Flash Fiction Friday #31: Dat Is Obeah

Fff#31: (idea inclusion) witch, egg(s), cave

This one is a lil bit different cuz i'm not really to use the words, more the ideas of them.... which is what i was supposed to do last week but this one came out much better. i really like it actually ^_^ it lil long doh....

 Kenny sat in his truck as he stared apprehensively at the house. It was one of those old wooden houses with shutters and fretwork that had fallen into the disrepair that came with age. Lonely tufts of grass sprouted between moss-covered, formerly white, pebbles. A large mango tree hung over the fence, suspiciously laden for one so near a boys’ primary school. It was all a little eerie, and that eeriness was what helped fuel the rumours that he remembered from primary school days till now, that the owner and allegedly sole inhabitant of the house was an obeah woman.

 He sighed. His childhood friend Dominic had sworn coming here would be the answer to his problems.

“Big man like you ‘fraid to go an’ visit ah ole lady boy?” he muttered to himself as he climbed out of the truck.  He got to the gate and looked about him. At the base of the mango tree lay the half-eaten corpse of a baby blackbird.

 “Eat anyt’ing from dat tree an’ yuh go dead.”

The memory came back to him clear as day. He shuddered.

 “Good afternoon!” he called out. A small woman peeped out from the side of the house.

 “Yes?” she responded, walking through the yard towards him.

 “Good afternoon Tanty. Ah looking for Miss Lucille. I need a favour an’ they tell me to check here.”

She cocked her eyebrow. “A favour? Dat is what alyuh young people callin’ it now? Come inside, dis is not talk to talk for outside spirits to hear.” She unlatched the gate and walked up the path to her front door. As Kenny followed, he thought he saw small bones scattered about the stones, but he didn’t query. The wooden steps creaked as he climbed them.

 The first thing he noticed as he entered the house was the smell. It was musty and moldy and the high ceiling and the darkness of the room made it seem cavernous. And the porcelain figurines made it seem crypt-like. The figurines that were so common in homes seemed especially morbid in this house, and Kenny wasn’t sure if it was the gloom, the red velvet they were seated on or the general eeriness that enveloped the house, but looking at the figurines scared him so he turned his attention back to the old woman. She peered at him and asked evenly, “What is this favour you need from me now Kenny Baptiste?”

 “Wha-“ Kenny stuttered, confused and a bit distressed. “How you know my name?”

 “Knowing t’ing is my business Kenny. Now what is it you want from me?” she replied briskly.
 “Well,” Kenny started, and paused for a moment to think how best to say it. “Me an’ de wife have been trying to have a baby and she can’t no matter what we do. I was told you could help me.”

 “And how we know you is not de problem boy?”

Kenny bristled. “Because the doctor check. Is not me,” he replied stiffly. Lucille cackled, and her eyes seemed to glow while the pale, sagging skin of her cheeks shook slightly. To Kenny it seemed that selling potions to him in the day was not the only thing this old woman could do. “I shoulda know is not sweet talk you come to do wit’ a ole woman like me.” Lucille laughed again and Kenny tried to suppress his shudder. “Sit down right here and don’t move, don’t touch not’ing,” she commanded as soon as she had contained herself and excited the room through a beaded curtain that tinkled as she passed. As if Kenny would ever do such a thing. The room terrified him so much that he didn’t even want to move too hard to scratch his nose.

 When Lucille returned he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. She brought with her two sealed glass cylinders filled with about a centimeter each of something and some leaves wrapped in a paper napkin. “Powdered rabbit guts,” she said holding up the cylinder with the suspiciously brown contents, “And crushed mango seed. Make her an omelets or somet’ing for breakfast and mix them into it. She mus’ eat all.” She held up the leaves. “Make tea for her wit’ dis, no sugar, honey alone if she mus’ have it sweet.” She put them in a bag and handed it to Kenny who cradled it like was gold. “For de whole ten months from de day you give her dis, she is not to eat no kinda blood pudding, none at all, or it will not work.” She looked at him meaningfully to ensure he understood and he nodded. She began to hurriedly shuffle him out the door and down the path till he was at the gate. Kenny felt a little overwhelmed but was glad to see the light of day. He stumbled to his truck and was halfway in when he remembered. “Miss Lucille! How much I have for you?” Miss Lucille smiled almost predatorily as she leaned over the gate, and her small, sharp teeth glistened as sunlight hit them. “No money Kenny. All I want is de afterbirth.”

Kenny recoiled slightly but nodded. As he drove away, the word he had been trying to remember since he’d seen Miss Lucille finally came to him: soucouyant.