9 Tales Told in the Dark 7

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  “I know.” Juliet felt the scars on her wrist and tugged her coat sleeves further over them. “I know.” She repeated, forcing her smile to hag between her heavy eyes.

  “I found him though.” Jonathon forced the smile this time. Juliet waited and listened. Jonathon said, “Our Witch Doctor he’s here, in Richmond.”

  It had been two years and the first time Jonathon’s crusade gave her any hope. She had been ostracized from her family. She lived off the sale of the estate that should’ve been their home. Everyone knew her husband had gone mad, taken to the streets, swooned by the devil.

  “Not here, come home with me, Jonathon.” She lifted his hand away from the empty bowl. He hoped there would’ve been more soup and reluctantly gave up his spoon.

  The apartment was cozy despite consisting of one room for a small bed, sink and stove. Juliet’s decorating lacked any variance. At least five crucifixes adorned the stained walls.

  “Does God suffer the soulless?”

  “I pray for you, too.” She fixed him with a blanket next to the radiator and turned the gas up.

  “His name is Bu Mu. He was a slave. One of the biggest meanest Negroes ever brought to America. His owners used to trade him because he was so dangerous, but he looked like a good worker so people kept snatching him up. He ended up in Richmond, where they attempted to kill him. No. They say he is dead. Undead perhaps. He could help us… if we were Negroes. That seems fair doesn’t it? Our one hope won’t even hear our please. So tell me, does God suffer the soulless, because he’s all we have left and he hasn’t answered a single one of my prayers. In fact, he mocks them.”

  Juliet couldn’t respond. She hadn’t completely swallowed her hope yet. It hung in her throat; she choked on it and burst into tears. She wondered all the things she had done during the moments she couldn’t remember. The moments they were in charge.

  “This is all my fault. I just wish I could die.”

  “There is a way. Mamma Voodoo didn’t bother to tell us. That wretched witch probably knew—we could die my Juliet.” He teetered off as he stared at a crucified Christ. “ All we have to do is find our drowning pools and finish the job. Not sure if it does us any good though. No one seemed to know, didn’t want to talk to me. They all knew. They said the soul was in the eyes, and mine wasn’t there.” He smiled across his face, his eyebrows raised in an effort to sustain it. “So none of these sins are ours. All that they’ve made us do. We won’t go to hell.”

  “Jonathon, there has to be something else. We were supposed to grow old together.”

  “Sometimes I think I remember what happened. I remember we saw the strange men as we were decorating. I remember you wouldn’t let it go. You had to know more. That’s the last I recall. I recall trying to disinterest you. I think that’s what it happened. We died that night.”

  “Then our drowning pool was…”

  “The pump house.”

  ><><

  The Castle of Richmond still had sheets of ice lining the shores of its moat. Jonathan set the boat out and began to paddle. The sun had started to warm the air where it shone, but they landed back in the shade and the brisk March air was biting. Juliet motioned for Jonathon to be quiet as the sound of a Great Blue Heron flapped up from the water. It settled further down the canal, irritated at the trespassers.

  The boat bobbed as they hit the other side. Juliet leapt out first, waited for Jonathon to pull the boat up a little more. He looked dead to her. The way he just barely seemed to look at anything. His eyes were no longer blue, but turning gray and the whites started to yellow around his lids. He caught her staring and offered a smile. But as pleasant as it was, it was still empty. She knew the one she returned was a mirror of it. She followed him down the steep hill, as he led her to the door into the Pump Room itself.

  Mamma Voodoo had been so kind to charge two dollars for a reddish powder, which Jonathon began to pour along the water that rushed through the pumps. If their souls were imprisoned there the water would turn purple, if not it would turn red.

  The powder hit and took a moment to sink and swirl into the rushing water, blood red then darker, darker still. Neither was surprised, but saddened at the confirmation. The purple water lasted for only a few seconds before it was pulled out into the canal, down the James River.

  “What if it’s not our souls?” Juliet asked.

  “What does it matter? We can’t free them.” Jonathon looked around. He had imagined occult symbols on the stone walls, pentagrams on the floor. He had imagined it would all be obvious to him the second he returned to the Pump House. But it wasn’t. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, and a thought struck him, which he could not be sure was his own. What if they were just too afraid to admit that they never loved each other? That all they’d done in the last year was avoid the truth, their love was dead.

  Juliet touched the water, fearful at first, then embarrassed at her hesitation. It was ice cold. But it seemed to warm the rest of her body, or confuse her mind into recognizing how much warmer she was, but no, it seemed to warm her the way a strong night cap creeps around and blankets the mind.

  “Jonathon…” Even in his mangy appearance she recognized the man she once loved. “…I love you.”

  He looked at her as if insulted. Yet her smile began to bewilder him. It grew more pleasant; her eyes seemed to light up. She looked ten years younger.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” She said, “I feel great.” She removed her hand from the water, and reached for his face.

  “Stop, are you mad? I’m freezing!” He pushed her wet hand away. She wiped it off on her jacket and stared gloomily back at the water. The life she had seemed to experience washed away from her in heavy thuds. It came back to her the moment she felt completely empty again. She jammed her hand back in the water.

  “You have gone mad.” Jonathon muttered, still hoping to find some symbol of evil on the walls or floor. His back was only turned for a moment when he caught sight of Juliet. She stood on top her dress and jacket, splashing water down her skin.

  “You are ridiculous, woman.” He ran back to her and pulled her clothes up off the ground. Her hand stopped him at her knees, he peered up, and there in those eyes he saw the love he had lost.

  “I can remember.”

  He rose up and her wet hand ran across his whole face. The cold wetness turned to warmth.

  She kissed him beneath his ear. “Take off your coat, it gets better.”

  The hour after they felt worse than they ever had. Empty, loveless, they sat naked on the floor of the pump room, their bodies were dry and ice cold. Juliet pulled her clothes over her, and Jonathon dressed.

  “Where are you going?” Juliet asked.

  “You can’t expect us to live like this? I have to find a way that our love won’t simply dry up. I have to convince that witch doctor.” He finished buttoning his coat and reminded her the men who did this to them would probably return.

  “Why not get them to give us our souls back? We know what they look like now; I can remember all their faces. I remember them stabbing you, and drowning me. I remember that woman and her baby that they planned to kill. They’re killing babies, Jonathon.” She urged him to stay and attack them. But he recalled Mamma Voodoo’s warning all too well.

  “They’ll turn us against each other.” He still couldn’t get over how quick his love for her left. He wanted to drink the water just to remind himself it wasn’t a fleeting moment. “We’ll do best to avoid them until we have our souls back. We have nothing left here.”

  Richmond hadn’t felt like home since she returned from their honeymoon. Jonathon had reached the two large doors, when Juliet called his name. He stopped and turned to see her run back to the water. She took her handkerchief and soaked it in the water than returned it dripping wet to him.

  “You’re going to catch a cold if you don’t put some clothes on.” She pressed her wet body against him.

  “Remember me.” S
he handed him the handkerchief and the warmth shot through his hand.

  “You tease me.” He smiled.

  “I will wait for you here.” Her smile was far more beautiful than he ever remembered. He toyed with her blonde curl and then kissed her upon the forehead.

  His eyes told her, I will return.

  And so Juliet waited. Hours upon hours passed and she watched the shadows encompass the pump room. She had decided it was best to hide. Just in case the men who had taken their souls returned. She wondered if their rituals were nightly. She recalled the trapdoor. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Because she had never needed it? She’d only ever inquired where it led when she stepped over it. In the dance hall there was a door that led to the catwalk that ran above the pumps. Most of it was out of view and it provided her with a way out. She wet her face, soaking most of her hair and ran to the exit. She let the door open slow. It was silent like she had hoped. She climbed the stairs up to the dance hall and found the trap door again. It seemed as if it hadn’t been lifted in ages and gave a great squeal as she awakened it.

  The echo was a painful scream met by the slamming of a large door. Juliet froze. Her eyes ran through the shadows, only large bars of blue light cut from the large windows fell on the floor. She lowered herself down onto the catwalk and shut the trapdoor.

  The fear she blamed on the wet stain of her soul. She hadn’t cared this much whether she lived or died in a long time. It might’ve been no one, perhaps the wind if anyone. She tried to convince herself of this, but failed. Her heart was squirming in her chest. She moved carefully along the catwalk until she was over the pump and certain to be out of view, and then watched the darkness for their candles to light up.

  She thought how lucky it would be for her and Jonathon to leave Richmond, start a family, just in time for summer. She dreamt of a real honeymoon and her heart warmed her. It didn’t last. She felt the draft of a strong wind, as if the door had opened and someone had entered. But there was no sound to warn her.

  She knew it couldn’t be Jonathon, he had not been gone long enough to have found their witch doctor, and if he had… she thought it would be ridiculous that they spent all this time suffering when the answer was just something to be worked out over a couple of hours. So the fear in her grew. She knew it had to be them.

  The sound of the pumps disguised any other movements they made. Juliet worried that Jonathon would return at the wrong time. History would repeat itself as he walked in on them again. She didn’t know if the soulless could pray, but she tried.

  “Dear God. Please.” She started in a whisper and let the rest of her prayer be within her mind and heart. The God she loved could read both of these. She wanted to scream, don’t abandon my soul.

  She heard her answer. It was a Jonathon’s voice.

  Jonathon returned happy. But when he saw Juliet he looked at her with sadness. “I love you. I always will.” He ran his hand across her face. It was wet. It warmed her.

  “Jonathon, I love you.”

  “I couldn’t do it. The witch doctor, the man who could save us… I gave them all the money I had, but still they said he would not help us. I went to the Church. I prayed. I prayed for the first time in ages and I knew the answer was here in the water. We have been together this whole time. Our souls are bound, in the drowning pool, here in the pump house. They’ve been waiting for us to join them.”

  He began to undress her. Pulling her clothes off her shoulders. His wet hands ran against her stomach as he pulled her dress over her hips. He was down on his knees, her dress at her ankles. She stepped out of it and lifted him to her lips. They kissed. He unbuttoned his jacket, his shirt, and yanked them off. His belt soon followed in the pile of clothes now forming at their feet.

  “Do you hear the music?” Juliet asked. Just over the hum of the pumps she could hear the dance above them beginning. Loud swells of recorded violins filled their silence. He directed her over to the water. He climbed up onto the ledge and held his hand out for her. She took it.

  “Don’t slip.” She warned him as he pulled her up. Below their feet the water rushed by. Below them their souls trapped in confluence.

  “I’ve wondered about Darwin. If we came from the seas, perhaps there is some forgotten part. Perhaps we will live. No one will ever harm us there. We will never drown.” He stepped into the water. It pulled at his leg. Juliet could barely keep her own balance. He looked so alive to her. His face was happier than it had ever been. She stepped down.

  Immediately the water twisted her down. She collapsed into his arms they splashed against the current. It felt wonderful.

  The cold water became warmth.

  It was a summer day.

  Like the end of summer.

  The last warm day before the fall set in.

  Jonathon placed his lips on hers. He held them both under as the water roared against their heads. He breathed into her. She kissed him back. She had found a forgotten part. Their love rushed into their lungs, their minds finally bound with their souls, and back they went from where they came.

  THE END.

  THE BATTLE OF REDDICK BAY by George Strasburg

  Reddick Bay was made of one decent sized dock, it stretched out near a hundred yards from the shore and about fifteen boats were usually tied up to it, and that’s about all they did. Most the owners had died or stayed in town or went elsewhere and anywhere when the end happened. The boats had all been part of some bucket list or inheritance. There was no hope for survival out at sea. There were no fishermen in Reddick. The overcast skies were as consistent as the shore itself; in fact Martin Norris couldn’t remember a day when the sun wasn’t trying to fight through layers of clouds, and that was before the attacks.

  Martin couldn’t find his shadow on the gray planks. One day someone was going to ask him to replace the rotting boards, but so long as no one came, no one would hear the creaking boards that splintered beneath Martin’s near three hundred pound frame. Even with his size Martin didn’t think he’d ever seen his shadow outside in Reddick Bay unless he was under a street lamp. The clouds never allowed it. But he liked to think he was a lazy Peter Pan who decided not to chase his shadow into Wendy’s room that night, instead he wandered into Reddick Bay and forgot how to fly.

  Missing Neverland was a better regret than having to miss the way things used to be. Of course, Martin was not aware that very soon he would have to remember at the very least how to fight pirates.

  Everyday Martin walked the dock, checked the lines, counted the boats to make sure none were stolen. He’d stop at the McHenry’s little bass boat just to make sure Old Ben hadn’t died from exposure. Old Ben had slept on the McHenry’s boat as long as Martin could remember. Ben had told him the McHenry’s never took the boat out and since Martin had never seen the knot change on the rope he assumed this had been true and let the old man sleep away his nights under the heavy canvas tarp they kept on it. There were better boats at the dock, certainly ones that would provide better sleeping quarters, but Martin guessed Old Ben had just liked this one better, like Goldilocks, it must’ve been just right.

  “Morning,” Martin said as he came up to the McHenry’s boat.

  There was no response.

  Martin found that the dock was even quieter since he spoke than it had been when he arrived. It was as if the water paused to listen. As if this was the day Old Ben’s corpse became Martin’s problem.

  “Ben?” Martin tried again and knelt down to listen for breathing. “Ben?”

  Still no response; Martin reached out and tapped the tarp.

  “Rise and shine, old man.”

  “Need the sun to shine.” The rustling of the tarp followed the voice and Martin leaned back and sighed. He wouldn’t know the first thing to do about finding a dead body and he would hate to have to call on Sheriff James Geren for anything.

  “Can’t let an old man sleep in?” Ben coughed and cleared his throat and gave a thick spit to the bay. “Are they lost?�
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  Martin didn’t immediately pick up on the ‘they,’ he looked out towards the ocean, on the horizon the faintest silhouette of a boat could be seen.

  “Probably some yuppies’ lost dream boat cruising down the coast, Ben. We get them all the time.”

  “Meh!”

  “You single handedly scare away all the other survivors, you know that? There’s probably something on the airwaves telling people to avoid Reddick Bay and all the homeless crossed eyed beggars.”

  “It’s a lazy eye! Other one is fine!” Ben corrected him with a hard stare and Martin, thanks to his massive size was able to laugh off the frail old man.

  “Well do me a favor and hit them up on their way out if they stop, I’d like to get a couple nights rent out them? Anything going on in town that might coax ‘em to stay?”

  Old Ben shrugged.

  Martin knew better, it wasn’t a tourist town, just like it wasn’t a fishing town or a college town. It was just a sleepy mill town without the mill anymore. Just the survivors, the folks that never needed jobs and the folks that couldn’t afford to move where they could find jobs. It was probably left off most modern maps that might’ve encouraged pillagers and the desperately hopeful.

  “Well here they come, hope you got a shower in, you big ugly buffoon.” Ben snarled as he crawled out on the dock. He stretched and said no more to Martin. Martin wasn’t part of Old Ben’s daily routine. The routine was wake up in McHenry’s boat, walk into town and sit by the gas station hoping for pity or coffee. And then at nightfall or after enough intoxication took place Old Ben would stumble back into McHenry’s boat—rinse and repeat.

  Martin couldn’t really judge, his was practically the same. He went to bed in his shack woke up walked the dock, checked the sky and then got intoxicated enough to fall back to sleep in his stale shack once again.

  Martin hoped the boat would bring a few conversationalists and needed more than just a pit stop. He had a gas pump himself and even operated a taxi service out of his old Dodge Caravan if they wanted to go into town for supplies and such.