Curse of the Voodoo Priestess

An eerie sound wove through the cemetery as a gust of air wrapped around the edges of the crypts. The myriad of buildings with the occasional statue interspersed among them looked like an ancient and otherworldly city within a city. The metropolis being below sea level prevented the inhabitants from burying their dead in the ground. Not many graveyards were as picturesque as those in New Orleans. A recent storm left everything wet and shimmering in the moonlight. Water still dripped from the buildings and trees with soft plinking sounds. A few stray bolts of lightning flickered in the distance.

A barn owl ruffled its brown speckled tawny wings as the branch it was perched on bobbed in the wind. The white feathers on its face and belly gave it a ghostly appearance in the dark shadows of the tree. Once settled, it continued to scan the ground for mice or other small rodents.

The owl heard footsteps falling in a familiar pattern punctuated by an occasional splash of booted feet walking through fresh puddles. A high-pitched haunting sound followed the footsteps as the man whistled his favorite tune. The barn owl saw this man frequently. Because his sharp features were like that of a falcon, the bird had come to know him as Falcon. He was one of the graveyard’s caretakers. Falcon walked slowly through the graveyard, sweeping up trash and other debris left by the tourists who liked to wander through, imagining a world of ghosts and ghouls.

Several minutes after Falcon moved on, a little pink nose poked out from beneath a stone bench that sat in front of one of the tombs, searching for a scrap of food abandoned by one of the visitors passing through earlier that day. The small grey mouse tentative crawled the rest of the way out from under the bench. It sat up and sniffed around before going back on all fours to drink from a small pool left from the rain. The mouse never noticed the bird of prey sitting silently in the tree, watching it intensely.

Just as the owl braced to swoop down and grab the rodent, there was the sound of trudging footsteps splashing down a nearby path, effectively scaring away its food source. Two men in dark, waterproof clothing came into view. The owl bobbed its head and wove about on the limb as it watched them with curiosity. It was a little annoyed at the loss of its meal, but there would be more rodents running about after the men left.

“You sure about this, brother? These cemeteries are even creepier at night than they are in the daytime. You can't even see far enough to tell if anyone, or anything, is out there.”

“We’re talking a huge payday if we pull this off. Who else would possibly be in here right now? It's closed for the night. It's not like someone will be visiting their dearly departed. Beside’s that storm would have had people running for cover. Nobody’s gonna see us out here, even with the flashlights. And people are scared enough of the possibility of haints that they won't investigate any sounds coming from in here. We ain't got nothing to worry about.”

Both men jumped as the owl challenged their presence with a raspy shriek, sounding more like a desperate scream of terror than the deep hoot of its contemporaries. It was a sound fitting for a graveyard.

“Wh-what was that?” the shorter of the men cried, looking around in a panicked manner. He had the appearance of a mouse himself, with his small pointy features. He even displayed the same cautious mannerisms as the rodent they had scared away.

“It was a barn owl, you idiot. Don’t you remember hearing them when we’d spend the summers out at Grandpere’s place? Seriously, you’re as skittish as a rabbit. Maman should have named you Lapin.”

“Yeah, well, she should have named you Chaoui since you like to take what’s not yours. You’re as bad as a raccoon.”

“Shut it. You don't know nothing about me.”

“I think I do after all the years I spent cleaning up your messes.”

They kept moving through the monoliths and buildings that resembled miniature, intricately adorned stone and marble homes. The full moon cast strange shadows along the narrow walkways. Both men looked around warily as they strolled along.

The owl blinked slowly before alighting from the branch. It soared over the hallowed grounds then landed on a crucifix on top of one of the vaults. Maybe there would be more food sources in that area.

The two men came into view again. They were scanning their flashlights over the crypts, looking for something. The bird ruffled its feathers again in annoyance but stayed put. Hopefully, they would keep moving.

“Here it is.” the taller man said. He was more weasely in image and manner than mousey. The owl wouldn't have minded eating a weasel. It would be more filling than a mouse, but it wasn't likely to find one in the cemetery.

“Sandrine Lavallee? You want to break into Madame Lavallee’s crypt? Are you crazy? She was one of the most well-known voodoo priestesses in all of New Orleans.” The mousey one exclaimed.

“Don't tell me you believe in all that voodoo mumbo jumbo. Madame Lavallee was as rich as a queen. Rumor is her mausoleum is full of a mint’s worth of gold and jewels. She don't need that in the afterlife.”

“You need to get a real job, so you don't have to keep the icing. It's going to catch up to you one of these days.”

Weasel laughed. “You sound like Maman. Besides, why did you come with me if you think stealing is so wrong?”

“To keep you from doing anything too stupid. Maman would never forgive me if I let you get arrested or die. Why would Madame Lavallee’s family keep that sort of thing here? I would think they would keep her personal belongings in their own homes or a safe deposit box at the bank. Or maybe in that voodoo museum.”

“Why wouldn't they? To keep it safe from people too frightened to come in here and get it. But I ain't afraid of a little voodoo. There’s no such thing. It's all just a show they put on for the tourists.” The sharp ting and scrape of metal against marble followed his words. The man grunted as he banged and pried at the doorway with a crowbar.

Mouse huffed a breath of frustration as he leaned against the tomb across the way. He made no effort to help his brother open up Madame Levallee’s vault. Eventually, there was a creaking noise as the door opened. Weasel stepped inside the tomb, followed closely by Mouse.

“What now? I don't see nothing in here but straw figures and wooden statues on that creepy altar over there. So much for those rumors.”

The owl tilted its head as a sibilant hissing sound reached its ears. That could mean a meal, but it would have to be careful to avoid the fangs, especially if it turned out to be poisonous.

“Aaahh! There’s a snake in here. Can’t you hear it? I'm telling you, this was a mistake. We need to get out of here.”

“You telling me you're afraid of a bitty little snake?” Weasel sneered.

“I don't like snakes. So sue me.” Mouse’s flashlight bobbed around sporadically inside of the crypt. It stopped, then fell to the floor with a clatter when he screamed again. Mouse quickly reemerged from the tomb. “I'm not doing this. I’m out of here. If you had any sense, you’d leave too.” He stopped by one of the nearby vaults to calm his nerves. His head swiveled in panic as he realized he had no light to guide him down the pathways. Humans were so weak with their inability to see in the dark.

“Get back here, you coward.” Weasel roared. “It's just one tiny little snake. It was probably eating mice in here or something. It's nothing to be frightened of. Fine. I’ll do it myself. I didn't come all this way to give up. I believe there is something of value hidden in here somewhere. Holy...where did they come from? I never knew they nested in places like this. You lot stay away from me, and we’ll be just fine. Ow. You better not be poisonous, you little...What in the hell? How did that get in here? Damn, it's big. Ah, now my leg is swelling up. No...oh my God, no. Arrrgh.” The clang of the crowbar hitting the floor and the noise of bones crushing and grinding together reached the barn owl’s ears.

Mouse was visibly shaking, but he was too scared to help his brother. Mewling whimpers escaped his mouth while he continued to glance between Madame Lavallee’s crypt and the way out of the graveyard. His eyes grew even wider as a series of creaking sounds filled the air.

The bird could detect the scent of decay as the doors to the crypts opened throughout the cemetery. Several reanimated corpses emerged from the portals. Their greenish-grey skin was peeling off in sickenly rotten pieces. Ragged scraps of clothing hung from their mostly bony frames. Worms and maggots wound their way in and over them. One of them turned her head in the direction of the owl’s perch. The empty eye sockets were dark depths of despair. The rich quality of her clothing, though hanging in rags, suggested that she had once been a member of the elite ranks of New Orleans. Her sparse hair swung in lanky lengths as she turned back towards the man cowering in the shadows. The more recently interred still had their eyes in varying states of decay.

Mouse cried out something unintelligible as he stumbled away from the army of the undead. The zombies staggered along, limbs dragging awkwardly, following the little man’s retreat. He was making enough noise that even a snake could have followed the sounds. In contrast, the living dead were nearly soundless in their pursuit.

Mouse let out a blood-curdling scream as he no doubt encountered one or more of the undead. “No. please no. It wasn’t my idea. It was my brother that opened her crypt. I didn’t want to have anything to do with it. I swear. I didn't take anything from it. Help me! Maman!” His cries became more guttural.

The smell of fresh, moist earth wafted through the graveyard, coming from one of the few plots that didn't have a crypt built on it yet. The mousey little man’s wails morphed from strangled to muffled. There was a wet, sucking sound, then silence.

The owl sat on the cross a bit longer, keeping as still as one of the statues. It watched the reanimated corpses shuffle their way back into their crypts, closing the doors behind them. One of them stopped, stooping to pick up the arm that had just fallen from its socket, before continuing on to sleep in his vault once again. The zombies would lay there quietly, waiting until the next time someone took it upon themselves to violate Sandrine Lavallee’s resting place.

Eventually, movement from the tomb the men had broken into caught the owl's attention. A small snake slithered across the stone path. Seizing the opportunity, the barn owl glided down, snatching the snake up in its talons, making sure to take hold close to its head so it couldn't whip around and bite its captor. The reptile writhed in the bird’s grip until the sharp claws pierced its body. The owl settled on top of the crypt door to eat. A beam of moonlight illuminated a huge serpent lying on the marble floor inside, the middle of its vast length engorged with a weasel man-sized bulge. Its scales glittered in a pattern of muted shades of browns and greens. While the large snake appeared to be sleeping, it made the owl nervous. The bird took its meal up into a tree.

A flash of light in the distance resolved into the caretaker who had made his rounds earlier that evening. Unlike Mouse and Weasel, this man was reverent towards the cemetery's inhabitants. If he had been out and about when the zombies were on the hunt, they would have left him alone. He was one of the protectors of the dead. Falcon reached down and picked up one of the other snakes that had escaped both the crypt and the bird of prey. He let it coil around his arm before removing it. Placing a kiss behind its head, he released it back into the tomb. Falcon chuckled as he saw the enormous serpent within. He made a sign of respect to Madame Lavallee before closing the door. Finally, Falcon tipped his cap to the owl and set off to continue his rounds.

After its meal was complete, the owl picked at its feathers for several minutes before settling in for a nap. The sun was just starting to rise in the east, casting a rosy glow in the sky. The distant noise of music and people partying in the French Quarter had waned, replaced with the sound of those rising to head to work.

Several hours passed before a shriek from the direction of Mouse’s last whereabouts awoke the bird. The clattering sound of high-heeled footsteps faded as they reached the gates. The owl nodded off again. A little while later, the cemetery was crawling with police officers. They were searching every nook and cranny for something.

Two of them slowly walked down the path that wound under its tree. One of them had the attributes of a cat. He looked somewhat lackadaisical, but the owl had a feeling he was paying more attention than it seemed. The other officer gave off the aura of a wolf. He could quite possibly be one of the rougarou.

“I feel bad for that lady finding that hand poking out of the ground. It had to have been a shock for her. I think I would have had a heart attack. Why would someone try to bury a body underground around here?” Officer Cat said as they stopped walking to look around.

“Eh. Some people can't afford a proper burial, especially for a beloved pet. But he wasn't buried there. There weren't enough loose dirt or mud remnants around the grave.” Officer Wolf replied.

“What do you mean? Of course, someone buried the man there. He was the earth. He probably had a beef with one of the gangs around here, and they didn't have time to pry open a crypt to throw him in. It probably would have been better if they had. He might not have been found for a long time, if at all if they had taken the time to do that.”

“It's obvious. That man was pulled under the earth, probably by that dog that was beneath him.”

Officer Cat laughed. “You take your side job a ghost tour guide too seriously.”

Officer Wolf shrugged. “There’s a lot of truth behind those stories. New Orleans is one of the most haunted cities in the country.”

“Yeah. Well, ghosts are one thing. You’re talking about what? A zombie dog? Don't be ridiculous. Whoever heard of animals coming back to life and dragging people underground?”

Wolf shrugged. “It is just a theory. We are in a cemetery, after all. There are plenty of dead bodies around here.”

Cat laughed again, “Yeah, but his brain was intact.”

“There’s no evidence that zombies eat brains,” Wolf replied, distracted by something. He walked closer to the voodoo priestess’ crypt. “Would you look at this? Someone tried to break into Madame Lavallee’s crypt recently.”

“You think it's connected?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Sandrine Lavallee practiced voodoo, after all. There are rumors of a curse on her resting place to stop this sort of thing from happening.”

“You don't seriously believe in voodoo curses, do you?”

Wolf laughed but made a sign of respect in front of him. “Whether I do or don't isn't important. My mother taught me to have a healthy respect for voodoo and its practitioners.”

The officers wandered off, still talking. Neither one bothered to check within the voodoo priestess’ crypt, whether out of fear or respect. By the time anyone went back inside there, aside from the crowbar, all evidence that Weasel had ever been there would be long gone. The owl hooted and ruffled its feathers before regurgitating a pellet of snakeskin and bones. The bird of prey took flight. It landed in a nearby church belfry where it went to sleep again. It was much quieter there.