Voodoo Summer

I remember it as clear as day. It was back when I was just 12, a summer so hot in Louisiana, you could fry an egg on the sidewalk. Mom and Dad always told me to steer clear of the old woman who lived down the road. "Madam Louis," they’d say with a shudder, "she's into some nasty voodoo magic." But hell, I was a curious kid, and the more they told me to stay away, the more my feet itched to march right up to her front porch.

One sweltering afternoon, my adventurous side got the better of me. I figured, what's the harm? It's just some old lady's house, right? So, off I went, determined to see what the fuss was about. The closer I got to her house, the thicker the air seemed to get. Her dwelling was an eerie, decrepit Creole cottage, surrounded by dense marshland. Spanish moss hung like ghostly curtains, shrouding the place in an uncanny quiet.

My heart pounded in my chest as I stepped onto the wooden porch, each creak echoing through the oppressive silence. I knocked softly, my breath hitched in my throat. The door creaked open and standing before me was Madam Louis. She was a frail thing, hunched over with age, but her eyes - they held a darkness that made my blood run cold.

"Come in, child," she rasped, her voice sounded like the rustle of dry leaves. I should've turned around then, but something about those piercing eyes drew me in.

Her home was filled with weird trinkets. Glass jars filled with strange herbs, bundles of sticks tied together with colored ribbons, and dozens of dolls. My heart skipped a beat when I saw them. I'd heard enough spooky tales about voodoo dolls. But I pushed the fear away, reminding myself those were just stories.

She offered me a seat and a glass of lemonade. I drank it, mainly because it was too hot outside, and partly because I didn't want to be rude. She began talking about things that sounded strange, all about spirits and energies. I nodded politely, trying not to let my discomfort show.

Suddenly, I felt a wave of dizziness, my vision blurred. Madam Louis’ face transformed into a wicked grin. She whispered something under her breath, and I swear, I felt my body grow rigid, unresponsive. I could see and hear everything, but I couldn't move, I couldn't speak.

She stood up and walked over to her table, where the dolls were. She picked up a small doll that eerily resembled me. As she moved a needle towards it, I felt a sharp pain in my arm. I screamed inside, but no sound came out.

Tears streamed down my face as she toyed with the doll. Every prick was a punch in my gut. I was trapped. Suddenly, her hand stilled. She turned to me, her eyes flashing with a wicked gleam. "Next time, listen to your parents," she cackled. Then, everything went black.

When I woke up, I was outside, lying on the grass. The sun had set, and the cool evening air was a welcome relief. Was it all a dream? As I sat up, I winced, my body felt like I'd been hit by a truck. That's when I saw it. In my hand was the small doll that looked like me, complete with the pins sticking out of it.

From that day on, I never ventured near Madam Louis' house. I was a changed kid, not so adventurous, not so curious anymore. Sometimes, late at night, I can still hear her cackling echo in my dreams. Mom and Dad never knew what happened, but they noticed the change.

The doll? I buried it deep in the woods, hoping to forget about that dreadful day. But every time I close my eyes, I can still see her wicked grin, hear her raspy voice, and the memory of the pain, oh the pain, it was all too real.

So, that's my story. I learned my lesson the hard way. Remember, when someone warns you about the darkness, it's probably best to listen. And Madam Louis? Well, she's still out there, in her creepy old house, and me? I'm just hoping our paths never cross again.