Lost in the Bayou

by Cornell DeVille

  Andy and I stare at the shanty for a few seconds. I take a deep breath before heading toward it. As we get closer, I see them. The snakes. They’re large, like tree limbs, gliding lazily across the porch as if guarding the door. My stomach churns as I consider the options. I’m trembling, and I want to turn and run in the other direction, as the girl did moments before.

  Andy is standing next to me, holding the rifle in front of him. “Come on, Robin,” he whispers. “We’ve come too far to stop now.”

  He’s right. If Mom and Dad are in there, we have to get past the snakes and go inside. The snakes slither slowly out of our way as we start climbing the rickety steps. My heart pounds in my ears as the wooden boards creak beneath our feet. Once we’re on the porch, I touch the shanty door and push it forward. It opens with a deep and eerie groan, and we step through the doorway and into the dimly lit room.

  My bare foot steps on something cold and scaly. “Aaagh!” I can’t see it, but I know it’s a snake. I jerk my foot off it and kick it out of the way as a shiver of revulsion runs through me.

  It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the low light. Eventually, I see something directly ahead of us, but the image is still soft and unfocused. It sharpens moments later, and I realize what the objects are: Pallets. Two of them—each with a body lying on it.

  Andy grabs my arm. “Is it them?” he whispers.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper back as we step toward the bodies.

  I walk to the closest pallet and squat down. There’s very little light coming through the doorway, but it’s enough. My breath rushes in when I recognize her face. “Mom?” I whisper. I listen for her reply. The only sound coming to my ears is the dull thrumming of my quickened pulse.

  Oh, God! Is she dead?

  Her expression is so unnatural. Her eyes are wide open, and she’s staring at the ceiling with an unfocused gaze. There’s a lump in my throat, and it’s hard to get the word past it. “Mom?” I whisper again. There’s still no reply.

  Oh, no! My hope is failing as I touch her face. She feels cold. Lifeless. It’s hard to see the extent of her injuries, but there’s a huge gash in her forehead, probably from the plane crash. There’s no blood dripping from it, thank goodness for that. But her skin looks powdery and pale, almost white.

  Andy is across from me, staring down at Dad. “I think his arm is broken,” he whispers in a voice that seems so hollow and distant. “There’s some sticks tied to it.”

  “Mom?” I say, a little louder this time, gently touching her shoulder. Movement catches my eye, and I look down to see a hairy black spider moving up her arm. “Get off her!” I scream, and without thinking, I grab the furry thing and toss it across the room and into the shadows.

  “Mom?” I repeat as I look back down at her. “Can you hear me?” There’s still no reply. No movement. I place my hand on her chest and wait.

  Andy follows my example and rests his palm on Dad’s chest.

  I wait for what seems such a long time. Nothing. I feel my own heart pounding in my chest, but nothing more. Then something. Is it? I feel it again. Yes! It’s slow and barely there, but her heart is beating beneath my palm, and her chest is moving ever so slightly up and down.

  “She’s alive,” I whisper as I breathe a long sigh of relief. “She’s alive, Andy!”

  Andy’s eyes are wide as he looks across at me. He’s nodding. “Yes. Same here. I feel Dad’s heart beating. But what’s wrong with them?” His voice is thin and shaky.

  “I don’t know.” The tears are filling my eyes now and dropping on the dirt floor like summer raindrops on a dry and dusty field. “But they’re alive. I knew they were! And that’s the important thing.”

  Suddenly the slow creaking of the porch steps floats through the doorway. When I turn, a long shadow is crawling into the room and flowing like black water over the uneven floor. The shadow ends at the feet of a tall figure silhouetted against the gray light.

  Thunder rumbles in the distance.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Fabien Laveau

  “WHO’S THERE?” My voice sounds so tiny, like a mouse squeak.

  The reply is deep and raspy when the tall figure answers. “I am Laveau.”

  His huge silhouette fills the doorway. My breath rushes in when I realize the legend we’ve heard about for so long is real! Is he crazy, like they say? I squint my eyes to see him, but the light, what there is of it, is behind him, and his face is dark and shadowed.

  “What have you done to them?” I ask in a voice that’s small and timid.

  “They sleep. It is good you have come. If they sleep much longer, even Fabien Laveau may not be able to bring them back to this world.”

  “Bring them back now!” My voice is still weak and pleading.

  “It is not time,” he replies. “They will be in great pain. Will need medicine.”

  Before I can ask any more questions, he steps backward and disappears from the doorway.

  A moment later, the same two women who took us to the shanty last night scurry into the room. One of them snatches my hand and the other one grabs Andy’s. They lead us outside and down the creaky steps. As they pull us away from the shanty, I notice that the snakes have disappeared. My eyes search the surrounding area. There is no sign of Fabien Laveau.

  I struggle to get away from the woman, to stay there with Mom and Dad, but she’s too strong, and I can’t get free of her. I hear Andy struggling, too, but he has the rifle to hold onto, so neither of us is escaping their grip. It’s no use fighting them, and we finally give up. They lead us back to the village. It has come alive in the short time we’ve been gone. Smoke from the fires climbs into the air as a light breeze brings the smell of food to my nose. It makes me realize how hungry I am.

  They direct us to a long wooden table beneath a large cypress tree. Other women are busy working, standing in front of the fires and stirring the steaming pots. Children are already sitting at the table, eating their breakfasts and talking among themselves as we arrive.

  The woman leading me leans close and whispers in my ear. “We get food. You eat before you leave.”

  Andy and I sit across from each other at the table, just as we always do in our own dining room. Images of Mom and Dad flash through my mind as I watch Andy lean the rifle against the table. I see the concern on his face when our eyes meet.

  “What’s wrong with Mom and Dad?” he asks.

  I shrug and give him the best answer I can come up with. “I think Fabien Laveau put a Voodoo spell on them. At least that’s what it sounded like from what he said. And from what they looked like.”

  “Can you really do that?” Andy asks. “I thought that was just something they made up for books and movies.”

  “I guess you can if you know Voodoo.”

  “Well, how do we wake them up? I don’t know anything about Voodoo. Or how to undo Voodoo. Do you?”

  I shake my head. “No. We’ll have to find out before we take them home.”

  “Yeah. That’s a good idea,” Andy says. “What if Fabien Laveau tries to put a Voodoo spell on us before we leave?”

  I point to the rifle. “You’ll have to shoot him. If he puts a spell on us, we’ll all end up being stuck here forever.”

  Andy’s eyes are wide, but he doesn’t reply because the women have returned to the table with our breakfast. The scrambled eggs are a buttercup yellow, and the sausage is greasy with a sticky brown skin on it. The biscuits are still steaming when we each pull one apart. The children watch us as they eat their own breakfasts, whispering to each other and giggling.

  It doesn’t feel right to be eating when I think about the condition Mom and Dad are in, but I know we need to eat in order to have the strength to get them home. It’s up to us now. If we can figure out a way.

  After we’ve eaten, Michel appears and tells us we need to come with him. Of all the people we’ve met since this strange adventure began, I trust Michel the most. Andy grabs the rifle and we follow Mi
chel as he leads us back to the shanty we slept in the night before. We don’t talk about anything along the way. When we arrive at the shanty, we sit on the pallets, and I brush the dried mud from my feet before slipping them into my boots. Andy is doing the same. I lace up the first boot and tie it as Michel watches.

  “What happens now?” I ask.

  “You go home. You take de parents. You don’t come back.”

  “How do we wake them up?” Andy asks.

  Michel shrugs. “Don’t know dat. You get home okay? You remember de way?”

  I nod as I lace up the other boot. “I think so,” I reply. When I finish tying my lace, I look up and offer him my best smile. It floats across the room and through the empty doorway. Michel is gone.

  The next moment, the two women come into the room. I can tell by their quick movements that we’re about to be escorted somewhere, and I barely have time to snatch the saddle blanket from the dirt floor before they’re pulling us outside. I’m about to tell Andy to grab the rifle, but he’s already picked it up when I glance toward him.

  They lead us to the large shanty, the one that Michel took us to when we first arrived. The taller woman knocks on the door, then, just as Michel did the first night, they both leave. The door opens and the same old man greets us and beckons us inside. I’m watchful this time, and I have my saddle blanket ready for protection, just in case that crazy rooster comes flying out of the shadows. It doesn’t.

  “Sit,” the old man says as he points to the wicker chairs. We do. He looks at us with his watery eyes and holds out his hand. “Fabien Laveau say to give you dis.”

  I extend my hand, and he places a soft leather pouch into it. It’s tiny, no larger than a robin’s egg, with a thin leather string tied around the top. “What do we do with this?” I ask as I start to untie the leather string.

  The old man wraps his bony fingers around my hands and stops me. “Not yet,” he whispers. “Open later.” The old man shuffles across the floor to a table and brings back a piece of brown paper. It’s been folded and there is a black wax seal closing it. “Fabien Laveau leave dis for you. You read when you on de way. Now go. De pirogue be waiting.”

  He leads us to the door and opens it. We step outside. Michel is there, urging us to follow him. It’s almost as if everything has been orchestrated, and it’s all happening so fast. I shove the paper into the pocket of my jeans, along with the small pouch, and we hurry away from the shanty and toward the creek. The sky is getting darker now, and the thunder sounds close as it rumbles through the clouds above us. The wind is kicking up and sending ripples across the creek as we arrive.

  A pirogue is tied to a tree limb, and it’s a much larger boat than the one we came here in with Michel. My heart skips a beat when I see our parents lying in the bottom of it. They’re on makeshift stretchers with all but their faces covered with a worn, gray blanket.

  Andy steps into the boat and sits in the prow. The two women approach and hand him a large, covered basket. Michel’s hand is warm when he grabs mine to help me into the pirogue. As I’m stepping in, he leans toward me and whispers something in my ear, but I can’t quite understand his words. Before I can ask him what he said, the boat rocks when he gives it a quick push with his foot. It moves away from the bank with only Andy and me to guide it home.

  The wind is behind us now. It’s getting stronger and pushing us slowly down the creek and away from the village. When I look back, the children are waving at us. Something deep down inside tells me to search the shoreline for Michel. My hopeful eyes scan the bank, and I get a hollow, empty feeling when I don’t see him standing there. I’m still wondering what he whispered in my ear a few minutes ago. I may never know.

  Clouds are moving in from the south, and the sky is growing darker. Instinctively, I stick the pole into the water until it touches the bottom, and I give us a push forward. The boat responds, and in a short time, I get into a rhythm. Before long, we’re moving at a good rate and heading closer to home as each second ticks by. But there’s still a long way to go.

  When we pass the tail of the airplane, I glance down at Mom and Dad, and I whisper a thank-you that they’re not inside it. Andy runs his fingers along the tail as we float past. Within a few minutes, we’ve left it behind us as we continue moving down the creek. The rain holds off for an hour or so, but when it starts, the chirping and chattering of the bayou creatures stops. Only the sound of the rain fills the air, soaking us, and growing louder as I steer the boat toward the protection of the trees along the bank.

  “Cover their faces,” I yell at Andy as I push the boat toward the shore. He moves to Mom and Dad and pulls the blanket up so the rain doesn’t fall in their open eyes. A few moments later, we’re at the bank. The canopy of the trees is thick, and it provides a good shelter.

  As we’re waiting for the rain to slow down, I lift the blanket from Mom and Dad’s faces and gently close their eyelids. I feel much better after that. It’s more like they’re sleeping. I suddenly remember the paper from Fabien Laveau. I pull it out of my pocket and break the wax seal. When I unfold the paper, the writing is a black scrawl. Fortunately, I’m able to read most of it without too much trouble.

  “What does it say?” Andy asks, as he wipes the rain from his face.

  “It’s instructions on how to wake them up,” I reply. “We’re supposed to blow the powder into their faces.”

  “Maybe we should try to wake them up now,” Andy suggests.

  I shake my head, even though I’d like to wake them. I want to talk to them, to hear Dad’s gentle voice and the sound of Mom’s laughter once again. But I know we shouldn’t. Fabien Laveau said they’ll be in pain when we wake them up. Dad’s arm is obviously broken and the gash in Mom’s forehead looks serious. “No. I think we should wait until we get them home,” I answer. “We can call the doctor before we wake them.”

  Andy nods his agreement before a question comes into his eyes. “How are we going to get them home?”

  “What do you mean? We’re taking them home now.”

  “Well, sort of. But not really.”

  “Sort of?” I ask. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we can get them to our old shanty where we left the horses, but how are we going to get them back to the house from there?”

  He’s right. I hadn’t considered that. The pirogue will get us to the Cajun shanty, if we can find the way through the meandering creeks. But getting Mom and Dad home from there is a different story. It’s a long way from the shanty to the estate—a full day’s ride. If they were able to ride.

  When I don’t reply, Andy continues. “We can’t put them on the horses. And even with these stretchers, we can’t carry both of them at the same time. There’s no way we could carry them that far. So, how are we going to get them home?”

  I shake my head as my hope sinks a little more. “I don’t know yet. But we’ll figure out a way to do it. We have to.”

  Our conversation stops for a few moments as the sound of the rain surrounds us. It’s almost as if Andy has read my mind when he speaks. “What if we run into Conrad along the way? What then?”

  I’ve already given that some thought, and I reply without hesitation. “You’ll have to shoot him.”

  Andy stares at me. “Seriously?”

  I nod. “Seriously.”

  He nods back. “I’m glad Warner gave us the rifle.”

  As suddenly as it started, the rain stops. The air goes quiet except for the sound of the occasional drops of water falling from the tree limbs. I push the pole into the muddy bottom of the creek, and I shove the boat away from the shore and back toward the main channel. The sky is still gray and the clouds are boiling. The rain could start again at any moment. I’m beginning to wonder if there may be a hurricane moving into the Gulf.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nearly Home

  THE WIND IS GUSTING as we cross Skullhaven Lake, but we manage to get across it without capsizing the boat. It’s been raining fo
r most of the way, and I’m sure Andy is as miserable as I am, since we’re both soaked to the skin. Andy’s paddling now, and I’m glad for that. It gives me a chance to rest my arms and hands.

  After we cross the lake, I can’t find “de rock wid de face on it,” and I take a wrong turn that leads us to a dead end. We have to turn the boat around. Andy is poling the pirogue, and we’re back on track now. At least I think we are. Time will tell. We’re heading down a creek that looks somewhat familiar. Actually, they all look the same, so it would look familiar even if it was the wrong one.

  Suddenly, the rain stops, and the air becomes strangely quiet. I’m pulling the blanket off Mom and Dad’s face when Andy’s voice breaks the eerie silence and makes me jump.

  “Are you getting hungry?” he asks.

  A nervous laugh escapes my throat. “I’m starving.”

  “Me, too,” he answers. “Maybe we should eat something while it isn’t raining. It could start again any minute.” He poles the pirogue toward the bank as I pick up the basket the women placed in the boat before we left the village.

  “I don’t know what’s in here, but it smells good,” I tell him. The pirogue slides into the vegetation on the shore as I’m pulling a small package from the basket. It’s wrapped in brown paper. Andy sits beside me as I open it, and we both eat our fill of rice and some type of delicious sausage that I’ve never tasted. There’s also some crawfish in the basket, but the rice and sausage is plenty for now. Besides, if Mom and Dad should wake up, they’ll be hungry, too. If we eat the crawfish, there won’t be anything left for them.

  As if it was planned, the rain starts again just as we’re finishing our meal. I’m so used to it by now that I don’t mind. Well, I do mind, but there isn’t anything I can do to change it. Anyway, we’re almost at the end of our journey, and we won’t have to put up with it much longer.