“Read ’em and weep, suckas!” Darius said as he spread his cards out in front of him. Another royal flush.
“Goddammit!” Melvin chucked his cards onto the table. “Man, that’s the fifth hand in a row that you’ve won. You hiding an extra deck up those sleeves?”
“Right, like I need to cheat to beat y’all’s sorry asses.” Darius raked in the cash at the center of the table and caught the sour expression on Cedric’s face. “You’re murdering me with that look, C.”
“I’m not mad.”
“Could’ve fooled me, ’cause you look fucking pissed,” Melvin replied, grinning with amusement.
“I’m not mad. And I’ll tell you why. Because you—motherfucking card sharp over here—and Angelique have a baby on the way. So I know you’re gonna spend every penny of that money on diapers and baby food and shit. Say goodbye to your paycheck for the next eighteen years, fool!”
“You sound a little vindictive for someone who’s not mad.” Darius tried not to laugh, but after several hours of joking around and more than a few beers, he’d become too slap-happy to control himself.
He waved to the bartender. “Another round on me!”
“No, not for me,” Cedric said as he stood up from the table. “I’m out.”
“What, you don’t want to contribute more to my kid’s college fund?”
“It’s late, man. And Tonette’s gonna kill me when she finds out how much money I lost. If you don’t hear from me again, maybe send someone to check under our floorboards for a dead body.”
“Alright, man. See you around.”
Cedric left the bar, and Darius turned to Melvin. “You heading out too?”
“Shit, I ain’t got a wife. I can stay.”
“Just you and me, one-on-one? Sounds like someone wants to go home broke.”
“I’m up for a nice game of poker if you gentlemen don’t mind,” said a voice from just behind Darius.
He turned to find a man in a wide-brimmed hat and a long, grey overcoat standing just over his shoulder.
“You may want to rethink that,” Melvin said to the stranger. “Darius has been cleaning us out all night.”
“On a lucky streak, are you?”
“You could say it’s luck,” Darius replied in a faux boastful tone, “but I say it’s skill. Know what I mean?”
The man didn’t respond. The shadow of his hat brim obscured his face, making it impossible to read his expression.
Darius’s smile faded. “Uh, but if you want to join in, you can.”
“Thank you,” the stranger said and took his seat. “What’s your usual ante?”
“A dollar, man. We ain’t rich,” Melvin replied.
“Very well.” The man removed a wallet from his pocket and placed a dollar in the center of the table.
Darius caught a glimpse inside the wallet as he and Melvin anted up. He counted only two more singles. The stranger wouldn’t last long in this game.
Melvin dealt the cards and then looked at his hand. “Oh, I’m gonna kick your ass this time, D!”
“We’ll see about that.” Darius picked up his cards—a straight flush. “Sorry, Mel. I don’t think this is your night.”
The stranger tossed his last two dollars into the pot. “Raise.”
“You sure you want to do that?”
“Raise,” he repeated in an almost threatening tone.
“Alright then.” Darius placed a five-dollar bill in the pot. “I’ll raise.”
“Man, this is my last five,” Melvin said as he called it.
“Well, I’m afraid I’m out of cash,” the stranger said, “and I doubt you gentlemen take checks. Perhaps you’ll accept this instead.” He pulled a set of car keys from his overcoat pocket and set them atop the money in the center of the table.
Darius and Melvin exchanged awkward glances.
“You’re putting up your car?” Darius asked. “I don’t know who you think we are, but we don’t play for high stakes like that.”
The stranger gestured to the bar’s main window. “Take a look outside and see if you change your mind.”
Darius turned toward the window and his heart skipped a beat. Parked out on the curb was a shiny, red Corvette.
“Holy shit!” Melvin said. “That’s your car?”
“It’s mine for now. Whoever wins this hand becomes its new owner.”
“Man, you know we can’t match that raise.”
“I don’t expect you to. Not monetarily, at least. Instead, I’ll accept one thing from each of your homes. I get to choose what those things are and don’t have to name them until I win.”
Melvin laughed. “I don’t know what you think we’ve got in our homes, but it’s nothing compared to that Vette. I’m in!”
“What about you, big winner? Are you in?”
Darius pried his eyes away from the car. There had to be a catch. Something about this man seemed off. Then again, Darius was a bit drunk. Maybe the stranger’s oddness was all in his mind. “I don’t know, man. How do I know that car’s not stolen and you just want it off your hands?”
“I have the title and will give it to you if you win. Now call.”
Darius glanced at his cards and felt a twinge of guilt. “Look, if you want to back out, take your car and your three dollars and forget the whole thing, you can.”
“Man, the fuck are you saying?” Melvin asked. “Dude just put up a Corvette!”
“We don’t play to screw anyone over. This is just a friendly game.”
“I appreciate the concern,” the stranger said. “Now call.”
Darius shrugged. “Okay, I call.”
“Now, let’s see ’em,” Melvin said as he spread his cards out on the table. A full house. Not bad, but not good enough for this hand.
Darius laid down his straight flush. “Sorry, Mel.”
“Dammit, man! How do you always win?”
“Not so fast.” The stranger placed his cards on the table one at a time. Four aces and a joker. “That’s five of a kind, gentlemen.”
Darius and Melvin both leaned in to get a better look.
“Okay then,” Darius said, stunned. He hadn’t known there were jokers in the deck. “Looks like you get to keep your car.”
“And one thing from each of your homes.”
“What do you want then?” Melvin asked.
“From you, Melvin James Smith, I want your grandfather’s footlocker from his service in the Korean War.”
“How’d you know about that? And how do you know my name?”
“Never mind that. I’ll collect the footlocker in the morning.”
“The hell you will! My granddad’s photos, letters, and service uniform are in there. I thought you’d ask for a TV or a stereo or some shit. Why you gotta ask for something sentimental? It don’t mean nothing to you.”
“But it has value to you. I said you didn’t have to match my bet monetarily. Emotionally is another matter.”
Darius stared at the stranger with dread. It wasn’t all in his mind after all.
“And you, Darius Tyrell Miller…”
His stomach tightened.
“…You’ve been winning big all night. I think it’s time you lost big, don’t you?”
“Who are you?”
“You should be asking what it is I want.”
Darius thought of getting up and walking away, maybe even running, but he couldn’t move. His arms and legs hung limp and unresponsive like they weren’t attached. He shifted his eyes to Melvin, and he too appeared paralyzed.
“I’ll give you all my winnings,” Darius said to the stranger, “and I mean all of them, if you let us go right now.”
“You’re not getting off that easily. I said you’d lose big and I meant it. Right now, in your home, your wife is sleeping on the couch. In her womb is a child. He’s not due for another two weeks, but that’s close enough. I’ll collect him in the morning along with the footlocker.”
Darius’s mind swam. How did the stranger know about Angelique and the baby? Was this a nightmare? Had he fallen asleep at the table?
“Man, you are some kind of insane,” Melvin said to the stranger. His eyes were wide with fear, but the paralysis that held him and Darius was waning. “Let’s get out of here, D.”
They both jumped up from the table, leaving the money in the pot behind.
The stranger remained in his seat, silent and still, as they rushed out of the bar.
#
Angelique awoke a little after 5am to the baby kicking. She’d grown used to this. Around the same time each day, he’d wake her with those little kicks. The kid could’ve been an alarm clock.
“Alright, little guy,” she said as she rolled out of bed. “I wish you’d do this three hours later. It’d be nice to get a full night’s sleep.”
Her night had hardly been restful. She had tried to wait up for Darius but dozed off on the couch while watching TV. It wasn’t until he got home around 1am that she finally went to bed. He’d acted strange—scared even. He kept asking if she and the baby were okay and checked the whole house to see if anyone had broken in. Wouldn’t say why.
She waddled into the bathroom where the first rays of morning light made the frosted glass of the window glow orange, like the stained glass of a church. She hung her nightgown on the doorknob and stepped into the shower. The warm water soothed her stretched and sore skin. She closed her eyes and started to drift off to sleep.
A strong kick jolted her awake. Another followed. And another until the baby was kicking furiously.
“Hey, settle down in there,” she said.
Everything went still… Too still.
A sudden panic washed over her. She placed both hands on her belly, desperately trying to detect any movement inside. As though recoiling from her touch, her baby bump shrank beneath her hands, growing smaller and smaller until her belly was flat.
If it weren’t for the water pelting her face, she would’ve thought it was a nightmare. But this was very real.
She ran from the shower, not bothering to turn off the water or grab a towel. She just ran, naked and dripping, into the bedroom and screamed, “DARIUS!”
Darius jerked awake and turned to her with eyes half-closed in a groggy gaze.
Angelique gestured to her abdomen but couldn’t speak. Her breaths were more like gasps and soon turned to sobs. Tears clouded her vision, but she felt his arms wrap around her shoulders, felt him shaking with fear, and heard him mutter through his own sobs, “Oh God! What did I do?”
#
Darius and Angelique took a bus and a street car to Touro Infirmary’s emergency room. A doctor there did an ultrasound and found nothing—no baby, no amniotic fluids—nothing. He didn’t believe Angelique was ever pregnant. Since her regular doctor’s office was closed for the weekend, it would be days before they could get hold of her medical records to prove him wrong.
Darius had told Angelique about the mysterious man from the night before, but whether she’d been listening, he couldn’t tell. She was in shock, and truthfully, so was he. Now, as they left Touro and stepped out onto the street, the reality of their situation sank in and he felt lost. He looked at Angelique, and her expression told him she felt the same way.
“What do we do?” she asked in a small voice. “Do we go to the cops?”
“And tell them what? Someone kidnapped our unborn son using magic? They don’t even take normal crimes seriously. There’s a reason people say NOPD stands for ‘Not Our Problem, Dude.’”
“Then what do we do? Track down the kidnapper ourselves? Do you even know where to look?”
“No, he didn’t say anything about himself, not even his name. And his face was always in shadow.” Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember anything about the stranger’s appearance—not his skin color, height, or build. It was like, beneath that wide-brimmed hat and long overcoat, he had no physical form at all. “Melvin was with me. Maybe he got a better look at the guy.” Darius pulled out his phone and tapped his friend’s name on the contacts list.
It only rang once before Melvin answered.
“Yo, Darius, you’re not gonna believe this! My granddad’s footlocker is gone! I’ve looked everywhere for it, and it was right here in my closet last night. That creepy motherfucker from the bar broke in and took it, man!”
“Melvin, I’ve gotta ask you something. What did that guy look like?”
“What’d he look like? He looked creepy as fuck is what he looked like! That big-ass hat and that coat like he was in an old detective movie or some shit.”
“Other than his clothes, what’d he look like?”
“I don’t know. Man, what am I supposed to tell my mom? Do you know how much my granddad’s stuff means to her?”
“Melvin! What did the guy look like? Tall, short, Black, white—anything?”
“I don’t know, man. I guess I never got a good look at him.”
Darius’s stomach dropped. “Okay, Mel. I’ve gotta take care of something. Bye.” He hung up the phone and turned back to Angelique. “He doesn’t remember what the guy looked like either, and his grandpa’s footlocker is missing just as the stranger said it would be.”
“I don’t care about a damn footlocker! How are we supposed to find our son?”
“Look, the guy who did this, he’s gotta be pure evil, like a demon or something. Maybe what we need is spiritual help.”
“I can’t believe you even spoke to him, let alone played cards with him. You gambled with our child like he was a fucking poker chip!”
“He didn’t tell me what the stakes were.”
“Well, I’m telling you I want my son back. I need him back.”
“And we’ll get him back.”
She pursed her lips and stared down at the sidewalk, like she couldn’t even look at him anymore. She might as well have stabbed him in the heart.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, I mean it. We will get him back. And I think I know where to get help.”
#
“Are you sure about this?” Angelique asked as she and Darius stood outside a shop on Magazine Street.
The faded, wooden sign hanging over them read, “Boudreaux’s Voodoo: Healing Spells & Gris-Gris.” Severed alligator heads and chicken feet lined the windowsill, and dolls of straw and cloth stood around them, propped up to face the passersby on the street. It all looked rather hokey to Angelique.
“We need someone who understands evil spirits,” Darius said. “He had good reviews online.”
“You sure those reviews are real?”
“Can you just give him a chance?”
She breathed a long sigh and then mumbled, “Alright.”
They stepped into the shop, jostling a wind chime that hung above the door. A man soon entered from another room dressed in a 1930s-era vest, a pair of slacks, and a hat with a band lined in alligator teeth. He looked just as hokey as the rest of the place.
“Welcome!” he said with a sweeping gesture of his arms. “I am Boudreaux. How can I help y’all today? Looking for some healing spells? Want to get back at your jerk of a boss with a Voodoo doll? I’m guessing y’all aren’t here for love potions since you two seem to be together.”
Angelique rolled her eyes.
“Man, we need help with a crisis, so listen up,” Darius said.
He related the entire story to Boudreaux, and Angelique wrestled with her anger as she heard the details again. She was trying—really trying—not to blame him for what happened.
Boudreaux’s eyes grew wide. “Holy fucking shit, man! The hell d’you want me to do about that? I don’t know anything about fighting demonic entities.”
“Then what’s all this?” Darius gestured to their surroundings.
“This is a shitty little tourist trap for out-of-town white people. None of this is real. I don’t know a goddamn thing about real Voodoo. Hell, my name ain’t even Boudreaux. It’s Jamal.”
Angelique was losing her wrestling match. “I knew this was a waste of time. Every second we spend in here is another second that our baby is in the hands of that monster, if he’s not already dead!” Her voice cracked with those last few words, and tears welled in her eyes.
“Do you know any real Voodoo witch doctors that can help us?” Darius asked Boudreaux/Jamal.
“Hell no! If I did, they’d probably kick my ass for making a mockery of their religion. But I do know someone who may be able to help y’all. A friend of my aunt is like a conjuror or something. I think they call her an ‘isht ahullo.’ She’s Choctaw, not Voodoo. A lot of people in the Native American community go to her, and believe me, she works miracles. She’s the real deal.”
“Where can we find her?”
“Hold on. I’ve got her business card.” He removed an overstuffed wallet from his pants pocket and flipped through the assorted papers inside before landing on one.
Jamal handed the card to Angelique as she dried her eyes. It read, “Mona Peterson: Rosette Bakery and Flower Shop.” The address was on a road Angelique didn’t recognize.
“Your conjuror’s a goddamn florist?” she said.
“Listen, if you’ve got a problem with some kind of evil spirit, she’s the one to go to.”
“I swear to God, if this turns out to be another waste of time…”
“Looks like she’s out in the bayou,” Darius said. He had the address pinpointed on a map on his phone. “If she’s legit, she could be our best hope.”
“If.” Angelique glared at Jamal, who held up his hands defensively and took a step back.
“Let’s go find a cab,” she said.
#
The ride out to Mona’s was a long and expensive one. Darius told the driver not to wait for them. For all he knew, this process could take hours.
The bakery and flower shop was a little white shack with a mural of cutesy flowers springing up from the bottom of the walls. Wadded bits of cloth tied to strings hung down from the roof of the porch. Something appeared to be wrapped inside them, but what it was, Darius couldn’t tell.
Angelique ran up to the screen door and knocked.
“It’s open!” a woman’s sing-song voice answered.
They stepped inside to find a small room with a rack of cookies and donuts on one side and a shelf of potted flowers on the other. A counter with a cash register sat between them, and behind it an open door that presumably led to the kitchen.
A short, stocky, bespectacled woman with streaks of grey in her long, black hair emerged from the door and smiled at them. She held a knife in her hand, which she quickly stuffed into a pocket on her “I Heart Avery Island” apron. “Y’all here for flowers or pastries, hon?”
“We heard that a conjuror named Mona works here,” Darius said. “We’re hoping she can help us.”
“Well, I’m Mona. Usually only other Choctaws come to me for any kind of ‘conjuring,’ as you call it. Are y’all Choctaw?”
“No, but—”
“Our baby was taken by a demon!” Angelique said.
“A demon?” Mona raised an eyebrow. “Is this a joke? Y’all think it’s funny to mock an isht ahullo?”
“No, ma’am,” Darius replied. “We came from NOLA just to see you. We don’t know who else to go to with something like this.”
“Please,” Angelique said. “I need my baby back. He wasn’t due for another two weeks, and that thing took him right out of me!”
Mona drew a long, skeptical breath. “Okay, I’ll bite. Tell me what happened.”
Darius had lost count of how many times he’d told the story. He only hoped this time it would result in something more than a brush-off.
Mona at least seemed to listen. Once Darius finished his account, she nodded and said, “Y’all come with me.”
She led them out to a yard behind her shack where four wooden poles, each painted a different color, stood in a circle around a fire pit with wood already there waiting to burn. A bucket containing a bound bundle of leaves lay at the foot of one of the poles alongside a lighter. Tied to the bucket’s handle was an eagle feather.
“I’ve never heard of an evil creature taking a child from the womb,” Mona said as she picked up the bucket and the lighter. “Whatever did this must be powerful.”
Darius and Angelique exchanged fearful glances. Was the stranger too powerful to defeat?
Mona lit the bundle of leaves and a fragrant smoke arose from the bucket. She scooped it toward her face and body, bathing herself in it like it was water. Then she entered the ring of poles and walked its perimeter, waving the smoke toward the outer edges with the feather as she did so. Once she completed the circle, she held the bucket out to Darius and Angelique. “Smudge yourselves before entering. Let the smoke wash over you and cleanse you.”
Angelique and Darius imitated her movements with the smoke and then entered the circle.
Mona lit the firewood and removed from one of her apron pockets a small wad of cloth like the ones that hung from the porch. She unfurled it in her palm, revealing shreds of flaky, brown leaves. “The tobacco represents prayers. Take some and throw it into the fire. As it burns, the smoke will carry your prayer up to Nanapesa.”
They each took a pinch of tobacco and tossed it into the flames. Darius silently pleaded for the safe return of their son but doubted prayers would be enough to make it happen.
Mona began to sing, though Darius couldn’t tell if her words meant anything or were just melodic sounds. She danced around the fire in a stilted step-like pattern for a minute or two before coming to a halt.
“What is the name of the one who took your child?” she asked Darius.
“He never said.”
“Who took the child?”
“I just told you, I don’t—” Darius stopped as he realized Mona wasn’t asking him.
She stared straight into the fire, or maybe past the fire, like she was looking into another world. “Kʋta hosh ʋlla ya hokopa tuk?”
“Looking for me?” replied a familiar voice.
Goosebumps spread across Darius’s skin, but he couldn’t see anyone around.
Thick, black clouds rolled in, darkening the sky overhead. As the sunlight faded, the shadowy form of a man in a wide-brimmed hat and a long overcoat appeared just outside the circle.
“That’s him!” Darius could barely get the words out. His voice seemed to have left him.
“Where’s our son?” Angelique shouted. Her hand clenched into a fist, and she took a step toward the stranger.
Mona grabbed her shoulder to stop her. “He can’t enter the circle, and you shouldn’t leave it.”
“He has my baby!”
“You want your child back, give me something in exchange,” the stranger said.
“Like what?”
“One of you can come with me in his place. A life for a life is a fair trade.”
Darius felt nauseous. Was that the only thing the man—no, the creature—would accept?
“There will be no trade,” Mona said.
The winds grew fierce and blew the trees, the shack, and everything around to the point they seemed they would break apart. But in the circle, all was calm. Even the fire remained steady, as though there was no wind at all.
“Return the child you stole!” Mona shouted.
“Stole? I won him fairly.”
“Bullshit, man!” Darius said. “You cheated!”
“Have any proof of that? The child stays with me unless you have something to offer.”
“Can you make him bring our son back?” Angelique asked Mona.
“Not unless we give him an ultimatum—something that will scare him.”
“Scare him?” Darius said. “How?”
“He gets his power by taking things people care about and feeding off the grief he caused. We can deprive him of that.”
“But I can’t not grieve the loss of my son,” Angelique said.
“No, I guess not.”
Mona reached into her apron pocket and removed her kitchen knife. In one quick motion, she grabbed Angelique from behind and pressed the blade against her throat.
“The fuck?” A look of terror washed over Angelique’s face.
Darius didn’t have time to think, only react. He grabbed Mona’s shoulder to pry her off, but she shouted, “Stop or I’ll slit her throat!”
He let go of her and backed away. “Why’re you doing this?”
Mona turned toward the stranger. “I’m guessing that child is the most important thing you ever took. Your greatest power comes from having the object of her grief. If I destroy her, that power disappears. One movement of this knife—”
“You wouldn’t dare cut that woman,” he said.
“Wanna bet?”
The stranger chuckled. “Sure. I’m a wagering man, as Darius can attest. And I know a bluff when I see one. I’ll call it. If you cut her throat, I’ll not only return the baby but everything I’ve ever taken. Now those are pretty high stakes for me. But I know you, Mona Marie Peterson. You wouldn’t kill a mosquito much less an innocent person.”
“You’ll give back everything if I cut her throat?”
“Every damn thing. But if you don’t, I keep it all, including the child, and no one—not an isht ahullo or anyone else—will have the power to bother me ever again.”
“Let Nanapesa hold us to our words.”
“Fine with me.”
Darius’s anger and fear boiled over. He lunged at Mona and took hold of her arm.
As she twisted away from him, the knife sliced across Angelique’s neck.
Darius watched his wife fall to the ground and dove after her. He wrapped her in his arms and, for a moment, all he could hear was the pounding of his heart over his own mumbled prayers. Then laughter filled his ears—Angelique’s laughter. He drew back to look at her, and a broad smile stretched across her face.
“She cut me!” Angelique said as she rubbed her neck.
The firelight illuminated a long, shallow scrape across her throat that barely bled.
Darius looked up at Mona, who smirked as she held up the knife.
“This is only sharp enough to slice through cake, honey. But I figure that cut on her neck is enough to fulfill our deal.”
Darius’s mind reeled. “Did you two plan this?”
“She whispered in my ear to play along when she grabbed me,” Angelique replied.
“You cheated!” the stranger shouted.
“And you didn’t?” Darius said. “Sneaking jokers into a deck so you could get five of a kind.”
Mona pointed the knife at the stranger. “You said you’d give back everything if I cut her throat. A deal’s a deal. Nanapesa will hold you to it.”
The clouds parted slightly, and light cascaded onto the stranger—and only on the stranger.
“A deal’s a deal,” he said as his form dissipated beneath the glare of the sun.
The clouds vanished with him, and the beam of light expanded. Everywhere the rays fell, objects of all kinds materialized: A child’s bike, sports trophies, college degrees, heart-shaped lockets, wedding rings on necklace chains, worn-out teddy bears, a familiar red Corvette, and an old, metal footlocker.
“Where’s our baby?” Angelique asked, as her eyes darted from one object to another.
A muffled cry came from somewhere in the hoard, and Darius’s eyes turned to the footlocker. He and Angelique ran to it and flipped open the latch. A baby boy, naked and squinting in the light, lay atop the old war letters and photos.
Relief swept through Darius like a wave, and the suddenness of it made him dizzy. He wasn’t sure whether to believe his eyes or not.
Angelique cradled the baby in her arms and looked over at Mona with tears running down her face. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”
“It was a pleasure. That was the toughest evil creature I’ve fought in a while. Made me feel young again.”
“We need to get a doctor to check him out,” Darius said, “just to make sure he’s okay.”
“The nearest hospital is fifteen miles east of here,” Mona said. “I could give y’all a ride, unless you wanna take that pretty, red car.”
Darius glanced at the Corvette. Last night, he’d thought it was beautiful. Now he wished he’d never laid eyes on it. “No thanks. We can call a taxi.”
Angelique blinked away her tears and held the baby out in front of her, like she was examining him. “Um, Darius, does he look strange to you?”
“Strange how?”
“Well, for one, his eyes…”
Both he and Mona moved in closer to get a better look.
The boy’s fingernails were black and sharp like claws, and his irises were tinged with red.
Darius’s relief turned to dread. He bent down and rifled through the contents of the footlocker. Every photo was warped and distorted, the uniform was torn to shreds, and the letters were illegibly smeared.
He now realized their mistake. The stranger said he would return what he took but not the way it was when he took it.
END
A. L. Munson is a New Orleans-born sci-fi and horror writer and member of the Vancleave Live Oak Choctaw tribe. You can find her at almunson.com.