Murder On The Air: a Human Alastor backstory

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"It's time to tune in..."

Chapter One: “Down In New Orleans”

January twenty-fourth, eighteen ninety six

New Orleans was a city bustling with jazz, energy and a uniqueness in comparison to other states in the U.S. The annual Mardi Gras festivals were complete with parades, good food and celebrations that lasted for several months of the year. The city lay near the Mississippi River. The French Quarter was the heart of New Orleans, known for Creole and Spanish architecture and a unique blending of culture. Old fashioned cars with extra wheels on the sides were forms of transportation and newspapers were circulated widely. Other areas of New Orleans consisted of murky swamps, peaceful bayous, and densely wooded areas. At night, fireflies, alligators, deer and other wildlife would often come out in the safety of the dark.

Men and women would wear a variety of different clothing to suit their needs. Farmers would wear overalls, checkered shirts and straw hats. The women would go about their days in light-colored cotton dresses, leggings and shoes. Fancier folk would wear tall top hats, suits with bow ties, shiny black shoes, pants and the occasional a stylish cane. Upper class women would wear colorful dresses, high heels and round hats with flowers and sequins on top.

Sounds from jazz bands and lively music would fill the air, often in the mornings and evenings. Rhythm and blues, jazz, swing and a bunch of different genres would merge together and evolve into a new kind of music. At the tall white Imperial Theater building, performers would awe the audience with their dances, musicals and songs. It was the passion for the arts, music, food and life that brought a variety of people together in an otherwise segregated world.

And what a segregated world it was.

African Americans and Native Americans were treated as lower class and segregated from the dominant white-skinned folk every day. Signs labeling “white” and “colored” glared accusingly at people’s faces in bold letters at every door, drinking fountain and entrance. The rich had it much easier than the poor, who roamed the streets and begged for food. With money, mansions and material goods, the butter and egg men brushed aside the sufferings of the poor, the different, the strange…anyone who didn’t quite fit in. Men would often stay out late in bars, flirting with pretty dames or getting zozzled after drinking too much giggle juice. 

Women worked in second class jobs that paid less than male-dominated jobs. They were the housewives, secretaries, teachers, cooks and maids, among others. The unfortunate ones were often prostitutes or homeless. Men were expected to provide for their families and demonstrate their strength and intelligence. Women were expected to care for their children and support the goals of their husbands. Only a handful of women were lucky enough to have equal standing with their partners, let alone have good husbands. Those who were homosexual or queer practically didn’t exist at all in the mainstream public eye.

On the surface, the Cajun family appeared like any other family. A Caucasian French man by the name of Louis Francois Cajun worked as an accountant in the city of New Orleans, Louisiana. He was a tall man with hazel eyes, a thin black mustache and short black hair, always neatly kempt whenever he was at work. His face was round and thickly shaped. Like many individuals, he freely smoked both indoors and out. He would go to church every Sunday morning, proudly carrying a leather-bound Bible in his hands and thanking God for the life he had.

It was sometime many years back that he met a lovely woman.

Not just any woman…but an exotic beauty rarely seen by the city folk. Her name was Loretta Duvalier. Her skin was dark brown, reminding him of rich chocolate or coffee. Her eyes were brown, full of soul but also deep with hidden secrets. Long curly black hair framed her face and her fingernails were unusually sharp. She wore long dresses of various colors: green, pink, red, purple and blue.

But the most noticeable feature was her smile.

That warm, bright smile. She would wear it in public every day, no matter the circumstances it seemed. Whether she would be laughing with her friends over martinis and wine or being threatened by nearby police for exposing too much skin, she nearly always managed to stay poised.

However, she did have a feisty nature about her…she was not to be pushed around.

The two of them met and got to know each other.

“Ah’m Loretta,” she said, her voice southern with a Haitian dialect.

“Louis,” he said, as they shook hands. “Would you like me to buy you a drink?”

“No thanks,” she replied. “Ah’ overdid it several days ago. Ah ain’t goin’ though ‘nother round of throwing up like dat.”

Louis laughed softly. He made an attempt at flirting.

“J’ai la chance de m’asseoir a cote d’une belle dame.”

She smirked. “Ne pousse pas encore ta chance.”

“You speak French too?” Louis asked in surprise.

“Oui. Also some Creole, some Haiti too.”

About a year later, they were off to be married. Many people, including Louis’ family, questioned him about his decision to go through an interracial marriage. Louis explained that many people sought foreign “exotic” partners for excitement.

A few family members broke contact with him, saying Louis would be “wasting his time with raising a black hybrid child.” Louis released his thoughts and worries to his new wife. She said if she were strong enough, she would “whoop the racy ass of whoever said such a thing.”

The “opposites attract” saying definitely applied to this relationship. Loretta would make life fun for Louis, while Louis would be there to support her in times of trouble. Louis still worked as an accountant, and moved upwards to manager. Loretta started off fairly well in her job as a French teacher. She even was able to work part time at a local hotel. But as the times got rough, she would later work in secretary jobs and…at her lowest point, as a prostitute to make ends meet. But that was years down the road.

As one might expect, both partners settled down. Loretta was still feisty but she became calmer and more nurturing to her husband’s needs. Louis treated her fairly for the most part. Only the occasional drink and argument would get both of them rifled up. Louis was a kind-hearted man and Loretta enjoyed his company very much. Their honeymoon was romantic and spectacular…they went wild in their cabin right near the bayou in the woods. It was a perfect seclusion area. The cabin served as a summer home of sorts. Even the forest and bayou came alive in celebration. Fireflies dotted the darkness like shining golden stars, and crickets chirped their melodies unseen in the grass.

Loretta’s pregnancy went as well as anyone would expect: moaning, throwing up, along with a sudden craving for chocolate and strange foods. Louis began hunting in the woods, which became a favorite pastime of his. He was somewhat shocked that Loretta enjoyed venison so much.

Then again there were many things he didn’t know about her.

Including one day where he was stunned, and intrigued…if not a bit repulsed at what he discovered.

It explained her absences at certain times throughout the day. The way in which she didn’t feel completely at home in church. The reason behind the added jars of spices she lined up in orderly rows in the kitchen cabinets.

“What is that over there?”

“What?” she asked.

“That book you hold. It’s not something I’m familiar with.”

Loretta glanced over toward the book and back at him, taking a deep sigh.

“You know well that Ah’m a believer in Jesus Christ like ya and much of ma family,” she said.

“Yes, I know, darling,” Louis replied. “But…what is that strange book you have there? The one with the symbols all over it.”

He pointed to a book of rituals on the bedroom dresser.

Loretta decided to tell him the truth.

“Dat is a book of Hoodoo myths and Voodoo rituals. Ah figure Ah should tell ya now that we’re together. Mah Creole family and ancestors came from Haiti, another portion of mah family were Native American. They immigrated here to the U.S. in search of a better life, like how your people came from France and Canada. Mah mother, Antoinette, she is a renowned Voodoo priestess, directly related to Marie Laveau.”

He raised his eyebrows. “A crazed killer to slaves?”

“Nah, nah!” she denied. “Marie was a Voodoo herbalist, midwife and priestess. She conducted ceremonies and healed people. The myths about her being evil are just a misunderstanding. She was Catholic, too and mixed the two beliefs together, like me.”

“S-sorry. Wait...you attend those ceremonies too?” Suspicion sparked in his narrowed eyes. She might as well have said that she had been to the moon in a past life.

She briefly looked off to the side. “Yes, while you’re busy at work. Ah’m hopin’ to be like mah mother and follow in her footsteps.”

He questioned her more. “So you don’t do any sacrifices nor any kind of so called black magic?”

“We only do humane animal sacrifices every few years,” Loretta explained. “And we always honor God, the saints and Bondye.”

“Say what?”

“Bondye or Bon Dieu, da main creator deity in Voodoo.”

“Oh.”

“Legend said that Marie had supernatural powers. Indeed, Ah witnessed mah mother communicate with the spirits when Ah was really little. She led the ceremony and she felt enlightened. She was almost as good as Marie herself, just less magical ability. All da ceremonies we do, all the rituals, we do for healing ourselves and each other. Magic is either good nor evil…it all depends on da person weildin’ it.”

“Balderdash,” Louis scoffed in disbelief. “Magic isn’t real. You should know that. And even if it was, why don’t you have any magic?”

“’Cause Ah was born dat way,” she replied, hiding the fact that she did have magical ability. “It’s a varied as genetics and eye color.” 

Louis stared at her neckline, at a pair of black strings that hid a necklace underneath her maroon cotton dress and the usual Christian silver one she always wore. The spiral heart-shaped symbol of Erzulie Mansur, the loa who represented maternal love.

“Just…don’t get into any trouble,” he said, his tone hidden with a hint of warning. “I don’t want you abandoning our ways for…something else.”

It was clear that he placed Catholic beliefs above any other faith. For the first time, Loretta felt a shift in the interaction between her and her husband. It wasn’t like an argument or anything bad. It was more like…a distance, a gap. Her culture was something that Louis would never fully understand. A part of herself that only she knew. For him to appreciate it was practically impossible.

Loretta nodded. “Ah sure will.”

It wasn’t long before she was nine months pregnant. The baby was finally coming. Louis did his share in providing them with money and good food, always caring for Loretta whenever he could. A baby shower was held first in Louis’ parent’s home in Canada and then in correlation with Mardi Gras. Loretta gave extra offerings to the deities and supported her community in any way she could.

After praying to God and the saints, Loretta embraced her husband and smiled in pure bliss. Their wonderful biracial family was on the way.

“Will it be a boy or girl?” Louis asked.

“Not sure dear,” she replied. “If it’s a girl, Ah’ll name her…let’s see. There’s Alice. Clementine. Anastasia. Agatha. Susanne. Oh, how ‘bout Aphrodite?!”

“That sounds like a beautiful name,” Louis said. “But if it’s a boy…Kyle. Robert, maybe. No, too simple. Carlon, Roscoe, definitely gonna have Roscoe in his name.”

“No, Ah’ve decided. Abigail Cajun. Perfect!”

“Louis the second.”

She scoffed and blew a raspberry. “You’re an unoriginal dapper doofus,” she teased.

Louis playfully poked his finger into her chest. “Edward. Edward Roscoe Carlon Cajun. That’s final.”

“A blabbering mouthful!” she responded, playfully pushing him onto the bed.

“Oh, you wanna play this game do you?” he asked with a smirk of his own.

He paused.

“As tempting as it would be…no more sex until after the child is born,” he added. “Or better yet none for a while.”

She swayed her hips and batted her eyelashes. “From the look in your eyes, Ah can tell you’re desperate. But yes, it’s smart to hold off.”

“How about a smooch instead?”

She cupped his pale cheeks and kissed him warmly on the lips. “Don’t mind if Ah do.”

In mid-January, Loretta got some bad news from the doctor.

“Smoke has lingered in your body for a while,” he said, “and appears to have entered near the placenta. Hate to say this, but your baby might not make it.”

Loretta gasped in shock, Louis’ hand firmly on her shoulder.

Her brown eyes were already gleaming with tears. “W-why? Is there anything we can do?”

“If you wait too much longer, your child will run out of oxygen. Best case scenario is to do a C-section.”

“It’s too early. Let’s wait for a little while longer,” she pleaded.

“Not too long,” the doctor said. “It’s risky.”

Loretta and Louis prayed and sobbed hard as the week went on. Soon, the twenty third of January had come to an end. Loretta prayed to God that her child would be alright. The moon seemed to shine brighter upon her face. She stood in front of an open window overlooking the city lights.

Loretta went down to the library room and, after pressing a certain book, a secret door swung open. She walked through into a small room, where an ancestral altar stood.

The table had a white cloth on it and two candles at the back corners. Pictures of saints, Bon Dieu and her ancestors were arranged in different spots. There was a picture of her and her mother Antoinette at a ceremony. Antoinette’s cousin had grown up on a Native American reservation and was forced to convert to Catholicism. If he were still here, he could tell the stories of African American and Native American slaves briefly working together to endure the harsh conditions they lived under.

In the center of the table lay a light gray bowl of salt water and another green bowl with different kinds of dirt, including dirt from a graveyard.

Loretta used smoky incense and salt to consecrate the objects and then honored her ancestors. She usually did this by sitting quietly in meditation, asking for their guidance. A large backpack and container held more ritual items, and a few were in her pockets.

After she was finished, she gathered some red and black candles and arranged them in a circle. Using her finger, she traced glowing white outlines on the floor of Papa Legba’s elaborate symbol. The tops of the symbol looked like husks of corn. She lit the candles as she went around the circle.

Afterwards, she gathered a bag of candy, some old toys, and coconut oil, as she didn’t have the actual fruit. After placing the objects around the circle, Loretta invoked Papa Legba, the Loa of the crossroads. He was the bridge between the world of humanity and the other world. He was always called on first in every ceremony.

“Papa Legba, bridge between here and the other world, I, Loretta Cajun, humbly ask for your guidance.” She sat and meditated, thinking positive thoughts.

She opened her eyes and stood up as she felt a shift in the space. A life size flaming white X appeared in the room and out stepped the spirit. He was an old black man with thin white curly hair covered by a straw hat. He had a hairy white beard and mustache. He was dressed like a peasant in overalls, brown pants and a white top. He held a wooden cane in his left hand and a cigar in his right. Kindness and wisdom radiated from his dark eyes. At one point, his eyes glowed an ethereal silver.

“Greetings, mortal Loretta Cajun,” he said in a voice that sounded ancient and timeless. He spoke in Latin, Creole, French… then back in English. “Any items you’ve misplaced? Keys, food, clothing…I’ll be happy to find them.”

Loretta shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes.

“There is one thing Ah’m about ta lose forever, and that’s my child!”

Papa Legba looked concerned. “Oh my, that’s sad news indeed.”

“What should Ah do? My baby’s drowning in mah smoky womb.”

Papa Legba took out one of the candies in the plastic bag and popped it into his mouth.

“Cherry-strawberry,” he said, licking his lips. “Haven’t had those in forever.” He picked up a ball and tossed it up and down, catching it.

Papa Legba looked back at her and tossed the ball aside. “Back to the topic. Praying to God and Bon Dieu won’t be enough. If your child stays in there much longer…”

He paused with a sigh, putting his pipe into his mouth and letting out a puff of smoke.

“Da doctor said da too,” mentioned Loretta.

“Well, there are a few of us Loas that can help out with that,” he suggested. “You’re affiliated with Oshun, right?”

“Yes,” Loretta said. “Loa of love, beauty, and rivers. Now, Ah turn to Erzulie Mansur.”

“Sadly, not the right ones. The war Loa of iron, Ogun won’t be of much help either.”

Loretta had an idea. “What about Yemaya, Mother of da Seven Seas? Could she help?”

“If you had a safer childbirth, then yes, but in this case…”

He paused. “Let’s find out for sure.”

Two x shaped portals appeared, one pink, the other blue. From the pink one stepped Erzulie, a black woman wearing a pink head covering. She looked like the Black Madonna, as many people referred to her as.

“Loretta Cajun,” she greeted. Loretta bowed in respect. Always being prepared, Loretta fished into her pocket and pulled out some silver heart-shaped pendants. She handed them to Erzulie, who examined them in approval and appreciation.

“So… ya can’t help me save mah baby?”

Erzulie looked at her sadly. “I’m afraid not. I only deal with relationships, wealth, and good luck.”

Yemaya stepped through the blue portal, a dark skinned woman wearing a pearl necklace and a blue dress that glistened like fish scales. Loretta greeted her as well and gave her a necklace made of dove feathers. Her eyes were vast as the ocean, her necklace white as the moon.

“Always a pleasure to see you, mortal Loretta,” she said.

A green shaped x appeared and the Loa of herbs and trees, Loco peered out. He was a black man who wore loose brown clothing and a crown of leaves on his head. His wife Ayizan was busy conducting a dive ritual in the great outdoors.

“Quite a big crowd here,” he remarked to Papa Legba.

“Appreciate all of ya coming,” said Loretta, as she offered Loco a sacred rattle and a fresh apple. “And Ah thank ya deeply for contacting your fellow Loa, Papa Legba.”

“You’re most welcome. But know that I don’t do this with everyone.”

Loco took a bite of the juicy apple. “Fresh and tasty as eva. Papa Legba said ya was in trouble?”

“It’s mah new born baby, he or she is close to dying. Can ya save it?”

Loco looked at her with sad eyes. “Ah’m afraid not. Mah herbs usually only heal outside wounds and mixtures of herbs require time for mortals ta make.”

Loretta sighed in defeat.  “Thanks for tryin’ anyway.”

“Ah wish you da best of luck,” Loco finished before he vanished into the closing green portal.

“It is getting crowded in the mortal realm,” Yemaya remarked after looking around. “Best we go back as well.”

Erzulie agreed. She gave Loretta one last kind look, before they stepped through their portals. The pink and blue x gateways vanished.

Papa Legba scratched his beard in thought. “Hmm. You do appear to be at a pivotal crossroad in your life right now,” he mentioned. “Pun intended. You have several options at this point. First, you can let nature take its course and continue your life with your husband. Second, we can help you have a second childbirth that will be safer. In both cases, you current child would die.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, there is a third option, albeit, a risky one. With my permission, which you have, I will allow you to contact a few other Loa who can alter the fates of the near dying. Baron Samedi, for instance…”

He waved his hand.

Another X shaped portal, (this one colored dark purple), opened up to reveal a tall dark-skinned man with a dark blue suit, top hat and square-shaped sunglasses over his eyes. His top hat was decorated with small skulls along the rim, along with white v shaped designs. His pants and polished shoes were black. His face was painted like a skull, with a small dark x on his forehead. At times, his face would morph into a real living skull. The man’s hair was short and dark. He was standing at the other side of the portal, leaning against a gravestone and drinking a bottle of rum. A large unpeeled banana stood erect from underneath his pants. He swayed his hips and it moved.

“Lovely,” Loretta scoffed in disgust.

“Don’t mind him,” said Papa Legba, with a roll of his eyes. “He’s suave and has an obscene sense of humor.”

Baron Samedi looked over and Loretta thought that she was looking at a living skeleton. “Did someone call me?”

“Yes,” said Papa Legba. “This mortal, here, is losing her baby. She wants to know if you can somehow save it.”

He peered through the portal and glanced around the room. “I don’t see anybody dead or dying. She’s not even at a cemetery!”

“Not so loud, sir,” Loretta said in a whisper. “My husband’s asleep.”

“Asleep so deep, huh?” he asked, stepping forward. “What happened? Did he wear himself out with the thrusts or were you the one on top?”

He chuckled as he took a bite out of the phallic shaped banana.

“Now’s not the time for jokes, Baron,” Papa Legba chided. “Please answer her question.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his dark hands. “Whatever ya say, farm boy.”

“Excuse me?”

He turned to Loretta. “I deal with the dead, tombstones and the spirits. If you wanted to speak with one of your ancestors in person, I could allow that…”

He put his arm around her and winked. “…after a dance, perhaps?”

“No thank you,” Loretta replied, stepping away.

Baron Samedi sighed. “I don’t really deal with unborn infants, love. From the looks of it, your child won’t last much longer.”

“Like Ah don’t already know dat,” Loretta cracked, trying not to break down.

Papa Legba sighed. “Okay then. Here comes the risky last resort.”

Loretta straightened herself up. “Whatever it is, Ah’ll take it.”

“Are you sure? You’ll be dealing with a powerful malevolent Loa…”

“Just please summon him. Ah’ll do anythin’.”

A pause.

“You misunderstand. We Loa are requested to only bring healing and light to humanity. But, seeing as you are in desperate need…” replied Papa Legba, his voice full of regret.

“Oh I know what it is,” Baron Samedi chimed in. “You’re going to summon your other aspect, aren’t you? The dark sorcery master.”

“Huh?” Loretta asked.

“He means my darker twin brother, Met Kalfu,” said Papa Legba. “A Demon of Crossroads. If anyone can change fate directly, it’s him.”

“He’s the one to turn to if you want immediate results,” said Baron Samedi.

“But, he’s a trickster, like me…” Papa Legba replied as another X portal appeared, this time it was black and red. “…and the one who can bring demons in. Be warned.”

“Hello Papa Legba!” called a low voice as a dark hand pointed to Baron Samedi through the portal. “Come ta kill someone new, today?”

In stepped Kalfu, and Loretta’s neck hairs immediately stood on end at his evil presence. The Loa’s appearance looked nothing at all like Papa Legba’s.

 Kalfu stood tall, muscular and imposing, wearing a blood red suit and necktie. His skin was dark brown. His top hat, decorated with dark flowers and feathers, was blood red as well, on top of his long dreadlocks of dark hair. His forehead was decorated with small white beads. The necklaces he wore were made of bones. Dark pants covered his legs and his shoes were black. Two imposing bull horns made of fire stuck out from his head on either side of his hat. Sharp white teeth, a forked tongue, glowing red eyes…all added to his demonic appearance.

“Oh for fucks sake, Kalfu!” Baron Samedi roared in anger as Kalfu laughed. Loretta almost fell backwards. If Louis woke up and discovered this, he’d turn her in as a Satanic witch.

Baron Samedi growled as he stomped toward the trickster. “I’ve had it with people comparing him…” he pointed to Papa Legba…”to that American Horror Story villain! I’m not a killer. I merely guide souls to the afterlife and comfort the dying and grieving. He’s just the gatekeeper between worlds, a messenger for Bon Dieu and Damballah.”

Damballah was a supreme serpentine deity, the creator of the world, along with his wife, in folklore.

Papa Legba looked upset as well and nodded in agreement to Baron Samedi. “Yes Kalfu, our images have been commercialized and portrayed as demonic for far too long. We don’t take souls, though we all want to be treated with respect and honor. The only real demonic one here is you!”

“Yeah, and look who gets all da jazz in popula culture. Entertainin’, if not insultin’ at times,” Kalfu scoffed. “But Ah sense Ah’m not here ta argue with ya two…”

He rapidly turned to Loretta and licked his lips. “Who’s dis pretty piece of meat?”

Loretta shuddered out loud and took several steps back. Papa Legba appeared protectively beside her, giving Kalfu a harsh glare. “Loretta Cajun, of New Orleans.”

“Ah yes, so many mortals from New Orleans. Ya have mah rum ready?”

Loretta gasped. She had forgotten to prepare some in case Papa Legba invited him in.

“Ah won’t kill ya…dis time,” Kalfu replied to her. Papa Legba sighed and conjured up a bottle of rum mixed with gunpowder. Kalfu greedily took it and gulped down several mouthfuls. Loretta made a face.

Kalfu continued.

“Y’ remind me of ‘nother lady…a royal queen, if Ah ain’t mistaken. Her head got shrunken and her little son…what’s his name? Duvalier…Facilier, Dr. Facilier, dats da guy. Ah was like, “your son will be da most feared Shadow Man someday, and he’ll be rich, too.” Ha! She accepted da deal but didn’t know that her son can’t even do magic on his own! He’d have to rely on his “friends from da other side,” to do his work. Oh how fun it is ta mess with y’ people.”

“Enough!” Loretta said, taking a breath, clearly impatient. “Any of ya, please…help save mah dyin’ infant!”

Kalfu sneered. “Y’ must be really desperate to want me ta help,” he replied. “Da survival of ya baby. That will be assured one hundred percent. Da question is…”

He leaned in dangerously close…”what are ya willin’ to give up?”

Loretta took a breath. “Several years of mah life.”

Kalfu feigned a gasp and looked around. “You’re husband’s comin’!”

Loretta yelped while covering her mouth and stood with her back against the wall.

Kalfu laughed. “Dat priceless look on ya face, oh Ah got ya good.”

Papa Legba held a pitchfork at Kalfu, the tips cracking with electricity. “Do you want a jab full of hot blinding light?”

Kalfu waved his hand and the pitchfork vanished in flames. He clicked his tongue a few times. “Empty threats to a fellow immortal. Oh wait, why am Ah talking to mah-self, anyway?”

“Enough games, brother,” Papa Legba warned. His low growl consisted of the sounds of a dozen angry dogs.

Kalfu only snorted, smoke shooting from his nostrils like a bad-tempered bull.

With the loud snapping sounds of bones, Baron Samedi yawned and stretched. “Well, in that case, I’ll just take my leave. Don’t wanna be around with Legba arguing with his opposite for a while.”

He turned back to Loretta, “I’ll have some time to decide your passage to the hereafter. I have all the time in the world but as for you…just enjoy your life while it lasts. Farewell lovely lady.”

With that, Baron Samedi walked through the purple portal and vanished. 

Kalfu chuckled and turned back to Loretta, sharp teeth showing. “Several years of ya life, you say? It don’t always work like dat. In fact, ya often don’t know what will be the result when it comes to me. Ya baby could be handicapped. Bad luck could follow ya around, ya husband might become homeless and drunk, who knows? Either way, ya’ll owe me somethin’ in da end.”

“So, you just gonna curse me and mah family, just so mah child can live?”

“Can’t tell ya exactly, but somethin’ like dat.”

 Loretta sighed and thought for a moment. “Mah family and Ah will deal with it. Help save mah baby.”

“So…it’s a deal then?”

Eerie red light illuminated his face as he held out his right hand for her to shake. His hands consisted of sharp claws and Loretta felt like he wouldn’t hesitate to use them on her.

Papa Legba stepped in between them, glaring at his brother. “You will not drag that mortal into your schemes. Save her baby right now, or I’ll send you back.”

“Jokes on ya, farm boy. Ah control the crossroads too,” Kalfu stated. “Ah could just…invite some friends over ta party?”

“None of your Petro “friends” are allowed in this realm. No shadow demons, no voodoo imps, no one. I will personally bring the Rada along to stop you. We all know that you’d be outnumbered and out matched.”

Papa Legba’s eyes glowed silver, a dangerous look on his wrinkled dark-skinned face. “Are we clear here?”

Kalfu shrugged, his red angry eyes briefly showing a sense of defeat. “Clear as crystal. Ah’ll save it.”

 Loretta already felt exposed and vulnerable under his bloodthirsty stare. She tried to look braver.

 Kalfu walked over to Loretta, who now stood poised. He closed his eyes and red voodoo symbols hovered in the air. The entire room became pitch black. Neither Loretta nor Papa Legba could see anything except the symbols. Seven leaves appeared in the air and moved around in a glowing circle. Kalfu waved his hand and the smoke in her womb vanished. When no one was looking, Kalfu grinned mischievously and pointed a finger at Loretta’s belly. A jet of red light pierced through harmlessly. The dark energy traveled through her body and consumed the growing curled up baby inside. The newborn’s eyes briefly glowed, a lively spark ignited in the growing being.  

Opening his eyes, Kalfu swiped his claws forward and scratched Loretta’s belly for good measure. Loretta flinched and yelled out in the dark. She could see Kalfu licking his bloody claw tips with a long black tongue. Loretta tried not to faint.

The darkness and the symbols dissipated.  “It is done,” he said. He walked back toward the portal.

“What did you do?” Papa Legba asked, suspiciously. Kalfu always liked to cause trouble, but more often than not it was done to teach people harsh lessons.

But what did it mean?

“Ah saved her newborn’s life,” Kalfu replied, turning to Loretta. “Ya welcome, mortal.”

He spread out his arms for his dramatic exit. “Dis is goin’ ta be very entertainin’!”

He stepped through the black and red X with an evil laugh and vanished.

“I’ve always hated him,” Papa Legba sighed, straightening his straw hat. “Sorry about all that. Hold still.”

He walked over and healed Loretta’s bleeding cuts with a trace of his fingers.

“Hopefully, this will be enough. We help for the good of the living and dead alike. You’ve honored us and your ancestors well, so if you ever need advice, feel free to request our help again.”

Loretta lowered her head in thanks to Papa Legba.

Tears sprang from Loretta’s eyes, but these were a mixture of sadness and joy.

“Hey, come here,” he said, pulling Loretta in for a close side hug. “Things will be fine from here.” Loretta briefly shut her eyes and smiled at the comforting gesture. He let go.

“Good luck, Loretta,” he said. “And remember, no matter what happens, love and light will always shine on.” A colorful dog appeared next to the Loa and rubbed his legs with its head. He bent down and pet the animal, who wagged his tail and led the way back through the portal.

After the final farewells and thanks, Papa Legba tilted his straw hat to her, and vanished. The portals and magic faded away and the room grew eerily quiet.

Wasting no time, Loretta hurried back to the bedroom. Thankfully, Louis was still in bed.

“I heard noises,” he grumbled. “Is everything alright, dear?”

“Yes, things will be fine,” Loretta assured, hoping her words rang true. A rumble of thunder boomed in the distance.

“From the haze of smoke, life shall ignite

By Kalfu’s might, and Vivienne’s light

Death and life unite

Crossroads of destiny doth say this

Be wary of things amiss

A clever mind, not unkind,

A sin behind the grin.”

The chanting echoed in her dream and mind, even as she woke up. In just a few minutes, the words faded from her head.

It was then that the sharp pains kicked in. It was just as bad as those of childbirth… the relentless jabbing of really bad cramps. Sharp shocking pains filled her abdomen and lower back.

Loretta yelled at the sudden discomfort. “Yaaaaaaahhhhh!”

Louis jolted upward with a start at the sound of her scream. The clock read two AM.

“Sweetheart, what in heaven’s…”

She interrupted him with gasps. Sweat already dotted her forehead. “We have to go to da doctor. Now!”

“What? Why?” he asked, helping her up. “Let’s get dressed…”

“No time!” she called.

“But surely you aren’t giving birth? It’s two weeks early.”

“Ah just know we have to go. They can save mah baby!”

Louis didn’t question her further and supported her as they made their way to their long old fashioned red vehicle. Lightning illuminated the sky while thunder drummed to the constant splattering beats of rain.

The couple were soon at the hospital. Loretta was on a hospital bed, wheeled into an emergency room. Louis waited anxiously in the waiting room. After giving her medications and calming her though her wails and pained sobs, the nurses wheeled in surgical tools. With careful cuts, they sliced open her abdomen horizontally. Red blood filled the cut line, flowing out in crimson tears.

A stillborn mess plopped into the nurse’s light blue gloved hands. It was the baby, with light brown skin and wisps of thin dark brown hair. There was a faint pulse. In a swift motion, the thin wrinkled umbilical cord was cut. A tense pause.

Then as the clock struck three am, the baby let out a gasping cry.

Loretta sobbed in triumph and relief.

“Date of birth: January twenty fourth, eighteen ninety six, three AM,” one doctor wrote down.

The baby was washed and then carried off to the emergency unit.

The next day, Loretta and her husband were allowed to see their baby. They cradled him in their arms and he appeared calm.

“Yes, it’s a boy indeed,” Loretta said. “Ready to finalize da name?”

“Not yet,” Louis replied. “Edward doesn’t fit quite right. I was thinking Gabriel.”

A few months later, their boy was ready to go home. He had progressed very well, though a few doctors were concerned that he would experience developmental problems and mental disorders.

“Premature birth increases the risk of disabilities and mental disorders,” the doctors explained.

Most of them, however, assured them he was perfectly healthy.

The baby was strapped into a backseat as Loretta and Louis drove home. They drove in their old fashioned red Ford motor vehicle with wheels that bumped over a dirt path. A series of cries ensured. The baby had a light blue outfit on and a little stuffed deer in one of his hands. It was a source of comfort in a strange new world.

“It’s okay, little one, we’re almost home,” Loretta assured, admiring the bright blue sky and puffy clouds.

It was on the dirt road that Louis said with a relieved sigh, “Alas! He lives!”

Loretta repeated the cheer happily. “A sweet vengeance on death and despair! Tormentor of sin and evil. Our son is a survivor. He needs a worthy name. Mythical, even.”

“Mythical name? Like Greek?” he asked.

“Yes.”

The crying continued.

In a strange jinx moment, several minutes later, both parents glanced at each other, lightbulbs going on.

They said one name at the same time:

“Alastor.”

A flash of brown suddenly leaped in front of their line of vision.

“Louis, watch out!” Loretta called, too late.

“Whoa! Whoa!”

Louis slammed on the brakes with a screech, rapidly spinning the steering wheel.

The car hit something solid with a thud. A loud bark, a glimpse of dark antlers.

And a horrific splatter of blood against the windshield. The red slowly pooled downwards against the glass.

Loretta and Louis stared in stunned disgusted silence. Loretta cupped a hand over her mouth. “A deer, oh mah lord!”

The crying had ceased. Babbling soon came from behind them. Loretta and Louis turned toward the back, eyes wide…

Baby Alastor was cooing with a clap of his little hands. 

Chapter Two: “Voodoo, Hoodoo, Does and Wendigos”

After Louis cleaned up the glass windshield, the new parents made their way back to their home in the city. It was in a small suburban neighborhood but it wasn’t where the wealthy lounged further up toward the countryside. They lived not too far from the French Quarter, a popular area where they would visit every week. Pulling up to the front of the house, they got out of the car, taking their baby with them. Little Alastor was soon placed in a wooden crib, where he was intrigued by moving mobiles and stuffed animals.

The parents took turns changing him, one rolling out of bed to let the other get some sleep. Most often Loretta would change him in the middle of the night to stop the crying. He was fed baby food and milk and gradually learned how to eat solid foods. It wasn’t always easy though, he was a fussy eater at times.

Both Louis and Loretta watched as he crawled along the rugs and the floor, slowly exploring his surroundings. Their eyes filled with devotion to their son. Soon enough, he began to take his first steps. He was feed and mostly cared for by his mother.

Time went on and little four year old Alastor was soon in kindergarten just as the new century was beginning. Everything appeared to be going smoothly. Alastor would frequently read picture books by himself. He could use both hands to write and do arts and crafts. When he wasn’t alone, he would be a class comedian for the other children. His peers enjoyed having him around. He needed that good balance between socializing with new potential friends and spending time by himself.

Every time Loretta would drop him off, he would cry, not wanting to leave her. But he soon grew to like his classmates and the things he learned about. ABCs, simple math, animals, and beginning French. His report card was full of stellar comments.

The twentieth century had begun. Alastor would start first and second grade soon.

Loretta never knew quite when her husband had started become more aloof as the years went by. He was often busy at work and rarely got to see his son. When he did see him, he would mostly be tired and ask Loretta when dinner was ready. If Alastor acted out at home, Louis would growl and yell if he was in a bad mood. Just like at work, he would take out a gasper, inhale and let out puffs of smoke from his mouth.

“Doesn’t smell very good,” Alastor remarked, earning a glare from Louis.

“Ya get used to it,” his mother said.

Perhaps it was his job and the church that occupied his mind so often. Maybe he was already tired of raising a child and he wanted Loretta all to himself again. Whatever the reason, his personality gradually drifted from the kind-hearted spiritual man Loretta used to know.

Alastor never seemed to fit into his father’s ideal image of a son. To Louis, Alastor always seemed slightly off. His skin too brown to be white and too light colored to be black. His brown eyes that would sometimes cross for no reason. The way his ears would stick out or how his dark brown hair would turn an auburn red in the light. Many older kids bullied Alastor for silly physical quirks such as those. Plus, he was lanky and didn’t look much like a strong boy at all.

But there was something else about him that didn’t seem quite right, though Louis couldn’t put his finger on it.

Louis was adjusting into the role expected for men: the provider and the dominant doer. Loretta would be placed in the submissive role more often than she would’ve liked. Most of the time, she didn’t question it, for conflict wouldn’t do anyone good, least of all, Alastor.

 Louis soon became more and more devoted to church. Loretta had to hide her books and Voodoo practices from him. He had been confused and in disbelief when Loretta had told him about her culture. But after he became outraged after she had prayed to Bon Dieu, she never brought up the topic to him again.

But that didn’t mean that she hid her knowledge from Alastor. Quite the opposite. At every opportunity, she taught him the myths of her faith and about his ancestors.

Out in public was a different story. Louis and Loretta would bring their son with them to Mardi Gras every year. One starry night was similar to many others.

“Laissez le bon temps rouler!”

“Let the good times roll!” the people chanted in English, French, and other languages.

Little Alastor would sit atop his father’s shoulders as his father playfully pat his head. Trying not to fall, he would wave his little arms as the parade floats would go by. The streets were full of floats decorated in lights and shaped like zoo animals. Dancers marched in front of several floats, some of them juggling balls or twirling flaming batons. The children would chant “Throw me something, mista!” as the dressed up people on the floats threw necklaces of yellow, red, blue, green and purple to the crowd. Loretta caught a necklace and held it to Alastor. He stared happily at the colorful beads and fiddled with them. Loretta gently put Alastor down and the family made their way to the outdoor markets.

Colorful tasty food were sold at different tables, almost as vivid as the surrounding decorations.

Traditional dishes were everywhere: Crawfish Etouffee, Dirty Rice with liver bits, the Po-Boy sandwich, Crawfish Boil, Pancakes and Loretta’s favorite, Jambalaya. Seafood was quite popular with those in this city. Louis happily munched on crawfish, reminiscing of the times he went fishing with his dad and brother.

King Cakes were also made as tasty deserts. There were even little sugar cookies shaped like party masks.

Alastor managed to find the little king figure in his piece of cake.

He held it up proudly and declared, “I’m going to be a king when I grow up!”

The Cajuns started to head back home, and that’s when they heard them.

Hushed whispers.

Passerby, staring at them, scrutinizing their every move.

Every word, every sentence dug into the trio and hurt like a sharp hot knife.

“Is that the Cajuns? A messed up folk, I’ve heard.”

“Why would that Catholic man lower his status to be with some poor colored whore? I’m surprised they haven’t gotten arrested yet! Interracial marriage is illegal.”

“And having a mixed bastard child, too? He’s probably a troubled confused mess. Why is his hair red auburn?”

“Isn’t that woman a voodoo witch who does black magic and sacrifices? She probably put a love spell on her husband.”

“Ignore them,” mouthed Louis as they passed, gripping his wife’s arm tight so she wouldn’t yell or attack. Alastor’s hair briefly took on a reddish tint in the street lights and, during the day, in sunlight.

Being berated by society just for existing…it was those thoughts that often made the Cajuns doubtful of what they were doing.

Could they keep raising their only son in a world that already hated him?

As if reading his mind, Loretta said, “We must keep going, honey. We must make do with what we have. As the one who prayed for his life, it is my…and your duty to raise him to his fullest potential. Ah have a feelin’ that little Alastor is tougher and smarter than he looks.”

Alastor waved happily as a marching band played drums and trumpets past them. He gasped in excitement as he saw a toy train in a store window.

“Later, Alastor,” his father said, eying him. “You know we can’t buy every toy you see.”

He turned back to Loretta.

“Tougher and smarter? You think so?” Louis asked.

“Ah know so. Ah’m surprised you don’t agree.”

“I do agree,” he replied, though his tone held traces of uncertainty.

Loretta smiled as the boy between them happily danced to the sounds of jazz bands playing nearby.

“Well…Ah do sense there might be a musician in the family,” Loretta remarked with a little laugh.

A marvelous spectacle of fireworks lit up the sky as the Mardi Gras celebration lasted all night long.

The family arrived home and Alastor danced happily after Loretta turned on the gramophone in the living room. A vinyl spun via a needle and lively music played from the golden flower-shaped speaker. The young boy pulled his parents in toward the center. Soon, the trio were dancing around in a circle, singing and laughing. Loretta taught Alastor the waltz and some other dance moves. He was clumsy at first, but he slowly got used to it.

They collapsed on the couch to catch their breaths. Louis handed Alastor a brown box and he opened it. It was the train toy model he had seen earlier in the shop window.

“I couldn’t resist,” Louis admitted. “Not with your sweet face.”

Alastor’s smile lit up the room as he hugged his parents in thanks.

Alastor couldn’t wait for more fun adventures in the future!

Spring, nineteen hundred and two

One bright sunny spring day, Loretta held Alastor’s hand and they went for a walk in the woods. Alastor was six years old.

“Where are we going?” Alastor asked. He was wearing gray pants, an old white shirt and dark colored shoes.

“Ah’m taking you to the house of your grand-mere,” she explained.

“Grandma’s house?”

“That’s right, mon fils. Son nom est Antoinette.”

“Antoinette. What a lovely name!”

Loretta led out a musical laugh as rays of sunlight shone between branches and emerald green leaves above. Her spring dress was thin and dark green, with wave-like designs along the lower rim of her dress. A light green bow was perched in her hair. Usually her thick black curls were hidden or pulled back into a tight bun at work or when she was preparing a meal in the kitchen. But now, in the freedom of the forest, her hair was down. The black springs swayed in the breeze, free of any judgement and restraint. Her spiral heart-shaped necklace stood visible, out of its usual hiding place beneath a corset or extra layers of clothing.

 “Antoinette Duvalier. One of the most well-known Voodoo practitioners in Louisiana. Legend says she can perform spells. Ah know it for sure, since Ah’ve seen it with mah very eyes.”

Alastor gasped with an open mouth. “Whoa! But, wait, Papa says magic isn’t real. He says that those who know of magic will get burned and punished after death.”

“Phonus balnous. Magic is real alright. Both the magic of God and the magic of the spirits we worship. Nothing bad will happen to ya if ya know about magic. It’s just dat not everyone’s been able to see it. The art’s been passed down to only a responsible few. Most people don’t understand it.”

“What about my grandfather?”

“Hmm, let’s see. If you’re talkin’ about mah dad, his name was Roscoe. Solitary guy who made musical instruments by hand. Donated to charity a lot. Skin as black as mine. As for your other grandparents…Your papa did tell ya about Samuel and Abigail right?”

Alastor shook his head. “Yes, but I didn’t really listen. He discussed historical events. Boring.”

“Well Samuel worked as a car mechanic and on the railroad before going off to fight in the war. He was healed by Abigail who was a nurse at that time. Both of them were white. They fell in love and out came your father and his sister Adelle.”

“Where do babies come from? Where did I come from?”

Loretta playfully touched and poked Alastor’s stomach. “From inside yo mama!” Alastor laughed as she tickled him for a bit before they continued walking.

“And yes, you have uncles, aunts, and cousins too,” Loretta said. “They’re more of the…shall Ah say…questionable kind. Best to let them be.”

Alastor saw a family of deer in this distance, peacefully grazing near a lake. A doe and a little fawn drank from the lake while a buck stood guard nearby. The fawn had white spots over its caramel colored coat. The fawn and Alastor briefly made eye contact, the fawn’s face tilted in curiosity. Then just as fast, the fawn trotted away with the doe and the buck.

“Be glad Papa isn’t around,” Alastor mentioned to himself, knowing how often his father hunted.

Soon, they came to a clearing, where a small cottage rested. It was smaller than the Cajun’s summer cabin and closer to where they lived in the city. A dirt path led to the front door. A sign in the ground read “no trespassing.” Save for some wild flowers around, the place didn’t seem all that inviting. Still, Loretta led her son up to the wooden porch.

Loretta turned to him and spoke almost in a whisper. “She don’t like to be bothered by other people, but she’ll open it warmly for her family. Listen closely, mah son. Once we go through that door, you’ll be exposed to traditions that have hardly reached main society. Sadly, your father grows less and less tolerant of it.”

Alastor stared with confusion.

She continued, staring right into his eyes. “You’re old enough to know this now. The U.S. is not accepting of those who look and act different than wealthy white folk. Many folk in this town are scared of us and don’t understand our values. You’ve noticed it too, yes?”

Alastor thought back to the “white” and “colored” restroom signs and how one of his teachers told him that he was going in the wrong one.

“But my skin is light colored,” he said, staring at his hands.

“Don’t matter,” the first grade teacher chided. “Not white enough. From what I recall, you’re black.”

Alastor didn’t seem black or white. Why would anyone think he was a certain color anyway? He had dashed into the “colored” boy’s bathroom, earning suspicious looks from his darker skinned classmates.

“Yes, Ah’ve been there too. And it will only get worse. People only mingle in their lives and nothing is done to change things. Neg di san fe.”

“People talk and don’t act,” Alastor repeated her saying.

 “But now, ya must promise me something,” she continued.

“Anything, Mama,” he said.

“You will learn all ya can, show respect to Antoinette, and most importantly, this session stays between us.”

“I promise,” he affirmed.

Loretta held out her dark brown hand. “Shake on it.”

Alastor thought for a moment that he saw her hand glow a teal blue. Though he didn’t see anything, he could feel the presence of beneficial spirits roaming the woods.

Nodding, he clasped his hand in hers, giving it a shake. Their hands parted.

“You’ve sealed your first deal,” she said. “It’s harmless to both of us, but know that in most deals, there’s a great cost.”

She stood back up and raised her right fist to knock. “Be careful in the world. Don’t take shit from other hombres.”

It was the first and only time he had hear his mother swear. The look in her eyes told Alastor that swearing wasn’t a good idea, even though it happens.

Her fist made contact with the door.

Knock.

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

Knock, knock.

It was a slow version of “Shave and a Haircut.” The “passcode” to get in.

The door swung open.

“Loretta, dear,” said a smiling face. They embraced in a tight hug and spoke phrases in Creole. Antoinette had dark skin with wrinkles and a head of curly white hair. A cane was held in her left hand for walking and her dress was hand-made with colorful fabrics stitched together. Thin glasses were perched under her eyes. One of her eyes was cloudy white.

“And who is dis?” she asked, looking down at him.

“Alastor, mam’,” he replied.

“Mah grandson! What a pleasure it is to see ya.”

She and Alastor embraced.

“Well come on in,” she beckoned, leading the way back inside. Alastor and his mother followed.

Inside the cottage, Alastor couldn’t believe his eyes.

Voodoo alters and trinkets were everywhere in the living room. White unlit candles were placed in skulls on a large desk. There were pictures of Jesus, several of God’s angels and a piece of artwork depicting African deities. One picture caught Alastor’s eye: a black man with long braided hair wearing white skull makeup and wearing a black top hat and a dark purple suit. He was standing in a graveyard, with an elaborate cane leaned against a gravestone. A bottle of rum was in one of his hands.

There were various hand-crafted masks that hung on one of the walls. Herbs, straw voodoo dolls, and animal parts in small jars lined a shelf. Chicken feet, eyeballs, a rabbit foot, black dog tails and even a chicken fetus were suspended in murky liquid. Hanging from the ceiling were stitched up dolls and beautiful tubes of different-colored glass.

Another alter was dedicated to ancestors. One of the pictures showed Antoinette’s distant relative, Marie LeLaveau: an elegant looking woman wearing a red shall and a yellow cloth over her black hair.

“Satanism?” Alastor whispered, recalling a term his father used.

“No,” Antoinette replied. “Hoodoo and Voodoo are different from Satanism and Paganism. Paganism sees the divinity in nature. Nothing to do with Satan, but Hoodoo involves God and the saints.”

She took a seat in a comfy red chair in the living room. Loretta and Alastor sat on a couch with flowered patterns on it. With a wave of her hand, the candles in the skulls lit up.

Alastor stared, open-mouthed. “That was amazing! How’d you do that?”

“Many years of practice, and dedication,” Antoinette replied. “Speaking of which, mah daughter, how are ya skills comin’ along?”

Loretta briefly glanced away, embarrassed. “Ah’m outta practice.”

“Use it or lose it,” Antoinette mentioned. “Though Ah would say dat it’s smart of you to keep it hidden.”

“Especially now that mah husband doesn’t approve of it. Ah’ve tried to tell him about…ya know, our ways, because Ah thought he’d understand…”

She felt guilty.

Antoinette looked at her with a mixture of disappointment and concern. “Well, Ah can see how ya feel, since ya love him dearly. But now ya see what happens when ya try and explain it to outsiders. They are led by misconceptions, assumptions made by mainstream society about what is right and wrong. It’s best to lay low for a while, but whenever ya can, do your part for our community…and for me.”

“Yes, Mama,” she said. “Ah’ve been to several Voodoo ceremonies and even got to led one as well. But the people there say they miss Antoinette the Great Queen. No one can do magic like ya. Ah can barely even make a flower grow now.”

“Anyone can learn magic, dear. There are many different forms of it. But remember, whatever energy ya put out, also must be returned eventually.”

“I have a question,” Alastor pipped up. “If we can use magic, why not make it so other people can stop bringing us down?”

Both of them stared at the young boy. They were shocked, yes, but also found him admirable, if not prone to recklessness. There was cleverness and a desire for immediate change in this kid. Already he knew more about life than others his age.

“Alastor, darling,” said his mother. “Ah’ve wanted to do the same thing for a while. But that would only cause mass panic and suspicion. Do ya really want to use magic in public to increase the risk of going to the Big House?”

“I…hadn’t thought about that…”

“Or worse,” Antoinette added, “Those who are seen as criminals or even homos are either beaten up or thrown into da asylum to rot. Once you’re there, there’s no escape. That is, if you’re still alive after they find ya. It’s best to be cautious and let the Big Sleep come naturally.”

Alastor nodded.

“Now then, for some history. While Voodoo is a religion, Hoodoo is not, though they may appear to be the same thing. Hoodoo originated from Africa, while Voodoo arose from Haiti. In Hoodoo, practitioners practice a form of folk magic who often call on Roman Catholic saints or biblical characters for aid.”

She held some purple crystal pieces and crushed herbs in her hand. “We often use different items to help us with healing, fortune telling and spell casting. For example…”

She put the amethyst crystal shards and crushed lavender into a bowl and mixed them up.  She uttered an ancient incantation and the items glowed in a calming purple light. Alastor could feel tension ease away.

“This simple spell is used to help relax people before rituals. It gives them a sense of spiritual calmness.”  She dusted off her hands and turned back to her two family members. “Ah gave thanks to Mary and Saint Joseph for dat one.”

She held out herbs in her hands and explained how they could heal cuts, sooth burns, and ease pain. Others could be consumed to help fight off cramps and colds.

 “In Voodoo, followers believe in a supreme creator known as Bondye, or Bon Dieu, French for “good God.” As Bondye doesn’t interfere with us mortals, the spirits known as Loa are called. There are many different types: the beneficial Rada, the malevolent Petro and the Ghede who work with the dead. All of them are neutral spirits, they have quirks and flaws like we do.”

Alastor listened intently, amazed at this obscure hidden faith being revealed to him. He could see why Loretta had wanted him to shake her hand…he was half tempted to excitedly tell his father about all he had learned. But common sense ruled out.

Antoinette continued. “Mah father would sometimes call upon da Ghede to appease the grief of loved ones…those who wanted to hear their voices one last time. But with increased demands, he grew weary of his work. More people wanted to see their loved ones…and the more he opened the rift between here and da spirit world, the more years he lost from his life. He decided to let da spirits be and focus on more simple healing rituals. Sadly, he died very young from da hands of a plantation slave owner.”

Different Voodoo symbols floated in the air around her: light blue for Rado, red for Petro, and gray for the death-related Loa family. “Ah’m affiliated with all da Loa types, but Ah use magic for da good of others and ma-self.”

“How exciting!” Alastor said with a clap of his hands. “What spell shall we do first? Can I win bets? Have good luck in school?”

“Whoa whoa, slow down, Al,” said Antoinette with a laugh.

“I prefer Alastor, please,” he said.

“Ya can’t just use magic in public for trivial matters like dat! Magic is meant to be practiced in secret.”

“Or as a last resort,” Loretta added. “And never for evil. Another misconception about Voodoo magic…it’s not “evil” at all.”

Antoinette continued. “You need to think of da spell in your head and focus on your objective. You could also chant out loud or snap ya fingers. Ya just need to concentrate. Calling on Loas helps for more complex spells and rituals.”

Loretta looked at Alastor. “Well then, shall we get started?”

Alastor took a breath. “Yes, let’s do this!”

For about half an hour, the three of them practiced simple tasks. Lighting candles, mixing and grinding herbs, learning how to use a needle and thread. Alastor couldn’t light his candle, but Antoinette and Loretta managed to, perfectly. Loretta, with some effort, lifted a book in the air without touching it. Alastor tried to hold it in place with his hands out, but the book fell and landed on his foot after Loretta let go.

“Owww!” He cried out, rubbing his foot.

“I’ll get some ice,” Loretta said in embarrassment.

Then, Alastor learned some Creole words, though there were several he couldn’t pronounce correctly.

“Pronunciation is everything when it comes to ceremonies and spells,” Antoinette stated after several incorrect wordings led to sparks getting on his clothing and in his face.

Later on, Antoinette raised a fat straw doll in front of her off the ground using only intense focus. The doll had a stitched on smile and black buttons for eyes. The hair on its head was whitish and curly. Loretta could keep hers in the air for a few seconds before it dropped. Her doll looked like a beautiful young woman with a little fabric dress.

“These dolls represent spirits and ancestors. They aren’t used to harm others with pins, as many people believe. Ya doin’ alright, Al?”

“Aww come on! Why isn’t it working?”

Little Alastor was getting impatient. His doll hadn’t moved. It was in the shape of a dog, with floppy tan ears, little black button eyes and a stitched on smile. It even had a small thin tail attached to the end of it.

“Ya got to keep a clear head. Can’t expect magic to work for ya just like ‘dat.”

“Nothing’s worked for me this whole time.”

“Be patient, mon cher,” Loretta encouraged.

Alastor squinted his eyes and tried again. Still nothing.

He waved his hands. Wiggled his fingers, stamped his foot, and pounded on the floor. The doll stayed where it was. He picked it up and shook it in frustration.

“Why…won’t…this magic…work…?!”

He shook the doll in his right hand and let out a frustrated yell. The straw doll suddenly burst into red flames in his hand.

Loretta gasped in fright and ran off to fetch some water. Antoinette stared with narrow, thoughtful eyes. Concern was etched onto her face.

Alastor, however, stared mesmerized by the harmless crimson flames, surrounded by miniature Voodoo symbols. HIs hands remained unscathed. He emitted a joyful laugh as the straw dog’s features were disfigured by the flames.

“Mama, Mama! I did it! My first spell!”

Alastor gasped as water doused the flames in his hands. Smoke and steam filled the room. A wave of Antoinette’s hand blew it away. The smoldering remains of the doll dropped to the floor, a darkened head detached from its body.

Alastor remained silent. Antoinette and Loretta glanced at each other.

“Al…may Ah read your palm, please? Da left one?”

Alastor nodded to his grandmother. He silently went over to wash his hands and then came back, holding out his palm. Antoinette traced the lines of his palm with her finger. She took hold of his hand and inwardly gasped. With a shuddering breath, she let go.

She glanced at her daughter. “Darling, may Ah speak with ya alone?”

Loretta nodded and turned to her son. “Practice some more…safely please.”

The two women walked toward the back into a spare bedroom, closing the door. Alastor, of course, was curious about what they had to say. He shuffled over and leaned his ear against the wooden surface of the door.

“I’m telling ya, there be bad energy in him.” Antoinette’s voice. 

“What on ever do ya mean?” Loretta asked.

“Ah felt it when Ah read his palm. Ah could get glimpses of his future. Ah saw a man clad in red. His clothes, his hands…covered in blood. And what’s worse…a shadow of…”

“Of what?”

“A wendigo behind him.”

Loretta instantly scoffed in dismissal. “Ya know that visions could mean many things. And yours ain’t always accurate, despite ya talent. Read him again, you’ll find something good.”

“Once is enough for me.”

“Wendigos ain’t even real!” Loretta argued. “A Native myth!”

Wendigo? Evil powers? He could barely understand what they were talking about…but he knew they were talking about him. His father had already started judging him for not acting like a proper male. Never mind the fact that half the time, he wasn’t even at home.

Would he have to live under the scrutinizing eyes of both parents?

“And yet magic is real,” Antoinette countered. “You’ve learned about Native and African myths when you was a child. Ya should know better than to dismiss them as irrelevant.”

 A few yellow symbols hovered around her, then vanished. “Fess up. You who practice the beneficial magic of Erzulie Mansur. On behalf of Granne Erzulie, one I revere, I ask for the truth. Darkness rarely enters into children so young. How did it come to be?”

Loretta grit her teeth, sweat present on her forehead. Her back was against a wooden dresser. Though her mother was shorter than her, she knew she was not one to be messed around with.

“How?!”

Loretta sighed in defeat. “Ah invoked Papa Legba, Baron Samedi, and Kalfu. Kalfu and I made a deal to save my son’s life.”

Antoinette breathed a tight breath, eyes wide. “Unbelievable…and ya didn’t think to call on your own power?”

“Ah tried!” She was only now realizing the results of her desperate wish. “What else could Ah do? God gave me hope, as did Bondye. But nothing is ever certain with da Rada. There was a fifty percent chance he could’ve died! Papa Legba said it was a last resort, so Ah figured Ah had to take it.”

“And so ya decided to take a risk with da Petro aspect of Legba, da most shady untrustworthy Loa in existence?!”

Loretta nodded. “Ah knew life always comes with a price. Ah was prepared to lose several years of mah own for his sake.”

“It don’t always work dat way. Ya never know what you’re dealing with when it comes to Kalfu. He’s destructive and unpredictable. Had ya been disrespectful, ya likely wouldn’t be here right now!”

Loretta nodded, insecurity in her eyes.

“It was a foolish thing to do. So many mortals call on the Loa and don’t know what they’re doing. And they wonder why bad luck follows them around.”

“But like Ah said…Ah did it to save mah son. He had to be born, he was running out of oxygen…”

“And now Ah warn ya of potential consequences. A great evil…”

“Mah son, is not evil!!!”

Her abrupt voice made Alastor step back a few steps.

“No one is born evil,” Antoinette explained. “But a greater chance for him to become evil later in life. That is the cost of your wish.”

All was silent for several minutes.

“I assure ya, mother,” Loretta said, standing up straight. “Ah will do all in mah power to make sure mah son follows a good path. It may or may not be Christian led. But it will be a path devoted to kindness, compassion, friendship and love. No matter what karma may have in store…Ah’ll be there for mah dearest Alastor.”

“Just be careful,” was the reply from the elderly woman.

Alastor scurried away from the door and into the living room before Loretta and Antoinette came out of the room.

“Come along, Alastor,” said Loretta, taking him by the hand. “Thank ya for your time mother,” she called out. They walked out the door and back into the woods. Alastor looked back at his grandmother and their eyes met in a glance of goodbye.

Neither Alastor nor his mother talked on the way back to their house. It was getting late.

They walked in the door and there sat a pouty tired Louis smoking a gasper.

“Shoes off,” he ordered. “Don’t need to bring any dirt and mud into the house.”

Alastor took off his boots while Loretta removed her shoes.

“What took you so long, darling?” he asked his wife.

“Just took Al for a walk,” she replied simply.

Louis stared in disgust at the dirt on their clothes. “Awfully long walk. What did you do? Teach him filthy magic while playing in the dirt?”

“No,” she said more firmly. “Just a simple walk.”

“You better not be lying,” he said as he stood up. “Good wives don’t deceive. I saw you when you somehow made a flower appear in a pot outside. Be lucky that I’m here to protect you from witch-hunting officials.”

“Of course not,” she stuttered, reaching out to touch him. He slapped her hand away.

“Good. Get the roast ready. It should’ve already been in the oven by now.”

She sighed and left toward the kitchen without another word. She would have to make sure she was alone or in a safe place to practice. “Ah wonder how well Alastor could sew dolls?” she thought. “Or perhaps make jambalaya with me. It gets boring cooking by mah-self all the time. He’ll have to learn some beneficial magic. Make him more confident, at least.”

Alastor sat in his room and read a book on Native American myths before going to bed. He stumbled across a picture of a tall skeletal beast with antlers. The beast had visible ribs and long limbs.

“Wendigo/wetiko: an evil spirit from the folklore of First Nations Algonquian tribes. Wendigo is described as a monster with human characteristics or as a spirit who possessed a human being. Its influence is said to invoke acts of murder, cannibalism and greed that cannot be satisfied. Other associations include winter, famine and starvation.”

 Just the look of the creature gave Alastor the heebie jeebies.

“The wendigo is never satisfied after killing and consuming one person; they are constantly searching for new victims. Wendigo psychosis has been reported in historical accounts. A human would become possessed by the Wendigo spirit after being in a situation of needing food and resorting to cannibalism to survive. The sole remedy for those possessed was death. American colonialism has been equated with the Wendigo as a metaphor.”

“Wendigos describe a dark aspect of human nature: the desire toward greed, consumption and disregard for other life in the pursuit of increasing one’s reputation.”

His grandmother must’ve gone screwy in her old age. There was no way in Heaven or Hell that he would associate with such an infernal beast.

He turned off the light and eventually fell asleep. 

Chapter Three: “Never Knew I Needed”

The starry sky was dark indigo, with a few small clouds strolling by. A peculiar planet-sized red Pentagram pulsed with energy over a modern looking city below. Faint red light colored part of the sky like moonlight.

But this place wasn’t peaceful New Orleans…it was Hell.

The city was in chaos. Not the usual Turf Wars fought over by powerful demons. This was pandemonium, even for the Inferno.

And speaking of infernos…

Raging fires lit up the streets in furious oranges, devious reds and blinding yellows. They consumed broken windows and several wrecked cars. One burning car was on the road and another was partway inside another building. A pink neon sign of a posing Angel Dust stood in contrast to the light of the flames.

But that wasn’t all that was occurring.

With shrieks and laughter, horned voodoo imps wearing top hats and fancy black clothing raced out of a store, carrying bags of food and money they had just looted. One imp stood over a red screaming demon, holding a sharp knife over him. The demon screamed as he was brutally stabbed. Another imp proudly held a red demon’s head on a sharp pike. Two other demons sat at a table with a white tablecloth, watching the carnage below.

And the deer.

Deer were everywhere, of all shapes and sizes. The brown furry deer lay motionless in the street, at least four unfortunate ones. Some were stags, some were does, one had white spots on its coat. They all lay in pools of crimson blood. A horde of imps gathered around one deer and began feasting. A skeleton deer stood in the background. Three hovering shadow stags grinned evilly in various spots, their eyes glowing red.

Jack, a furry brown animal, huddled in fear against a building. Cameron, a blonde haired woman, stood with her back and arms against a wall, a look of sheer terror on her face. Animals were bad enough for this therapist who suffered from Zoophobia. Animal-like demons were even worse. Tom, the teenage black-wearing incubus, sat on top of another building, legs dangling out.

Thankfully, the three fellows glanced at a small portal off in the distance. Cameron silently called them over and they raced through it, back to their home world. The demons weren’t so lucky.

The scene faded to black. Standing in the air, larger than life was a beaming grown-up human Alastor, dressed in dark pants and a fancy white shirt with a bow tie under his neck.

“Hello Grandmother!” he greeted cheerfully.

“Alastor?”

Her grandson stared at her with loving wide brown eyes. “You see only the best in me, right?”

“Of course, dear boy.”

She reached out to hug him but he vanished.

He appeared behind her as she turned around.

His voice changed into a low radio voice, not moving his mouth. “Good. Because everyone will know what I’m capable of.”

He eyes turned pitch black before small tentacles slid from the sockets. His skin turned from a healthy brown to a deathly gray. Large black antlers sprouted from his head, visible even in the darkness. His clothing was replaced with a long red dress coat with small vertical stripes and a black bow-tie under his neck. His hair became longer, black and red in color. Tall fluffy tuffs shaped like deer ears emerged from his head. His fingers turned into deadly claws, his white teeth growing yellow and sharp. His black eyes filled with glowing red light as his mouth inched into a wider smile.

She was paralyzed.

He towered over her, his mouth opening ever wider. Beyond the sharp teeth, black gums and lavender tongue was a maw of black. Radio static and evil laughter consumed all else…

Antoinette awoke with a start, breathing in gasps of air. Sweat dotted her dark brown forehead and her wrinkled fingers were gripping the bedsheets. Traces of the vision were already fading. Before starting her usual day of gardening, cooking and rituals, she clasped her hands together.

“Please God…please God…” she pleaded, praying to both the Heavenly Father and Bondye, “keep mah grandson safe and on the right path.”

Autumn, nineteen hundred and three

Young Alastor was seven years old, now in third year. Elementary school would last eight years, followed by four years of high school. He wore blue pants, brown shoes, and a tan buttoned shirt. A checkered hat was on his head. The clothing felt tighter than his usual loose outfits he wore at home.

In a line, Alastor followed his classmates into the room. The large classroom was full of wooden desks in rows, the ones with small chairs attached to them. A larger taller desk for the teacher stood near a large blackboard that took up much of the white wall. A round white clock with black numbers hung higher from a wall off to the right.

He took a seat beside other children around his age at a wooden desk toward the front of the room. The older kids in the higher grades sat toward the back and the little kids sat at the front. The older kids had the privilege of being near the windows.

“Alright, settle down everyone. We’ll get started here shortly,” said a voice.

In walked the teacher, a white middle-aged brunette woman wearing a long white skirt, black shoes, leggings, and a plain white top with blue trim around the edges.

She wrote her name on the board, “Miss Handerson,” and began the lessons. The older kids took out their pencils and notebooks. Alastor had several pieces of plain white lined paper in front of him.

Miss Handerson went over many topics: literature, history, writing and math.

“So we know about addition and subtraction,” she said, starting on the math portion. “Two plus three equals five, for instance and five minus three equals two. Now there are other ways to add and take away different things. That’s where multiplication and division comes in. Let’s say I have nine apples for a picnic. Two of my friends come with me and we want to share them. Between the three of us, how many apples would we get?”

A girl raised her hand. “Three.”

“Very good. Three plus three plus three equals nine. At the same time, three times three equals nine as we are adding three groups of the three apples. Now say I ate one apple. I have eight apples and I want to divide them evenly between my two friends. How many would we each get?”

A boy raised his hand. “Four?” he asked.

“Correct. How about if I had four friends? Let the younger ones answer, please.”

She waited while they figured it out.

“Two,” said a boy after raising his hand.

 “Yes, my four friends would each get two apples. Eight divided by four equals two and vice versa. Sometimes, though, you get a remainder or a number left over. For instance, ten divided by three equals three point three. You can distribute three groups of three apples evenly and have one left over. Then you could further cut that apple into thirds.”

She wrote the problems and fractions on the board. “The little dot between the numbers is a decimal. Let’s move on to long division.”

The teacher handed out worksheets for the students to complete. Alastor struggled with the harder problems.

She talked to the older students. “Don’t forget that in order to go to high school, you’ll have to complete the entrance exam. It consists of geometry, algebra, multiple choice questions and short essays. Be sure to know your history, too. It’s administered in eighth year, so be sure to study hard.”

None of the stuff he learned appeared to be relevant as time went on. It was memorization of historic dates, random math problems and interpreting texts. Shakespeare was the worst. Half the time, he couldn’t understand the Old English language. And the part where Romeo and Juliet fell in love before killing themselves in despair…it was all balderdash, to him. Why couldn’t the lovers team up and run away from their parents?

He blurted out how stupid an assigned book was. It was filled with racist imagery and boring facts.

The class erupted in laughter. All except the teacher and several other students who shook their heads.

Alastor was dragged to the front of the desk and made to hold out his hand.

He cried out when the stick hit his palm. Once, twice, three times.

“Have anything else to say?” she asked, eyes stern. Alastor was silent, clutching his cut hand. He shook his head.

“Back to your seat.”

Alastor ignored all the eyes trained on him.

Class was finally over and after sitting by himself at recess, he eagerly followed his class into the auditorium. Theater and music were his favorite classes, and continued to be throughout his years. The theater teacher was a jolly man with a head of dark hair, glasses and a thin grayish beard.

Alastor and his classmates took turns in different roles: led singers, background dancers, lighting crew, prop makers, costume organizers. Alastor even got to play the saxophone, (even though he played out of tune, he still enjoyed it.) The class practiced standing in a line and bowing at the same time to an invisible audience in their seats. From an early age, Alastor wasn’t afraid of being in the spotlight; he relished every chance he could get.

Which led to some conflicts when, in one session, he argued with another boy over who would play the pirate captain.

“I know you want to be the captain,” the teacher told Alastor, “but David’s assigned the role. You’re part of the background crew.”

The black haired boy waved his sword proudly, wearing a captain’s hat with a skull and crossbones on it.

“It’s not fair!” Alastor complained. “I have so many lines to memorize and the role’s so boring.”

“That’s the way it is. Now go up there and finish your lines.”

Alastor glared at David who stuck out his tongue, before marching off.

During rehearsal, Alastor had stuttered over his lines, creating snickers from several of the students. He even had to wear a pathetic small hat with a yellow feathers on it.

The show started several days later.

When it was his turn to sing behind the led pirate, he messed up several words and his voice cracked. The older boys in the front row jeered at him.

“Hey pussy pirate!” called a bunch for fourth year boys. “Keep on swabbin’ the decks with your chicken hat!”

The laughter rang in his ears as he accidentally tripped over his clothing, falling onto the wooden floor. The audience laughed.

He stood and brushed himself off, forcing a smile onto his face. At least he got points for comic relief.

Alastor glared as David and a girl dressed as a princess danced and embraced. He would’ve loved to be in that role, but here he was stuck as second best…well not even that. He was just a random pirate with a script saying a bunch of pathetic lines like, “We gotta row this vessel before that storm comes!” and “Oh no, she’s tippin’ over! Hurry fellas before we’re fish food!”

Why couldn’t Alastor pretend to be on a Mardi Gras float, with children saying “throw me something mista!” so he could toss down necklaces and coins? Mardi Gras was a festive time for everyone that lasted several months. The city would be immersed in yellow, green and purple colors, king cakes, joy and laughter. It was the closest thing Alastor had to a vacation of sorts. It was the real thing when it came to dancing, flashy costumes and enchanting music.

But here he was in a hideous stuffy costume in a school auditorium.

“Pay attention, Alastor!” mouthed the theater teacher from the front.

He ignored the snickering from his classmates and memorized his lines as best as he could.

He was glad when the play was over. But there was one other activity that he dreaded more than math. Gym.

His sports uniforms were a bit big on him. He wore a red jersey with the number fifty two on the back in black numbers. He could dribble a basketball just fine…it was the pushing and the shoving from the others that got to him.

Third year boys against fourth year boys. It wasn’t going to end well.

The basketball was soon stolen from him in the blink of an eye by a burly haired fourth grader. “Nerd!” he blurted out before running down the court. Alastor ran to keep up, dashing in between the fourth graders. One of the boys kept shoving Alastor to the floor. The tall boy jumped and landed a slam dunk. Cheering followed from the bleachers.

The coach blew his whistle and announced the final score. “Fourth grade six, third grade two.” The third graders groaned in their defeat.

“Losers have to run a mile,” the coach said. “Hop to it, boys!” Alastor and his classmates raced around a dirt track outside. It was the beginning of autumn and the sun was still deadly hot. No merciful cool breeze to aide him along the way.

His uniform clung to his skin as he huffed and puffed.

“Don’t stop, Alastor!” yelled the coach. “You’ve got forty minutes left!”

Alastor yelled in frustration, tripped on a rock and collapsed from exhaustion. His gym report card wasn’t good.

His father soon found out about it. In the backyard, a baseball flew straight at Alastor and he forgot to catch it in his mitt. The ball flew over his head and rolled through the grass.

“I got it!” Alastor said again and ran to retrieve the ball. Louis stood in the backyard, holding his son’s report card in his hand.

“Alastor Roscoe Guidry. I can’t believe this,” he said with disapproval. “How could you fail gym class? I raised you better than this.”

Alastor in his looser clothing ran back and threw the ball. It bounced haphazardly off to the right.

“You aim is off,” Louis critiqued, as he walked back to get the ball. He mentioned to the wooden baseball bat leaning against a chair. Alastor went over, slide the mitt off and picked up the bat. It felt awkward in his hands.

He missed the ball.

“Strike one,” said his dad.

“Mama doesn’t make me practice like this,” Alastor mentioned.

“She baby’s you too much,” Louis replied. “You’re a boy growing up. This is what the other boys are learning. You can’t make the school team with an attitude like that.”

“But I don’t…” Alastor began.

 “By your age in school, I was the led player and already planning my first job. And you will, too. Now smile and stand up straight.”

Louis threw a curveball and Alastor swung the bat.

“Strike two.”

“Again,” said Louis. The ball flew toward him and this time, he managed to hit it with the bat. It sailed and landed in a tree branch.

“Climb up and get it,” Louis ordered.

Alastor walked nervously to the pine tree. “But I’ll fall.”

“Not if you’re careful,” he replied.

With one timid step and then another, the young boy began his ascent up the branches. He hoisted himself up onto another branch using both arms. Grabbing onto another branch for support, he kept climbing. The branches crisscrossed from above and got thinner.

The further up he got, the more the branches creaked under his weight. Finally, he spotted the white baseball, nettled in between two branches. He reached up with his arm and the branch below him began to bend. He inched further up and managed to hit the ball with his hand. The ball bounced down the branches and back into the yard. He looked down at the height and felt queasy.

The branch under his feet suddenly snapped and he slipped down with a yelp.

He grabbed onto another branch with both hands, his knuckles straining with effort.

“Papa help!” he called out. His feet and legs were dangling dangerously in the air. With no support for his feet, he struggled in desperation. His sweaty hands soon slipped from the branch.

“Yaaaaahhhh!”

He tumbled down, the ground quickly getting closer…

There was no impact…only the feeling that he was falling in slow motion. He briefly saw a teal aura around his body and closed his eyes.

He opened them, finding himself safely in the arms of his mother. She was wearing a pretty red dress made of wool with pink dots on it.

“Mama?”

She gently released him, helping him stand on his shaky legs. “It’s alright, dear. Dat was a close one.” She brushed twigs from his brown hair.

“Are you okay?” asked Louis, rushing over.

“I’m fine Papa,” Alastor said.

“We were just practicing some baseball,” Louis said.

“Then why did Ah walk out and find Alastor danglin’ from a tree?” Loretta asked.

“I told him to get the ball.”

“And ya put his life in danger!”

“A few bruises and scratches wouldn’t hurt him. It’s part of growing up.”

“He’s still just a kid!”

“With no time for him to be indulging in childish fantasies.”

Loretta looked over at her son.

“Go inside, sweetie. Your father and Ah need to have a brief talk.”

Alastor went inside as Loretta shut the door. Alastor stared out the window moments later to see the two of them arguing. The sound was muffled so he couldn’t hear what they were saying. But their open mouths and tense postures were clear.

Alastor opened the window a crack and heard a series of swears in French. He quickly shut it.

He opened it again when it all seemed quiet. Then the swearing began again and he slammed it shut. To his horror, he saw his father slap his mother’s butt, Loretta turning toward her husband in anger.

After several minutes, Louis shoved Loretta aside and stomped up the steps before opening the back door.

“Stop right there!” Alastor called.

Louis looked down at him. “Yes, son?”

Alastor continued, “You can’t keep making me do sports and Bible School forever. I know your game, and I’m not gonna let you drill me day and night like that.”

“You’d be wise to show some respect,” Louis warned. “Remember that Rottweiler that guards the junkyard on the outskirts of the city?”

“Yes,” Alastor said. The family occasionally passed the mostly abandoned junkyard on errands. He had only briefly gotten a glimpse of the snarling, scary beast from behind the barbed wire fence as they drove past it.

“Best hope you don’t have to be locked in there and acquaint yourself with it for an hour.”

Alastor’s eyes widened and he fell silent. He sensed that his father wasn’t kidding about the unusually cruel punishment.

“Keep practicing, Al. Your lessons in hunting and taxidermy will begin soon enough. And no complaining. Frowning makes you weak.”

He walked out the front door, got into the old fashioned red Ford car and drove off.

Loretta came in and huffed a big sigh. “Why Ah’ never!”

Alastor had tears rolling down his eyes.

“Now, now my son, there’s no need for dat.”

She wiped away his tears.

“W-why were you fighting out there?” he sniffled.

“Well, sometimes parents fight about stuff. It’s part of life. But we work it out and move on.”

“What if I…can’t move on? Papa says I’m a pathetic person stuck in the same stage of development.”

“Don’t listen to him too much,” she stated. “You are growing and ya certainly ain’t pathetic. And yes, ya always move on in life. Don’t feel bad if you don’t met his expectations. Remember that fun little saying Ah used to say to ya when you was three?”

“Hoodoo, Voodoo, you do you?”

“Exactly,” she smiled. Dark brown fingers affectionately rubbed Alastor’s cheeks. She used two of her fingers to gently tilt his mouth upwards. “Don’t forget to smile, dear Alastor. It shows strength and confidence. Plus, you’re never fully dressed without one.”

Alastor giggled when she pat his head and gave him a kiss on the mouth.

“Ah’ know something that might cheer ya up even more,” she said, leading the way into the kitchen. She got out cutting boards, a pot and a frypan.

“Have ya ever tried Jambalaya before?”

“Jam what?” Alastor asked.

“Jambalaya. It’s a delicious mixture of foods. Ah’ have a special recipe for it. Ah think Ah remember givin’ ya a spoonful at Mardi Gras once. Good old Jambalaya.”

Alastor laughed. “That’s a funny name!”

“It is, ain’t it? And it don’t even have jam in it. Would ya like to help me make it?”

Alastor’s eyes lit up. “Yes Mama, I’d love to!”

Finally something fun and interesting.

First, she put a pot over one of the old black stove holders. “Let’s light the burner,” she said.

“Don’t we turn the stove on and wait?” he asked.

“Well we usually do,” she said, mischief in her eyes. “But with your father gone…Ah’m feeling more…magical today.”

She held out her hand, which soon glowed teal and chanted “Ignis.”

Flames rose to life from underneath. She snapped her fingers and the flame went out.

“Wanna try?”

Alastor gulped nervously. “I haven’t done magic since…”

“Yes, Ah know,” she said. “But it’s never too early to try. Like Ah said, do it in secret and you’ll be fine. Now breathe in…”

Alastor inhaled.

“And let it out…”

Alastor exhaled.

They did two more deep breaths together.

“Now clear ya mind and focus on what ya want to do. Picture the flames appearin’. Some people can do magic with their minds. If it helps, say it out loud or snap ya fingers.”

Alastor concentrated. “Ignis.” He snapped his fingers once.

Nothing.

“Ignis.”

Snapped them again.

Still nothing.

He grumbled.

“Don’t get frustrated. Just keep trying,” Loretta encouraged, hand on his shoulder.

A pause.

“Ignis!”

He snapped his fingers again and this time, hot blue flames flickered to life under the pot.

“Yes! I did it!” Alastor cheered.

“Ya certainly did!” said Loretta, celebrating with him. She turned the stove to medium heat and put oil in the pot. She went over to a plastic cutting board on a table and showed Alastor how to cut up the andouille sausage and chicken.

“Careful now,” she said, handing him a smaller knife.

Chop, chop chop.

It was rhythmic and fun for Alastor when he used the knife.

“Nice job,” she said. She let Alastor scrape the sausage slices into the oiled pan.

Loretta mentioned to a box of New Orleans rice in a packet. “Ya can go heat up the rice. Ah’ll work on the vegetables.”

Alastor poured the long grain rice into another pot with boiling water. Loretta entertained her son with tales of Mardi Gras in the past years.

“…and then, after Ah draped myself with those plastic necklaces, mah friend and Ah talked about how her boyfriend had played the tuba off-key in his boxers when he was practicin’. He had thought no one was looking. And then it turned out, he’s standing there in front of us, his face hidden by a party mask!”

They laughed.

“Not to mention dat one woman who got arrested after she went topless after curfew.”

“Wow, how embarrassing is that?” Alastor joined in.  “At least I have a sense of modesty.”

Loretta chopped and diced tomatoes, green onions, celery, a regular onion and two bell peppers, red and yellow. She emphasized the holy trinity of vegetables: onion, peppers and celery. The rice, tomatoes, and vegetables were later added together in the pan, which was simmered to low. Finally, lovely pink shrimp from the icebox was added and cooked for several minutes. Old Bay seasoning and oregano were also added.

Loretta turned off the stove and both of them snapped their fingers to extinguish the flames. They used a wooden spoon to serve themselves the delicious looking Creole dish. The gumbo was scooped onto plates and they sat at the kitchen table.

A melodious aroma of flavor reached Alastor’s nostrils: the smell of tomato sauce, tangy baked chicken, the kick of various herbs and spices. Alastor scooped up some jambalaya and put it into his mouth.

It was a taste of Heaven. A flare of exotic flavor, backed by the restless heat of sauce, and a velvety texture…all made to excite the taste buds and fill the stomach. It would be Alastor’s favorite comfort food for many years to come. His body almost seemed to glow as more food fell down his trap.

“Deer meat would go well with this, I think,” Alastor mentioned between mouthfuls.

“Ah agree,” said Loretta. “Your father sometimes comes back home with fresh meat after a good hunt. Perhaps sometime we can add dat to this dish.”

Alastor soon licked his plate clean…literally.

“Al! Not at the table, please.”

“Sorry,” he said, happiness in his eyes, putting the plate down. “That was the best meal ever!”

Loretta laughed. “Ah’m so glad. Louis don’t usually thank me for dinner anymore. Ah clean every night but Ah’m used to it. Speaking of which, why don’t ya help me out here? You are growin’ up, after all.”

Alastor and his mother embraced before gathering the plates and handwashing the objects in the sink. Alastor passed the dishes to her as she cleaned them. The pan, pots and silverware were soon clean and left to dry on towels. The two of them made their way to the living room.

“So Al,” his mother mentioned. “How about ya try your best when your father is around while still being true to ya-self? Ah know it can be hard sometimes, but both of us want what’s best for ya.”

“And what is best for me anyway?” he asked.

“Only you can decide that later on.”

“My classmates…they’re so mean…”

“They’ve been bullying ya?”

He nodded. She gave him a comforting side hug.

“Don’t let their hurtful words get to ya. Like Ah’ said before, smilin’ shows dominance. This town thrives on creativity and joy…looking the part can go a long way.”

Then she got an idea.

 “Say…would ya like to dance with me for fun?”

“Mama, I’m a grown boy,” Alastor protested, raising his eyebrows.

“Not just yet in mah eyes. You see, ya can grow up while still enjoyin’ carefree moments like these.” She walked over to a table.

“Don’t worry, Ah’ can make things more enjoyable…if ya wish.”

With a curve of her finger and a wink, a box of toy cars and a cup of root beer appeared in teal outlines on the table, just within his reach. Alastor’s eyes grew wide and he walked over.

“For me?”

She nodded. “If anyone asks, Ah’ got ‘em from the store.”

“Thank you!”

The toys at the store were expensive to get but that didn’t deter Loretta. Not when she could occasionally cheat with magic.

“What, you think you can bribe me with some toy cars and some cheap root beer?” Alastor jokingly asked. “Well you can!” He took the cup and happily drank from it.

When the sun was going down under the horizon, Loretta walked over and dusted off the record player not too far from the unlit fireplace. It had a needle, some vinyl and a golden horn shaped speaker attached. The needle tapped against a disc that she added to the round space and old timey music began to play. She taught Alastor some dance moves and songs, including the waltz.

Soft jazz began to play and moonlight shone through the large window. The young boy couldn’t help it…he sang his heart out:

“For the making of my first beginning

And for the rare and unexpected friend

For the way you’re always there by my side

When all seems lost, you open my doors wide

My mama standing here, my guardian angel”

“My accidental happily… “

“Ever after,” she sang.

“The way you smile and comfort me”

“With your laughter,” she added.

Alastor continued:

“You’re the best thing I never knew I needed

So when you were here I had no idea

You are the best thing I never knew I needed

So now it’s clear, I need you here always”

Loretta sang her part:

“For the way ya changed mah plans

For being the perfect distraction

For when ya came into mah life

So unexpectedly, yet meant to be

Mah son right here, mah pride and joy”

“Mah accidental happily… “

“Ever after,” Alastor sang.

“The way you smile and comfort me”

“With your laughter,” he added.

Both of them sang a duet and danced together in a moment of pure bliss and freedom.

“You’re the best thing I never knew I needed

So when you were here I had no idea

You are the best thing I never knew I needed

So now it’s clear, I need you here always”

“You’re the best thing I never knew I needed

So when you were here I had no idea

You are the best thing I never knew I needed

So now it’s clear, I need you here always”

Alastor sang the final verse:

“You are the best thing I never knew I needed

So now it’s clear, I…”

The record scratched to a stop as the front door opened. Alastor stood, eyes wide, pupils constricted in stunned shock. Louis came in through the door, holding a pack of beer in one hand and his briefcase in the other.

Both Alastor and Loretta turned around.

“What are you two doing?” he asked. “Al, you should be in bed now! Off you go. Go.”

Alastor gave his mother a quick kiss and hug. “Je t’aime maman.”

“Je t’aime aussi bebe,” She replied.

Alastor had a happy dream where he lived his life as a young red fawn, with a furry red coat and spiral designs on his large furry ears. He rode a flying red race car through fields of tall golden grass. He charged forward and battled large dinosaurs with white skin.

“You’re my hero!” a pretty blonde doe cried to him as he made a monster explode. “I’m Summer! You remind me of my older brother.”

The little blonde doe turned into a humanoid form and led him to a unique school called Zoo Phoenix Academy.

“Welcome to the Zoo Phoenix Academy,” she squealed. “You are going to love it here!” She laughed as she led the way to the theater room.

“Hello everyone,” said Alastor.

“It’s Alastor!” exclaimed a group of friendly animal students. “Please perform for us!”

Soon, he found himself on stage. In real life, he would be nervous at first, but not this time. He stomped his hooves and sang to a cheering crowd. He even performed magic shows to the awe of the audience. With a magic horn emerging from his head, he shot fireworks into the air, colorful confetti raining down.

“Bravo, Radio Deerman!” the crowd chanted as he basked in the limelight. Both his mother and father gave him a standing ovation. He even got a chance to ride atop a Mardi Gras float as more people cheered from the sides. He found himself flying blissfully toward the sun.

He woke up in the dark, the dream already gone from his memory. He lay in bed and thought about jambalaya.

Jambalaya stayed with Alastor as time went on. In fact, he remembered another day when his mother made jambalaya. He had walked into the kitchen and found several empty bottles of Southern Comfort on the kitchen table.

“Hiya mah boy!” she greeted in a drunken haze. “Imma show ya how to make da best jumbo gumbo dis side of New Orleans.”

She walked over to the frying pan where she dumped shrimp, rice, sausage, and diced vegetables into it. The food sizzled.

Alastor stared at it. “Uh, Mama…I think you’re supposed to cook them separately first.”

“What can ya do then, dear fellow?” she asked.

Alastor looked in fear at the stove. “I can turn it off.”

“HA! No,” she replied, raising and lowering her face near his. “It’s called jumbo-lya for a reason.  You know, ‘cause Cajun chefs always lie!” She laughed at her joke.

Alastor repeated the joke out loud. “What do you call a Cajun foodie who never tells the truth? Jamba-lya! Hohohoho! Good one!”

Loretta sang off-key out loud as she stirred in the mixture. Smoke rose from the pan.

She gasped aloud. “Ya know what this needs?! Ah almost forgot!”

She opened the cabinet doors and rummaged around for something. After not finding what she was looking for, she raced into the living room. Louis’ gun rested in an open safe in a long drawer. In another drawer was a cloth bag. She dipped her hand into it, then walked back to the kitchen.

“Ah found it!” she declared.

“Found what?” Alastor asked.

“Da essential ingredient that Papa Legba ordered!”

She moved over to the frying pan, Alastor looking with wide eyes. She released her hand and a shower of a light gray substance landed into the food.

Gunpowder.

A sizzling of smoke, a show of sparks and then…

Ka-boom!

The jambalaya in the pan exploded into her face in a fiery blast. The force of it sent the woman backwards to the floor.

“Mama!”

Alastor quickly turned the stove off and stared down at her.

Loretta was screaming and clutching her charred face. Her hands were blackened as well. Several areas were bloody and missing skin. Louis heard the commotion and gasped in shock.

“Call an ambulance,” he told Alastor. “I’ll handle the rest.” He moved his wife to a safe place while Alastor raced toward the rotary phone.

Soon the ambulance arrived and Loretta was taken to the hospital. Her face was dozed with cool water and soon bandaged up. Thankfully, she survived. Alastor breathed a sigh of relief when he heard she would be able to come home in a few days. Curiosity overtook him and with a metal spoon, he scooped up some sizzled gunpowder topped jambalaya. She had even added wasabi sauce to it. He took a taste of it and his face turned red. He swallowed the spicy substance and his eyes watered.

He laughed as his tongue burned. “This kick is straight outta Hell!” he declared. He promptly finished up the rest…and had a stomach ache that lasted the rest of the day. 

Chapter Four: “When We’re Human”

Winter, nineteen hundred and six

Alastor was ten years old, only a few years away from completing primary school. Snow had fallen and covered the grass like a cold blanket. Bare branches from trees intersected with each other, forming unmoving patterns against the white cloudy sky. The boy was wearing suspenders, pants, a buttoned shirt and a hat. Loretta had taught him how to sew before the winter break. She guided him through the needle and thread motions, how to loop and twist in certain ways so the strings could be stitched together. He had slowly gotten the hang of it. Several voodoo dolls were soon put away neatly in his room out of sight.

Alastor enjoyed every moment he had with his mother.

But on one winter day, Alastor was preparing to spend time with his other parent.

“Papa, I don’t want to kill any deer or animals,” Alastor begged. “Let me stay home.”

Alastor had been traumatized last year at the cabin when his father had caught a wandering stag. He had proudly displayed the severed head to Alastor, who fled into the kitchen in tears. Loretta had a long talk with him afterwards, but didn’t stop her husband from pursuing his hobby. On occasion, the locals would come up to the cabin and Louis would show his colorful collection of animal furs and heads attached to the brown log wall. Some people were so impressed with his work that they considered buying his items. He happily sold the stuffed creatures, looking forward to gathering more for the next year. When asked if he wanted to join the New Orleans hunting business, he replied: “I’m my own business.” It was competitive and risky for a man associated with “outsider folk” to pursue such an occupation. Loretta was having it hard enough with a low-paying secretary job, teaching French in a poor classroom with “colored” children, and daily racial discrimination.

Louis had cheered Alastor up after he used fresh deer meat and duck for their dinner. Momentarily, he had forgotten about the encounter, but still got chills when staring at the displayed head above the mantle.

Loretta helped Alastor pack some clothes in a suitcase on his bed. Alastor’s room was upstairs, neat and tidy. The walls were covered with posters of jazz bands and musical groups. Figures of clowns and circus performers stood on display on his bedside table. Voodoo trinkets and dolls were hidden in neatly stacked boxes in his closet. Louis was standing in the doorway, eying Alastor’s room with scrutinizing eyes at the lack of sport equipment in the room and beautiful women posters. At least the area wasn’t messy. There were typical “boy” toys such as cars, dinosaurs and building blocks tucked into a random corner on a shelf. They had remained there for a while, as Alastor was outgrowing them.

“Ah’ll be back at the cabin in time for Christmas,” Loretta said. “These jobs Ah have are makin’ me work more hours all da time.”

“But you’re treated badly when you’re working,” Alastor mentioned. It wasn’t a question. Loretta had told him how others looked down on her or didn’t take her seriously. She had to restrain herself from hitting a bossy white lady for calling her the “n” word.

“Ah have no choice,” she explained. “Ah have to bring in a little bit of income and help keep da house presentable. Every little bit counts for da American Dream, right?”

Alastor saw the fatigue in her deep brown eyes. It was easy to get lost in their deep sorrowful depths.

“Besides, this will be a great opportunity to spend some quality time with your father,” she added. “With both him and you having a few weeks off and all.”

Alastor’s eyes lowered. “I…I guess that wouldn’t hurt. I’ll be learning something new…”

“Turn that frown upside down,” Loretta advised in a playful tone. A big smile crept up his cheeks and he instantly felt better.

“Atta boy,” Loretta said. “Now let’s finish up so you two can be on your way.”

Alastor zipped his suitcase shut, making sure he had everything he needed. Then he followed his father outside to the red vehicle. They both got in and soon were driving away from the city, over a bumpy dirt road.  

They didn’t speak for a long time, mostly because there was nothing to talk about. Louis drilled him over Bible verses and he chastised him for not remembering them and showing boredom in his voice. Alastor didn’t try to hide his lack of interest. He mostly focused on the half frozen bayou and the frost covered tree trunks as they zipped by.

Before long, they parked in front of their secluded family cabin. A small wooden shed filled with tools was close by, connected via a small stone path. It was a slightly lighter wood color than the wood that made up the cabin. The standard deer head with antlers hung over the higher front structure of the cabin, leading to the porch and front door.

Father and son got out of the car, gathered their stuff and headed inside. It was the same as Alastor remembered it: a small cozy family room with a fireplace in the wall to the right of the entrance door. A brown bear rug in front of several soft bluish-gray chairs faced the fireplace. A Christmas tree had white unlit candles in it along with lights and ornaments. There were even a few presents underneath it. Further back was an ice box, an old stove and a round table for eating. The hanging chandelier of electric lights above the dining table was made of white antlers. Down the hall to the left were the bedrooms and a bathroom. Several jackets hung on hooks nearby, one of them a smaller size for Alastor. They both put their coats on and double checked to make sure their boots were laced tight.

The two of them gathered traps, bait, and a rifle from the shed and then they began their backpack trek through the snow. Alastor’s two weeks of learning had begun.

Alastor calmed himself as his father taught him many things: how to navigate the woods silently, how to set up various traps, which body parts of a deer to aim for and how to properly prepare the meat. He also did some target practice with the rifle and learned self-defense. Although it wasn’t the most ideal experience, Alastor was a fast learner.

“Always go for your gun or knife at signs of trouble,” Louis had said. “No time to overthink things or show doubt. You gotta trust your instincts. Use your gun only for hunting and self-defense. And keep practicing on running, you never know when you might become the prey.”

“There are bears out here?” he asked in concern.

“Yes, and by the bayou, alligators. They’ll chomp you up and swallow you whole if you’re not careful. One unlucky fellow got too close a few years back.”

Alastor gulped. “Was it…really painful when that fellow died?”

Louis brushed off his peculiar question. “Don’t want to know.”

Alastor had missed shooting the targets several times, until Louis showed him some tricks to looking through the circular glass scope. His aims got more accurate as the days passed, the position of his fingers improving. He was soon getting less and less tired and found he could run faster, even over rocks, logs and other natural obstacles.

Best of all, he didn’t even need to use magic.

And, of course, Alastor learned basic survival skills: pitching tents, rubbing wood for fire, finding shelter when needed. It was a peculiar camping trip with his dad, but he made the most of it. Here in nature, there was little to no pressure to be a “proper man.” No worrying about keeping up appearances, showing dominance, studying for school, or worse, making the effort to flirt with girls. Alastor saw girls as good friends but he certainly wasn’t interested sexually nor romantically. He wasn’t even sure if he could ever fall in love.

They walked along through the woods for several hours. They set up some bear traps and trip lines, Louis instructing his son along the way. They managed to catch a lone rabbit in one of the traps. Alastor had chased after another rabbit and lured it into a second trap.

“Impressive,” Louis praised.  

After a while, Louis had spotted a young brown stag.

“Stay still and be quiet,” he whispered.

He got his hunting rifle set up and made sure the bullets were properly in place. He and Alastor took cover behind a large snow-covered bush. Louis silently watched the deer’s every move, the way it walked and grazed at a few grass spots.

A click.

The deer’s ears briefly flicked back as it scanned its surroundings. Nothing was heard except the chilly winter air…

Bang!

The gunshot rang out and the animal fell back on the ground with a thud. Louis made his way from behind the bush and toward the fallen creature. The bullet had made its mark through its furry neck. A hole surrounded by blood, nearby snow stained red.

“Don’t waste your bullets,” he told Alastor. “Be sure your aim is true as possible. Clean, merciful kills are essential.”

Louis hoisted the animal over his shoulder with strong arms.

They made their way over toward the shed, where they proceeded to skin the animal and chop up the meat for preparation. They had propped up the carcass on a long table. The longer that Alastor watched, the less disgusted he became. In fact, dare he think it, he found the whole process intriguing. The way his father’s hands moved expertly when he used various knives and tools.

He carefully separated the fur from the meat and muscle to be used for taxidermy. He helped Alastor as he used the knife and got to work. They both washed up when they were done.

Sure enough, Loretta did make it back in time for the holidays. She gasped in wonder at the lit white candles in the Christmas tree decorated with colorful lights. A golden lotus French symbol shone on the top of the tree.

The family ate a marvelous dinner together, which included roast turkey, duck soup, venison with wine sauce and various vegetables with sweet potatoes. After lighting candles, they sang Christmas songs and hymns to Jesus and the Lord. Dinner was over and the three Cajuns relaxed in the family room. The snow falling outside was a beautiful sight to look at through the windows. Louis and Loretta even shared a romantic dance together as Alastor rolled his eyes.

Little excited Alastor could hardly sleep that night.

On Christmas morning, they opened their presents under the tree. Alastor had gotten a new red bike, coloring sheets, new clothes and new boots. Louis had given Loretta new dresses, an apron, shiny pots and pans and even a box of chocolates. Louis got new tools and clothes. A few strawberries coated in chocolate were also in the box.

Loretta popped several into her mouth with delight.

“So creamy and oh so good! You are a lovely soul. Ah’m lovin’ these strawberries.”

Louis ate a few as well.

“Would ya like some, dear?” Loretta asked, offering a strawberry to Alastor.

Alastor popped it in his mouth and instantly made a face at the sickening sweet taste. He raced toward the kitchen sink to spit it out. Loretta and Louis looked at each other.

Louis shrugged. “Well, I guess sweets aren’t for everybody.” The couple giggled.

Alastor wiped his mouth and walked back. “Nope, never again.”

“Dat’s alright,” said Loretta.

“Ah’m proud of you Alastor,” Loretta mentioned, “for listenin’ to your father without complaining. He told me about da last several days.”

In a rare moment, his father said, “I agree with your mother. Perhaps you are growing up right after all. I love you, Al.”

Alastor beamed in thanks and tightly embraced both of his parents.

A few days later, the Cajuns packed their things and drove back to their home near the city. His parents would be back at work and Alastor would be starting school again. Studying for the entrance exam for high school was bothersome, but he figured he would get through it when the time came.

On an ordinary day, the rotary phone rang. Loretta went over to answer it as she was getting ready for work.

“Hello, this is da Guidrys.”

Brief silence, and her eyes grew wider. “Manman? Eske w byen? Kisa k ap pase?”

Loretta took several strained breaths. “Nou pral gen dwa la.”

Alastor walked over as she hung up the phone. “Who was that?”

She looked Alastor right in the eyes. “It’s your grandmother. She’s dying.”

“What?!”

“We have to go see her. Quickly now!”

Alastor rushed to get ready. “I’ll go get Papa!” He raced down the hall.

“Al, wait!” Loretta called, hand stretched out.

“Papa, my grandmother’s sick!”

“Really?”

The two guys hurried down the hall to Loretta.

Louis was already rotating the dials on the phone, calling for a doctor.

“What’s the address?” he asked.

Alastor told it to him, as Loretta looked fearful.

“And her name is…”

“Antoinette Marie Duvalier,” Alastor said. The doctor looked through the records and said, “Don’t know anyone by that name. Whoever she is, she’s not in our system…”

“Let’s go son,” Loretta said.

Louis finished calling and hung up. “I’m coming too.”

“No, stay here.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Please, love.”

“No. Why don’t you want me to come? I haven’t even seen her place, let alone her face except a few…”

Loretta ignored him, taking Alastor toward the car. Louis followed right behind. The three of them got in and drove as fast as they could to the cottage in the woods nearby. They got out of the car and raced to the porch.

“Stay outside and keep watch,” Loretta said to Louis.

Loretta did the secret knock and the door swung open by itself with magic.

There was old Antoinette, lying in her bed with a sweaty forehead. Her breathing was shallow and she coughed every once in a while. Her white curly hair made her head look like a grayish cloud. They moved over to her bedside.

“Grandma?” Alastor asked.

She looked over and smiled at her grandson. “Alastor. Such a pleasure to see you again.”

“The doctors will be here any minute,” Alastor assured.

“Louis called ‘em,” said Loretta. “They’re da local ones.”

Antoinette sighed and shook her head. “No. Ah know those doctors and da place. They rarely care for poor folk and people of color. The chances of ‘em comin’ here are…”

Loretta sank to her knees. “Louis didn’t know…”

She glanced around. “Wait, are there any healing herbs around?”

“Yes, but they take powerful magic to mix together.”

“I’ll try,” said Alastor. He concentrated and levitated several jars of herbs in red auras. Loretta stared at her son in brief amazement.

“Ah don’t think the herbs are strong enough to cure her,” Loretta mentioned with worry.

“I have to try.”

His grandmother listed the ingredients and Alastor got to work stirring them in the air.

“Everything alright in there?” came Louis’ booming voice.

“Yes!” Loretta called.

“Let me see…” He walked toward the entrance.

“No, she wants privacy!” Loretta pleaded, blocking the way and trying to shut the door. “Lou, Stop!”

“Out of my way, woman,” he demanded, pushing her aside.

He ducked through and glanced around. “What…what is all this?” He stared distastefully at the voodoo dolls, potions and the colorful glass cylinders hanging from the ceiling.

And then, he spotted his own son, holding a chicken foot and an animal part over a small kindle of blue flames. He froze like a deer in the headlights.

“Alastor!” he bellowed. He stomped over and kicked out the blue flames.

“Papa, she needs me to heal her!”

“Go outside, right now!”

“No!”

Louis whirled toward Loretta and pushed her against the wall.

“You’ve been practicing that filthy art of magic behind my back. Satanic witch.”

“Let me go!” she gasped, trying to push him off.

“And leading our son astray as well?! What kind of proper Christian wife delves in the forbidden arts?”

“It was for good purposes…”

She was cut off by a hard slap in the face from her husband. She gasped in pain while Alastor flinched back. “She’s sick,” she breathed, mentioning to her mother. “Let us be in peace…”

Louis gave a deathly glare in their direction. “Your punishments will be severe, both of you…”

Antoinette’s heavy gasping made everyone freeze, opened mouthed.

“Al,” she croaked. Her eyes were moving rapidly and she coughed. “Let…me see your palm again.”

Alastor walked over and held out his hand. Feeble fingers took it and squeezed tight.

Antoinette gasped as magic flooded through her. The visions were there:

The year was twenty something in the future twenty first century. The year Two Thousand Twenty One, perhaps?

Alastor taking over various areas in Hell, him wearing red and entering a hotel. His face was grayish, sharp teeth yellow and his hair red and black. A vintage microphone glowed in his left hand. He was singing and dancing with Charlie, a blonde girl, as Angel Dust, Husk, Vaggie, and Niffty watched.

The visions moved forward…Alastor turning his back on his group of friends, having betrayed them all along. Him grinning as he trapped Charlie and her friends with tentacles, his shadow minions surrounding them.

Alastor handing Husk and Niffty money for cleaning up bodies and helping with his plans. Yelling at Husk and Niffty for questioning him.

His voodoo imps running amok with knives and pitchforks as the demons screamed in terror.

Alastor and Lucifer butting heads, canes slashing, with poor Charlie in the middle.

Demons with red dialed eyes and sharp smiles staring hypnotized at various radios. Alastor’s shadow grinning as Alastor’s possessed army invading Heaven and Earth.

“Yes, darkness is in your future, Al…”

Alastor looking small in front of his demonic parents: a man wearing a dark red suit and bow-tie with a black stag head and fiery red eyes. A woman with red and black hair and red eyes and doe ear tufts, wearing a dark red dress with voodoo symbols on it. Louis and Loretta, as Lord Neleus (king and father of Greek Alastor) and Lady Poena (Greek vengeance spirit like Alastor’s name).

“…but so is light.”

Alastor dancing with Charlie, Mimzy and Rosie on stage at a jazz club. Rosie and Alastor strolling down in the city, laughing and smiling.

Alastor drinking hard liquor and telling Dad jokes as demons booed.

Alastor taking down Sir Pentious’ ship with tentacles and blood magic.

She could see Alastor riding on a shadowy skeletal deer as he charged at black flying angels with deadly spears.

Alastor happily serving clients jambalaya as they discussed redemption at the Hazbin Hotel.

Alastor protecting the group as he fought off a man with a TV head and his associates. Vox, Valentino, and Velvet.

Alastor kissing the blonde princess on the lips on the roof of the hotel as Vaggie fumed.

Alastor, Charlie, Lilith, and Lucifer confronting Gabriel, Michael, and the archangel brothers who wanted those in Hell to suffer powerless throughout all nine circles and districts.

Alastor in Heaven, with white feathery wings, a white dress coat and a new face of a brown deer.

Alastor smiling as Vaggie and Charlie got married in Hell, with all the redeemed demons there to celebrate.

“Yes…there is hope for ya, yet.”

The white winged angel form of Alastor in Heaven, hugging and kissing a familiar dark brown motherly face with doe features. The group of misfit demons in new animal-like forms in Heaven. Angel Dust with extra limbs and white hair with a more human-like face. Vaggie with long dark hair and dark tan skin with large mouth wings sprouting from her back. Niffty with black hair and Japanese features and Husk as a silent white man with cat ears and red wings.

Every character was singing and holding hands as they sang in front of a rainbow. Instead of “Stay tuned,” for the next episode, Alastor said “That’s a wrap!” before the curtains closed with a “Fin.”

She didn’t know what any of that meant. But one thing was crystal clear:

Alastor was with those he cared about, thus his smile was genuine and one hundred perfect real.

Antoinette smiled one last time, as she could see Alastor fulfill his destiny.

“Alastor…”

Her face and body went slack, her eyes glazed over.

Loretta and Alastor buried their faces and cried. Alastor stroked her cooling cheeks while Loretta closed her mother’s eyes.

By the time the doctors arrived, she was long gone. Her body was carefully taken outside. Alastor was furious at them for being so late, but he remained silent. They all mourned her passing outside for a while.

Before the Cajuns left, Louis walked over toward the cottage and threw a lit match at it.

It had all happened in the blink of an eye.

Loretta and Alastor gasped.

“Papa, no!” cried Alastor.

The wooden cottage was ablaze in minutes. All of Antoinette’s work, herbs, pictures, healing recipes…her cultural legacy…now reduced to ash.

“How dare you?!” Loretta called, whirling around to her husband.

“She’s not living there anymore,” Louis replied. “Burning the Devil’s work was necessary.”

“It’s not da devil’s work!” she exclaimed.

“Monster!” Alastor cried out.

“Enough!” spat Louis. He leaned in closer, sternness and malice in his eyes. “Bible memorization, church every Sunday, and fasting.”

His hand gripped a lethal black whip in his belt as he turned to Alastor. “When we get back home son…you’ll wish you had never set foot in that old hag’s house.”

Alastor stared at the consuming flames, anger rising in his core.

Antoinette’s body was buried in a cemetery near the bayou. At a church, the Cajuns had a small funeral. Uncles, aunts and cousins were there too. Alastor, dressed in black, was silent the entire service. They sang songs about her and nearly everyone joined in.

The next day, a ceremony was held by her community to celebrate the “finest Voodoo Queen of New Orleans.” They performed rituals to help her in the afterlife and invoked Bon Dieu, Damballah, Papa Legba and Eruzile. Alastor joined them in secret.

The days passed. Alastor and his mother sat watching the trees and the water.

She had been silent for a long time. Loretta had been reprimanded at work for being late the day her mother died and her wage was cut short. She had been fired from her teaching job and was left with little pay in her other job.

How Alastor missed hearing her musical voice that sang along with the birds during their walks through the forest. Not even the birds felt like singing.

Judging by the upset looks, Alastor felt he had done something wrong. And he knew what it had been.

“I broke my promise…err, deal, didn’t I?”

Loretta nodded.

“I’m so sorry, Mama.”

Loretta sighed.

“I didn’t know Papa would…you know…”

Loretta said, “Ah was worried about what his reaction would be. Ah’ve visited her and swore to keep the art of magic a secret. Ever since Louis became more…emotionally distant, Ah knew he wouldn’t approve of it.”

Tears rolled down Alastor’s cheeks. “I didn’t know what else to do. He’s my Papa. I thought he could help.”

“He hasn’t spoken to either of us,” Loretta said. “He may hide his sadness, but Ah could see it in his eyes.”

“I cut off the deal I made,” Alastor said. “Will I…I…”

“No, no harm will come to ya. It was a rare benign agreement. Ah said all those years ago that the price to pay would only be guilt.”

Alastor nodded. “Deep guilt, I feel it.”

“Not everyone is so pleasant. Be warned, dear, if Ah was an evil demon and wanted to hurt ya…Ah would’ve done so already.”

Alastor continued, “I was so sacred…and…I should’ve saved her books and items. Stopped Papa, done something!”

Loretta put an arm around him. “We can’t change da past. Ah feel like Ah let her down. If she hadn’t had the magic energy to call us when she did…”

“…She would’ve died alone,” he finished.

Both of them hugged each other and sobbed for a while. But when they broke apart and stood up to go toward home, Alastor remembered to put his smile back on. As his mother had said, “You’re never fully dressed without one.”

Summer, nineteen hundred and six

The arguments and troubles reached a bubbling point back at the house.

The ten year old child screams and wails coming from the upstairs bedroom made the neighbors down below uneasy. Then again, it wasn’t their problem, so they continued on with their day. 

“Take this punishment like a man and stop that fussing.”

“Stop…stop it, Papa!”

A crack echoed through the air followed by a high pained yell.

“You’re an impure sissy homo unworthy for His eyes.”

A brief silence.

“Say it.”

“No.”

Another crack. Another lash. Then another.

“Say it!”

Alastor yelled and repeated, “I’m an impure sissy homo…unworthy of God!”

“I can’t hear you!”

The loud cries could be heard around the block. Passerby avoided the Cajun house like the plague.

Raging red lashes ran across Alastor’s light brown back like scratches left by a demon. During their troubled times and forced devotion to the Heavenly Father, all Loretta and her son could do was cry and hug each other like their lives depended on it.

“They’ll heal,” she said, one of her eyes was swollen from her husband’s fist. “Trust me, Al…we’ll get through this.”

“How so?”

She lifted up the corners of her mouth and then his. “Smile all the way through.”

So that’s what he did. 

Chapter Five: “Smile, My Deer”

(Trigger warning, animal harm)

Autumn, nineteen hundred and eight

Only a few people knew exactly how exhausting it was to keep up a grin constantly. Twelve year old Alastor was one of those few. He smiled during joyful times like when he rode his red two-wheeler bike for the first time around the streets. Ignoring the jeers of “Mestizo!” and “bastard boy!” from a group of older kids, he just zipped on by, seemingly without a care in the world. Riding felt like flying into freedom.

He smiled during mundane moments, like when he had to study Bible verses in front of his father or when he nearly mastered putting together his first deer head after removing tendons and skin.

He even smiled during less pleasant events like when the older boys in his class shoved him against the wall, punching him in the face and kicking him in the gut.

“Ya like that, lanky lunatic!” asked a blonde bully leader named Billy who proceeded to punch him square in the nose. “You’re dirty and dirt poor, ha!” He wore a red and white baseball cap, a blue shirt and fancy pants. His blue eyes were cold like unforgiving ice. Alastor growled as his eye swelled up and his nose bled. Defending himself only resulted in being outnumbered.

“Go roll in feces, jerk!” he spat back.

“Fuck you,” Billy replied with another shove.

He yelled in pain and was soon curled into a ball as the boys kicked and spat at him. Finally, after an eternity, the boys laughed and left, leaving Alastor a shaking mess. His clothes were dirty and torn in some places. With shaking legs, he stood up and dusted himself off. His reading glasses had been knocked off his face and now lay in pieces by his feet.

Time for another new pair.

Several hours later, the eighth year bully was pestering a pretty brown-haired girl Alastor had been fond off in the hallway.

“Hey Mary,” Billy said, walking over to her side, a little too close. “Wanna spend some quality time with me?”

“No thanks, Billy. I’ve got work to do.”

“Come on, ya know ya want to.”

He proceeded to lift up her dress and grab her butt.

“Hey, get off!” she cried as he laughed.

“Hey Billy!”

Billy let go and turned around. “Hey, it’s the Ass-lator freak!”

“Leave her alone!”

Billy strut toward Alastor. “What ya gonna do about it? Complain and cry?”

“I’ll tell the teacher.”

“The teacher doesn’t care about you. Nobody does. You’re lucky to not be in a colored lowlife classroom. Why don’t you go cry to your scum of a momma?”

Alastor fumed, his cheeks and ears turning red. “At least my Mama raised me well. Did she pop you out on accident?”

“Ooooh!” called the other kids as they laughed.

Billy clenched his white fists, “You’re dead, goop!”

“Break it up!” called a teacher’s voice. She walked over and separated the boys. “Get to class unless you want the paddle and writing lines on the chalkboard.”

Billy gave him one last glare before leaving.

“Thank you,” said Mary.

“You’re welcome,” said Alastor. “Don’t let that jerk get to you.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before walking on.

Alastor’s cheeks were getting sore as he walked back home from school. A wooden pointed white fence stood off to his left. He was roaming the richer part of the neighborhood. A white wooden mansion towered above him flanked by two tall leafy trees: Billy’s house.

Alastor hummed a cheery tune as he continued walking along the concrete sidewalk.

The sound of sudden barking made him jump and freeze. The black iron fence shook for several moments. Alastor peered through the wrought iron bars into Billy’s backyard. The grass was green, mowed and immaculate. A little black stone water fountain poured clear water softly from the smaller basin to the wider lower one. Tulips, petunias, pansies and daisies formed colorful rows in a nearby planter. The kinds of flowers that would make his mother smile whenever his father gave a bouquet to her for her birthday or for a special occasion.

In the center of the yard stood a white doghouse with a silver water bowl next to it. Attached to a rope was a large yellow Labrador. It was a large friendly dog with fluffy downward ears, a large black nose and big black eyes. The blue color around his neck read Wilfred on the bone-shaped name tag. The dog barked some more before it stopped by the fence and wagged its tail playfully.

Alastor laughed nervously. “Hey there, doggie. You’re not scary, right?”

The dog smiled and panted, showing his long pink tongue.

“If only Billy were as nice as you,” Alastor sighed.

The dog’s fur suddenly stood on end. He let out a deep rumbling growl. Alastor screamed and fumbled backwards as the dog leapt and clawed at the fence. The barking and the wide maw, almost right in his face.

He promptly ran for home and burst through the door. The family room was empty. His father was at work and his mother was humming in the kitchen, unaware that he had just returned.

What had gotten into Billy’s beloved dog?

Billy’s beloved dog…

With measured steps, Alastor waked over to a long safe in the family room and unlocked it.

His father’s rifle lay inside. He snapped his fingers. A little bit of red tinted magic from Alastor’s hands made it smaller and lighter. It could now fit in his backpack.

Closing the safe, Alastor went back outside and toward Billy’s house. The dog spotted him and barked loudly. Alastor looked around for somewhere he could get a better view. Then he spotted it, a pine tree with a thick branch hovering slightly over the yard.

Taking a deep breath and lengthening his smile, Alastor slowly climbed the branches one step at a time. He was careful not to look down. At last, he carefully tested the long weight of the hanging branch. It was sturdy enough. He bent down on his knees and pulled out the rifle from his backpack. All that barking from the beast would surely get attention from the neighbors.

He had to hurry.

Alastor checked to make sure the bullet was in place in the slot and looked through the glass scope. The four straight lines roamed around until they were steadied on a spot on the dog’s head.

Alastor grinned wider and pulled the trigger.

From inside the mansion, Billy was munching on potato chips and reading a magazine full of pictures of football stars. He was fantasizing running for a touchdown and waving to cute girls at Mardi Gras when he heard a loud gunshot and a high whimper.

Billy rushed outside and found a tan limp form on the ground. He jogged over and skidded to a stop.

“Winfred?” he asked.

He then saw the bleeding hole in his beloved pet’s head, the formerly friendly puppy eyes lifeless.

Billy gagged and stumbled back. He cradled the dog’s head with his hands. His fear confirmed, the animal remained motionless, dead.

“Winfred!”

He saw a shadow leap from a nearby tree and a figure run off. Billy raced toward the fence and saw the back of a boy with a backpack, short brown hair and light brown skin.

“Alastor!” he bellowed in fury and despair.

Alastor glanced behind him and smirked before vanishing from sight.

Alastor raced back home, grew the gun back to original size and put it back into the safe. He had closed the safe door when his mother stood there behind him tapping her foot, hands on her hips.

“Explain yourself, young man.”

“Hell…ooo!”  he laughed nervously.

Alastor was heavily spanked by his mother that day and made to clean the house from top to bottom. Louis made him write an apology letter to Billy. Alastor lowered his head, smile still on his face as he handed the apology letter and a handful of money to Billy and his parents at their front door. He was also suspended from school for three days, thus falling behind on schoolwork.

There was one good thing that came out of it. When he went back to school, Billy and his goons never bothered him again. In fact, they wouldn’t even look at him when he passed by. The pathetic frowns on their faces…Alastor considered that a victory.

Rumors spread fast, and now Mary and the girls avoided him.

“It wasn’t me,” Alastor assured, “It was another guy. A misunderstanding.”

Mary wasn’t buying it. “You killed a poor innocent animal.”

Alastor tried again. “Let’s hang out and forget about this incident.”

Mary glared, “You creep. Stay the fuck away from me!” She hurried off to class, her feet tapping in her black shoes as she left. Mary gave Billy a hateful glare before whispering to her girlfriends.

“Boys are such freaks.”

Later on, Alastor was locked inside the junkyard for an hour, the angry Rottweiler chasing after him. He yelped as the dog snapped at his legs and trousers. He tried shaking off the beast, and got bitten several times. His father watched from the other side of the fence with an indifferent look on his face, arms folded.

“If that’s the way you treat dogs, let’s see how it feels to be on the other end,” he said, ignoring his son’s frightened screams.

He unlocked the gate and Alastor rushed out, catching his breath. The gate closed shut, as the dog barked and scratched wildly at it. 

“You’re walkin’ the rest of the way,” Louis ordered before he hoped into his car and chugged off.

Alastor never imagined that he would be wandering on the sidewalk and would suddenly spot a leather bond book on the ground, but that’s what happened. It was just lying there, almost as if it was waiting for him. Alastor picked it up and examined the cover. It had a downward facing pentagram on it.

Maybe it was a library book?

Alastor opened it and was intrigued. It was no ordinary book. It was a Satanic book of spells and rituals. Scrawled on the title page in marker were the words “Property of K.I.L.L. (Killer Imps Leave Loss. If found, return to Imp City, Hell).

No one else was around.

Finders keepers, right?

Alastor also would never imagine that he would suddenly become a member of an evil cult.

But once he decided to take an abandoned shortcut through the woods, he thought for sure that there were pairs of eyes staring at him. Alastor ignored the wooden sign that read “Stay Out Of Our Territory!”

He was soon surrounded by three men carrying spears and wearing white robes that appeared to be bloodstained.

“Intruder!” called one of them. He had white skin and wiry black hair.

Alastor held up a hand. “I mean you no harm.”

“Outsiders aren’t welcome,” said another man.

“Those who trespass die,” added the third.

Alastor stepped back, accidentally dropping the book.

“Wait,” said the first man. “What’s that book, there?”

He picked it up and examined it with a gasp.

“It’s an authentic book from the other world!” he exclaimed. “I know magic when I see it.”

“You’re a supporter of the Omnipotent Satan, yes?”

“Uh…yes of course,” said Alastor.

“Come then, Brother,” he said. “Our leader will assess your worthiness.”

Having no choice, Alastor followed the group toward a group of log cottages.

The leader was dressed in bloodstained robes and wore necklaces made from bones. He had long dark hair and a beard. One of the men handed the book over to the leader.

“Very intriguing,” he remarked. “An easier way for us to connect with Him. Perhaps fate led this outsider to us.”

He turned to Alastor. “I am known simply as The One. If you wish to live, join us and do as I command. For I am a messenger for Satan, Lucifer, Loki, and all the old Lords of Chaos.”

Alastor swore his oath and was initiated. He was “purified” by bathing in a pool of blood and eating roasted pig hearts. He spent his time reading books on how to prepare human flesh.

One was the classic cookbook: “The Rarest Meat: Making Classic Foods From Your Own Brethren.”

“Human meat tastes similar to pork, though it is milder in flavor and less nutritious. It is slightly darker in coloration than chicken though lighter than beef. The chest, buttocks and muscle are the thicker, tender parts of the human animal; you’ll get the most meat from those areas. (The liver is another example.) Breaking the bones and sucking the marrow is a yummy source of protein. Like chicken bones, the human bones can be made into a broth. A few tribes have reported making meat into pastries for neighbors, consumed brains (resulting in mad cow disease symptoms and death) as well as penis soup…”

Alastor tried not to throw up.

“Prepare meat at four hundred degrees for forty five minutes and season with salt, pepper, garlic, and other spices to taste. For safety reasons, like any meat, it’s best to not consume raw. Place remainder of meat into icebox until ready to reheat.”

Being under oath or not, Alastor decided to not tell his mother about this. 

He soon found himself in a bizarre situation.

“But, my parents…I need to go back…”

“No need,” dismissed The One. While you’re here, you’ll be spending weeks with us. Perhaps a few months. Two weeks here will equal two hours, for instance. After two weeks we’ll perform the spell again. Rejoice, Brothers and Sisters, for we have a new member with us.”

His followers raised their hands and chanted to Satan and Lucifer. Alastor sensed time slowing down in the outside world.

Strangely enough, Alastor forgot what was going on in the outside world, altogether. It almost felt like he had lived his entire life with these strangers.

“Alastor, formerly of New Orleans…welcome to our community, the Hazbins.”

He was given a white robe stained with blood to wear, with Satan’s symbol on it: an upside down cross with a fancy W at the bottom. The symbol was surrounded by an upside down pentagram. 

All around him were pentagrams and Satanic symbols drawn in blood. Animal and human skulls on pikes decorated the campgrounds. A black statue of Lucifer stood on a podium, a winged monster with horns and a goatee. He certainly wasn’t the goofy king down in Hell.

The One used the Satanic book to call upon Satan (not Lucifer) down in Hell. Alastor and the other members helped carry struggling victims to the circle, where The One ritually sacrificed them with an obsidian knife. Their souls were then offered to Satan.

Satan was Lucifer’s evil counterpart. He could take on many forms, including that of a red muscled man with a black goatee and large bat wings. His base form looked similar to Lucifer, with a black and red suit, a dark top hat, and a dark gray face with venomous fangs and red eyes. He carried a cane with a rotten apple on top. He explained that souls helped fill him up and warm him, as he was trapped in ice in the Ninth Circle of Hell. Lucifer and Satan were once one being until Lucifer purged his evil self away. He hoped to break free and cause mass suffering in Hell and other worlds.

Satanic rituals with animal sacrifice were more common. Goats and pigs were slaughtered and offered to Satan and other dark Gods before the group ate them.

Alastor was in charge of carving sigils into the bodies of animals and humans for the rituals. He tried to ignore the screams of the human victims as he carved the symbols into their bellies and chests as best as he could.

The bloody lines were mesmerizing the longer he looked at them. It felt like he was creating a work of art for something bigger than himself.

“Satan, ruler of Hell,” called The One, “We offer this body and soul to you. We thank thee for our daily lives on the planet and hope to bask in your darkness once we return from where we came.”

The cult members stood in a circle and chanted, “Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.” “Fear him who can destroy both soul and body in Hell. Fear and hail Satan.”

Alastor had a feeling that this was not how most other Satanic sects practiced. This was an extreme isolated cult, bent on the manipulation of its members via the use of threat, fear, and magic.

Men and women slept in separate quarters, complete with bunk beds and showers. Every morning, the cult members would pray to Satan and Lucifer. They had to recite and memorize the Unholy Bible. They would use magic to steal food from the city and random humans in the night. It didn’t matter whether the members could use magic or not. All of them were bond together under the authority of The One.

One of the main practices of the cult was cannibalism. They believed that sacrificing and eating human flesh would give them supernatural powers and allow them to take on the qualities of that person. If a cult member wanted to become good in music, for instance, they would kill a captured musician. If one wanted to obtain beauty, they’d eat the remains of a model. Alastor found it startling at first, but then grew to like human flesh more and more. Alastor’s new dark desires for killing and consumption were promoted and brought to the surface.

Alastor saw the victims that the cult members brought in. Men, women, even children… of any race. They were stripped naked and locked in large cages in one of the cottages. Sometimes, they would be forced to eat their own flesh, to the amusement of the cult. A blonde woman cult member laughed as she burned a trapped boy with a cigarette.

If he didn’t behave, he could be next.

It felt strange being on the other end of the stick. Instead of being a victim, he was now forced into becoming a predator.

After two weeks, Alastor’s memories of the outside world were returning. He knew that when the group chanted the spell, he would forget his parents, his previous life, and be stuck here forever.

He prayed to Bondye as he ran through the woods. He grabbed the Satanic book and retrieved his hidden clothes. The members raced after him, spears in their hands. They were fast but Alastor was faster. The One stared at him with murder in his eyes.

Alastor shot fireballs at them and they hit them square on.

After praying to Kalfu and casting a spell, a burning branch fell down on top of them.

“At least they’ll be with their Lord and Savior,” he thought.

He reached town and promptly changed from his stained robe into his regular clothes. He had remembered to grab his clothing they had hidden behind a bush. He also had the Satanic book with him. He discarded his bloody robes before burning them with a large grin.

Only two hours had indeed, passed.

Alastor “Hazbin” Cajun, the name had a ring to it.

One of the sayings he had heard from the cult stayed with him: “Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.”

 It was a saying that would later reflect the morals of the power-hungry Overlords in Hell and the merciless rule-abiding angels in Heaven. They were both examples of evil authorities…but one was more subtle, and perhaps even worse than the other. The saying would even reflect his own attitude when, decades later, he would be helping Princess Charlie with her so-called Happy Hotel.

 For in those two afterlife realms, evil existed in many forms…and didn’t always appear as dark demons.

To Alastor and many other individuals, knowing who you were in a world of suffering was better than being a mindless servant in paradise.

Hence why Alastor had chosen not to conform to the status quo. It would’ve been much easier had he lived as a wealthier white man and ignored the problems and rejections of the oppressed. Living life as an ordinary man.

But Alastor was no ordinary man. He would see himself as the star of the stage he called the world.

For better or worse, he was destined for greater things from the very beginning. 

Alastor was thankful to be away from that creepy cult and still be alive.

But his craving for human meat would last for the remainder of his life.

Alastor made his way back home, book in hand, but not before stopping by to listen to a live band play in the French Quarter. It was a group of several men, two African Americans, a Hispanic man and a white man, playing different instruments. One had a saxophone, one a trumpet, one a large drum, and the other a tambourine. The music was upbeat and lively and for a moment, Alastor had forgotten all his troubles. He let himself get lost in the sound, his body swaying to the beat.

The music ended and Alastor clapped. He fished into his pocket for coins and gave some to them.

“Thanks son, glad you enjoyed it,” one of them said. It was a friendly-looking black man who had played the trumpet.

No judgement, no sneers, no disgusted looks. Just a smile and a look of appreciation.

“You’re all so talented. I want to be in a band when I grow up.”

Alastor had spoken his thought out loud.

“No reason why you couldn’t, kid,” said the man. “Only three things are required: Hard work, practice, and fun. There is some competition though, so if I were you, I’d get practicing on my own. You can progress in life, step by step.”

Another man smiled kindly at Alastor. “Agreed. “Piti piti zwazo fe nich li.” (little by little, the bird builds its nest).

“Thank you. I sure will,” Alastor beamed.

“Have a good day, sir,” said Alastor.

“Same to you,” he said, before playing some more.

There was a new spring in his steps as Alastor headed back home. 

Chapter Six: “I Would’ve Done So Already”

(Trigger warning, child abuse and rape)

October, nineteen hundred and eight

During one night that would soon scar him for life, twelve year old Alastor was woken up by thuds and muffling sounds. His mother was cleaning up the kitchen after a long late day of work. The sounds wouldn’t stop, so the young boy got up to investigate. He walked quietly down the upstairs hallway and saw a few empty beer bottles leaned up against the wall. The door to his father’s room was open a crack and a thin sliver of yellow light shone through.

Very strange. His father was usually never up this late. He opened the door a bit and a most horrifying sight met his eyes.

A young blonde-haired flapper dame lay naked on the bed, legs spread out, hands gripping the white sheets. She arched her back and moaned in ecstasy. Lying on top of her, was none other than his father, his penis going in and out of her with deep thrusts. Alastor could not hold back a shaken breath.

The moaning stopped. Louis’ cock slipped out in a wet mess. With a crack of his neck, he turned toward his son.

It was like staring into the eyes of the Devil himself, pure dark eyes, full of anger and malice. The woman, stared confused.

He gave her a look that said, “I’ll be right back.”

He bellowed, “Alastor!”

The boy ran for his life. He heard the stomping of feet rapidly approach. He dashed into his room, trying to close the door, but thick white hands pried it open. Louis towered over him like a wild hairless ape with a black mustache and a frazzled mop of black hair. He locked the door and grabbed Alastor by his shirt collar.

“Clothes off,” he demanded.

His teeth chattered.

“Are you deaf, boy? Now!”

With shaking hands, Alastor removed his shirt and pants and finally his undergarments.

Louis nodded and retrieved something long and black from a hook up above.

The boy’s eyes grew wide. “Papa, no, no, please!”

“I’ve always known there was somethin’ wrong with you,” he stated. “Daily blasphemy against God, clumsy at sports, doesn’t bat an eye at any girls.”

The whip made impact against his light brown back, legs, and chest. He cried out at every painful sting.

“I always have to teach you a lesson every other day it seems. But to rudely intrude on me and my girl’s privacy…”

Magic didn’t spark to life from his hands, no matter how hard he tried.

Tears flowed down his face as rough hands grasped mercilessly at his frail body. 

“I deserve this punishment! Say it,” Louis demanded.

“I…d…deserve this punishment…” the boy stuttered.

“Again!”

Alastor repeated it in a frantic yell, anxious to get the torture over with. Where was his mother?!

Loretta was humming as she washed a pot, then suddenly heard some muffled yells from upstairs. She was wearing a dress of red and purple.

“Now what in da names of Heaven and Hell is goin’ on up there?” she asked.

She turned off the water and walked up the stairs. The commotion and fighting grew louder. It appeared to be coming from Alastor’s room. She peered into the master bedroom and saw a random blonde woman, waiting in bed. The two women gasped, then stared each other down.

“Ah strongly suggest that ya get ready ta leave this house, if ya know what’s best for ya,” Loretta chided.

“Why do you talk like that? I can barely understand you,” she replied, fluffing her blonde hair.

“Here, Ah’ll make it simple for ya,” she said pointing down the hall. “Leave.”

“No, he’s waiting for me.”

A gut-wrenching felling arrived in her gut…a feeling that only grew as she heard the screams. She rushed toward the white door with a long black handle. She grabbed it and pushed own, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Louis! Alastor! What’s going on?”

“Mama, help!” cried her son’s voice.

“Shut your trap!” his father boomed as another crack sounded.

Loretta banged hard on the door. “Ya betta let him go right now! And who’s that lady in your room?”

“None of your business, woman!”

“You let him out or Ah’ll divorce ya!”

Louis let out a sickening laugh. “We both know I’m the head of household. You’re my wife and you’re staying with me! Now close your head!”

Loretta swore in French, kicked and pounded at the door to no avail. “Alastor!”

 “…fucking sissy of a boy!” Louis yelled. “Wait, you’re not into girls. That only means one thing. You must be horny for other guys!”

“That’s not true, father!” he protested. “I’m not into anybody! I just dance with girls for fun. They’re my friends!”

“Lazy dewdropper boy with nothin’ better to do than to sit at home and doze off to musicals. Ya tryin’ to be a disappointment to me and the Lord?”

“No father, I swear! I…I’ve tried hard at everything you taught me and I’ve gotten much better! Hunting, running, shooting, everything.”

In fact, Louis was stunned and a little frightened at how fast he had improved. He wouldn’t be surprised if his son ruined his reputation one day. If he indeed used dark magic of the Devil, it was only a matter of time if he used it to hurt both of them or even his mother in a reckless craze.

Thus, his son had to learn his place.

“Not good enough!” The man’s white face turned beat red, his breath smelling of beer and cigar smoke. “I can see why those at school take you to be a weird sap. You’re lost in your own puny head, not giving a flyin’ horsefeather about what goes on in the real world. You bring mud into the house every day after frolicking around outside like it’s no big deal. What a disappointment.”

“Papa, I’m not a disappointment!”

“If you wanna live under this roof, I expect you to follow my rules. Tell me, you’re a bi-racial freak who hits on any guy he sees, is that right?”

The young boy shook his head. “No.”

“Answer the question truthfully, you liar.”

“Papa, stop!”

“Answer the god damn question, boy!”

The whip struck again. “Yes!” he lied in desperation.

“Thatta boy,” he nodded in approval.

A strong punch to Alastor’s jawbone left him wailing. He had a bad feeling that he’d wake up in the morning with several bruises.

“You gonna…leave me on the streets?” Alastor groaned. “Better there than with you…”

Louis slapped him in the face. “You might end up there if you don’t find a decent job. Believe me, if I wanted to kick you out and leave you to die…”

He spoke in a low voice.

“I would’ve done so already.”

Kicks, scratches, whips…the assaults went on, Alastor gritting his teeth against the sharp sensations. He tried to concentrate on his mother’s soothing voice from outside. He could hear her sobbing from behind the door.

“You’re a worthless sissy slut!” Louis bellowed. “Say it.”

“I…I’m a worthless sissy slut…” he looked down.

“Louder! Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Alastor stared, tears in his eyes and repeated the phrase again and again. He was utterly humiliated…a sickening feeling inside him every time he spoke those self-degrading sentences. The spanking was especially painful…his brown bottom turning red as a beet. Alastor closed his eyes and waited until it was over. He looked at his father and obeyed his commands, anxious for the torment to end.

At long last, the beatings stopped. His body ached all over, brown skin beat red.

Alastor thought it had ended…

Then his father had a crazed look in his eyes. He slowly walked over to him, a sway in his hunky hips.

“You like men, do ya?” he asked.

Alastor lied and nodded, feeling helpless. Louis began stroking his own dick.

“Well, then, for taking your punishment, I’ll give you a little reward…”

He was pinned down onto his bed, stomach first by his father’s large hands. Struggling and screaming was useless.

A horrible presence of something long, thick and foreign, pulling in and out of him from behind…

Rough calloused hands exploring light brown skin, tugging his neither regions, every touch a sickening violation.

The horrid taste of flesh and semen in his mouth, the choking and gagging worsening the experience.

An odorous smell in the air…a slimy substance, sticking to him and inside him, like a liquid pathogen that could never be cleansed away. The room was abuzz with child screams of protest, clashing with low grunts and manly moans of pleasure.

  He felt like a deer that had been run over and spit on.

His father’s face inches from his own…

Speaking in a bone-chilling whisper…

“…and don’t you ever spy on me with my other sheba again, ya hear me?! You were unlucky enough to be born as it is. Crying pussy…”

 He stomped out of the room, and slammed the door to the master bedroom. Alastor brawled into his pillow for what seemed like hours. He wanted to die then and there. His skin sweaty, covered with bruises and harsh blood-filled gashes.

 “Je suis desole…mon fils…”

Soft dark brown arms enveloped his weak form, as his mother sat down on the bed beside him. He knew that comforting smell of perfume and herbs anywhere. She held him in her arms and closed her eyes, tears falling down.

“Geri.”

A large teal blue aura outlined both of their bodies. Blue voodoo symbols hovered around the room, locked in up and down movements. White light shone over Alastor’s body, mending his wounds, making the bruises vanish and turning the bloody gashes into faint scars.

But the emotional and mental scars would never heal…not even by the magic.

The light and symbols faded. Alastor groaned and lifted his head slightly.

“Mama?”

 The smile on her face paled in comparison to the sadness in her brown eyes. “I’m here, Al.”

Alastor promptly passed out. Loretta quietly carried him into the bathroom and cleaned him up. The master bedroom was quiet. Louis and the other lady were sleeping.

Loretta held back the gut wrenching feeling and carried her son back to his room. He was wrapped protectively in a white towel.

She sang a Creole lullaby as she tucked him into bed and placed a new pile of clothes next to him. Choking back more sobs, she kissed him on the forehead. Now, she was feeling guilt at another tragic situation beyond her control. Alastor had felt bad that he couldn’t stop Louis from burning down Antoinette’s cottage.

Now the nagging, soul-crushing sensation had looped back around. Not being able to save her son…no amount of guilt could describe it. 

“I’m sorry…”

The next morning, Louis and the lady left for the day without saying a word.

Loretta spoke in English, her smile radiant and kind… “Your favorite meal, sweetheart. Thought it’d cheer you up.”

Alastor sat down and his eyes lit up. A hot colorful dish of jambalaya sat waiting for him. A mesh-up of pink shrimp, onions, green pepper slices, sausage bits and a few other vegetables. The first taste sent a fiery kick to his tongue.

“Hot sauce, of course…” she said.

Alastor chewed happily, imagining that he was eating his father’s fried fingers.

She tenderly touched her son’s cheeks, wiping away the remaining tears.

“You’re not worthless. You’re not a sissy. Don’t believe anything your father says to you. You are my son…and no matter what you do, I’ll always love you.”

“Y-you really believe that?”

“I swear by the Lord above, I do.” She planted a kiss on top of his head of brown hair.

She tenderly lifted up the corners of his mouth, a playful look on her face. Alastor’s cheeks blushed in happiness.

“Hey, don’t forget to smile, my dear. You’re never strong nor fully dressed without one!”

“Will you be a wife forever?” Alastor asked.

Loretta shook her head. “Fanm pou you tan, manman pou tout tan.” (Wife for a time, mother for all time). “You will always be my first priority.”

The two of them shared an embrace as the weak sun rays managed to shine through the nearby window.

January, nineteen hundred and nine

Alastor had turned thirteen.

“Happy Birthday, Al!” Loretta smiled as she made him, not a cake, as Alastor hated sweets, but an extra dish of jambalaya, complete with deer meat. Louis briefly said happy birthday before going off to work.

In nineteen ten, age fourteen, Alastor had studied hard and passed his entrance exam. He would soon go into high school. He now had a new pair of round glasses that he always wore. His brown hair was longer and tied back in a ponytail. He started having cups of dark coffee every morning, and continued to do so for the rest of his life.

Alastor had gotten much better at basketball. He was even considered to be one of the best players at his school! The jersey he wore still had the same number on it: fifty two. He effectively dodged the other players and even made some slam dunks.

However, as much as he enjoyed the exercise and competition, his love of music and entertainment was first and foremost. He still had a strong distaste for baseball, football, math and history.

Alastor had won a game of chess with another classmate. He had the white king in checkmate using a black knight, a rook and several pawns. He joked that since he had won, he would take the white princess as well.

One day, Alastor walked along near their family’s favorite restaurant, Antione’s Restaurant. His ponytail bobbed in the breeze. The Imperial Theater building stood proud not too far away. It was one of Alastor’s dreams to perform there.

A sudden shrill came from an alleyway nearby. He turned and saw a black-haired woman wearing a white dress and round hat get mugged by a man in a brown trench coat, boots and hat. His hair was greasy and dark. The man had already taken her money and was gripping hard onto her covered breasts. The woman screamed again, trying in vain to get the guy off.

The mugger clamped a hand over her mouth. A rusted knife was in his other hand and pressed against her neck.

“Shh, now. Don’t want to stir up any trouble, do we, doll?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

The man turned. “Scram, kid. I’m busy.”

“You’d best leave that dame alone. She didn’t do anything to you.”

“I said scram!”

He raised his knife over the woman’s head as she flinched and whimpered loudly.

Instinct kicked in. Before he knew what he was doing, Alastor leapt at the man, knocking them both to the dirty ground. Both of them wrestled and grunted. They both kicked each other in the face. Alastor slapped the man in the face, before he was shoved off. The man stood up, but Alastor grabbed hold of one of his legs. He swung it to the side and the man collapsed.

“Why you little…”

Alastor got punched in the mouth a few times, and he spat specks of blood at his attacker. His glasses had flown off. The man sat up and aimed his knife at him, but Alastor gripped his hand tightly, holding it back with all his arm strength. The knife grazed his chest and he seethed while staying focused. Using his strength, he shook the man’s hand and wrist, causing the knife to clatter to the ground nearby. Alastor rammed his head into the man and shoved him against a nearby green dumpster. The mugger cried out. A splatter of dark red blood dripped down against the green colored side of the dumpster.

Wasting no time, Alastor was on him, pressing his weight so the man couldn’t flee. Both of his knees were on the mugger’s chest. Alastor’s left hand reached for the knife and his fingers found the handle.

The mugger spat. “You half-breed son of a…”

The mugger let out a guttural cry.

Alastor had plunged the knife deep into the mugger’s chest and pushed it further in. The man’s helpless screams filled his head and a sudden rush filled through Alastor. Fear…excitement…a bit of both. It felt good to finally be in control of a situation for once. The mugger coughed up blood and his body shock. His head and body slumped over to the ground before he let out a few last ragged breaths. His eyes rolled back and his body went still.

Alastor stood up on shaking legs.

He had just killed a man.

He stared at his bloody palms, bloodstained shirt, and the corpse below him. Tentatively, out of the woman’s sight, he licked his fingers clean.

A coppery tangy taste in his mouth.

He turned around.

“Are you alright miss?” he asked.

The blonde white woman looked shaken. “Y-yes, I’m fine.”

Alastor retrieved his glasses, her purse and her money. The dame took the purse and money.

“You…saved my life…”

“It appears I have.”

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“Who was that?” Alastor asked, curiously.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “That’s the crook who harassed my sister and almost killed my mother. He used to be a family friend until he got on drugs and did horrible things. His name is Marcus.”

“Was,” said Alastor, smiling a little too widely.

“I need to get going,” she said. “My mother’s probably worried sick about me. I’m Belle, by the way.”

“I would shake hands but…you know…” Alastor mentioned to his hands.

“Right. And who are you?”

“The one who saved your life.”

“Your name, silly.”

Alastor glanced around for police. He was hesitant to announce his name to strangers. “I…really should go. You can call me…the Vigilante.”

“Okay, then. I wish you well.”

Alastor made a motion of tipping an invisible top hat to her before racing off into the shadows.

This would be the start of his sinister hunger for blood and flesh. He would trail down the dark path of a serial killer years later, being known by several names, “Louisiana Lunatic,” Bayou Butcher,” “Devil Disposer,” “Deerman” or by a few, “Axeman Two.” 

But before he trailed down that path, he had tracked down criminals, gang leaders, rapists, and racists, finishing many of them off during his spare time in his teen years. He was able to track them thanks to him practicing blood magic in the forest. Whenever he would enter the city at night or when he was without his parents, he wore a black ski mask and a bike helmet fastened with antlers painted black. The helmet had flame designs on it, a nod to his affinity for fire magic. His clothing was dark brown and black. He carried a hidden knife and shotgun.

He was only caught once by police, when he had taken his mask off at twilight.

“Alastor Cajun, you’re under arrest for the murders of…”

The police would never get to finish their sentences, as Alastor swiftly took them out like a ninja of the night. Some people knew his identity while others did not. Many people considered it speculation, and with the help of cloaking magic, Alastor was able to get away with his deed.

Alastor had a favorite Creole saying when he referred to his victims or when he hunted deer: “Ou konn kouri, ou pa konn kache.”  (You know how to run, but you don’t know how to hide. He had taken the meaning literally.)

Thus, teen Alastor was inadvertently known as the avenger, the Vigilante. Tormentor of evil and an enigmatic fighter for justice. He lived up to his name during his temporary antihero days...

…Before a future traumatic event of grief would cause the young man to snap.

…and a communication invention that would set the course of his career and the expansion of his newfound powers.

Chapter Seven: “Almost There”

Winter, nineteen hundred and eleven

“I’m getting a divorce.”

Those words alone were enough to fill Alastor and his mother with a mixture of relief and dread.

Words that were enough to make Alastor inwardly snap. It took all of his effort not to lash out at his father.

“No, please, honey,” she said. There was some part of her that wasn’t ready to let him go. “We can fix things.”

“I’ve dealt with you and…that kid long enough,” he scoffed.

“But why now?” she asked.

“I should’ve done it much sooner,” he replied. “Thanks to you two, my negative reputation is finally catching up to me. Officials came in, stole my animal trophies, and left me a notice. It said that I’d have to become single and work somewhere else to get my status back. My friends agree with that.”

 “Ah can’t believe dis!” Loretta exclaimed. “You’re leaving us because we’re bruising your fragile ego?”

Louis lowered his eyes. “You wouldn’t understand. I wanted to stay with you as long as I could,” he replied. “You and your son’s interest in sinful acts has given me all the more reason to leave. I’m taking all our hard-earned money with me!”

“Don’t!” she cried. That was another reason why she didn’t want him to break up with her.

“That’s final,” he said. He glared at Alastor. “The process will take a while, but soon, I won’t appear to be associated with…”

A knife flew toward him and lodged into the wall next to his head.  Loretta stood with her hands cupped over her mouth. Louis glared at Alastor and pulled it out. “Do that again and see what happens.”

After he walked out of the house, Loretta and Alastor shared their concerns.

“He had every chance to be a good father,” Alastor said. “Now he wants a divorce because of us. We didn’t even do anything, it’s not fair!”

“Ah know, son. A white man livin’ with colored folk would led to rejection and more hate from others. He had to have known that it would eventually come.”

Fifteen year old Alastor had recently discovered his long lost cousin Clementine Duvalier. She was a black woman and also French Creole. He had discovered her by looking at a paper which showed Alastor’s family tree.

Loretta warned Alastor that parts of her family had deranged members. She told him that she was heavily involved in dark Voodoo and sinister acts.

Alastor, being the rebel that he was, ignored Loretta’s protests and traveled to Layfette to visit her.

They got along at first sight, sharing their interests. Both of them even shared their stories of their fathers abusing them. Then she did something that Alastor didn’t see coming. She pressured Alastor to attend the Church of Sacrifice, a murderous cult.

“My father and brother are leaders of this Church,” she said. “If we kill wayward sinful families, we’ll be granted eternal life.”

Alastor didn’t want to be part of another sinister group, but at the same time, he didn’t want to let her down.

While there, Clementine, Alastor, and the other members killed several families in in cold blood. Clementine showed Alastor her method of killing: buttering the heads of the victims with an ax. A father, mother, and five young children were gruesomely arranged on a bed, with the bloodied ax by the foot of the bed. There were buckets of drained blood in the room and a message from the Bible written in blood on the wall.

She gave her friends and Alastor small brown “conjure bags” that would render them invisible to authorities. (They didn’t actually work, and when they did, it was limited to an hour.)

When he asked her what sins the families had committed, the seventeen year old said, “best not to question anything.”

The more people he killed, the more indifferent Alastor became. Like when he was with the other cult, he was pressured to kill against his will.

Alastor told himself that those families had done bad things like murder, racism, slavery etc. But he wasn’t totally sure. In the back of his mind, he felt they were innocent.

But Alastor wanted to see more of his family. And if he did let her down, she probably would’ve brained him with her ax in minutes.

Thus, he resorted to sharing Voodoo spells and myths with her, until it was time for him to go back to New Orleans.

Alastor later found out that Clementine had been caught the same year and had testified against her father in court. She said that her father “made her and her brother kill those families,” and that she was afraid of him. Clementine was in jail until she escaped in nineteen hundred and thirteen, before being caught again. After escaping decades later in nineteen twenty three, she had disappeared.

Autumn, nineteen hundred and eleven

High school was full of drama and, at the same time, it dragged on. Despite being a great basketball player, Alastor was still mercilessly bullied. Charming the girls didn’t always work in his favor, and he found himself at odds with the popular kids. The others remarked on his mixed heritage and joked that his ponytail was “girlish.”

He played in the school band, after practicing and failing at some instruments many times. He could play the piano, trumpet, violin, and saxophone. The violin was the hardest for him to prefect. He had also practiced singing in his spare time and was getting better at it. Some dances were easier than others. Some older folk remarked that he “danced too wild and fast,” but he had a harder time with the slower dances. He couldn’t stay still for very long.

Edward “Kid” Ory was one of Alastor’s role models. He was a jazz trombonist and leader of a band. He had moved to New Orleans when he was twenty one and would often play at the Imperial Theater. Loretta and Alastor would watch and listen in amazement as he and his band played. Alastor watched the young adults on stage and was determined to be in a band like that when he became an adult.

During breaks from school and his menial jobs, Alastor would lean against the wall of the school, smoking a cigarette, catching the attention of several teen girls on the prowl for a charming “bad boy.” Part of his face was hidden in shadow. The three girls flirted with him and asked him to hang out for a while. One of them was bold enough to ask if he wanted to make whoopee, which he did not appreciate in the slightest. A brown-haired girl caressed his shoulder, making him flinch.

“Why do you carry a knife with you?” one of them asked, noticing a long glint of light from his belt. “Are you a gangster?”

“No,” he replied, with raised eyebrows.

“Oh I know, you’re hoping to become a chef. Or a street fighter?”

Alastor shrugged his shoulders, feeling uncomfortable.

“It has to be the chef,” said a blonde. “I’d love a husband who could cook with me! And the dazzling smile of yours…”

“Ah…yes, being a cook would be great. It requires many things…for instance, the naming of foods. Oh! Here’s a question.”

The girls stared with wide shining doe eyes. “What is it?”

“What kind of animal meat doesn’t look like beef nor taste like chicken?”

“I don’t know,” said one of the girls. “That’s a good riddle.”

“I’ll tell you when you get it right. It’s one of my favorites,” he said.

“Is it ham?” asked a girl.

“Nope.”

“Lamb?”

“No.”

“Roast beef?”

“He just said it wasn’t beef,” mentioned one of the other girls. “It’d only be the fanciest kind of meat, I’ll bet.”

“It has to be pork!” said the oldest girl.

“Bacon?”

“That is a kind of pork,” said the older girl.

“Doesn’t all meat taste like chicken?” asked the younger one.

“Have you even had meat before?”

“No, I’m a vegetarian.”

“Maybe it’s duck?” said another girl. “Or a horse.”

“Deer? Pig? Rabbit? Goat? I don’t know, just tell…”

Alastor had used their distraction to wonder over somewhere else.

“Hey, where’d he go?”

“Oh wait!” called another girl. “It’s fish meat! I figured out your answer.”

The jobs Alastor did were menial at best, stressful at worst. He would sell newspapers, clean up dance clubs, and on occasion, help circus performers with setting up tents and supplies. Being at the circus brought up fond memories of when he was younger and when his parents still got along. After watching the performers do tricks, he and his family would travel to an amusement park to enjoy the rides. It only happened every couple of years when they had saved enough money.

He remembered winning a stuffed deer at a ring toss, enjoying cotton candy, and gagging after eating ketchup and canned foods. Since then, he had been an Epicuren, very particular in food taste and texture. He fed and pet the animals at the petting zoo, thankful there weren’t any dogs around.

He even went to a fortune teller to see how accurate her predictions would be. The black haired woman, dressed in purple shawls and large earrings had placed Tarot cards in front of him. The Fool card, representing curiosity and beginnings, was drawn as his card for his childhood. For his future teenager card, the Hermit was chosen, representing isolation. Justice was the chosen card for adulthood, adding to karma. Last of all, the Devil card was placed in front of him, for if he made it past age thirty.

At the time, he didn’t know what they meant, but it was fascinating all the same.

Now, Alastor wasn’t having fun at a circus. He was being dragged by his father to an unfriendly-looking concrete building. A hanging sign read “Reducto’s and Baxter’s Insane Asylum.”

“Papa, let go! This is bushwa!”

“We’re getting to the bottom of all this. We’ll figure out what’s got your head wacked up all these years.”

“Mama didn’t want this to happen!” She had protested when Louis had decided to take Alastor away.

“It’s not up for her to decide such things!”

Louis opened the door and they stepped inside. The waiting room was dull, with a smoky haze in several areas. The two of them sat in the waiting room until Alastor was called.

The therapist was an old white man with short hair, and crooked glasses. He was apathetic and dull.

Alastor cried out when his father left him in the room, going back to work.

Alastor sat awkwardly in his chair, smile still etched on.

“You’re Alastor Cajun, yes?”

“Yes sir.”

“Based on records provided to you by your father, it appears you have some significant conditions. Listing your behaviors here as follows: killing animals, refusing to go to church, happy one moment then mad the next. Many people have claimed to see you murder innocent civilians. Is that correct?”

“They weren’t innocent,” he replied.

“Answer the question. Yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“Colored folk getting into more problems in this city every day. People will be glad to not be in fear of you hunting everybody down.”

Alastor wanted to snap this man’s neck.

“What made you kill those people?”

“I just felt like it,” he replied nonchalantly.

“You have no sense of restraint nor morals. You don’t realize these folk have families of their own. And you spread unease around New Orleans.”

“I do rather enjoy it,” he admitted.

After a few IQ tests, the therapist spoke again.

“Based on your assessments, you appear to have psychopathic tendencies and narcissistic personality disorder. Your charming persona is used to keep others off guard…to not arouse suspicion of your true motives. Your smile, your gentlemanly behavior, all tactics to make others trust you before finishing them off later. You love to be in the spotlight where crowds of people can stroke your ego.”

“You constantly seek entertainment and stimulation. And what better way to do it than for you to mindlessly murder people just for the thrill of it? You’ve used many different tactics according to witnesses: knives, an ax, hand-to hand combat…and you know how to use guns, too. You believe that by murdering others, you’ll fulfil your need for thrills and prove your dominance to others. Am I correct, Mr. Cajun?”

Alastor nodded and spoke sarcastically. “Looks like you do understand me after all.”

Alaator’s charming demeanor would his method of leading Charlie astray in Hell, decades later.

The therapist read off a list of the common traits of psychopathy:

“Superficial charm, manipulative, grandiose sense of self-worth, need for stimulation, proneness for boredom, lack of empathy, many short term early relationships, behavioral problems, pathological lying, lack of long term goals, criminal versatility, lack of remorse, impulsivity and irresponsibility.”

“In short, you’re an antisocial, manipulative, apathetic murderer who is constantly in search of entertainment. Not to mention sexual troubles and dysfunction.”

Alastor shrugged.

“You’ll stay the week under close supervision,” the therapist finished.

Alastor protested, but was soon taken away by two guards wearing white.

For the next day and a half, Alastor was forced to take medications that made him sick. Antidepressants and narcotics. For hours, he felt nothing, no happiness, no sadness. Just a blank mind. His body was covered with scratches and cuts.

And he was constantly bored when not in fear. Boredom was his worst enemy.

Whenever he misbehaved or made mistakes, he would receive painful shocks to his body or his brain. The needle injections were especially annoying and painful.

Not to mention being confined to his cell with nothing to do. The only drinks were water and noodle juice, the latter tasting horrible. Food was only mush and maybe a few carrots.

There were other criminals locked in rows of cells, many of them black. They were drug dealers, rapists, vandalizers and some really were messed up in the head. They were the kinds of people that Alastor had deemed “lost causes,” the types that Alastor swore he would never become. Yet, here he was, labeled as an abomination to society. One of them banged against the door and yelled curse words at Alastor and the doctors. Alastor was shown to his cell and locked in.

To his horror, there were a few women locked up as well. Those who refused to submit to their husbands, walked around naked, or had children out of wedlock. Some were lesbians, others had vandalized churches or police buildings.

Several days later, Alastor was still locked up in a concrete windowless cell block. Only a bunk bed, toilet and sink were in the room.

Deep down, he knew that his father wasn’t coming back for him. He had clung onto false hope for the past couple days. His mother was stuck at home under his orders, so there was no help there.

It was all up to him to escape.

Focusing hard, he summoned flames in his hands, these ones angry and red, despite the plastered smile on his face. One of the guards spotted him as he patrolled the halls.

“Hey!”

The iron door caught fire after throwing a fireball. The flames ate at the bars and soon the iron door collapsed on top of him. The guard pressed a button in the wall and alarms blared.

Officers swarmed in, carrying stun guns. The men were knocked back by the blasts that Alastor threw at them. The men screamed as flames coated their bodies. He raced through the flames and snapped his fingers. All the other cell doors unlocked.

“Everyone, get out of here!” he called out. He fired another blast from his hands and an exploding hole was formed in another concrete wall.

One woman coughed, looking at him in surprise. “How did the doors unlock?”

 “Just found a hidden button in the wall,” he lied. “Now go!”

“Bless you, sir,” she coughed before hurrying out.

One crazed madman leapt from his cell and launched himself at Alastor with loud swears. Alastor moved out of the way and punched him hard in the face. The man sprawled back and tripped backwards into the growing flames.

The prisoners and criminals rushed out through the hole, Alastor following. He ran off further into the distance.

“A warlock and a negro. I should’ve known you’d be trouble. You’re going to the Big House, young man.”

Alastor whirled around to find the old therapist, holding a stun gun at him.

The therapist locked eyes with Alastor outside the wall and glared. With a swift kick, Alastor knocked the stun gun from the man’s hands.

Then Alastor did what he had felt like doing several days ago after hearing the therapist’s racist remarks.

He promptly snapped the old man’s neck.

The asylum building was now on fire. Good riddance. The others would find their way on their own. Making sure that no one could see evidence of magic being used, he sent a shadowy smog over the building. A temporary spell of forgetfulness required his blood, so he cut into his palm. Surprisingly, he had memorized it from reading one of Antoinette’s spell books. It was amazing how he had remembered to cast it.

Alastor hurried away from the building and then along the sidewalk, running as fast as his legs could carry him. He shoved a brown skinned cleaning lady out of the way as he ran.

He stopped to catch his breath. There were bags under his eyes and he was utterly exhausted. Black spots danced across his vison. He knew he would have to recover for a bit before doing magic again.

Alaator arrived home, shaken, but in one piece.

His mother hugged him tightly. “Oh Al! Ah was so worried! How in da world did ya escape the asylum?”

“Magic,” he replied with a shrug. “And I may have accidentally burned down the place.”

Loretta sighed. “Ah do feel for da people locked up in there. But you’re safe and that’s what matters.”

Loretta glanced down at the blood on his clothes. “What on earth happened to you? Go wash up!”

“It’s a long story,” he replied before wandering off.

Loretta read the newspaper as Alastor left. The headline read: “Local Asylum set Aflame by Crazed Escaped Patient.”

Yep, that had to have been Alastor.

She read how some claimed that the person had used magic, but most of them had dismissed their theories. There was a black and white photo of Alastor in his Vigilante costume, the ski mask, the knives, and the flaming bike helmet with antlers. Loretta peered closer at it and she could tell it was him from the posture and the large grin. Why hadn’t she noticed it before?

A section to the side read “Tormentor of Evil: Vigilante Wanted or Needed?”

“Teenage boy cloaked in dark clothes has been spotted by several witnesses during the past several weeks. Commonly referred to as the Vigilante, he was involved in the death of mugger Marcus Denison, wealthy white elite Helena Gerald, owner of several slaves, and several gang members who had looted a store and vandalized parade floats with racial slurs. He reportedly appears in the city at night whenever there’s trouble. On occasion, he talks to people in the daytime, luring them into the woods before finishing them off. No one knows how he tracks them down.”

“One witness, claims that he had several knives, a spare ax, and a row of smiling teeth. He claims that he is capable of using fire magic to see in the dark, and supposedly burn the bodies. A majority of individuals dismiss the possibility of the existence of magic and magicians.”

“Others affirm that he is nothing but a delinquent criminal, who scares people with fire tricks and dangerous weapons. The most likely candidate is a multi-racial teen named Alastor. Do not approach if you see him. The New Orleans Police Department urges anyone to alert them if they see anything suspicious.”

So Alastor was the Vigilante after all. She could understand where he was coming from, but he was putting himself at risk more and more. How many more people could her son harm in his teenage phase?

In addition, he wasn’t using his magic in secret. She was surprised that the police hadn’t shot him on the spot, yet.

The predictions told at his birth had come true. Her son was becoming an evil mass murderer.

Loretta was at a decisional conflict. Should she let her son kill the horrible people and live his life in freedom? Or call the police and turn him in, thus bringing so called peace to the city?

She stood up, put the paper down, and tiptoed toward the phone.

“Ah’m sorry son,” but this is for the greater good.”

Perhaps she could plead with them to have him in a rehab center instead? He would live a mundane life, but hopefully he and so many other people would be safe.

But first, she would have to figure out how to get him to control his destructive magic.

Either he would learn how to use the magic of the Rada, use Petro magic for healing purposes only, or…if it came to it…not use magic at all.

But with his powers being a part of him, his identity would be lost…and maybe even his life. Only a complex ritual could remove a person’s magic.

She didn’t know if she had that kind of expertise to perform it. She only wanted what was best for her son and the city.

Louis had come to visit off and on, but was either busy at work or hanging out in the bar. Her hand had briefly glowed when she had touched his back, trying to get him to his former self. He had ignored her, gave her a quick kiss and was off.

She walked up to the phone and turned the dial toward nine. Turned it again toward one.

Just one more turn to the one dial.

The authorities would be here, and hopefully the city could be safe from any further harm. At the very least, perhaps Louis would make peace with her…be closer to the man he once was.

What else was she to do?

Apparently, she didn’t have to think about it…

For a magical force had suddenly gripped at her throat. She clutched at her throat, even though there was nothing there. She turned around and spotted her son standing there. His outstretched hand glowed with a red aura, and his smile was still on his face.

Loretta choked out and collapsed to her knees. “Ah’m such a fool,” she thought.

The choking feeling subsided and she suddenly felt tired.

She saw him tower over her before her world turned black.

Loretta opened her eyes. She was in the kitchen and appeared to be sitting in a wooden chair. Rope was wrapped around her chest and her hands were tied with rope behind her back.

“What da…”

“Hello, Mama, are you alright?”

Loretta’s eyes widened as she saw her son in front of her. And…was that a kitchen knife in his hand?

She let out straining grunts as she struggled to free herself. The chair she was sitting in hardly moved at all.

The knife glinted dangerously in the electric light.

Loretta’s eyes glowed blue and a faint red glow came from the rope around her. The blue light snuffed out when it reached the red magic.

“Don’t bother trying anything,” Alastor mentioned. “Papa taught me how to tie knots in the woods. If you look closely, this rope is strengthened with magic. Only I can set you free.”

“Oh you’d betta, or else you’ll be getting’ the paddle and be grounded for life. In fact, ya already are!”

Alastor chuckled darkly and held the knife closer.

Frightened tears fell from her eyes.

“Wat’s wrong, Mama?” Alastor asked as he wiped her tears with his fingers from his free hand. “There’s no need to cry.”

She didn’t think her life would end like this. Being betrayed by her own son. The evil had finally gotten into him. She should’ve known that he would finish off those who stood in the way of his goals.

Perhaps this was the ultimate cost of bringing her son to life…eventually losing her own.

She muttered a prayer. She was waiting for him to say, “Any last words?”

So she said some instead. “May all the spirits and the Holy Ones above haunt you forever after you kill me.”

Alastor suddenly looked taken aback. “What? No, no, no, why in the world would I do that?”

“Oh, ya gonna torture me instead?”

“No Mama. But I also cannot let you call the coppers on me. One call and it’s over for me.”

“Your life is almost over already! Ah warned ya not to be reckless with your magic. And what did ya do? Exactly that!”

“I had no choice. You didn’t see the fear in the innocent victim’s eyes before they were almost chilled off by Johnson brothers and Trouble Boys. In fact, there were some I couldn’t save, and I still feel regret ever since.”

“And what about you?! You may think New Orleans is some playground, but one more false move and you’ll be in da Big House for life. You’ll be powerless and Ah won’t be able to save you. Your reputation will be ruined just like dat.”

“Then help me fix it. We’ll use our magic to make the public forget about what I did…the moments when I did use magic.”

Alastor had enjoyed being seen as a heroic justice fighter behind the scenes. And yes, there were many close calls, including one time where a bullet narrowly missed his head. He was lucky to be in one piece.

“Well, you can start by letting me out of this!” Loretta said. “Ah’ll make sure that you won’t be able to use and abuse your powers again.”

Alastor seethed. “And here you were, all these years ago, encouraging me to use my powers for good! I couldn’t just sit there and use my magic for simple repairs and growing pretty flowers all day, could I?”

Loretta scoffed in frustration. “Ah only wanted to protect ya! There’s really no common sense in that teenage head of yours. Ah’ve never seen a more stubborn boy in mah life. Havin’ powers doesn’t excuse you from not dealin’ with life like everyone else. Like an adult.”

“I am an adult,” Alastor stated calmly, trying not to lose it. “I did what had to be done. And we both know that my magic is more powerful than yours.”

Loretta knew he was right.

She decided to try another approach, feeling bad as she lied.

“Your father was right. If Ah have to give up my life so you can’t use your powers…then so be it.”

Alastor’s eyes looked frightened. His smile faltered, which was very unusual. Meaning that she had gotten through to him.

 “Mama…”

“Ya heard me!”

Alastor held up his hands.  “Okay, okay. I know of a way for us to compromise. It’s the part that I was getting to in the first place.”

“A deal, isn’t it.”

Alastor nodded.

Loretta cleared her throat. “Ah will not take part in it unless both our magic energies are combined. We are on equal terms.”

“Fair enough, cool beans,” Alastor replied.

“You’re cold beans,” she spat. “Now what do ya want?”

Alastor’s smile returned. “You will be freed after we shake hands. You will not be able to tell anyone about what my actions were…or what I’ll do in the future, should I choose to save people and live my life.”

Loretta nodded.

“And that includes gestures, writing, and signals, too.”

Loretta sighed. “Let me be level with ya, Ah was conflicted. Ah want what’s best for ya and the city. You being able to live a happy free life…that’s all Ah ever wanted. But Ah also want da city to be safe, too. To think Ah was this close to turnin’ ya in…”

She broke out into sobs again. Alastor tried to hide the sadness in his eyes.

“Now, mah turn,” she said, after taking a breath. “You will swear to be careful and only use magic as a last resort. You and Ah will combine our magic and make sure no one knows about it. Also, you will compensate for what you’ve done by doing community service and finding a harmless hobby that you like. No more killin’s out of revenge. One more reckless move and you’ll be sayin’ goodbye to magic. Mah spell will allow me to see where ya are at all times.”

Yep, she was just your typical overprotective parent.

“Also, the people won’t forget who ya are as a person, so do try and show some decency around them.”

Alastor rolled his eyes. “Oh fine, then.”

“Remember, you do your part and Ah’ll do mine. The spells will be strong. Any breakin’ of the agreement will result in heavy guilt and consequences. Not death for either person, thankfully.”

Her right arm glowed teal.

 “Repeat it.”

Alastor repeated it in affirmation before his right arm glowed red.

Alastor’s hand glowed red and a strange green light filled the room. “So, it’s a deal, then?”

One of the ropes holding Loretta’s hands snaked away, allowing her to move it.

She reached over and together, mother and son shook hands. Both their bodies glowed as Rada and Petro magic merged together, equally. Their outlines turned golden before the voodoo symbols and energy faded.

The humming magic from the ropes ceased. Loretta snapped her fingers and the ropes all fell away.

“I didn’t want to do that, but again, I had to.”

“Why didn’t ya use the knife?”

Alastor smirked. “That was just for show. A perfect scare tactic.”

Loretta stood up and promptly slapped her son several times in the face.

“Owww!” he clutched his face.

“We both admit that ya deserved that,” she said. Even Alastor had to agree.

“But ya also deserve this…”

She warmly wrapped her arms around him, his chin resting on her head. Alastor tightly returned the hug, almost breaking down in her arms.

Loretta heard some commotion outside and let go. “The spell. Now.”

They both raced outside and after facing the oncoming crowd, they raised their hands in the air.

Soon enough, New Orleans had forgotten about all the times when Alastor had used magic. It was a good thing too…because Louis and the witch hunters had almost arrived at their door.

Loretta and Alastor gasped as Louis and the men looked around, confused, holding guns and torches. They all wore silver crosses around their necks. Loretta grabbed Alastor and pulled him into the house before locking the door. They both collapsed in bed after using so much magic.

The next several days went by smoothly. Sure enough Alastor had volunteered to do some extra cleaning and sweeping around the city. He ignored all the jeers thrown at him. He was able to sign up for a band and begin practicing.

Then, one night, Louis got home and asked how Alastor got out of the asylum.

“Did he use filthy magic again?”

“I used magic to break him out,” she claimed.

Apparently, the spell wasn’t completely effective, as Louis still remembered who he and his family were.

“You witch and our bastard warlock son. I should’ve turned you both in. Loretta, I’m giving you one last chance to instill the religion of the Lord onto your son…without mercy.”

Loretta shook her head. “Ain’t gonna happen.”

He gripped onto her dress.

“You’re my wife and you’ll do as I say. I expect both of you to be singing and praying to Him when I return. Or I will turn you in.”

“You really want to do that?” Loretta asked.

Louis paused. “If I must…yes.” He let go. He poked Alastor harshly in the chest. “You will not bring further taint this family’s reputation…and especially not my own.”

The thundering of his boots could be heard as he hopped into his car and drove off to the bar.

“Mama?”

“Yes, son?”

“Do you know what bar he goes to at night?”

“Yes Ah do,” she replied, telling him the location. “He used to take me there all da time. He hangs out with his horny buddies and doesn’t take me there anymore.”

“I might go get something to drink there,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Be careful.”

Alastor couldn’t fight the peculiar nagging feeling inside him. Anger? Excitement? A hint of regret? It was a flood of feelings hidden beneath his signature grin he was wearing at the moment.

The feeling resulted in him packing a heavy duty backpack of essentials. A lighter, cigarettes, a dark trash bag, several circular strands of rope, a gag, some knives, and of course, a shrunken form of his father’s rifle.

Feeling as if he was missing something, he found the last essential item.

It was a red and white box that read “New Orleans Style Jambalaya Mix” in fancy letters. The packet had an image of the dish, complete with yellow rice and sausage slices.

He took it and packed it in a separate larger pocket of his backpack.

“One can never be too careful,” he said to himself.

He was ready and hummed happily as he reached the front door.

“Where are ya going?” asked his mother sharply as she stood nearby.

Like a deer in the headlights, Alastor froze.

“That’s an awfully large load to be taking with ya for just a simple visit to the bar.”

Alastor turned his head to the right and smirked.

“I’m going to go hunt a stag.”

Realization sparked in her eyes as they grew wider. Loretta walked down the hall. “Ya know Ah can’t let ya go,” she mentioned.

So, so close…

Alastor turned around, dejectedly.

She returned and stopped in front of him.

“Not without these.”

She held his ski mask and bike helmet in her hands.

Alastor was stunned. “Mama…”

“You want to be the Vigilante one last time, do ya not?”

Wordlessly, Alastor nodded and took the items. He put on the mask and strapped on his helmet.

“You can tell him that Ah sent you,” she added.

“Believe me, dear, I’ll be glad to send the message.”

She stroked his cheeks and kissed her masked son on the forehead.

“Mah little boy’s all grown up! Please be careful, Al.”

Alastor tilted his helmet to her before walking out the door and vanishing into the night.

A dark smirk crept up to her face, even as her mind screamed, “What have Ah done?”

Chapter Eight: “Tuer un Cerf”

(Trigger warning, violence)

Autumn, nineteen hundred and eleven

Alastor stalked through the forest in the dark. With his dark clothing and stealth, he was barely noticeable in the shadows. Especially on a dark starless night. It was a new moon, a time for new beginnings. Alastor had learned how to use weapons, and to barely make a sound when he was on the hunt. He remembered his father all those years ago, warning him about bears and alligators and how “you never know when you might become the prey.”

Oh how true that was, not just for him, but for everyone. Many people didn’t know this…perhaps the greatest predators in the animal kingdom were not bears, gators, or sharks…but humans themselves.

But humans could also be easy, gullible prey. Alastor knew that, firsthand.

Alasor had been entrapped and scrutinized by his father for far too long.

Now it was time to free himself and settle things for good.

The hunted had become the hunter.

He moved from the forest and into the city. New Orleans was very beautiful in the dark. Chatter and light pulsed from inside stores that were still open during the late hours. Several fireflies hovered in circular patterns near the bayou lake and the glow of tall iron street lights. Cars and passerby roamed the cobblestone streets without a care in the world.

Alastor smiled as the lively jazz music coming from nearby bands spurred him onward.

“Is that…the Vigilante?”

“He’s…back?”

Passerby whispered and gawked as he walked by.

“He’s the one who saved my daughter from her deranged boyfriend,” said a man.

“Or when he finished off that drug dealer who tried to escape with our money,” added a woman.

“Vigilante…thank you!”

“Over here!”

Secretly enjoying the praise, Alastor ignored him and pressed on toward his goal.

“Hey, you!”

Alastor whirled around. Several police officers stood with guns and batons, blocking his way.

“You’re under arrest for the murders of…get back here!”

Alastor sprinted down another street as the sounds of footsteps echoed not too far behind. A bullet hit a ladder with a ping to Alastor’s right.

He had no energy for harder spells…but if he was going to survive…

“I’m sorry, Mama,” he thought as he eyes glowed red.

A metal trash bin tilted over and rolled down the street toward the policemen.

“What the…”

Two of them avoided it, but the third officer scurried away as the bin rolled after him, downhill.

Alastor turned the corner and raced up some stairs, the police following. He leapt over the black railing, bending his knees, and landing feet first on the ground before running.

“What is up with that kid?” one officer asked.

Alastor picked up speed, maneuvering between alleyways and roads. He pressed himself against a brick wall in one alleyway as the officers thundered past.

He peered around the corner, checking is surroundings. He emerged and quietly snapped his fingers. The officers stopped running and instead looked confused. They quickly forgot about Alastor and his alter identity. Seizing the opportunity, Alastor raced off back in the other direction.

He finally made it to the bar and ducked behind a nearby bush.

Louis had stepped outside and was kissing a black-haired lady in a green dress. He tipped his brown hat to her and waved goodbye.

All was silent.

Bang!

A bullet had zoomed over his head.

Louis was holding another gun in his hands.

“I’m gonna kill you, boy!”

Alastor raced from the bush and ran as another bullet narrowly missed his face. A few yells and gasps could be heard from the nearby onlookers. Alastor summoned a fireball and, looking behind him, he threw it. Louis’ gun was knocked from his hands. Louis compensated by picking up a rock and throwing it at him. The rock hit his helmet.

“I knew this thing would come in handy,” he thought.

Racing over, Louis shoved him hard against a wall. Both men grunted and growled. Louis had a thick hand over Alastor’s windpipe, the teen gasping for breath. He head-butt his father with his helmet and he stumbled back, letting go. Alastor got kneed in the gut several times but managed to block the next punch with his arm. Louis gripped his shirt and flung off his helmet with a powerful swipe and ripped off his ski mask.

“It’s all your fault, cursed boy!”

“I’m not a boy anymore!”

“You stole away my life, my reputation! My wife devoted herself to you and for what? It was a temptation of sin, a distraction from a normal life.”

“Normal? You call your bigotry normal?!”

“You’re nothing but a pathetic piece of scum.”

“You underestimate me, Papa.”

More kicks and hits.

“You’ll be on a one way trip to Hell!”

“You took everything from me, and Mama!” Alastor cried, his teeth showing in a grimace. “If anyone’s going there, it’s you!”

With a loud yell, Alastor slammed his father hard against the wall. His head made an impact. Another low kick to the groin and Louis was on his knees.

One final punch to the head and he fell backwards with a thud.

Alastor took out a knife and raised it above his father’s throat…

The knife going down…

…and pausing before the tip grazed the skin.

One might think that Alastor had hesitated finishing the deed for many reasons. Guilt for killing a family member. Hesitation due to wondering if it was right or wrong to commit such an act.

But that was not the case.

Killing him right then and there…that would be too easy. He had prepared himself for a stimulating challenge and to complete it so fast would be disappointing.

A stab in the neck wasn’t good enough for a man like him. Only a proper act of revenge would be in order.

Revenge wasn’t best served cold in this case.

It could only be served in the most tasteful, agonizing…and most entertaining way possible.

Alastor snapped his fingers and the nearby lights flickered out. Confused shouts rang through the area.

Using the distraction, Alastor carried his unconscious father through the city… and into the seclusion of the woods.

Once they were far enough away from the city, Alastor placed him on the ground, back against a large tree trunk.

He unbuttoned his father’s shirt and removed his pants and underwear. The sight of his hotdog made him sick. It wasn’t long before he was naked and hairy. He snapped his fingers and his father’s clothes were burning in a pile. The fire was then snuffed out with another snap, leaving a pile of ash and pieces of blue fabric.

He fiddled around and took out his supplies. First, he took out a smaller length of rope and walked over to his father. Moving over behind him, he crossed his thick white arms behind his back and linked the arms with the rope, making sure they were held in place. He moved the white arms and hands and they held firm.

Humming a cheery tune, Alastor unraveled another roll of light brown rope and began wrapping it around the tree and his father’s chest. He circled around the tree several times before looping the rope into a large knot and tightening it. He took the white gag and tied it over Louis’ slack mouth. For an extra precaution, he tied the lower parts of his legs together. Alastor snapped his fingers and several red and black lit candles appeared in a large circle around them.

Now all he had to do was wait.

Louis slowly opened his eyes and groaned under the gag. Alastor removed it and his father gasped.

“What the…where am I?” He glared when he spotted his son. “You!”

“Ah, Papa, so lovely to see you again!” Alastor was sprouting his ever-present grin that looked unsettling in the candlelight.

“Get me outta this!”

Louis stared at his body. He gave a lecherous grin. “Stripping me are ya?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Alastor responded.

He answered his father’s question. “Where are we? We are deep in the woods where no one can find us. It was our favorite place to learn together, remember?”

Louis grunted and struggled against the tight rope binding him to the tree. “Let me go, you bastard!”

“Hmm…how about no?” Alastor chuckled.

“Your mother will disown you for what you’re doing!”

“I don’t think so! In fact, she told me where you were, so I decided I’d pay you a visit.”

Louis hid the shock of betrayal with a growl. “You and her, both traitorous heathens! Enemies of the Lord. What kind of son turns on his own father?”

Louis shook his head. “You’ve always been a weak runt. Someone soft as you is unworthy.”

“Unworthy is an understatement when it comes to you. You are but a husk of the father I once knew,” Alastor replied.

Alastor held up a sharp knife in his hand. The blade glinted in the candlelight. “There was no point in killing you earlier. But now that we’re here, I figure we could have a little bit of fun. Seeing as how you’re so eager to die.”

“That’s nonsense, fucking psycho!”

“Just to warn you…I like to relish and live in the moment when it comes to entertainment. Hence why I will ensure that we’ll enjoy it as long as we can. In other words, Papa…”

He leaned his face closer, grin inching wider, insanity in his eyes…

“I won’t be so merciful with you.”

He held up the knife, which glinted in the candlelight.

“Show me a smile, Papa! The fun’s about to begin!”

He spoke as if he were speaking to an audience. “Alright ladies and gentlemen, my lovely father has come to join us in a fun-filled evening of entertainment! Let’s start off with arts and crafts.”

The knife scraped across Louis’s pale skin, then went deeper. Alastor was tracing a bloody circle on his belly.

Louis yelled out and seethed at the sharp pains. Alastor was taken back to when he carved out sigils of Satan and Lucifer on victims brought in.

Only this time, it was his choice to do so.

And he was relishing every minute.

“You know about religious symbols, right Papa?” he asked as Louis squirmed. “Do you know which one I’m carving?”

“Oh God!” he yelled.

“Nope, wrong answer.”

Sweat coated Louis’ forehead as he tried in vain to escape his bonds. “You’re Devil spawn…”

“Could you be more specific on the person?” Alastor asked as he traced and finished the sigil. Blood flowed from the lines in droplets.

“It’s the sigil of Furfur,” Alastor replied. He admired the small downward pointed triangle, a row of four pillar shapes, flanked by two curved lines with two spirals on either end.

“It’s alright, you’ll get it next time…oh wait, there won’t be one for you.”

Louis cussed loudly between breaths.

“Now, now, there’s no need for such language. It’s important to find time to relax and let out our troubles.”

He turned to the invisible audience. “Which brings us to the next session: physical therapy and role play!”

He snapped his fingers and a long black whip appeared in his hand. The same one that Louis had used on him years ago.

Louis gasped at the tool with wide eyes.

“Does this look familiar?” Alastor asked, circling around him like a vulture. “Did it make you feel good to lash out at me? Make you feel oh so powerful?”

“You don’t want to do this son,” Louis chided.

Alastor scoffed. “Last time I heard, I didn’t get a choice whatsoever.”

Alastor stepped back in front of him. “Say, let’s switch things around a bit. I’ll play you and you do me. You ready?”

“You scum stained son of a…”

Lash!

“Aaaargh!”

The first strike got him in the face.

Lash!

Alastor roared in a low voice, “You’ve been a very naughty boy, son!”

“Don’t talk to me like…”

Louis belted out a high pitched wail.

Another crack. Then another.

“Alastor!” Alastor boomed, “You’re an impure homo sissy with no life. Say it!”

“No!”

Crack!

Crack!

Louis screamed in pain, his skin red. Lashes and cuts covered his body, his arms, legs and chest.

Louis breathed hard and lowered his head, muttering, “I…I’m an impure sissy homo…with no life…”

“Say it louder for the people in the back!” Alastor yelled, a shrill in his voice as he cracked the whip again and again. His father’s screams were music to his ears.

When Louis couldn’t take the sharp lashes anymore, he yelled out the degrading statements.

Tears fell from Louis’ eyes as burning agony spread across his body. His white face became paler.

“Quiz time, folks!” Alastor spoke out loud. He walked over toward his backpack and returned with a meat clever.

Alastor spoke into space. “So we know the worst thing you can do to a woman is rape, yes?”

Louis said nothing.

“But what’s the worst thing you can do to a man?”

Black spots danced across Louis’ vision.

“Anybody have an answer? No? Well, I’ll tell you. “

He paused for dramatic effect.

“All the things that my dear old father did to me…”

With a crazed look on his face, he raised the clever high. Louis stared with sheer terror and disbelief.

“…and this!”

A wet sounding strike and a low thud. Louis’ severed cock had fallen to the ground in a bloody heap. Louis’ agonized screams echoed through the night. He screamed and cried out until his voice cracked sharply.

Louis saw a close-up view of his son’s face over him. A tip of a knife was in his line of vision.

“You’ve been so blind to my needs and Mama’s. Let’s literalize this metaphor, shall we?”

A squelch and a splatter of blood and fluid.

Louis shut his eyes and shrieked as the knife was ledged in his right eye.

Alastor turned back to him. Several moments passed.

“Now, you get aroused by women other than my mother,” Alastor continued. “Just picture me as one of them and tell me if you like this next part…”

Though his blurry vision, his son was walking away, then returned with something silver in his hand. He thought he saw him bend down in front of him.

Was he…bowing?

He felt something sharp…and very hot, dig through his butt and groin. His eyes rolled back and he passed out.

Louis awoke to throbbing and searing pain everywhere. It felt like he was on fire. He moved his now free arms and stretched out his hands…

Only to find he didn’t have them anymore…

Alastor was holding a bloodstained chainsaw and letting out maniacal laughter. Red blood caked his face and covered his clothes.

“Hope you’re enjoying the show folks, because I sure am!” he hollered. “Who’s ready to learn some anatomy?”

Louis screamed some more as Alastor sliced him open and examined his exposed organs. His body was going into shock.

“I wonder what liver tastes like…” Alastor asked himself.

He smirked at his helpless father. “I have to give kudos to you for teaching me everything about hunting. Without your discipline and knowledge, I wouldn’t be where I am right now. Like you said, you’ll never know when you’ll become the prey.”

“Go…to…Hell…” he rasped as he coughed up blood. Cuts and bruises were everywhere on his body.

“Looks like we’re running out of time, dear listeners,” Alastor announced to the air, “Or should I say, Papa is.”

He chortled loudly.

“Let’s bid our guest farewell, he has a new life in Hell waiting for him.”

He took out his father’s rifle and took aim.

“Bonne nuit, cher cerf.”

The blast rang out. The bullet struck square in Louis’ neck. Louis’s head slumped over and then he was gone.

Alastor unlit the candles, gathered his supplies and put his father’s corpse in the trash bag.

Alastor was exhausted when he arrived back home.

His mother saw him out front and embraced him, ignoring the blood all over him.

“You’re in so much trouble, ya know dat,” she replied. “Did ya do it?”

Alastor glanced to the large bag with his father’s body in it he had dragged along.

“Wha…what do ya plan to do with it. Bury him? Burn him? Why drag him all the way back here?”

Alastor’s grin grew wider. He smelled something good coming from the kitchen.

“Well, I’m starved! Is that jambalaya?” he asked.

“Sho’ is! I figured you’d be hungry when ya came home. I’m makin’ some more, too.”

“How would you like to…add an extra ingredient to it?” Alastor winked.

Loretta looked at the body bag then back at Alastor.

“Are ya sayin’ we…” She did chomping motions with her mouth. Alastor nodded.

Her eyes, for the first and only time, glowed red, showing a small creeping smile. “Ah am getting’ pretty hungry. Ah think some extra meat would be satisfying.”

Alastor’s eyes dilated and his grin lit up the room. “I thought you said no cannibalism unless in dire circumstances like survival…”

“Well, this situation is quite “dire” indeed. Ah’m a free woman and the head of household is gone!”

For the next few hours, mother and son sang happily as they chopped up the man’s hands, feet, and belly on a large chopping board. Loretta grabbed some leftover deer meat from the icebox and tossed them in among the shrimp, rice, and vegetables. She let Alastor toss the slabs of flesh and muscle into the large pan of jambalaya. The bones were stripped bare and put in a pile to use for rituals. He casually gnawed on a pale severed finger as the rest of the meal sizzled and cooked on the stove.

At last, they served themselves and sat at the kitchen table.

They both said grace over the table and shed a few tears before digging in.

It was, hands down, the best meal that Alastor (and his Mama) had ever had.

Before long, Alastor had graduated high school in nineteen fourteen, grateful for it to be over. He worked at menial jobs for several more years, dealing with discrimination every day. During World War One, his maternal uncle was drafted into the war and he sadly never saw him again. He did make some more money selling newspapers detailing the war and the losses.

Alastor sat down in a red high chair and read a newspaper. A column read, “Vigilante dead? Serial killer on the loose.” A person said “Save us from the mad man, Vigilante!”

Alastor laughed out loud, for he had left his previous identity behind and evolved.  

Chapter Nine: “Ma Jolie Maman”

You never know what life will throw at you in the future.

You take life for granted, certain that the same old routine will last forever.

Then, all of a sudden, a drastic change comes charging at you like rabid dogs or a stray bullet, leaving you a stunned deer in the headlights of fate.

New Orleans was a regular bustling city like any other, people going about their lives with no care in the world. With music, art and culture, the citizens did not predict that anything would go wrong in the near future.

Then the Spanish Flu Pandemic of nineteen eighteen hit.

It was the deadliest in world history, caused by an H1N1 virus. An estimated five hundred million people were infected worldwide. No effective drugs or vaccines were available to treat it. In fact, researchers didn’t know it was a virus. Citizens were ordered to wear masks and businesses were shut down. People were advised to stay indoors, disinfect, and to quarantine themselves. Back then it was called “crowding control,” while the term “social distancing” would be used a century later.

A mild wave began in the spring, but a deadlier second wave returned in the fall. The sick experienced typical flu symptoms such as chills, fever, and fatigue. More severe symptoms included blue skin and suffocation via fluid in the lungs. More U.S. soldiers died from the flu than were killed in battle during World War One. In an effort to be patriotic, media downplayed the disease’s spread.

The pandemic wouldn’t end until summer of the next year.

The Corona Virus Nineteen pandemic would begin a century later in the year two thousand and twenty.

Twenty two year old Alastor first heard rumors of troops coming to and from the city, many of them experiencing coughs and fevers. There were many people who started to fall ill, but Alastor didn’t think much of it. Like many citizens, he thought it was “just the flu,” and that it would go away. Being a neat freak, he took care to stay away from those who coughed and gagged.

So he continued to work in dull occupations, play in his band and cook with his mother. His mother continued her jobs as well. At this point, he could sew a dozen Voodoo dolls all on his own. He could make not only jambalaya, but crawfish dishes, and pretty much any classic meal for Mardi Gras.

Plus there was his side hobby of killing racist people or those who mocked him. Alastor had cut off his pony tail and left his dark brown hair smooth, short, and straight, though she still wore his round glasses.

On one walk in New Orleans, Alastor discovered something new and disturbing.

The newspaper headline read: “New disease spreads into cities, hundreds killed and counting.” The article detailed the symptoms of soldiers in camps who had gotten the illness. In an obituary, Alastor saw a small picture of his African American uncle: Joseph Duvalier.

Alastor wasn’t particularly close with him but he was a nice man to visit. He was his mother’s older brother and he was apparently a great comedian.

But then he was drafted off to the war and never seen again.

There were signs everywhere on the streets and in shop windows. They had large bold letters on them.

“Facial coverings are now mandatory…$5 fee for anyone caught not wearing a mask.”

 “Stay indoors!”

And then there was another announcement that stunned him.

“Mardi Gras parades canceled due to spread of new disease.”

“No Mardi Gras?!” he thought. He had never heard of such an influential cultural event being canceled just like that.

Then Alastor realized something else. If the disease kept spreading, then he couldn’t go out and kill people. His band members had already quit and headed off to their homes in the poorer part of the city.

No live bands, no Mardi Gras, no daily murders…what was the young man supposed to do in quarantine?

He read books, honored the saints and Loas, and spent time with his mother, whenever she wasn’t working. He and his mother still worked until it was no longer safe to do so. Alastor had gotten the idea to get extra canned food to help them get through the coming weeks.

Alastor had gotten a fever and some coughing for several days, but soon enough, he recovered on his own.

After one particularly bad day at work, Loretta came home, bending over, apparently very tired. Through mumbles, she talked about how her superiors chastised her with racial slurs and one man even grabbed at her butt. She had slapped him, which resulted in her getting yelled at. The arguments and draining hours seemed to last forever.

“I can kill them if you want,” he smiled.

“Remember the deal you made, Al,” she responded in a tired voice. “No more killin’ and putting yourself at risk of getting’ caught. And it’s dangerous for you to go out.”

“I’ll be fine,” he assured, but she held up a hand. “This new disease seems to target the very young…and that includes you. For my sake, stay safe.”

Loretta promptly collapsed in bed and slept for a long time.

Loretta didn’t wake up at her usual early time, which was quite unusual. When she did get up, it was to go to the bathroom or to rinse her mouth out. She had been to the bathroom several times.

“Is everything alright, Mama?”

“Of course, my son,” she said, her smile ever so bright. “Ah’m just moving slower than usual. Nothin’ ta worry about.”

She walked with shaky legs over to the kitchen, where she and Alastor made some Creole breakfast dishes before starting the day.

Back outside in the city, Alastor soon saw several buildings shuttered and boarded up. Schools, offices, theaters, several restaurants…all with shuttered windows and locked doors. Even the Imperial Theater had a sign on the fancy double doors that read “Sorry, we’re closed” in big letters. The old brick school building had tan rough boards over the rows of windows. He couldn’t believe he had been there only several years ago.

No sounds of jazz music filling the air, no dancing and loud chatting. Chats were replaced with whispers and occasional tears. Passerby moved off to the side, avoiding each other, some not even making eye contact. Many people avoided Alastor and the poor folks especially. He looked ridiculous wearing a white mask over his mouth and nose. It hid his bright smile…so he decided to draw a smile on his face mask in black marker.

That only caused people to withdraw from him further.

Some foolhardy people roamed the streets without face coverings in large groups. They were primarily young individuals who crowded bars and the streets. Many of them drank their troubles away at bars and places that didn’t hold any restrictions. Alastor saw a man slap a woman’s butt and she turned around and spat right in his face.

“You can make us wear masks and stay home!” a group called out. They were mad that stores had been shut down. “We can do what we want and say what we want!”

One woman blatantly claimed, “I trust my immune system! I’m young and I won’t get sick. I’ll continue to work and that’s that!”

No one was surprised when she died later that day. A majority of people were too stressed and worried about their own lives.

Alastor’s eyes filled with anger as white police officers released dogs onto a group of innocent black men talking together. A German Shepard sank its teeth into a struggling black man’s leg as he tried to run. The man stumbled to the ground where he got attacked by the dog on his back before police hoisted him mercilessly up.

“You’re under arrest for looting and endangering citizens,” said the officer, noticing the bag of apples and medications.

“Ah have no money. My siblings are very ill, they need food and meds.”

“Stand up and move along.”

The man struggled in vain as handcuffs were placed on him. “Stop! You can’t do this! Let me go you menacing copper egg!” He belted out swear words before being shoved inside a black vehicle.

When another black man pulled out a knife, an officer shot him square in the chest several times. The man fell to the ground, motionless.

“Why are you arresting me?” one man asked as he was put into handcuffs.

“You’re trespassing on private property,” the officer responded.

“Are you kiddin’ man? Ah live here!”

The poor fellow was taken away anyway.

One of the dogs turned and growled at Alastor, sharp teeth exposed. He took a step back in fear as one officer eyed him suspiciously.

Alastor knew how to choose his battles carefully. Sensing he was overpowered and outnumbered, he slinked back and walked away. His heroic teenage years were over.

The former lively New Orleans was becoming as dull as the eyes of a dead man.

And people were, indeed, dying. Warehouses and empty buildings had been converted into hospitals and sick rooms. Medical students in white clothing with gloves on their hands and masks, strolled around to check on their patients. The sick individuals were lined up in rows of small beds with round metal head boards…each of them as far apart as they could go. Doctors took their temperatures, gave them water, and placed cold rags on their feverish foreheads. One nurse comforted a little blonde girl sick in bed holding a teddy bear. The sounds of coughing, wheezing, and strained breathing echoed throughout the large industrial space.

“At least I don’t have to worry about anyone touching me,” he thought. People were encouraged to stay six feet apart from each other…even though not everyone followed it. Horrific flashbacks of being touched by his father raced through his mind. He pushed those memories aside.

But the worst part for Alastor personally wasn’t all the deaths…he could care less about those lost causes.

Alastor was in the clutches of his worst enemy: sheer, absolute boredom.

The months in quarantine were mental torture. He had an urge to do something: to dance, sing, kill, smoke, do something. He remembered what the bastard therapist mentioned about his so called psychopathic traits: a constant need for stimulation and a tendency to get very bored. Alastor also remembered the therapist saying that he had “sexual troubles,” in regard to his father saying he was not into girls. He wasn’t interested in men nor women as far as he could tell, and the feelings were all normal to him.

But still…being labeled like that, made him doubt himself a little. Plus, it’s not like there was much he could do at this point anyway, other than keep his distance from people. 

Things really spiked when autumn came. Dead bodies wrapped in white were piling up as more people died. Some people committed suicide out of fear of infecting their family and friends. Many families had to bury their own loved ones.

Loretta was getting worse and worse every day. What started off a mild flu symptoms morphed into a clinging sickness. During one gut-wrenching moment, Alastor witnessed his shaking mother vomiting in the toilet before lying down on the hard bathroom floor. Alastor made sure she was comfortable in bed before giving her aspirin. Many claimed that aspirin would help with the illness, though it didn’t seem to do much for his mother.

Alastor with his face mask on, raced over to one of the spare health care buildings and to one of the doctors. He briefly talked with another physician before turning to Alastor.

Alastor cleared his throat. “Sir, my mama’s very sick. If there’d anything you have that could help her, I have to have it.”

The brown haired white man shook his head as he held a clipboard. He wore a white coat and a face mask. “Sorry son. So far, we haven’t found anything that can treat this nasty disease. It’s spreading too fast.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have medicine or something?”

“Only those that can temporarily negate the symptoms for half a day, and even that one isn’t very effective.”

Alastor pulled out a handful of saved kale.

The doctor stared at the money and sighed. “We’ve used up enough supplies as it is.” He took the money and gave Alastor two bottles of aspirin. “Try these, they might help for a little while.”

Alastor pleaded some more. “Anything else you have? I beg you.”

 “Like I said, we have to save what we have for everyone else. Besides, I’m in no position to help your kind of folk.”

Alastor’s plastered smile strained, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Now if you’ll excuse me young man, I have more patients to attend to,” said the doctor before walking away with a few other medical staff.

Alastor raced back home. His mother was still in the same place. Alastor gathered every healing herb he could think of and mixed them up as per instructions he remembered. His mother drank the herbal broth and the pains and discomfort seemed to go away.

But the symptoms returned with a vengeance the next day. The healing broth didn’t help when he tried again.

Neither did the aspirin. In fact, the aspirin only seemed to make the symptoms worse. Her breathing became strained. Alastor cursed himself for wasting his money on something so ineffective.

“Let me try something,” he said. He stood by her bed and his eyes glowed red. Red light surrounded both their bodies and voodoo symbols hovered in the air. He thought of healing spells and hummed a chant. Loretta went still.

The light faded. All was silent.

It was a powerful healing spell he had conjured. He couldn’t wait to see her smile in a few mo…

Cough, cough, cough, gasp.

Loretta was coughing and gagging, just the same as she was before.

Alastor shook his head. “No, no, no, no, that’s impossible!”

Loretta shook her head sadly. “Magic can’t fix everything, Al. Even communicating with the dead ain’t easy. Ah think…this disease is too strong…”

Alastor wasn’t giving up. He held a cold rag over her sweaty brown forehead. If he couldn’t cure her, then at least he could ease her discomfort. Alastor closed his eyes and decided to try something different.

Alastor’s red dark magic had always been there for him to use easily. Petro energy consisted of matter and shadows, perfect to use for destruction, illusions, fire, and the creation of materials for use.

Rada magic was something he couldn’t quite grasp. It was ethereal, watery and full of light. It was used for healing, water, life and growth. His mother had always been able to use it easily, though now he could feel the magic slowly leave her.

With effort, he pushed all his typical thoughts of selfishness and pride aside and focused only on the good parts of himself.

The fond memories he had with his mother when they sang songs together at voodoo ceremonies.

When they made jambalaya and shared their food with neighbors at Mardi Gras.

Alastor helping her sew dresses and costumes for a musical.

Loretta always having faith in him even when he didn’t.

Teal energy glowed from Alastor’s brown eyes, the energy traveling down his arms and down to his hands. The energy jumped eagerly from his hands toward Loretta’s shaking body, aiming to provide some comfort and well-being.

The blue voodoo symbols vanished and the light faded when he lost focus. Loretta stared wide eyed and opened mouthed at him.

“Ah can’t believe mah eyes! Who wouda believed that mah son could use Rada energy!”

Alastor smirked. “Yeah, like you didn’t have that dark glow in your eyes after we ate you know who.”

Loretta grinned and coughed some more. “Ah guess we are both capable of light an’ dark, huh?”

“I guess you’re right.”

Loretta glanced over at the time. “Ya betta get yourself on ta work.”

Alastor sighed. “I want to stay here with you.”

“Ah’ll be just fine, son. Ah already feel much betta thanks to you.”

Alastor embraced her and gave her a long kiss. Social distancing be damned.

Loretta lifted up the corners of Alastor’s mouth, widening his smile and cupping his cheeks.

“The world is a stage of entertainment. Go out there and make the most of another day. Remember dear, you’re never fully dressed without a smile.”

Alastor smiled and let go. “You’re certainly right, mama. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Alastor left the room to get ready for more pointless hours at the newspaper office and disinfecting the many rooms. 

Alastor managed to make it through and decided that a nice hot dish of jambalaya would cheer his mother right up.

“Mama! I’m back,” he called. “Guess what I’m making for dinner?”

He sang a song out loud so she could hear his voice.

“Jambalaya and a craw fish pie and file gumbo

‘Cause tonight I’m gonna see my ma cher mere

Pick guitar, fruit jar and be gayo

Son of a gun, we’ll have big fun on the bay…”

He opened the door to her room…

“…ou.”

She appeared to be resting, her head facing the wall.

Alastor walked in. “Hey Mama, wake up. I’m starting dinner soon.”

Her eyes were partway closed. He gently shook her and glanced at her face.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

No response.

He pressed his fingers to her neck. No sign of a pulse. Her brown skin looked slightly paler and felt…cold.

Alastor thought he was dreaming. He shook her harder.

“Mama? You alright? Please wake up.”

She just lay there.

Alastor stepped back. This couldn’t be happening. Already, the smell of death had begun to fill his nostrils.

He felt he was in some kind of nightmare. Maybe if he closed his eyes and yelled, it would all go away.

He dared open his eyes again and then he had come to a harsh and sudden reality he could no longer deny.

His mother was dead.

She had been everything to him. Everything that Alastor did, he did for himself and for her.

Now it felt like part of his soul had been torn apart. Emptiness and a black hole that only seemed to grow more by the minute.

“Wake the fuck up!”

Alastor never swore, yet those words had slipped form his mouth in a shrill discordant tone. A flow of tears speed down from his eyes, even as he kept his smile wide. For several minutes after, he made a series of noises. Cussing. Pounding his fists on the floor. But he mostly let out a peculiar combination of sobs and giggles. He closed her eyes and buried his face in her corpse.

He didn’t want to leave her or let her out of his sight. He missed several days of work, but being fired was the last thing on his mind. He might as well go homeless.

Soon enough, her body had begun the decaying process and he strengthened his resolve. He needed to bury her.

He took her body with him, gathered a shovel and supplies and got in the car.

There was a cemetery by the bayou, the same place where his grandmothers and grandfathers were buried.

He used magic to conjure up a white Christian cross shaped headstone for her, to make it blend in with the others. It read “Loretta Marie Duvalier, 1872-1918.” It was right next to Antoinette’s grave. He used the shovel to dig a deep narrow hole in the ground for her. He felt like it wasn’t right to use magic for that part. Thunder rumbled over head in the dark gray sky and rain started to pour from overhead. The drops made many little circular lines on the surface of the nearby lake.

He snapped his fingers and Loretta’s clothing turned into a coral colored dress with gold trim. The kind of outfit that a goddess would wear. Loretta’s Christian necklace and Voodoo necklace were both visible around her neck. He gently placed her still body on the ground, her hands on her chest, folded, lying on her back. He folded his hands in prayer.

“Heavenly Father, All-Knowing Bondye, please watch over my Mama and guide her on her journey to the afterlife. Heaven, Hell or Null, may happiness be with her. Amen.”

He then prayed to Papa Legba and Baron Samedi to ensure her safe passage to the afterlife.

Alastor placed special treasures and trinkets beside her that she loved: flowers, jewelry, perfume, and even uncooked jambalaya mix in a bowl.

When he was done, he kissed her on the forehead one last time, then climbed out to begin burying her. Her body and face soon disappeared under the rising brown dirt.

The dirt soon filled up the hole and he flattened it. Rain soaked his short hair and his already teary face. Even as he cried sitting on his knees in front of her gravestone, he still had his smile on his face. He lay a bouquet of flowers by her gravestone: white lilies, red roses, sky blue flowers, flowers of all kinds of colors.

 The rain and tears wouldn’t stop pouring. Alastor was drowning in despair.

When the rain and tears slowed down, Alastor stood on shaky legs. It was getting dark. He vowed to himself that he wouldn’t display this kind of weakness to anyone. Smiling showed dominance, and he would honor his mother’s wish by doing it every day.

He sang a lament to her:

“Ma jolie maman

Her light like the sun

Deep down under there

She was my hope, my light

My joy in the night

I know her heart belongs only to me

That someone so loving as she

Could be forced to leave me

How could it be?

Now how can I fare?

With no one to care

I love you, ma jolie maman.”

The days went by in a blur. He fasted. He cried. He barely slept. He cut his wrists and arms with a knife, his preferred weapon. Alastor briefly considered suicide but that would be the coward’s way out. He became incredibly thin, the unhealthy kind of thin where veins and bones would start to be visible from underneath the flesh. Large dark bags were under his eyes.

He visited her gravestone frequently, feeling like a husk of the person he once was.

A bearded man and a woman with long hair and a lavender dress approached him.

“Sir,” said the man, “This is private property. I kindly ask you to leave.”

He didn’t answer. He just continued to stare at her grave with blank brown eyes.

“Leave now, or I’ll escort you out.”

Neither of them wore masks. The woman walked over to him and clamped her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay, mister?” he asked.

Alastor slowly turned around, smile etched on his face, his hair disheveled and standing out off to one side. He slapped her hand away. She took a step back as he stood up.

“Sir, I’m asking you again,” he said in a loud voice. “It’s time to leave!”

They needed to shut their traps.

Alastor pulled out a long sharp knife from his belt.

“W…we don’t want any trouble,” she stuttered, eyes wide.

He took measured steps forward, eyes unblinking.

He swiped the weapon through the air, causing her to almost lose her balance in her heeled shoes. Her lavender hat with a purple feather attached, fell off from her blonde head.

The man stomped over and aimed a fist at his face. Alastor moved out of the way and promptly sliced the man’s hand off.

The man clutched his bleeding arm and screamed before Alastor shoved him hard to the ground. The woman screamed her husband’s name as Alastor stabbed him repeatedly in the chest. A sickening crack left one of his ankles bent at an unnatural angle.

The woman ran for her life, even as the sounds of racing footsteps grew closer.

She saw her husband moaning on the ground at a distance, and the crazed look of the man chasing her.

“Help! Somebody, please!” she cried between breaths.

The woman was forcefully yanked back by a strong light brown hand. Alastor grinned wider as he used his other hand to slap her round visible butt.

She yelped with a jump in the air. She almost had a word with the pervert but a knife in her back only made her scream in terrified pain. The smiling figure was soon over her as she collapsed toward the green grass. He pushed the knife in deeper as she screamed once again. Twisting the knife then taking it out, he then dragged the helpless woman by the arm toward her husband. He let her go unceremoniously next to him. They stared at each other with longing eyes and tears before their bodies bled out and went still.

Alastor spent the next five minutes chopping up their bodies in mangled gore-filled chunks. His face, hands, and clothes were stained with fresh blood and bits of organ. He collected the pieces and made his way down toward the bayou.

Reptile growls grew closer along with spurts of water from nostrils.

“You gators must be starving,” he exclaimed, adding with a joke. “Allow me to meat your needs.”

He began to toss some chunks into the water. Pairs of yellow eyes dotted the water’s surface. With low growls, the heads of two dark green alligators rose from the water. Alastor stood at the bank of the swamp. He randomly tossed a piece into the water with a splash. One of the gator’s eyes followed it and its head lowered down.

Alastor chuckled and tossed another bloody piece in. The gator opened its mouth, showing a row of sharp teeth and a long pink tongue.

“Try this one!” he called, tossing in the severed woman’s head. The other alligator opened its mouth wide and caught the head in its jaws with a loud snap.

“Hahahaha! Nice catch!” he laughed. He tossed more pieces in and the gators snapped their jaws as the meat entered their mouths. Alastor was smiling like a little kid feeding animals at a petting zoo. Before long, the human remains had all been tossed and consumed by the reptiles. Taking one last hungry look at Alastor, the gators slowly sank their heads into the water and vanished into the shadows.

He headed back up the hill and went back home to wash up.

Alastor had lost his remaining sense of humanity. He was that much closer to becoming the demon he was destined to be. He had broken his mother’s plea for him to not kill any more innocent people…but he had forgotten about it…or more accurately, he no longer cared.

Alastor had been pushed to the edge for long enough. The rest of his family was either distant or deranged. No one else in Louisiana gave a deer’s flank about him. Now that he had no one else left in his life, he could only rely on himself. He would seek justice, entertainment, and a proper life, no matter what it took.

In simple terms, it was all for his survival. His eyes glowed red again.

If New Orleans and other people burned to the ground, then so be it.

However, if he wanted to get started, he needed to know what his purpose was. And for that, he couldn’t begin alone.

He needed allies from…the other side. 

Chapter Ten: “Friends on the Other Side”

Chapter Eleven: “Almost There”

Roaring Twenties, Nineteen twenties

Radios.

Those were the devices that Alastor had used and loved, from his young adulthood well into his afterlife.

From listening and playing music, telling jokes on the air, to broadcasting his murders in both worlds, radios and microphones weren’t just his favorite items to use every day.

They were a part of his livelihood.

Radios first had their origins in the eighteen nineties when in eighteen ninety two, Nikola Tesla proposed that radio frequency energy could be used for telecommunication. Several years later, Marconi had built a wireless system capable of transmitting signals at long distances.

The Radio Corporation of America was formed in nineteen nineteen and in nineteen twenty, the first radio news program was broadcast. The National Broadcasting Company was formed in nineteen twenty six as the first national network. FM radio would be invented by Edwin Armstrong in nineteen thirty three.

The radio industry would later suffer in the nineteen forties and fifties due to the arrival of television.

The novel idea of programming began in nineteen twenty when one of the leading radio manufacturers, Westinghouse came up with a way to sell more radios. On November second, nineteen twenty, the Harding-Cox presidential election results was the first commercial broadcast. Alastor had read about it in the newspaper at his home, wearing round glasses connected by two black chains. He was amazed that an event could be broadcast to so many people in different places.

Many older people thought that radios and receivers would merely be a fad for young people. After all, there had been amateur radio builders, poor reception and only experimental segments of speech and music.

Alastor glanced around at his small living quarters that made up his apartment. A single bedroom, a bathroom, kitchen, living room and a spare room. The previous house he lived in had begun to fall into disrepair. Without his parents around, it was empty and hard to maintain. It was a tough decision, but he eventually decided to sell the house in the spring of nineteen nineteen. He gathered his clothes, personal belongings and other items…and remembered to cleanse all the areas to get rid of any previous evil influence. The money he had, allowed him to get a decent room in an apartment complex near the city, and even helped him pay rent. But his jobs organizing the newspaper office and cleaning studios would only last him for so long. However, Alastor still had the family’s red car and the cabin in the woods.

Alastor thought that radios and broadcasting would only be a one-time thing…

Until March thirty first, nineteen twenty two when Louisiana’s first radio station, WWL, started broadcasting. It was something brand new that was unheard of. WWL had been founded by the Catholic Loyola University to help raise funds to build six new campus buildings. The speech started at ten fifty two AM with Father Cummings encouraging people to support his campaign. Piano music played afterward.

Alastor and a bunch of people were outside, listening to it on a newly presented radio, a bulky rectangular device with large knobs at the front. The radio was on a table on an outdoor podium. Several representatives of the university were demonstrating how it worked. There was even a little girl in a white dress who was brought up to the table. She turned the knobs with her small hands as the crowd looked on in curiosity and wonder. Alastor peered through his rounded glasses at the presentation.

Alastor fantasized about people all over the country hearing him and his band play. He thought about all those times at school when he would sing, dance, and act out different characters. Suddenly, just having a crowd of people in an auditorium didn’t seem like enough in his mind. What if he could somehow reach a bigger, broader audience? His name would be in the newspapers as well as on the airwaves. He would not only be famous, but would also be respected and loved by so many. Music, entertainment and being in the spotlight were the only things left for him in this crazy world.

Then a more sinister idea came to him. What if he could talk about his killings without anyone knowing? It would make things so much more fun.

Alastor hadn’t killed too many people since feeding the couple to the gators after his mother’s passing. It was only during certain moments when no one was looking or when someone made him angry. A thief, for instance, decided to steal some of Alastor’s hard-earned money one day and ran off. He was a young white man wearing a brown cap, loose checkered pants, and a white top with overalls. Alastor tracked him down during the day and had thrown an ax right into his head along some railroad tracks. Alastor retrieved his money and took the thief’s wallet as well. In a meticulous manner, Alastor had carefully carved up the man’s skin and fat, placing the bloody slabs in containers. After cooking and seasoning the meat with a variety of spices and vegetables, he was able to enjoy his meal of human flesh.

Human and deer meat were harder foods to come by, so he made extra efforts involving the preparations. Most of the time, Alastor was drinking black coffee in the mornings, working away at his low-paying jobs during the day and easing his troubles with liquor in the evenings.

Trying to figure out what to do next, the twenty six year old man strolled down the street. He saw an appliance store and decided to go inside. As he glanced at the objects for sale, he was reminded of how much he didn’t currently have.

Some of the items were cheaper and reasonably priced. The light bulb, for instance only cost one dollar and fifty cents, and he had plenty of those. The Hotpoint iron was a popular household item that cost from two dollars to seven dollars. A metal two dollar toaster stood on a counter, the sides decorated with French lotus symbols. It had two round wooden handles on the sides. Several sixty dollar electric stoves were also on display, one side of the stove consisting of a small cabinet box, the other with new round burners and hot plates. Several Western electric crank phones were lodged in the wall, visitors pressing their ears to the black cupped pieces to make calls. Alastor also had a few at his apartment.

Then there were the more expensive appliances. An eighty dollar washing machine stood in a corner of the store, with a spinner on top and a metal sheet on the bottom. It would’ve been a great help for when his mother used to wash clothes every Monday. Refrigerators were small white box shaped appliances with a compressor on top. They cost almost three hundred dollars and only a few people had access to them.

And as for the radios…basic ones were around seventy five dollars while the custom made ones cost as much as five hundred! The two hundred fifty dollar radio speaker would later be available in several years.

Alastor’s clothing was starting to get dull and old. He had several overalls, hats and outdoor clothing, but only a few moderate suits, all brownish-gray. Nothing like the bold colored tailcoats or satin outfits the rich wore. He didn’t even own a personal cane, top hat, and cigar.

Not to mention, his car was beginning to need several repairs and it wasn’t moving nearly as fast as before.

People around him were beginning to live fun, carefree lives, being lost in their own privileges and fantastical wonders. Consumer goods, automobiles, and economic growth rapidly sizzled like the electricity that was soon available in nearly every household. The city and the nation were recovering from World War One and the Spanish Flu…and it led to a new era of prosperity and advancement.

So why then…was Alastor still stuck where he was? He longed for the taste of liquor, as the Prohibition was under way.

Alastor sighed and headed out the door. “Someday,” he thought, “I’ll be living the lavish life, and New Orleans will be my stage.”

He was about to turn the corner when he heard a stumble and a crash behind him. He turned around and saw a wealthier man sprawled on the ground. He had accidentally tripped on the small ledge step that led into the store.

“Are you okay sir?” Alastor asked as the man slowly stood up.

“Yep, just took a tumble when I was walking outside,” he replied, dusting off his pants and coat. The man stared, disheartened, at the concrete ground in front of him.

A radio had fallen and broken on the ground. It was a device made of wood, slightly arched…but now, there were springs, wires and chips of wood littering the spot in front of them.

“It was going to be a new gift for my son,” he said. “I saved up money for a week to buy it.”

If Alastor had wanted to buy the best radio, it would’ve taken him months, if not years. He bent down and helped the man clean up the parts and put them in a large brown bag.

“Could you buy another one?” he asked.

The man briefly looked back toward the open door. “That one was the type that he wanted and they’re all sold out.” He sighed. “Guess this will either be given to a mechanic or thrown out…and the mechanic’s not in right now.”

It was disheartening indeed to see a well-made radio go to waste like that. There was nothing much he could do in this situation.

Alastor glanced at a nearby poster displaying a young smiling teen boy in overalls fixing a car and a telegraph on a wall.

Unless…

“Hey, wait!” he called to the man, causing him to turn around.

“What is it?” he asked.

The words spilled form his mouth before he could stop himself.

“What if I could fix it for you?”

The man’s eyebrows raised. “Really?” He sounded doubtful.

“Sure, why not?” Alastor asked with a shrug. “No charge necessary. I’ll take a look at it and see what I can do.”

‘Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting that,” the man mentioned. He handed over the brown bag. “If you could, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

“My son’s birthday is in several days,” he mentioned.

Alastor took a silent deep breath, not expecting the extra challenge this would entail. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he replied.

“Berries to me,” the man affirmed. “I’m Dave, by the way.” He wrote down a meeting location and handed the piece of paper to Alastor.

“Good day, sir,” Alastor said.

Figuring out how to fix the radio took a lot of work. Although he had finished his crystal set radio in his apartment, he had almost no idea on how to fix and operate the less common battery-operated sets geared toward the well-off eccentric experimenters. He did have some mechanical experience with helping his father fix their car during their hunting trips. He had also learned the mechanics of guns and how to properly use them and care for them.

Alastor ended up going to the local library and getting manuals on how to fix radios. But mostly, the passages were about the structures and workings of the older crystal set radios. The thought of fixing large battery sets with many dials and comprehending the concept of console radios merged with fine furniture…it was all so new to him as it was to many people.

Back at home, after reading the manuals for a while, Alastor walked into the larger room for storage and let out a sigh.

Alastor’s home-made crystal radio set was all finished. He had started making it the year before after buying some parts and a set of headphones to go with it. It was a round black device made with a coil of wire, a capacitor, a crystal detector at the top, and earphones. He was able to listen to some snippets of music and programs on it through the headphones, but it was often drowned out by humming.

Alastor put on the headphones and was able to hear classical music from a nearby station and brief news about the city. His hard work on his home-made crystal radio was rewarded with this opportunity to let his thoughts wander and his ears listen in. When he was done, he then stood up and went back to his workspace.

In the nick of time, Alastor had managed to fix the radio. He brought it over by the bayou where Dave waited.

“Thank you so much,” said Dave as Alastor handed him the wooden radio console.

“Say,” said Dave, “You’re Louis Guidry’s son, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know that one of his friends works in the telephone business, AT and T? I’m one of the employers there. You seem to have a keen interest in radios and technology. If you’d like, I can get you acquainted with him.”

Alastor’s eyes brightened. “That would be a wonderful opportunity.”

“That’s great!” He fished into his pocket and handed Alastor some money. “I’ll get into contact and we can discuss things from there.”

It wasn’t long before Alastor was called in for an interview at a local station. Apparently, Dave told his father’s friend that he had a knack for fixing radios and doing mechanical work. Alastor combed his hair and dressed in his best suit.

He stepped into the building, where he met his interviewer, a pale man with a gray hat and glasses.

“Alastor Guidry, yes?”

“Yes.”

“So I heard from one of our employers, Dave, that you fixed his radio, correct?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Other than a few glitches here and there, you managed to fix it in time for his son’s birthday. Pretty impressive. Now tell me about yourself, your qualities, your hobbies. Why do you want this job?”

“Well, I’m Louis’ son. I have previous experience with constructing a crystal set radio in my apartment.”

The interviewer nodded in approval.

“I am tidy, efficient, and very outgoing. As many may know, I’ve been quite fond of entertainment programs and promoting. I took theater classes all throughout school and it has helped me with projecting my voice and doing presentations.”

“How are you with singing? May I hear a sample from you?”

“Of course,” said Alastor. He cleared his throat.

“I don’t have time for dancin’

That’s just gonna have to wait a while

Ain’t got time for messin’ around

And it’s not my style”

“This whole town can slow you down

People takin’ the easy way

But I know exactly where I’m going

Getting’ closer every day”

“And I am almost there

I’m almost there

People down here think I’m crazy

But I don’t care”

“Trials and tribulations

I’ve had my share

There’s ain’t nothin’ gonna stop me now

‘Cause I am almost there.”

The interviewer scribbled more notes. “Unoriginal but very enthusiastic in performance.”

The interviewer continued.  “Adaptable and mechanical. It appears that you are inclined toward being a radio announcer and DJ. Alas, that takes a lot of work and dedication to get there.”

“I’ll do my part and follow through on my goals. I’ll get there eventually.”

“I’m sure you would in better circumstances. But I’m afraid higher up positons such as those are unfit for mestizos such as you.”

Alastor was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“The potential is still there, sure, but based on what I’ve gathered, you’d be better starting off with our starting mechanics position.”

“What?” he asked in a loud voice, teeth clenched, smile strained.

“Take it or leave it,” the interviewer said, holding up a hand. “That is all.”

Alastor grumbled several days later as he began his weeks of long shifts. It was the lowest of the low, and that included several night shifts. He worked alongside mostly lower class white men and one other biracial guy. The higher ups were those who had helped with the older communication devices during World War One. They automatically got the best positions.

Alastor cleaned the studios, fixed the equipment and wires and organized files of test radio programs.

“Hurry up, boy, those microphones aren’t going to fix themselves, you know!”

“Useless scrub. He belongs on a farm, not in an office.”

“I told you, the scripts need to be prepared thirty seconds in advance before the program starts. We can’t afford any kind of delays.”

“Hey, Alastor!” Dave said brightly after Alastor took a break. “I see you got in! Congratulations!”

“Yes, I did,” Alastor said half-heartedly.

“Glad I could help,” he said.

“Um, are you sure that I can’t, you know…switch to a higher position? I mean, I already know how to fix and clean and organize everything.”

Dave just beamed. “Which is precisely why you’re the perfect fit for the job! AT and T is a big machine, and it needs cogs doing their part to work.”

“And so I’m the little one, huh? The one who barely makes enough to sustain himself?”

“There’s no need to get upset about it. It’s just the way it is. Don’t wanna be a square peg in a round hole, do we?”

His eyes held a hint of warning.

“No, sir.”

 “Remember your place, Al and keep working hard. Remember AT and T’s policies for its staff and agenda. I’m sure we’ll continue to get along just fine.”

He playfully slapped Alastor’s shoulder hard and he winced under his grin.

 “We should get some beer sometime,” Dave said.  Alastor raised his eyebrow. Then Dave burst into laughter. “Just kiddin’! It’s illegal anyway! See you tomorrow!”

 Alastor could surely do better than any of the men around him. Once again, he was at the bottom of the barrel. In nineteen twenty four, Alastor could only watch through the glass panes as other men spoke into hanging microphones as “On Air” buttons buzzed and glowed. In a recording room, one man mimicked the sound of stomping feet with shoes, and knocked on a small door for the sound effects. A ventriloquist held a wooden puppet on his shoulder and rapidly spoke his lines as a smartly dressed announcer spoke into a taller microphone. A few women came into the room and after a musical jingle, advertised a new candy: Fizziepops, (“The sweet sensation of the nation!”)

During meetings, the room would be filled with smoke, laughter, and talking. Dave wrote down ideas, graphs and diagrams on a blackboard and talked on and on about the same old rules and plans. Through the haze of smoke, Alastor tried not to fall asleep.

Afterwards, Alastor wandered toward an alley, where a group of men were smuggling in two beer bottles from a discreet crate. Alastor’s dry mouth smacked.

“Hello gentlemen!” he greeted. The men glared and froze. “May I have some of that?”

One man took out a knife. “It’s for our boss,” he said.

“Give them to me and I won’t say a word.”

The man charged at him, but Alastor swiftly took him out. Alastor smashed the men’s heads against the wall. After he was done, he opened up the bottles. One was beer, the other, liquor. He gulped down the liquor with a satisfied sigh. As he walked out, he handed a random man the beer bottle from behind a corner. The man stared in amazement at the bottle in his hands.

“Hey, you!” called a nearby officer. The man ran with a yell before he was handcuffed and arrested. Alastor snickered and slinked off into the shadows.

It was after one particularly bad day at work that Alastor decided to follow Dave home from a distance. He usually was not one to chase or stalk people, but there were times when he could adjust.  Alastor was more the type that liked to lure people in with a false sense of security. Dave greeted his wife and they briefly discussed “that brown Cajun clown from work” before heading inside.

Dave and his wife slept soundly that night. Sometime around three AM, he heard some shuffling and footsteps. He blinked his eyes open and saw nothing but his darkened bedroom and an open window in the guest room. In the back of his mind, he remembered shutting it before bed. He briefly closed his eyes before opening them again.

A familiar smiling face with wide eyes appeared slightly above him. He wore a brown and white shirt with a black bow tie under his neck. White gloves covered his hands and his glasses looked miniscule compared to his large brown eyes.

He recognized that face in a second. “Alast…”

A hand clamed over his mouth and Alastor could feel a scream spewing underneath.

Although Dave was one of the nicer rich people he had met, he was just as oblivious as everyone else. Alastor had purposefully waited a while before making his move. He had spent enough time at his job to earn people’s trust, or at least a disinterested tolerance of him being there. Just one of many insignificant folks who served as background characters in their working lives. Indeed, Alastor had learned of the benefits of being unnoticed, in addition to being in the spotlight. As life was a series of different musicals, Alastor would adapt to the appropriate roles, for better or worse.

Right now, the role he was in was one of his favorites.

Dave so happened to have the position that Alastor was aiming for.

There was no going back.

Alastor belted out a few lines as he adjusted the knife in his hand.

“Nothing else will stop me now

‘Cause I’m almost there”

The stabs came rapidly, with no mercy. Dave screamed and gagged as blood splattered the white sheets, the pillow, and Alastor’s face in the dark. Cindy turned on the lamp and let out an ear-piercing scream.

“Get out of my house!” she yelled.

Alastor climbed on top of the struggling, confused couple. The knife sank deep into Dave’s forehead, more thick blood gushing out. Dave’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as his body rasped heavily for air. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cindy try to get up and flee.

Alastor’s head turned to the side as he smirked.

“Going somewhere?”

After plucking the knife out from Dave’s forehead, Alastor grabbed hold of the woman. He turned Cindy over on her back and held her in place. He cupped her chin with his hand and briefly squeezed her pale cheeks with his fingers.

“It’s time to go to sleep, sweetheart,” he said in a sing song voice.

“Get off me!”

She whimpered and struggled against him to no avail. Alastor’s body weight helped hold her down. He pressed a thin finger to his lips.

“Shhhh.”

He pressed the knife into her neck. “You’ll make a tasty treat.”

A fountain of blood erupted from her mouth and neck as he sliced the blade though her throat and jugular vein. After several agonized gasps, Cindy flopped to the side, cold and still. Dave was gone as well.

Wasting no time, Alastor tore off their clothing and sliced up the largest mounds of flesh from their bellies, butts, chests and backs. After putting away the slabs of muscle and meat away, he moved the mangled corpses closer to each other. Their faces were pressed close to each other, their lips touching. Their organs were missing and only their rib cages coated with muscle bits were visible. Alastor put a couple of knives into what was left of their hands. He finally carved some sigils into their necks.

He stood back to admire his work. The bodies looked like two kissing lovers who had also decided to tear each other’s guts out…literally.

Alastor let out a laugh. “Typical married couples, am I right?”

He sang again.

“And I’m almost there

Almost there

Almost there.”

His gruesome work done and his meal in his possession, Alastor vanished back into the darkness of night.

The newspaper headlines soon read, “Dave Jenson, AT and T manager and his wife found dead in home.”  “Bayou Butcher/Devil Dapper/Louisiana Lunatic Still At Large.” Alastor smirked as he read the article from his desk. Dave’s money and wallet were safely hidden in a drawer in Alastor’s studio. Cindy’s jewelry was also there as well.

For the next week, he had taken Dave’s place and could now enjoy more benefits. The shock and disbelief spread through the company like smoke…and Alastor was relishing every moment. He did an excellent job at pretending to be sad and shocked. Later on, he saw the process of becoming a radio disc jockey and even got a chance to practice it under supervision. He would play the top 10 greatest hits, which, at first, were entertaining to listen to, but soon got boring. There were restrictions on what he could and couldn’t play, but he managed to do well enough.

Then, one day, his boss, suspicious of his motives and background, promptly fired him. So much for his father’s influence. It was a stunning downfall but one that would not last for long.

NBC and CBS eventually branched off from AT and T later on. Alastor applied for both of them and eventually got into CBS. As a disc jockey, he made some more money and felt comfortable in his role. Putting his best foot forward, he competed against several other guys for the radio host position. By sheer luck (and maybe a bit of magic manipulation tactics) he achieved it.

By the start of nineteen twenty five, people were starting to recognize Alastor’s unique persona on the air waves. While in the station, Alastor discussed the weather, local news, and added a joke here and there.

But where Alastor really made progress was in his new studio. He had used his new earned money to turn the family cabin into his own personal recording area. There was even a significant radio tower and cables poking through the wooden roof of the cabin. When he wasn’t torturing his victims in his basement or in the woods, he was turning dials and speaking into a new hanging microphone.

The first few times he was on air, he had gotten nervous and fumbled over several of his lines. But he got better and better each time. CBS helped with money and patents, complimenting his work at the station.

But at his own studio, he was doing even better on his own. No longer wanting to adhere to CBS’ strict rules, he quit and began his life-long journey of self-employment. The best part for Alastor was when he described his murders…as he knew he had a strange cult following of those who enjoyed living on the edge. He described the killings and police reports like it was the weather.

“Gooood morning New Orleanians!

Six AM…It’s your favorite host live on the air, Alastor! For recent updates, it appears that the Louisiana Lunatic has struck again. You may have heard the tragic tale of Dave and his wife, who were found dead in their own home. The killer apparently decided to slice their necks and tear out all their organs. The bodies were found next to each other, with knives in their hands. Previously, people had believed that the couple had gotten into a fight and killed each other out of spite. But a majority of citizens believe it to be the work of the infamous killer. One thing’s for sure, the maniac who did that was probably hungry for their blood. Be sure to stay safe, folks, you never know when the killer might appear again!”

Then came the jokes.

“Did you hear about the two radio antenneas who got married? The wedding was great, but the reception was awesome. Hahaha!”

“What did the cannibal get when he was late to the party? A cold shoulder! Hohohohoho, that’s a classic!”

“How do you help a starving cannibal? Give him a helping hand!”

“Orphans won’t be able to tattle tell on you. I mean, who are they gonna tell, their parents?”

Then there was Alastor’s favorite joke.

“Knock knock. Who’s there? Radio. Radio who? Radio not, here I come!”

“You’re never fully dressed without a smile,” Alastor sang, after another successful broadcast. “Stay tuned next time for more entertainment!”  He flipped an off switch and relaxed. During another broadcast he told a classic story to his listeners using image producing sound effects, like the creaking of a door or a mimicking of the blowing wind.

His lifelong dream was coming into fruition.

Wealth and fame embraced Alastor out of the blue. Kalfu had been right all along. It all started shortly after Alastor had completed his studio. It was when Alastor was brave enough to describe his killings as well as the status of other serial killers. He would also include news, cooking segments, dad jokes, and of course, jazz music. At first, Alastor’s station was drowned out by static by more prominent stations. Alastor got around it with a little bit of dark magic, which allowed his voice to ring in clear almost anywhere. The Radio Act of nineteen twenty seven would later solve the issue of stations drowning each other out, allowing more frequency space.

“Isn’t that the new radio host?” the people would ask each other as Alastor would play with his band at clubs. “Founder of Alastor’s Radio Show, ARS!” He would wave at them and several women would swoon.

“Wow, he’s cute!” they would exclaim.

“Oh so charming. A true gentlemen!”

“Alastor, over here!”

“Please marry me!”

“The way you do your shows, it’s like I’m there with you!”

Lines of fans would ask for his autographs or ask for advice on how to perform on the air. It was all too easy to charm the ladies and mess with them. Although it was fun to flirt and touch many women, he pushed away women (and a few men) who had wanted to get more intimate. Many women would fight each other over Alastor, while others would blow kisses at him. It was both amusing and annoying at times.

Alastor’s name started to appear in the newspapers among the higher ranked radio personalities. One reviewer dubbed him “the most entertaining host in New Orleans…and potentially all of LA.” Alastor even got to perform with his band on stage at the Imperial Theater. The audience stood and clapped after he and his friends had finished. The band had been called the Guidry Gang, with Alastor as the leader.

“If only my mother could see me now!” he thought with pride. 

Alastor’s rise to fame coincided with the commercial arrival of radios. There were battery electric console radios that were sold to consumers and soon were readily available. Some radios were merged with furniture and became the centerpieces of many living rooms. Even little kids at home enjoyed listening to him with their parents.

As a performer, radio host, and serial killer, Alastor was at the peak of his life toward the mid to late nineteen twenties. His apartment gave way to a new house in the suburbs, not too far from his cabin. His red car was new and state of the art…he would drive by, wearing sunglasses over his eyes, cigar in his mouth. He had added more stuffed deer heads to the mantle in the cabin, ironically continuing his father’s tradition. His new house soon had new furniture, a new stove, washing bin, refrigerator, and of course, lots of handmade radios. Big ones, small ones, ones in elaborate furniture…his bedroom was full of them.

New colorful suits, top hats and shoes now filled his closet. His favorite outfit was a red dress coat with a cross on the undershirt and red stripes down the sides. A red and black top hat matched, along with new black tap dancing shoes. Alastor was recognized in public by a cane he proudly carried with him. It had a built in microphone at the top and was flanked by curved golden deer antlers. Alastor had crafted it himself.

Yes, things were finally looking up for Alastor.

Chapter Twelve: “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile”

Roaring twenties/jazz age

Alastor meets flapper girl Mimzy Hannigan who performs on stage and they sing together as friends.  A crowd of girl fans squeal “We love you, Miss Hannigan!” Mimzy is from New York who owns a jazz club and is famous.

Later on, Mimzy becomes obsessively in love with him and his shows, so much so that Alastor begins to feel uncomfortable. After Alastor saves Mimzy from violent men, Mimzy hugs him and touches him inappropriately near his privates. Alastor pushes her off and Mimzy notices the knife in his hand. Realizing that he’s the serial killer, Mimzy rushes toward the crank phone to call for help. But Alastor soon grabs her, takes her into an alley and stabs her to death. He is able to take her body away to eat at his house before anyone notices.

Her death is announced on the radio the next day. Alastor later enjoys the 1929 Stock Market crash and sees orphans suffering. It made him feel good because it proved that he was at a higher status than he was before.

Chapter Thirteen: “So Many Orphans”

Chapter Fourteen: “Deer Down”

Nineteen thirty three Vox shoots and kills Alastor (Video killed the Radio Star)

Alastor should have known he would eventually be caught.

His confidence during the Roaring Twenties Decade and his desperation to survive during this Great Depression, had made him much more careless. Police and investigators found more traces of blood and half eaten human remains. The so called “conspiracy theory” made by a few individuals that New Orleans beloved radio host was actually an evil killer was now becoming a fact.

When the police discovered where he lived, one fateful day, Alastor didn’t hesitate to leave the house and flee for his life.

He didn’t even have time to announce the situation on his radio show.

He raced down the streets of New Orleans, ignoring passerby watching with stunned looks. He briefly caught his breath in an alleyway when he heard a growl.

He turned. A dirty white dog growled at him, with sharp yellow teeth and wounds all over its body.

Before Alastor could react, the dog leapt at him and sank its teeth deep into his hand.

Alastor screamed out loud.

The police heard the scream and followed it.

Alastor shook the rabid dog off him and climbed over a fence. He shoved people out of the way as he hightailed it toward the woods nearby. Turning behind him, he saw police hot on his trail, with two police dogs in front of them. A vicious German Shepard and a black Lab.

Alastor maneuvered around the tall trees, the sounds of loud barking behind him.

His hand and body were burning, as an agonizing pain spread through him. Black spots danced across his vision, but he kept moving.

As he continued to run, he thought he saw a horde of alligators shooting waves of water at him. The policemen behind him had mutilated faces and antlers sticking from their heads.

They were going to eat him alive.

He found himself screaming for help as the illusionary waves threatened to drown him.

He jumped over logs, ducked under branches and occasionally looked back. He was now getting far ahead of them, thankfully they were getting lost in the woods.

If he hadn’t learned to run and navigate the woods, he would’ve been caught already.

He thought he was safe, until the two dogs bit his legs and almost made him fall. The sharp pains were excruciating. Blood spilled down from the torn hole in his pants and the fresh wound on his leg.

He couldn’t shake the mutts off, so he used a simple fire blast to knock them off. He gasped for breath as he continued to run, the dogs chasing after him.

Off to the side, he saw a doe run along among the trees. She stared at him and she appeared to have his mother’s voice.

“So disappointed in you,” she said, her voice mixed with a deer bark. “Look what you’ve become: an utter monster.”

A stag ran next to her, the stag had his father’s voice. “Run, son!” he called.

Both deer collapsed to the ground after a gunshot rang out.

A hunter with long dark hair and a beard had a rifle in his hands as he stood over the deer.

“No!” Alastor cried out. “You killed my parents!”

The hunter looked up at him and his eyes narrowed.

“You’re…you’re that madman who killed my daughter…”

Alastor ignored him and just smiled through the pain. Nothing much else he could do.

The hunter heard the distant yells and shouted out. “Police! The criminal’s over here!”

More footsteps.

Alastor would soon be surrounded. The agonizing, inflammatory pain in his arm and head was too much. He would make sure he would not go to jail.

He charged blindly at the hunter.

The hunter aimed his rifle. “Stop right there, bastard!” he yelled.

Alastor kept running, a crazed smile on his face. Time seemed to slow down.

The hunter griped his weapon, his eyes wide with fear and disgust. “Don’t come any closer!”

“Alastor Crowley, you’re under arrest for first and second degree murder…” came the voices of the officers.

Alastor ran straight at the hunter, right in the range of fire. His eyes were wide and crazed. The look on his face was full of pain and insanity.

His face screamed, “Do it!”

Bang!

The hunter’s bullet flew straight between Alastor’s eyes. Blood flew from his head into the air. Alastor yelled out before his body plummeted to the ground with a thud. The dogs pounced on him, mauled, and ferociously bit.

The police raced over to the scene and the dogs soon backed up. The former radio host was lying face down. They turned him over and saw his dead face. The bullet hole in his forehead, the bloodied tattered shirt, pants, and bow-tie…and a strange smile on his pale cooling face. Red blood pooling from the wound into the ground. No one noticed the red mark of Kalfu appear on his cold neck.

They checked for pulse and breathing. Nothing.

“He’s gone,” said an officer.

The hunter…and many families of his victims had now gotten justice. But the hunter was visibly shaken. He had gotten his vengeance…but why wasn’t he happily relieved?

“He…He was coming after me…I had to defend myself, didn’t know what else to do…”

The haunting frozen look of the corpse would haunt the hunter for days. The hunter was hailed a hero, but he refused any praise or invitations.

Alastor’s body was promptly burned, no funeral or anything. His ashes were buried and some were spread out into the woods.

Radio announcement and newspaper obituary announcement:

“1933, Alastor Roscoe Crowley, age 37, (1896-1933) was shot in the head in the woods yesterday after attempting to kill an anonymous victim. Witnesses said he appeared to be drunk or in distress and was last seen dashing into the woods from the New Orleans Police Department. Radios, voodoo trinkets, gris-gris, and half-eaten body parts were discovered in his cabin and shed. The public can rest easy now that the infamous Louisiana Lunatic/Cajun Cannibal is now deceased. The only thing I can say for the man caught like a deer in the headlights, “oh dear, and good riddance.””

His fans of his radio show were notably upset and shocked at the news, but the majority of New Orleans were thankful that he was gone. How ironic that Alastor’s death would be announced on his own radio show. His studio and belonging were either burned or given away. His house and cabin were burned as well. Some of his intact radios found a new home at an antique shop. Some of them were expensive, some were cheaper, but people were too into the new trend of “Picture Boxes,” to think much of it. 

Chapter Fifteen: “This is Gonna Be Very Entertaining”

Black empty space.

Complete total silence.

He felt like he was floating in some kind of void. Where he was, he didn’t know.

He had no form, no physical sensations of any kind.

For a moment he just…was.

A small white light emerged from the dark above, and steadily grew. Though it was blinding, the light didn’t bother him.

“Alastor…Alastor…”

A choir of vocals were speaking the repeated word in the distance. The voices grew louder as he felt himself rising upward. The word felt comforting to him, and sounded strangely familiar.

“Alastor…”

He suddenly stopped and saw a golden gate up ahead within white clouds. A winged figure puffed up his white wings and stared at him.

“I am Puriel,” the angel said. He had a white face with red blotches on his cheeks, yellow eyes and short bronze gold hair. He was dressed in white dress pants, a white shirt, a golden bowtie, and matching shoes.

“I am an examiner of souls and one of many who determine where one goes in the afterlife.”

He spoke an incantation.

“Alastor Roscoe Crowley,” Puriel stated. “Here is your previous form.”

Alastor gasped as he suddenly remembered his name. A flood of memories of his past life rushed back to him.

Alastor stared down at himself and saw his human reflection in front of him. A thin man with a pointed chin stared back at him with chocolate brown eyes and small round glasses. His skin was a very light brown, looking almost white. His hair color was in-between brown and red, short with a bit of a wave pointing to one side. The longest parts of his hair were slightly past his ears, reaching toward his chin. 

A large black bowtie was positioned below his neck. His undershirt was white with buttons and crisscrossing lines forming a few diamonds. The design resembled the structure of a radio tower. Along with tan pants and brown boots, he wore a candy red pinstriped coat with dark red stripes going vertically down toward his waist.

What was disturbing about his reflection was a small red x on his forehead between his eyes that seemed to be glowing. His clothes were stained with blood as was the side of his face.

Alastor sprouted a large grin and instantly felt better. He said his name out loud, surprised to hear his voice.

The angel in front of him continued. “Alastor Roscoe Crowley, born in New Orleans, Louisiana to French American Louis Crowley and Creole American Loretta Duvalier. Entered Earth January 24^th, 1896 at 3:00AM. Died in 1933 in the woods via a gunshot to the head and mauling by dogs.”

A brief flashback of him running from the police, trying to hide in the woods. Hearing the growling of canines and being surrounded by sharp teeth. A loud gunshot and an exploding pain through his head. Briefly seeing a buck in the distance before things went black.

Puriel looked through an endless holographic list of souls. He turned to Alastor with a glare.

“Due to the endless number of people you killed, you are not fit to enter Heaven. You are to either enter Hell, purgatory, Tartarus…” he listed off dark places from other cultures…

“…or go back to the endless void, as those who die a second death are fated to go.”

Alastor could feel a strange sensation, like someone, or something was tugging at his chest. It seemed to come from far below. He suddenly felt the need to follow it.

Having read his mind, Puriel nodded, a look of disgust on his face. “Your fate has been decided. Suffering and death will be there to meet you, unless you can somehow redeem yourself. Farewell.”

The angel and the golden gate vanished, the darkness filling in again. Like the sudden drop of a roller coaster, Alastor felt himself plummeting rapidly down through the dark.

He literally screamed into the void.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

He thought he briefly saw a familiar blue and green planet out in space, but everything rushed by too quickly for him to comprehend.

Breaking through dark ground, falling further into hot magma, uncomfortable heat that was even hotter than the sun…

Falling ever so endlessly, until he rushed through an opening portal in a crimson sky, the rim surrounded by flames.

Down below, a group of little red skinned imps were forcing enchanted voodoo dolls made of straw to dance on hot coals. Red glowing chains held the dolls in place around their necks, the magic coming from the lead imp’s claws. The lead imp cackled, wearing ringmaster’s clothing and a round hat while the other imps jeered. A few demons watched the show from a distance. Several circus tents were lined nearby. The lead imp looked up in horror as the yelling figure fell down…and crushed him, creating a giant crater in the ground. The chains disappeared and the dolls cheered. They jumped over the coals and chased away their tormentors with sizzling silver pins.

The imp and Alastor fell through another portal, this time into a dark void.  Alastor landed hard on his back despite no visible structure being there. He coughed and slowly stood up, brushing off dirt and ash from his hair and clothes. The imp rubbed his long horns in pain and stood up too. The imp glared at Alastor, baring his fangs, but was quickly held into place via black tentacles pinning down his arms and legs. The imp yelled before being consumed by rows of sharp white teeth that appeared in the dark.

Alastor remained perfectly still, not even daring to breathe. (Not that he really could, anymore.) The black space was nothing like the silent void of death. In fact, it was more like an ocean of dark matter, humid heat and…

…things that were alive.

Shadow spirits ebbed and flowed through the endless space, some with glowing white eyes, others with horns, all of them blending in within the dark. Shrieks, moans, and the occasional cackle filled the air.

“Hello darkness, my old friend,” Alastor spoke to himself.

“Hello to you as well,” said a voice from behind him.

Alastor spun around and only saw darkness.

“Over here,” said the voice, in a distorted eerie tone.

He looked to the side and nearly gasped. Surrounded by an aura of red was a shadow of what looked like a skeletal humanoid deer. The figure stood upright with large white holes for eyes and sharp teeth inside its mouth. A pair of large antlers sat around shadow deer ears and a mess of hair. A claw gripped Alastor’s shoulders.

“Who are you?” Alastor asked.

“I am you,” the shadow replied. “I was born from your deepest nightmares, nestled in your subconscious. All of your evil thoughts, your fear, your rage…and your desire for vengeance. Those thoughts nourished me. Every kill you made on Earth brought you one step closer to not only death, but also to the Loas, and myself. Once you died, I was born with this shadow vessel, and separated from your mind. I traveled down here, to my home, knowing you would come. Now we are reunited at last.”

“But you’re not a part of me anymore,” Alastor said.

“Yes and no,” the shadow said. “Though I have my own body, I am still a reflection of your true feelings, your true motivations. So, naturally, once we get to Hell I’ll be your…guide, as it were.”

“But we can’t go back to Hell. Aren’t we stuck down here?”

“Not for long,” said the shadow. He pointed down to Alastor’s arm. Alastor looked and saw three glowing red voodoo symbols etched onto it in blood.

Alastor could sense other ancient beings moving closer to him, speaking in ghostly whispers.

The shadow continued, “Your debt to the Loas and specifically to Lord Kalfu has been paid. A sacrifice of loved ones in addition to your own gruesome death…bestows upon you, neigh unlimited power.”

It all happened before Alastor had the chance to blink. Shadow creatures rapidly circled around him and black tentacles enveloped his entire body like a macabre cocoon. Alastor yelled as his human skin cracked, and peeled off his body in fleshy chunks, which soon faded into dust. Muscle and bone also disintegrated rapidly. Surprisingly, it wasn’t agonizing. It was more like the natural process of a snake shedding its old skin to make way for something new.

He felt formless, naked and cold, but soon warmed up as new flesh formed where his old exterior shell once was.

His new skin and face were grayish in color. Empty dark sockets took up much of his face, the home of his new demonic red eyes. Soon, other body features formed: thin gray arms, legs, four fingered hands and four-toed feet…an anatomy of a male human, though definitely not human at all.

Alastor opened his mouth and sharp yellow fangs slowly emerged from the top and bottom. They closed together to form a wide sinister smile.

Thick red hair grew on Alastor’s head, pointing out in a slight wave toward the right like his previous human form. Tuffs of hair ending slightly past his chin on either side completed the look, ending with black colored tips. Instead of round earlobes, thick fluffy deer-shaped ears grew from the sides of his head, ending in black furry tips. In addition, small black antlers stuck out in the middle of his head, along with a fluffy black and red deer tail that appeared near his tailbone.

Alastor waved his hand in front of his right eye, and an old fashioned monocle appeared under it, connected by a thin chain. A burgundy pinstriped dress coat and a red undershirt materialized and covered his body. The ends of the coat were filled with several holes, giving it a tattered feel. An upside down black cross lay under a large black bowtie in place under his chin and neck. He wore the same color pants, plus black shoes with red deer hoof prints on the soles. Black gloves with red tips covered his four-clawed hands.

With his new form complete, the tentacles released Alastor and parted away.

Tingling hot red electricity spread into his head, then moved down his body, much of it resting in his hands and fingers. He snapped on instinct and a burst of red magic sparked to life like a firework.

Then knowledge of magic and voodoo spells entered into his brain. The new information faded into the back of his head, staying there like he had it within him all his life.

“HEHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!”

Alastor let out a maniacal laugh that rose higher into hysterical giggles. All this supernatural power was coursing through his veins, and he loved every second of it.

Finally the magic quietly faded with a humming sound.

 “One more thing,” said Alastor’s shadow, suddenly. “You’ll need this.”

An old vintage microphone staff materialized in his right hand. A glowing red eye appeared on the top, where the speaker was.

“About time you showed up,” came a voice from the device. It was a male voice with a radio filter over it. It sounded like an announcer on a broadcast.

“You were expecting me?” Alastor asked.

“Part of the deal with Kalfu,” the microphone replied. “Just turn me on and you can broadcast what’s going on around you, anytime, anywhere.”

Alastor grinned again. He was already enjoying this opportunity.

“Enjoy yourself while you can,” said his shadow before disappearing behind him.

The microphone muttered something about already feeling trapped but Alastor didn’t listen.

He was already planning his next move.

“What am I waiting for?!” he asked out loud. He concentrated on the space in front of him and a portal opened back to Hell. He stepped through it and it closed behind him.

This would be the beginning of Alastor’s many conquests of Hell…and his new title of The Radio Demon.

Hell was in for an insane awakening…for a Wendigo had been born.

Back somewhere in New Orleans, Alastor’s old radios had been moved to an antique shop in the French Quarter. All of them were arranged separately on shelves among TVs, pots, figures and other objects. Night had fallen and no one was in the store.

All traces of the infamous serial killer had been lost to memory.

With no explanation, the oldest radio blinked to life, the outer speakers and knobs blinking faint yellow lights. The hum of static filled the air. It had belonged to Alastor.

A demonic voice said in a low radio tone, “Stay tuned,” and ended with low laughter.