by Tiana Laveen
‘Slippin’ Into Darkness’ by WAR played on the radio as Emerald fell deep into concentration.
“Help me out here. I need a word that rhymes with Jacuzzi.”
“Floozy.”
“Sugar!” Emerald slammed her fist into her crossed thighs.
“Put that game down and listen to me rip you a new one, little girl.”
“Little girl? Sugar, I’m forty-nine years old,” Emerald scoffed.
She peered down at her word game booklet, freshly sharpened pencil in hand. She had been ready for a moment alone, to unwind for a spell, but then the phone rang and Sugar rained down, making everything wet and sticky with her terse words.
“You done ran off with that white writer man, neckin’ on first dates and carryin’ on! Now come to find out, you two been out several times, makin’ out and carrying on like ya in heat! I know me and yo’ daddy raised you better than that, Emerald.”
At this, she rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. She swung her leg wildly as she got resituated on the couch, comfortable in her robe.
“You got ho blood in you, so you better watch out,” the old lady warned.
“Ho blood? Sugar, is this ho blood you speak of contagious? I sure hope they find a cure because every time I see a man I jump his bones right then and there.”
“You know damn well that when a mama is a ho, the daughter can be a ho, too. Apples not fallin’ too far from trees ain’t just a saying, you know. Now, you’ve been pretty good I believe, no need for messing up now and why couldn’t you find you a nice Black man to cuddle up with, Emerald?”
“They were all sold out at the grocery store…” She rolled her eyes again and looked back down at her word game.
“I ain’t prejudiced, but life is hard enough without you making it even more complicated by doing this shit.”
“Sugar, people like who they like. Why should I stop seeing him because he’s not Black? So what!” She frowned. “We’ve been having a great time. We’ve been to the movies, the comedy club, out to dinner; it’s been a blast. I really like this man and I won’t stop seeing him because he’s a different race from me… that’s just silly. And for the record, everyone who is prejudiced—racist actually—begins their statements with, ‘I’m not racist, but…’” She snatched the book closed, no longer interested in playing any games.
“And he got kids…”
“They’re grown, and last I checked, Sugar, I have a daughter, too.”
“But Nikki ain’t the sole heir of some million dollar ponderosa. You ain’t broke, but if you miss a couple of months of pay, let’s just say you’ll feel it.”
“Sugar, first and foremost, you don’t know what’s going on with my bank account. I happen to have money invested and saved, something Daddy taught me how to do early on in life and secondly—”
“I should ’cause you wouldn’t let me borrow that money two weeks ago! Said you ain’t have it!”
“No, I don’t have three grand for you to throw away at the bingo hall and give to your church so the pastor there can buy a gold tea set made in England!”
“He is a shepherd of the Lord! Nothin’ wrong with that man having nice things… I get so tired of you coming down on Pastor Kennedy.”
“You don’t need to worry about me coming down on Pastor Kennedy, Sugar. Pastor Kennedy needs to worry about all those women in the choir he is going down on, speaking of ho-ish behavior!”
“Tiny and LaTrella lied!”
“The DNA test proved otherwise! He spread seed and multiplied the wrong damn way… nasty ass man.”
“Look.” Sugar huffed in obvious frustration. “We all have sinned and he needs money to keep the flock protected.”
“Protected? The only protection the flock needs is for him to use a condom. He’s bleeding you dry while you sit back living off social security and cutting coupons… Please don’t talk to me about Pastor Kennedy, Sugar. It won’t end well. I can’t stand that man. I met him while I was down there and he made me sick just by looking at him. And why were the toes of his alligator shoes turned up like he is Aladdin? He treats those collection plates like magic lamps.”
“All right, enough of all of that mess! Let’s get back to this White man you seein’. What makes you think them kids of his want to see your Black ass in the picture? Didn’t you say he was a Pulitzer Prize winner?”
“No, I didn’t. He is a New York Times Best Selling author, got on the list multiple times I might add, and he is well known and respected in his field.”
“Right, so he ain’t broke. Most writers don’t make no money, Emerald. He got lucky.”
“Thank you for that. You’re always a wealth of information and breaking news.”
“I’d like to come up there and pop you in your flippant mouth…”
“No need, just ask Pastor Kennedy to pray for me and my errant ways. I’m sure for a love offering of $100, he’ll promise you that I’ll be more respectful. Sugar,” she said on a sigh, “I never said Sloan was a millionaire, but I’m sure with him having now three books that are New York Times best sellers, a host of high profile guest appearances, speaking engagements and the like, he is not suffering financially, either.”
“Hmmm… that sounds good. You think he’d loan me the money for the tea set?”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Leaping down from the couch, she marched over to her refrigerator to grab a bottle of water, then marched back into her living room, turned on the television, and took a seat.
“Send your uncle a picture of ’em over the computer. I can’t work the damn thing. You described him, but I want to look into his eyes! See his intentions!”
“Oh, you’re a psychic now? You know that’s the Devil’s work,” Emerald teased behind a giggle.
“I knows when a man ain’t no good, Emerald…and a woman, too. When folks ain’t no good, you can see it in their eyes, like demon eyes. You said his eyes were green? Green like a serpent’s!”
“My skin is brown, Sugar, some would say like mud. Does that make me bad, too? I just can’t with you right now!” Emerald rolled her eyes for the thousandth time and flopped about on the couch like a fish out of water, completely at her wits’ end.
“You may not be wary, but I am. I won’t have nobody usin’ and abusin’ my niece for their own gratification.”
“Sugar, you were doing so well, you know that? For almost three days, you hadn’t said anything crazy; you didn’t bring up my mama and you didn’t lay on any guilt trips. I was proud of you, but I see the good times have ended.”
“Another word that rhymes with Jacuzzi is doozy… ’cause that’s what you are, too.”
“Thank you, Sugar.”
“You’re welcome. You just keep your legs closed, you hear me? Make that man earn it! Your mama may have been a tramp, but you come from a long line of modest women, God fearin’ women, and white man or not, he ain’t supreme! Ain’t nobody gonna mess over my niece. Not Best Seller man, not tha Devil, not nobody!” The old woman’s voice rattled like a goat’s. Emerald stifled a bout of laughter. “He saw your cute self and made a beeline, I get it, but don’t forget you met him in the wine aisle so he might be a damn drunk!”
“Sugar… I was in that aisle, too.”
“Yup! And he was takin’ advantage of a woman under the influence! What righteous man of God picks up a woman at a bar?”
“The wine section at Whole Foods, Sugar, is not a bar. I can’t with you.”
I’m putting your name in the prayer jar, Emerald. I’m stepping away, layin’ my burdens down, and giving this to the Lord.”
“Now that’s the most sense you’ve made in this entire conversation.”
“…And God sees you, Emerald.” The old woman’s tone grew rusty nails and twisted, prickly blades along the edges. “He knows when your lips are smackin’ and where they’re landin’. He can see your panties ’round ya ankles, too, befo’e they even hit the flo’! God be the glory!!! Hummaerla ja
ba! Hummerellie kofi higha Messiah!”
“So now comes the speaking in tongues bit, and right on cue, too. It had been a few weeks; glad to see it’s made a comeback. Thanks, Sugar, ’preciate it.” Emerald sighed and leaned against the couch with a magazine in hand. She flipped quietly through the thing as Aunt Sugar continued on and on, the strange words growing louder and longer with each moment. As she looked at the glossy photos, she landed on one of an old Eldorado…and then, she smiled.
“I don’t believe this shit…” Sloan held his camera close to his face, then stretched his arms like rubber bands to see the thing from a distance. He cocked his head to the left and right, but no matter how he looked at the screen, it never changed. For the past few weeks, he’d set up two cameras in various spots in the house, but always had one trained onto the office. Too many things had transpired—strange, peculiar things that at times gave him chills. Nevertheless, he wasn’t frightened; at least, not yet. But, he did want answers. And this was not the one he’d anticipated…
Sloan placed the camera down beside him on the massive grayish blue couch lined with cream pillows. He had no idea why he’d ordered the thing, but it seemed to fit the house well, bring it to life a little more. Grabbing his cell phone from the oval glass sofa table, he dialed his friend.
“Hey, are you still comin’ by?”
“Yeah, I’m half-way there. Why, what’s up?” Mike must have had the window of his truck down as his voice sounded somewhat muted.
“Nothin’.” Sloan grabbed his cigarettes, popped one out, and placed the thing between his lips. “Just uh, making sure is all,” he mumbled. He lit the thing and took a long drawl.
“Yeah, well, you said you wanted to hang out today.”
“I do. I just emailed some paperwork to Deloris, did two phone radio interviews, held a book signing at the local Barnes and Noble, and got rid of a bunch of other shit on my to-do list, but I still feel like I haven’t made a dent in it.” Just then, he heard a crashing noise come from the office.
“Well, at least you’re—”
“Wait… hold on a second.” Gripping his phone, Sloan got to his feet and rushed from the living room, across the foyer hallway he’d recently polished, to see the office double doors hanging open, swinging slowly shut after banging into the wall. His heart beat a mile a minute as he looked in every direction, hoping he didn’t see anything, or at least find a plausible explanation. Yet, nothing appeared out of place. Nothing seemed broken or destroyed, until he set his sights on the window…
A long, straight crack ran right down the middle of the thing, letting light seep through. Running closer, he studied it. There were no children in sight, no stone or ball lying close by; besides, such an object wouldn’t cause such a fracture, one so perfect, so linear, with no point of impact.
“You all right?” Mike shouted, reminding him that yes, he’d been on the phone.
Sloan slowly raised the thing back up to his ear. “Yeah… I’m fine. Just get here when you can, please.”
“Damn, you sound worried. What’s up?”
“I’m not sure, but I think something is trying to get my attention. Now it’s definitely got it…”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A Picture is Worth…
The house looked nothing like it had the last he’d seen it…
Mike jammed his hands in his pockets and perused the place, alone. Sloan was on his phone, some business call it seemed. He was used to that as of late. His friend barely had time to squeeze him into his schedule, and though he wanted to selfishly ask the guy to move back to Manhattan, he knew, in some strange way, this change was exactly what his best friend needed. Sloan’s voice carried every now and again, and the shuffle of feet across the glossy floorboards followed by trundling papers became his music as he climbed down the steps, checking out each room once again.
He did a good ass job. I can’t believe he did mostly all of these renovations by himself. No wonder he hasn’t had time to write… geesh.
He stared up towards the ceiling, no longer seeing cobwebs and peeling paint. Bright vintage chandeliers hung in every room, freshly dusted, with new candelabra bulbs placed in their sockets. And a vibrant coat of paint made the place bright, almost cheerful. He was proud of the man who’d made and reached new goals. He was finally dating again; really dating, not just going through the motions, and he seemed to really like this lady. Emerald… yes, that’s what he’d said her name was… Is there a difference between a dental assistant and nurse? He wondered… but most interesting was the fact she fixed furniture on the side, something right up Sloan’s alley.
“All right.” Sloan’s deep voice broke his deliberations as he’d now meandered back to the foyer. “I’m off the phone, man. Come in the living room with me for a second, please,” He said, beckoning him over.
“Sure.” He followed him, immediately taking note of the fireplace all aglow, yet the area still remained rather cool. “You got the heat on?” He ran his hands up and down his arms. “I hope so. It’s cold as hell in here.”
“Yeah it’s on, but more importantly, how can something be cold as hell?” Sloan jabbed, plopping down on the couch and plucking a camera from the seat next to him.
“Shut up. Anyway, what? You wanna take my picture?” He began to do a series of silly poses as Billy Joel’s, “It’s Still Rock ’nd Roll to Me” played on the radio.
Sloan smirked and shook his head. “Have a seat next to me, please.”
Mike stomped over and slumped down next to the man, certain that he was about to view some shots of the unbelievably serene lake that surrounded his property, or perhaps some images of his upcoming book cover.
“Remember when…” Sloan closed his eyes and rocked back against the couch, letting out a deep exhale. “Remember when I told you Joel had some concerns about this house?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, resting his hands across his knees. “Your son thinks it’s haunted and you don’t agree.” Sloan threw him an strange look. “What?” He threw up his hands.
“I didn’t say I didn’t agree.”
“Sure you did! You told me that, too. You said there were no such things as ghosts and all of that shit is silly, that people think of stuff like that because—”
“All right, all right, all right!” the man yelled, waving his hand frantically about. “I was a bit skeptical, I’ll give you that.”
All Mike could do was shake his head at him, but he let it slide nevertheless.
“Look, here is what’s going on. I’ve been hearing things around here, and seeing stuff, too.”
“You’ve been smokin’ that shit again, haven’t you?” Mike chortled.
“Mike, I’m serious.”
Sloan’s stern expression made him pause.
“Seeing stuff like what?”
“I’m not really sure… kind of like mists and shadows… and I’m hearing stuff… like people I can’t see, but I hear their voices, they’re talking. Sometimes I hear wailing… music coming on. Doors closing and opening on their own.”
Mike couldn’t help but be completely horrified. This was the last person he’d think would come to him about some stuff like this, and he could tell by Sloan’s expression that he was completely sober and somber… This wasn’t a joke.
“Where in the house is this happening? Is it like one area?” He looked around, hoping and praying that whatever his buddy talked about wasn’t standing right there with them at that moment.
“No, it’s all over, but mainly,” he said, pointing ahead, “over there.”
“The office?” Mike looked at the intricate, arched doorway with the sheer curtains framing it.
“Yeah.”
“Peter Jones’ office?”
“My office!” Sloan barked. “I bought this house. My name is on the title and the mortgage.”
“A ghost doesn’t give a shit about what the hell your name is on, Sloan. Fuck a deed! You think you can go wave that paper in its otherworldl
y face and say, ‘See, Peter! It’s my house now, so this is all the proof you need to move your ass on. Call the bank if you don’t believe me!’ That’s not how this works, Sloan.”
“Oh, so now you’re a paranormal expert, huh? You and Joel go out into old, abandoned buildings with microphones and state-of-the art recorders and make contact with the dead?”
“No, but I—”
“You know all about the rules and regulations of ghostly encounters? I got ghostbusters as family and friends and didn’t even know it! Just motherfucking wow!”
“You’re ridiculous sometimes, Sloan.” Mike shook his head and shifted his weight on the couch.
“I might be, but you’re a new jack to this, too. Regardless of what I thought, something is definitely going on in here. Now, I want you to look at these photos and video clips and tell me what you think.”
Mike took the camera from the man’s hands and looked through the viewfinder. “I only see pitch black.”
“The damn cover is still on!” Sloan barked. He grabbed the thing, snapped the cover off, and handed it back over.
“How the hell was I supposed to know?! You’re the one who told me to look in here and tell you what I saw and then—”
“Just look at the goddamn camera!” Sloan’s face reddened, that vein in the middle of his damn forehead protruded, and his eyes turned to steel. It was right then that it hit him how his brave friend, the one always willing to go in headfirst, was not only serious, but genuinely afraid. This wasn’t a game, a gimmick, or some joke the man was playing.