Bad Juju

by Dina Rae

  “His sister?” Rio asked.

  “Must be,” answered Bart.

  “She’s cute, really cute. Looks like the mom,” Rio said.

  “A little young, don’t you think? C’mon, let’s go play Halo.” Bart drove to Rio’s house for the night.

  ***

  Early Monday morning Candy Fontana strolled down the hallway to her classroom an hour before school started. Normally empty, a dozen or so students were taping up posters, balloons, and streamers throughout the hallway.

  “Someone’s birthday?” she asked Brittany Bonaducci, the only student she knew in the small group.

  “Morning Mrs. Fontana. We’re decorating the hall and Rio’s locker. Today is his first day back from his suspension. He still has to go to the Zoo for another week.”

  Damn. Trouble. Candy had forgotten about Rio’s return.

  “Quite the homecoming you’ve all created. I’m sure he’ll appreciate your effort.”

  “That’s the plan.” Brittany was gushing.

  Were she and Rio involved? More trouble.

  “See you in class.” Candy unlocked the door to her classroom and marked up the dry erase board for the day’s lesson. She hoped Henry would join her for lunch. She was anxious to see if he and Rio could get along in the Zoo. She sat down and filled out a new seating chart. Rio would be sitting in the back of the room, Brittany on the other side in the middle of the room, and Henry would be in the front row in the closest seat to her desk. She moved the other students around as well. The class would groan, but first semester just ended. She could blame the new seating chart as her second semester policy.

  The clock showed ten minutes until the first bell. Time to patrol the hall. She walked out of her room and waved to Mr. Hines. He looked at her, looked down the hallway, and then rolled his eyes. What Candy saw earlier was a mere sampler of what the Welcome-Back-Rio Committee had accomplished. The dozen or so students of an hour ago had grown into a movement. Candy walked over to Mr. Hines.

  “The only thing missing is a marching band,” she said.

  “No doubt. Much too distracting. I’ll tell them to take some of it down,” Mr. Hines said.

  “The bell is about to ring. Let’s address it after school,” Candy suggested. He nodded in agreement.

  The whole third floor sophomore wing screamed as if the Black-Eyed Peas had just walked into the building. Rio swaggered down the hall with his adoring fans hanging on his every word. He wore his slung arm and brace like a proud battle wound. Candy knew he was popular, but not to this extreme. Brittany squirmed her way inside the horde of teenagers and took his side, claiming all the credit for the fanfare. He put his good arm around her and kissed her on the mouth, marking his territory in front of many witnesses.

  Candy admitted to herself they sparkled as the new King and Queen of Freemont High. Their alliance would be the scuttlebutt of the school by first hour.

  Lunchtime arrived and Henry was promptly waiting for her by her classroom door.

  “Hi Henry. How much longer are you supposed to be in the Zoo for?”

  “The rest of this week, and then the week after that. Rio was in there this morning.”

  “Are you both behaving?” Candy asked.

  “Yes, but I just saw him in the hallway with Brittany. They were kissing. He had his hands all over her, up her shirt. Disgusting,” Henry reported. “Isn’t there some school rule that you can’t be having sex in the hallways?”

  “I’ll talk to them about it. Unfortunately, staff has to catch them, not another student,” she explained.

  Henry was green with jealousy. Even more trouble.

  “Henry, how are you going to act with him once you’re both back in the classroom?”

  “I’ll ignore him, but if he starts up with me…”

  “You’ll what? Hit him? Get in more trouble? My room is not a boxing ring. So we’re clear, if he is upsetting you then you come to me immediately.”

  “Yes, Ms. Fontana. But he should be the one in trouble. He and Brittany are practically making a porno in the middle of the school.”

  “Worry about yourself, not Rio and not Brittany, okay?” Candy emphasized.

  “I promise,” he said.

  Henry had his flaws, but he was not a liar, at least not a traditional liar. He tended to omit information instead of making up stories. Maybe Rio and Brittany were too sexual in the hallways, maybe Henry wanted them to get in trouble. Candy’s defense was on high alert.

  Chapter 19

  Lucien was feeling weaker as each day went by. The last ti-bon-ange he had swallowed hadn’t lasted a month. Death loomed over him like a patient vulture waiting to snatch him up and pick him clean. No longer able to walk, he crawled into his bedroom and unlocked his armoire. There sat his most precious ingredients for black magic. Among the most important, were only two more ti-bon-anges, both from elderly residents of Chippewa Park. They belonged to Ed Carillo’s wife, Maureen, and Dorothy Schroeder’s husband, Maury.

  Lucien reached for the shelf with what little energy he had left, grasping Maureen Carillo’s ti-bon-ange trapped in a hand-painted govi. He simply opened the jar, sucked through a leather tube, and said a quiet prayer to Baron Samedi. The initial shock caused him to double over and convulse on the floor. Pain spread throughout his body like waves of electrocution. The pain faded, replaced with a tingling sensation. He passed out.

  He woke up at sunrise, feeling a couple of decades younger. Signs of his rheumatoid arthritis, crushing migraines, and aching back were erased. He relished the ease of his movements, knowing they soon would end.

  Looking at the microwave clock and calendar, he was surprised he had slept for thirty-six hours. Today was Saturday, T.J. McGrath’s funeral. Ed Carillo would be picking him up in a few hours.

  Lucien dug through his closet until finding his only suit made of black wool. He showered and combed his long white hair into a neat ponytail. Ed was one of the few residents who still had a driver’s license. He affably volunteered to drive the neighbors who were interested in attending the wake.

  By mid-afternoon Ed rounded up Lucien and three other neighbors into his roomy SUV and headed for Shady Oaks. Lucien felt Maureen Carillo’s ti-bon-ange wander throughout his body. His energy spiked, causing him to be somewhat irritable. He couldn’t help but remember when Ed came to him last year, desperate, after learning about his wife’s advanced lung cancer. He pleaded for Lucien to cure her, believing his link with Haitian Voodoo could buy her some time. But it was just too late. Lucien assembled an elixir, assuring Ed it would ease her pain. She drank it and died the next day. Ed never said anything, but Lucien could see the gratitude in his eyes. He was relieved his wife was no longer in pain.

  Lucien attended Maureen’s wake and funeral. Her grave, like so many former neighbors, was adjacent to the trailer park. Days after she was buried, he went there to pay his respects in private. There it was, her ti-bon-ange floating above the headstone and the freshly dug-up grass. It was too easy. He coaxed the blue haze into his govi and went home. Now he was recharged with her soul, driving with her husband while attending another funeral he was involved in. He couldn’t decide if this was irony or a bad omen. Either way, he knew the loas would not approve.

  Once they arrived at Shady Oaks, Lucien coached Jake into correcting the bungled hex that led to T.J.’s death. The boy was beyond nervous. “Be patient,” Lucien advised.

  Jake awkwardly hid the poppet under T.J.’s body and sprinkled the contents of the gris-gris inside of T.J.’s suit as he lay inside of his casket. Some remnants of the mixture were lightly dusted over T.J.’s mouth. Henry’s sister who was behind them in line, noticed and loudly questioned what the material was. Jake’s expression looked like the picture of guilt. Feeling eyes upon them, Lucien glanced to the other side of the room. He locked eyes with the mortician, but the mortician quickly looked away. He had been watching them. Did he know our intentions? Lucien wondered.

  “Jake, get a ho
ld of yourself. It looks like dirt and dried up leaves. It could have fallen from one’s coat or blown up from the vent. Relax!”

  The mortician hurried over to the casket in response to Natalie’s loud comment and wiped the light sprinkling of earthy mixture into his handkerchief and then pocketed it.

  “See. The little mess is all gone. Our prayers, the mixture, the Voodoo doll…Part of T.J.’s soul can now ascend into the Cosmos.”

  “How?” Jake asked.

  “He and the loas have your apology. There is no need for him to come back.” Lucien saw the dumbstruck look on his face. “I’ll explain later. My house this week. Bring Henry. He will be of some use. And don’t worry so much. You’ve just turned a wrong into a right. The loas are going to like you. You will be one of the best bokors in Wisconsin.” Lucien hugged him and smiled. “Now I’ve got to say something comforting to your aunt. She loved him very much.”

  Lucien joined Ed and his other neighbors as they inched their way over to Leah. After they gave her their condolences, Lucien was pleased they came. Their presence seemed to move her. Pete, on the other hand, looked bored, even annoyed.

  On the way home, Ed invited everyone inside for a drink. All were anxious to hear each other’s spin of the service. T.J.’s death evoked plenty of gossip and conjecture throughout the trailer park. Pete was universally disliked.

  Ed poured Lucien and his three other neighbors each a hefty glass of Scotch. He was anxious, as if he had tantalizing information to share.

  “Some of you may not know this, but my son is a Hayward cop. Pete’s got himself quite a rap sheet-lots of Drunk and Disorderlies, DUI, Assault and Battery, Weapon without a Permit, maybe some other little things, but up until now, he hasn’t really done a lot of time in jail. He’s claiming T.J. was the one who got drunk, demanded to go over to his ex-girlfriend’s house, and brought Pete’s gun with him. T.J. supposedly went ballistic after learning the ex-girlfriend changed the locks. He then supposedly fired three rounds of bullets at the front door in order to get inside. And then supposedly kicked down the door, and there was the new boyfriend, waiting for him with a baseball bat, smacking him into permanent unconsciousness,” Ed shared, dripping with sarcasm.

  “What the hell was Pete doing while all of this was going on?” Esther Muddraker questioned.

  “Well, according to him, he was just a victim in all this. Poor man was only helping his brother-in-law and best friend get back together with his ex-girlfriend,” Ed said.

  “Bullshit!” exclaimed Esther.

  “We all know T.J. was scared to death of Pete. I can’t see him taking his gun or even demanding Pete to do anything, let alone go over to the ex-girlfriend’s. The only true part of the story was T.J. being drunk. You know what I think? I think Pete set the whole thing up. He resented T.J. living there. If only T.J.’s ghost could go tell the police what really happened. Well I’m not afraid of the bastard. I told my son I would testify about what a psycho Pete really is. But I guess it doesn’t matter. The police will probably drop the charges later this month. Lucien, you’re close with Jake. Is there anything else you could add?” asked Ed.

  Lucien shook his head and remained quiet while the others spewed out never-ending questions. He had grown tired of the conversation and got up to leave. As he opened the front door, he said, “God doesn’t like ugly.”

  Ed briefly froze and the shook his head. “Funny, that’s what my wife would always say when it suited the discussion. I never heard anyone else ever use that phrase until today.”

  Lucien nodded and left. He walked back to his trailer, shivering, not because of the subzero temperatures, but because of fear. Exploiting the dead had always had drawbacks, but not like this. Maureen Carillo had used Lucien to communicate with her husband. My time is almost up.

  ***

  A few days after T.J. was buried, Lucien once again turned to the loas for a disguise, or more specifically a shape-shifting. He planned on capturing T.J.’s ti-bon-ange. After he made meticulous preparations, Lucien prayed for a loa to would transform him into an animal.

  Lucien had an empty govi fastened around his neck. He lit homemade candles made from paraffin, fingernails, and hair. He then drank a potion of rum, powdered bone, and safflower while Mami, his snake, slithered around the floor. Making sure the blinds were shut, he began the ritual. For over an hour, he beat a series of intricate rhythms on his drums while chanting in broken French and English. Doubt set in. Maybe death was much too close to call in more favors.

  Then the familiar orgasmic sensation overwhelmed him. As the loa mounted his body, he rolled his eyes back in ecstasy. He was ready. Stripping down to nothing, Lucien allowed himself to be lead outside of his trailer. Standing naked in the deep freeze of winter, he shivered. What would I become?

  An animal coat covered his body, and he felt himself shrinking. Once on all fours, he saw his gray and white paws. A large wolf? No, much bigger, a loup-garou or werewolf. With grace and agility, he ran into the cemetery, easily jumping over the eight foot high gate that was locked due to closing. It was well past midnight. Lucien had briefly lost his sense of direction. Once he found the visitor center, he knew the way to T.J.’s grave. Oddly, the lights were on inside and a white sedan was parked in the lot.

  The twilight hour and the shape-shifting should have given him the privacy he required. But the smell of fear sailed in the wind. Just someone working late, he reasoned. He trotted to the other side of the cemetery to where T.J. was recently buried. The ground was dug up. Like an apparition, T.J.’s ti-bon-ange wafted above his headstone in a crystal blue haze.

  The loa exited Lucien’s body, leaving him in human form. Lucien patiently waited for his loa to take a part of the new ti-bon-ange. Once finished, Lucien was then allowed to take the remainder. He leaned in and sucked the rest of the blue haze into his mouth and then blew it directly into his govi, tightly twisting the cap shut. He dropped to his knees and prayed for T.J.’s afterlife, for Jake, and for his family’s absolution. He may have lived a selfish life, but he would pay for it. His family did not deserve the bad juju he inflicted so many years ago.

  Lucien saw the headlights from the distance. His loa quickly repossessed him, turning him back into a loup-garou. There was a car approaching. He crouched down, hoping the car would pass, but it stopped with its headlights glaring into his green-yellow eyes. A man got out of the car. Lucien instantly recognized him as the mortician from Shady Oaks. What was he doing here so late?

  “You’re not a wolf! I know your kind! You devil! It was you who put this inside that man’s casket!” yelled the mortician as he held up the Voodoo doll Jake had clumsily jammed under the corpse. Lucien’s eyes flashed fire. The man trembled.

  Lucien had no time to reason his way out of this predicament. The loa’s instinct took over his self-control. Unwillingly, he pounced on the mortician and mangled his body into tiny, chewed-up pieces. Oh Bondeye, what have I done? Lucien looked up to the full moon and howled in misery. This was not what he had planned. Grabbing the Voodoo doll with his canine teeth, he trotted back to Chippewa Park, leaving the man’s remains on the service road with his car still running. He hoped no one would connect T.J.’s grave to the mortician. Once home, the loa ascended, leaving him naked and barely alive with a govi tied around his neck.

  Chapter 20

  Breaking news this morning right here in Hayward. Nicholas Bennings, part owner of Shady Oaks Funeral Home, was found dead hours ago this morning. His mangled body was found on an access road of St. Mark’s Cemetery. Police and Animal Control units are canvassing the area for large animals, possibly a dog or wolf. We will continue to report as details come in.

  Lucien grimaced. He did not like having his kill broadcasted on the news. The mortician was too familiar with his sorcery, as if it wasn’t the first time the mortician seen bokors using the newly dead. In hindsight, the man posed a real threat.

  Lucien prayed. Oh Great One, Baron Samedi, Lord of Death, please mak
e this incident go away. I do not have time for this distraction. May no one connect the mortician’s death with T.J.’s grave site. Please Baron, let me finish mentoring Jake and Henry. My work is almost done.

  ***

  The deep freeze of February led into March with no signs of thawing. Lucien wanted to conduct his ritual with the boys in the common picnic area of the trailer park. The private clearing was far from the residents and surrounded by trees. There were an enormous fire pit, tables, grills, restrooms, and a shed under a pavilion that contained outdoor picnic games. His plans changed after checking the area. Everything was encased with ice and buried with snow. I’ll get to use it in the spring, he thought. He would have to settle on his kitchen and living room for their initiation.

  Before the boys arrived, Lucien converted his kitchen table into an altar by covering it with a white table cloth and crystal vase filled with flowers. He set down one of his most cherished possessions, a human skull he had used for decades as a chalice. The skull was sentimental to him.

  Lucien filled the skull with a mixture of white wine, green tea, and boiled toad skin bits. Then, lighting the camphor incense, he set down a fresh wooden platter of graveyard dirt from the cemetery next door.

  Lucien soon forgot about the mortician and whistled an old Haitian song. He dressed in the traditional bokor attire of a white linen tunic and matching pants. For additional ambience, he lit molded candles in the shape of serpents. The candles reminded him to feed Mami and let her out of her aquarium.

  His bird feeder had a trap door. Two brown doves were inside of it, pecking away at a honeyed-seedstick he used for a lure. He effortlessly pulled down the door of the feeder, making it a cage, and then carried it inside. The boys would be using the birds during the ritual.

  He sat on his porch and smoked his pipe, waiting for Jake and Henry. Jessica dropped them off and got out of the car for a quick and polite conversation. She asked him a few questions about Haiti in preparation for her family’s mission. He found her one of the most beautiful and charming women he had ever met. A pity she had no idea what he was teaching her son. He assumed that his Voodoo lessons would equate to Satanic worship with the young mother. Henry must not have mentioned a word. Lucien was impressed on how good the boy was at keeping secrets. Maybe Henry was capable of doing him a personal favor once in Haiti.