Becka from the swamp. She hesitated, remaining in the chest-deep water.
“Flowers?” she asked.
The big man smiled. “What?”
“She’s talking about these!” Scott called. He was about thirty feet away, holding up a handful of the pink flowers for Big Sweet to see. “She’s obsessed with them. That’s why she dove into the water.”
Big Sweet nodded as if he understood. “Sounds like she’s under some kind of spell.”
Confused and growing more angry by the second, Scott crossed toward the man. “Yes, and you did it . . . or one of your people did!”
Big Sweet held up his hand. “Whoa, son. Easy. We can talk about all that later. But no matter what you’ve heard, I am still preferable to another alligator.”
“What?”
“We must get this girl out of that water before we have more company.”
Scott understood and quickly joined Big Sweet. He leaned over the bank and held out the flowers to his sister. “Here they are, Beck. Come and get ’em.”
As Becka reached for the flowers, Scott and Big Sweet took her arms and pulled her out of the water. She was soaked and dripping with slime.
“Look at your leg,” Scott said. “It’s bleeding!”
“She must’ve cut it on a briar under the water,” Big Sweet said. “You better come over to my cabin and let me clean that wound for you.”
“I don’t know,” Scott said warily. “We should be heading back. Just point the way to Myrna Carmen’s house and — ”
“Look, son, if I wanted to harm you, you’d already be dead. I could’ve let that gator eat your friend here and shot you instead. Truth is, I hate shooting gators. Ain’t that many more left. And we got plenty of kids. Especially Yankee kids out messing where they don’t belong.”
Scott was unsure whether to be terrified or angry. But suddenly Big Sweet broke into a big, booming laugh. “Now, c’mon to my place,” he said, “and let me dress that wound ’fore your friend winds up with an infection.”
Scott nodded. “Okay. But don’t try anything funny.”
Big Sweet laughed again, then turned and made his way up a small hill. Scott followed cautiously, taking Becka by the hand and leading her carefully.
On the way to Big Sweet’s cabin, Scott introduced himself and Becka. He was surprised at how much Big Sweet already seemed to know about them. He wondered if Big Sweet had asked John Garrett about them.
Big Sweet’s cabin lay on the other
side of the hill. It looked foreboding on the outside, but once inside, Scott was surprised to see that it was small and cozy. He was also surprised to discover that the man had a wife and two cute little girls who were four and six. In fact, the whole place looked suspiciously normal.
Becka sat quietly, playing with her handful of flowers while Big Sweet washed the blood off her leg. “Why you keep looking around like that?” Big Sweet asked. “You expect bats to fly out of the closet?”
Scott almost smiled. “Something like that, I guess. We’ve never been in a . . .” He stopped in midsentence, unsure of what words to use.
“In a hungan’s house?” Big Sweet asked. “Is that what you mean?”
Scott swallowed.
“Well, son, a hungan is just like anyone else . . . most of the time. It’s only during the ceremony that the loa commune with the hungan. Otherwise he’s like anyone else.”
“How can you say you commune with the dead and call yourself normal?” Scott asked. He knew he was being pretty direct, but after all, this was the top man, the guy with all the answers.
Big Sweet cocked his head and looked at Scott. “What’s a city kid like you know about the loa?”
Scott shrugged. “Not much. I just like studying stuff like that.”
Big Sweet’s thick eyebrows knitted into a frown. “Stuff like what?”
Usually words came easily to Scott, but now, with Big Sweet staring at him — looking through him actually — he wasn’t sure how to answer. “I just . . . like to read about . . . weird stuff.” Scott winced as soon as he had said the words. Calling someone’s religion “weird stuff” was not too bright, especially if that someone happened to be the high priest and was two or three times your size.
Big Sweet’s eyes narrowed. He looked meaner than ever . . . until he suddenly broke into the biggest laugh yet. “Weird stuff.” He continued laughing. “Weird stuff. That’s pretty good!”
Scott gave Big Sweet half a smile, then glanced at Becka. She did not say a word. She was too busy playing with the pink flowers.
Big Sweet reached for a bottle of alcohol and poured some onto a wad of cotton. “This might sting a bit,” he warned. But as he swabbed the cut with alcohol, Becka didn’t even react.
Big Sweet shook his head. “That’s a powerful curse. May take some doing to break it.”
“Ask Sara Thomas,” Scott said. “She’s the one who put the curse on her.”
Big Sweet was taken aback. “Sara Thomas? How do you know — ?” He stopped himself, then shook his head. “I must explain to you what is happening to Sara Thomas. You know about the loa, the dead spirits. Well, there are two kinds of loa. Rada loas and petro loas.”
Scott listened, feeling uneasy.
“Rada loas are good spirits that help a person do good. Petro loas are mean spirits that help them do evil.”
“What’s that got to do with Sara or my sis — ?”
“Sara Thomas has been picked on all her life. She needed something to defend herself, to fight back. That’s a petro loa. That’s what she sought and — ” he let out a sigh — “that’s what she got — a spirit of revenge.”
“So you put a curse on Sara, and Sara put one on my sister.”
Big Sweet looked at Scott a moment, then shook his head. “I did not put a curse on Sara. She asked for help; I gave it to her. She got herself a powerful petro loa, though. A strong one. I’m afraid Sara’s a loa’s cheval now.”
“A what?”
“That means horse, a horse for the spirit to ride. And there is not much she can do until it decides it wants to get off.”
“What about my sister?”
Big Sweet thought a moment. “I’ve got a black root. It can break spells like — ”
“I don’t want any of that stuff!” Scott interrupted. Big Sweet frowned, not understanding.
“She’s a Christian,” Scott explained. “Curses have no power over Christians.”
“So I see . . . ,” Big Sweet said, motioning to Becka, who still played with the flowers.
Scott faltered. “That is, unless we allow someone or something else to have power over us.”
Big Sweet sat, waiting for more.
Scott continued. “A lot of weird stuff ’s been happening to us. And Becka’s been getting kinda spooked. And now with the fever and all, and Sara’s curse, I guess she just started to give in and believe — ”
“So what are you going to do?” Big Sweet interrupted.
Scott swallowed. “I guess . . . pray.”
“Pray?”
“Yes.”
“Pray? That’s it?”
“Well . . . yeah.”
Big Sweet folded his arms. “Okay, let me see.”
“What? Here?” Scott asked.
“I would not be taking her back into the swamp this way. But then again, if you don’t think it will work . . .”
Scott quickly rose to the occasion. “Oh, it will work, all right. You bet it will work!”
Big Sweet grinned. “Then, I am waiting.”
With growing determination, Scott pushed aside his apprehension and reached for Becka’s hand. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Dear Lord . . .” He cleared his throat, still feeling a little self-conscious. “Dear Lord, please break the power of this curse. Please help Becka to see that she doesn’t have to be under this or any spell because of what you did for us on the cross. Because you set us free and gave us an even greater power.” Scott hesitated. Part of him wanted to make the prayer longer and more dramatic, maybe turn it into a mini-sermon. But he knew he said what needed to be said. That was enough. “I ask these things in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”
Scott opened his eyes.
Big Sweet sat silent, waiting. “That was it?” he asked.
Scott nodded. “That’s it.”
“No root or balm or potion?”
Scott shook his head. “We don’t use that stuff. We don’t need it.”
Big Sweet turned and stared hard at Becka, waiting.
Nothing happened.
“Missy?” Big Sweet called. “Missy, are you there?”
Ever so slowly, Becka turned her head.
Scott and Big Sweet held their breath.
At last Becka spoke. “Would you like a flower?”
Scott winced. Big Sweet smiled.
Becka continued, frowning slightly. “No? Then can I dump them somewhere? I think they’re making me sick. I must be allergic to them or something.” She looked around the room, blinking in confusion. “Hey, where are we?” She looked down at her soaked clothes. “And how did I get all wet?”
Scott let out a sigh of relief. Big Sweet laughed his big laugh.
“Hello, missy,” the man said. “My name is Big Sweet.”
Becka turned to Scott, a trace of panic in her voice. “Is he serious?”
Scott nodded. “It’s okay. You were out of it for a while. Big Sweet saved your life. We came here so he could clean that gash on your leg, and . . . uh . . . well, I just prayed and broke Sara’s curse.”
Becka leaned back in her chair. She felt a little weak. And for good reason. It was all coming back to her now: the cravings, the wanderings, and Sara’s curse. She rubbed her neck. It felt stiff and hot from the fever. “Boy, do I feel stupid.”
Scott said, “Big Sweet says Sara is possessed by a violent spirit.”
“A petro loa,” Big Sweet added. “There are good spirits and bad spirits that can possess a person and — ”
“But possession is wrong,” Becka interrupted.
Big Sweet looked at her.
She continued. “If there’s one thing we’ve learned over the months, it’s that any spirit that possesses someone is not a good spirit. Those spirits always cause a person to do evil. Only the Holy Spirit comes into a person’s life and causes him to do good.”
Big Sweet rubbed his chin. “For a couple of kids, you sure think you know a lot about spirits.”
Becka and Scott exchanged g
lances. If he only knew . . .
Big Sweet went on. “I don’t know what you got, but it is clear it has power. Breaking that curse with no roots or potions is mighty strong power.”
“Our power doesn’t come from something,” Scott explained. “It comes from someone — the Holy Spirit, like Beck said.”
Big Sweet eyed him. “All right, then. If you really want to help Sara Thomas, you must come to the ceremony tonight. Her petro loa is a dangerous one. I tried talking to it, but it won’t listen. I’ve tried to get its ancestors to talk to me, but — ”
“You can’t talk to the dead,” Becka cut in.
Big Sweet was obviously growing impatient with all the interruptions. “You cannot? Then who have I been talking to every week all these years?”
Again Scott and Becka traded looks.
After a deep breath, Scott finally answered him. “Demons. You’ve been talking to demons who are using you for their own purposes.”
Big Sweet stood up. “You kids give me a big headache! You better head back now. Miss Myrna will be worried.”
“And Sara?” Scott asked.
“If you are serious ’bout helping Sara, then you come to our ceremony tonight.”
Sara had spent most of the night tossing, turning, and groaning, thanks to a horrible nightmare. She woke up gasping for air, then jumped out of bed and hurried over to the dresser mirror to stare at her reflection. What she saw caused her to let out a scream.
In the mirror, snakes writhed in her hair. They vanished suddenly.
She sat on a nearby chair and stared at herself. She felt as if she had aged several years in the last few days.
Angrily she grabbed the small cloth doll still hanging around her neck and broke the chain. She threw the doll on the floor, then hurriedly dressed.
But just before she left the room, she walked back over to where the doll lay on the floor and stared at it for a long moment. Then, although it was the last thing she wanted to do, she picked it up and put it in her purse.
She had to. She no longer had a choice.
Going to the ceremony was the last thing Becka and Scott wanted to do, especially given Becka’s condition and all they’d been through. But they both agreed that it would be their last opportunity to help Sara. And like it or not, that was why they had been sent to Louisiana in the first place.