Bad Juju

by Dina Rae

  “Thank you. That’s very generous. And I will sell them as part of a fancy collection. So where are we going?” Jake asked.

  “The cemetery. But first, we need to cleanse ourselves. Come inside and take off your rings for a moment.” Lucien led him to the kitchen which was solely illuminated by a night light.

  Jake’s eyes adjusted. The sink was filled with water. The counter was cleared, leaving only a few knives and rags laid out next to the sink.

  “What we are about to do can be…let’s just say we are taking every safeguard known to Voodoo. Now roll up your arms and wash them good.” Lucien lightly cut Jake’s forearms and let the blood drizzle into the water. He rubbed an herbal mixture in the new scratches then wrapped them with clean rags. He repeated the process to his own arms and then picked up Mami and put her around his neck.

  “So why bring her with us?” Jake asked.

  “Mami represents Damballah, also known as Li Grande Zombi. This loa’s power is needed for guidance. And she might serve other purposes,” Lucien answered. “I’ve packed up everything we need. Please carry the duffel bag for me.”

  Jake picked up the five foot long, heavy canvas bag and groaned. “What’s in this? It must weigh at least fifty pounds.”

  “You’ll see. That’s why you’re carrying it. I got Mami. We’ll pick up the rest of what we need on the way to the cemetery,” Lucien said with a smile.

  “Maybe I should get my car,” Jake proposed.

  “Oh no. We don’t want to alarm the new caretaker. We must walk.”

  They passed Esther’s trailer and picked up the two shovels leaning against her shed.

  “So we’ll be doing some digging?” Jake asked.

  “Yes. You see we will lose if we fight the djab alone. It’s much stronger than all of us put together. If we did get it to exit out of Henry, it would kill him and repossess us in the process. T.J. and I have been talking,” Lucien said.

  “That must be some weird conversation,” Jake commented.

  “It’s different alright. I’m talking to someone inside of my head. But surprisingly we’ve become friends. He wants his body back so he can ascend, rest in peace. We need a decoy of sorts…Someone the djab can possess…A win, win situation for all of us if this works,” Lucien said.

  “And you trust T.J.’s ti-bon-ange?” Jake asked.

  “Ah, Jake, always thinking. Remember, I am a bokor. Resurrection is my specialty. But T.J. does have access to my thoughts. Things can go wrong if he doesn’t obey my commands. That has never happened before,” Lucien said.

  Within fifteen minutes they were inside of the cemetery. T.J.’s grave was on the far side from where they entered. They passed Jake’s mother’s headstone and he paused to look at it.

  As if Lucien could read his mind, he said, “She’s gone. Even if I could, it wouldn’t be the woman you knew.”

  “What if you were around when she died?” Jake asked.

  “Like T.J.? Even T.J. isn’t T.J. You have to let go of death or it will take over your life. Look at me. I’ve been under death’s thumb for half of my life. And I’m still going to die under someone else’s terms. When people die, don’t look back. And remember them as they were, not what you’re about to see.”

  The cemetery was silent as was the night. Not even an owl hoot or an insect buzz would interrupt the stillness. Once they reached T.J.’s tomb, Jake set the bag down and took a short rest.

  “This is going to be tricky. Last chance to run away.” Jake shook his head. “Good. Because I can’t do this without you. In Haiti I’d have two or three helpers. Tonight it’s just us. Shall we start digging?”

  Both men dug in front of T.J.’s headstone. Jake shoveled at least three more shovels full of dirt to Lucien’s one. Soon the hole was deep enough to hit the top of the casket.

  “I brought a step ladder. We should get the bag in here before the hole gets too deep,” Lucien said as he placed the enormous gym bag inside of the pit with them. Both dug without words around the coffin until they had some floor space to stand. Lucien pulled out the ladder, cigarettes, and a six pack of warm Miller Lite. The compact step ladder extended four feet, high enough for them to easily climb out of the hole.

  “Now what?” Jake questioned.

  “I’m so close to T.J.’s body. Our thoughts are connected. I need a smoke and a beer. You want one?” Lucien asked.

  “It’s warm, but I’m dying of thirst,” Jake answered.

  Their one beer each turned into the whole six pack. Both men felt slightly buzzed. Mami was wide awake and let loose in the deep hole to slither around.

  “The beers will give us false courage. Let me get my crowbar. Here it is,” Lucien said as he pulled the tool and a flashlight out of the bag. He beamed light around the coffin to find the lip of the top door. Using the crowbar as leverage, he walked around the coffin and broke the airtight seal.

  “Before we lift this up, we both will need these.” Lucien took out four nose plugs from his pockets and handed two of them to Jake. “Stuff up. It’s going to smell rancid. And here. Take a couple of these lined handkerchiefs and make a mask around your mouth.”

  Jake followed his directions, barely able to breathe.

  “Let’s lift this up on the count of three. One, two, three…” Lucien said.

  They both used all of their strength and grunted. The door’s suction gave way and opened. The rotten odor caused Jake’s eyes burn and tear. He looked inside of the coffin and saw T.J.’s corpse. Large patches of flesh still remained on his face and hands. Tiny bugs sluggishly moved around his neck.

  “Maggots,” Lucien said. “Not too bad compared to some of the other coffins I’ve opened.” He rummaged through his bag until he found a bottle of rum.

  Jake’s heart pounded and he was saturated with sweat. Adrenaline instantly sobered him up.

  Lucien looked at him and smiled. “I can hear your heart. You remind me of me when I was about your age. It’s okay. Tonight you are a bokor. You’re in charge. Now take this bottle and splash it over T.J.’s face.”

  Jake swished it over the corpse’s face and paused. The maggots retreated under his neck. Repulsed, Jake raised the bottle to his lips for a swig.

  “No!” Lucien exclaimed. “It’s mixed with poison!”

  Jake quickly emptied the rest of the bottle onto the corpse’s face, making it slimier to look at. “What’s in it?”

  “It’s rum mixed with Datura. That’s a plant grown in Haiti. We call it Zombie’s Cucumber. It’s used for raising the dead,” Lucien answered. He grabbed six candles and a large Ziploc of orange rinds from his bag. “Put the rinds around the candles like a candle holder inside of the coffin every few feet so until the candles surround him.”

  Jake picked up one of the candles and examined it. “Homemade? They smell bad.”

  “I made them with wax, body fat, nails, and hair.” Lucien dug into the bag once again and found his scissors. He cut off his long ponytail.

  “I thought you were so proud of your hair,” Jake said.

  “I am, but we could use it now for additional protection. Here. Cut some of yours as well. We’ll burn it in the candles.” Lucien lit all six candles and put sections of their hair on top of the flame.

  “Did I hear you right? Body fat? Where did you get that from?” Jake asked.

  “You know whose fat is inside of those candles. The one who killed me. The one who would have killed you,” Lucien said in a sing-song voice.

  Jake shuddered, but found the words needed. “T.J.? Is that you?” Lucien nodded. Jake could see the old man’s blank expression in the dim flames of the candles. “Hold on, T.J. Give Lucien some room. Almost there.”

  Lucien passed out at the foot of the coffin.

  “Wakeup!” Jake shook him as he slumped over T.J.’s feet.

  Lucien seemed conscious. Groggily, he lifted his head. “I’m up. It’s T.J.’s ti-bon-ange. I can feel it gaining power inside of me. We must continue. Now repeat af
ter me.

  “Oh great loas of life, Oh great loas of death

  Get up, zombie rise

  You will be my slave, be our slave

  Soul unite with body and protect us from the djab

  Oh great loas of life, Oh great loas of death.”

  Jake repeated the prayer, memorizing it after several repetitions. Lucien repeated the chants in French as well. Mami wildly slithered around T.J.’s corpse and hissed. Her lime skin shed all over.

  Lucien took out a pair of rubber gloves from his bag and a glass jar of powder. “It’s time. Mami’s skin is the sign. This powder is called coup de poudre, another poison used in dessounins. It’s made of gun powder, cimora, and ground-up puffer fish. After I coat the corpse with this, I think he will be prepared.”

  “What do you mean “think” he will be prepared?” Jake asked, gravely concerned.

  “I have a confession. I’ve revived dozens, maybe even one hundred dead bodies before, but never one whose ti-bon-ange was inside of me. We are pioneers of sorts,” Lucien said.

  “And now you tell me? I could be home sleeping next to my beautiful woman right now,” Jake yelled.

  “I can’t do this without you. If Henry has any hope what so ever…”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Prepare him and let’s hope he’s not mad when we wake him up,” Jake said. You might be old, but I bet T.J. will prefer your alive body to his dead one.”

  Lucien applied the powder over the corpse. Several minutes went by and no revival. Lucien began to seizure.

  “Damn! Don’t you die on me now, you old man! Don’t leave me alone! I’m scared shitless! Wake up!” Jake shouted as he pushed Lucien’s jarring body against the wall of dirt. His pleas would have to wait. His attention diverted to sounds coming from the corpse. The hideous smell of rot had dissipated. Jake removed his nose plugs and pulled down his makeshift mask. Buzzing and clicking noises got louder. The candles’ flames burned brighter. An army of cockroaches and beetles marched out of the suit jacket T.J. was buried in.

  “Wake fucking up now!” Jake shrieked. But Lucien was still. Jake didn’t know whether to crap his pants or strangle the old man for dying on him at the most inopportune moment.

  The candles blew out in unison, and the battery inside of the flashlight died. Jake sat shivering in fear with the moonlight, the only light, casting a ray upon the dying old man and resurrecting young corpse. He wondered when his mind would splinter and madness would take over.

  Huddled in a far corner, Jake felt around in the bag for any extra beers. He touched something silky and slimy and screamed. Slowly, he pulled out a human hand. “Aaaahhhhhh!” He dropped the hand back inside of the bag and zipped it up.

  As he turned to Lucien, he could see a ring of blue smoke float out of the old man and into T.J.’s corpse. The floor of dirt crawled with beetles and cockroaches. Where the hell did they come from? None of the insects scurried onto his body. Mami guarded him with a frenzy, hissing and gorging herself on the little creatures. The remaining bugs bustled deeper into the ground in a supernatural formation. Jake looked at the ladder and thought of giving up.

  Lucien slowly moved onto his hands and knees, heaving up beer and stomach acid. He then choked as if he was suffocating. Breathless, he uttered, “Is he awake?”

  Jake patted him on the back, unsure of how to help. “I don’t know. I think I saw his ti-bon-ange come out of you.”

  “Oh yes. I can already feel his absence. My joints swell and my hips ache. I’m so weak. Don’t think I can stand.” Jake helped him move onto the ladder rung. “Give me another beer.”

  Remembering the hand, Jake pushed the bag over. “I don’t want to stick my hand in there.”

  Lucien partly laughed and partly coughed. As he reached into his bag, he said, “Here we go. The hand? Is that what’s got you so jumpy? It’s Pete’s.” His laughter turned into a phlegmy hack. “Now don’t go running scared. Here’s a beer. I’ll soon need that hand. I better have it ready for when T.J. wakes.”

  Minutes later, T.J. was snorting through what was left of his nose. Lucien and Jake threw their beers onto the ground.

  Lucien commanded, “Rise, zombie!” He touched T.J.’s head with Pete’s dead hand and the corpse gradually sat up in his coffin.

  T.J.’s face and neck were caked with powder. Maggots curled inside of his one nostril. He stretched out his hands and unkinked his neck. The black suit he was buried in had holes all over. One of his eyeballs was missing. Jake assumed that was where the baseball bat shattered his skull. The other eye bulged, looking afraid. Jake’s morbid curiosity took over as he imagined what the rest of T.J.’s body looked like.

  “I said rise!” Lucien shouted. He scrambled through his bag and pulled out a five pound sack of rock salt. He snipped a hole at the corner and poured some directly on T.J.’s nose and mouth. The corpse caught the falling granules with his hands and shoved them in his mouth. Grabbing both sides of the coffin, T.J. awkwardly stood.

  “Lucien…” T.J. moaned.

  “T.J., you are under my command! You will fight for us tonight. Fight for Henry.”

  “No. Up. Assssccccend.” T.J. muttered. His speech was oddly audible.

  “And you will, but first we need your help.” Lucien packed up his bag and ordered T.J. to carry it out of the hole. The zombie obeyed. Once out of the hole, he stiffly walked away.

  Lucien climbed out of the hole after him. “Come back!” T.J. ignored his command and kept walking.

  “Do you want to enter the Cosmos? I can make that happen! Come back, I command you!” Lucien ordered.

  Jake was only half way out of the hole watching Lucien at work. He was so scared that he couldn’t speak. T.J. turned around and thumped back to his grave.

  “That’s it. I’m your master now. So is Jake.” Lucien grabbed Pete’s hand and waved it in front of T.J.’s good eye. “You have to come home with me.”

  T.J. grunted but complied.

  “Jake, take this hand and ask him to do something. C’mon. He’s waiting.”

  Hesitantly, Jake took the dead hand. It was cold and clammy. He didn’t know what to ask. He stammered, “Ppputt the dddirrt bbback in the hole.” T.J. took one of the shovels left on the ground and began to dump the loose earth back inside of his grave.

  “Wait! Mami!” Jake yelled.

  The snake was getting dirt dumped on her. T.J. jumped into his grave and carried her out of the hole. Feeling more confident with each command, Jake said, “Carry Mami, the bag, and the shovels back home.” T.J. slung the snake around his neck and the bag across his shoulder. With his free hands he carried the shovels. Jake put Lucien’s arm around his shoulder and helped the old man with each step.

  The full moon orbited closer to Earth, shining a brilliant silver and pale yellow. In the east the first ray of daybreak peeked out. Once home, Lucien said, “When you go over to Henry’s, try to put this around his neck.” He took his amulet off and handed it to Jake. “Bring him outside by the lake. We’ll be there.”

  Jake slid Lucien’s crystal over his neck so that he wouldn’t forget.

  T.J. groaned, “Leeeaaah. Rhiiiiiaaanna.”

  “In due time. Jake, give me the hand. He’s going to be more difficult than most zombies,” Lucien said.

  “Is it because he has his ti-bon-ange back?” Lucien bobbed his head. “Why does the dead hand work?” Jake asked.

  “It’s an old bokor trick, Hand of Glory. You take the hand of an evil person and mummify it. The zombie obeys.”

  “You took Pete’s on the night that you…” Jake asked.

  “Oh yes. Couldn’t help myself. Hate to waste dead parts. Now go home. We have a long day ahead of us.”

  Chapter 48

  Dr. Justin Gold was getting along splendidly with his new colleague. Although Justin was one of the most successful psychiatrists in northern Wisconsin, his expertise could not compete with the renowned Dr. Phillip Resnick of Mayo Clinic. The great doctor rented a nearby house on a m
onth-to-month basis to avoid the long commute from Minnesota.

  After each therapy session with Henry, the doctors meticulously recorded their observations and discussed his case. Justin finally got up the nerve to present an outline for a potential book about their contribution to the study of hypnosis.

  “Is this endeavor going to be a joint effort?” Dr. Resnick asked as he flipped through the pages.

  “Of course. You and I will author it. What do you say?” Justin offered.

  “I say yes!” replied Dr. Resnick.

  Before Henry’s next session, both doctors discussed the next phase of his therapy.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t push him. Best to approach whatever he’s suppressing very slowly. I realize your methods have produced unprecedented results, but his temper…He can’t handle it. What kind of boy do you think is under that haze?” Justin asked.

  “According to his parents, he’s just a mild-mannered boy with Asperger’s. His father did mention a fight he had last winter. And then he had an incident or two in junior high,” relayed Dr. Resnick.

  “Maybe puberty is to blame. The changes combined with his Asperger’s cause confusion. He’s lashing out despite the hypnotic state he’s in. Once he wakes up, he’ll need more sessions,” Justin said.

  “You’re right. Are you thinking behavioral modification?” Justin nodded. “Me too. Last week when he ransacked your desk, I thought those handcuffs were going to break,” Dr. Resnick said.

  “Not without a chain cutter. And I have another set for his ankles. I know I’d feel much safer if we had him wear them, but his mother would be livid. He’d look like a prisoner in a chain gang. She doesn’t like me to begin with. The ankle cuffs would push her further away and she might discontinue our therapy. His progress and our study would be all for nothing,” Justin said.

  “We can’t have that. We’ll just have to watch him more closely. The cuffs should suffice. He’s angry because we’re doing our job, threatening his suppressed memories and asking the right questions. We’ll use a softer way to take down his wall,” Dr. Resnick said.