1999
“Oh my God Dean! This place is so pretty!” Emily exclaimed as she spread the blanket out over the grass.
“I thought you’d like it.” He flashed her a seductive grin as he stripped off his white tee shirt, flexing as many muscles as he could in the process before he sat down beside her. ”How did you find this place?” He brushed a long stray hair from her face as she spoke.
“Oh, someone in school suggested it, said it was nice and… private.” He winked as she blushed and giggled. His eyes dilated as he looked her up and down.
“I bet you bring all your girlfriends out here!” She looked up at the moss covered trees. “Did you know that Spanish moss kills the host tree?”
“No. And no, I’ve never taken anyone here, you are my first.”
She crept closer to him on her hands and knees, “So I’m special?” She kissed him, “it really is beautiful, and so peaceful.” ”Yeah, you’d never know what went on here…” Her hand, which had been slowly making its way up his thigh, stopped and tightened painfully. “What do you mean? What happened?” He placed his hands on her shoulders. They say that there used to be a plantation house here, and that it was haunted.” Her eyes widened as he spoke, better, he thought. “The story goes that the ghost of a slave burned it to the ground back in the seventies, after killing a few people.” Emily’s face went white, “Hey, baby,” he brought her to his chest and kissed the top of her head, “it’s just a stupid story. I’m sure nothing like that happened. Don’t be scared.” He smiled as he tilted her face up and kissed her. “Dean, I think we should go. What if there are ghosts here?” Nice going slick, backpedal or you can kiss any chance you had goodbye. “I don’t believe in that silly stuff. Do you?” He hugged her tightly, caressing her upper arm with his thumb. She shook her head, “Good, now come here.” She giggled as he laid her on the blanket. “No fair stopping in the middle like that, lets finish what you started.” he teased as he moved over her.
1811
“Who did this boy? The woman demanded in Senegalese as she poured water over the young boy’s broken, bleeding skin. The child hesitated, “John.” The boy replied, wincing as the older woman began to spread a salve over his back. She gritted her teeth as she worked, she could see the child’s struggle as he tried to hold back the tears that stung his eyes. The women started to chant softly waving her hands around wildly, the rhythmic ritualistic words calmed him slightly.
She grabbed his arm, forcing him to look her in the eye, “Do not say his name! Not even in private,” she spoke in English this time, “if he hears about it he’ll kill you for sure. We are no better than mules to them, show disrespect like that and you’ll be sold off, or worse, Master, and Mistress aren’t so bad but Sir, he a whole other story son. He done killed for less.” He blinked back a fresh bout of tears, “Sorry, ‘Sir’ beat me, with da whip.” Mami nodded, “That’s betta, rest, I’ll bring some food afta I get ma suppa chores done.” The young man glanced at her and seen murder in her eyes as she pulled away. He tried to rise, but the effort only served to bring a fresh river of blood trailing down his ribcage where it spilled onto the dirt floor. Fearfully Mami watched from the doorway of the slave’s area, waiting for Sir to come back and finish what he’d started. She bit her tongue until she tasted the metallic bitterness of blood, she glanced around to make sure no one would catch her sneaking out of the punishment room.
“John had to beat the mailto boy, he dared back talk him in the fields.” Master Jonson said to his wife as Mami ladled soup into his bowl. Mami chocked back a sneer, I bet he did, she thought as she finished setting supper on the table. She waited near the wall, her hands clenched behind her ratty apron as they spoke and ate.
“Perhaps we should sell him?” The master continued, without looking up. “That is your decision. We have been good to them, but they refuse to fall in line. Why just last night they were out there beating their drums and creating such a racket I could scarcely sleep. Perhaps seeing him sold off will quell the ranks. He is light enough, he’d make a fine houseboy for someone with a firm hand if they chose to spend the time to break him, or in a few years he’ll be a strong back in the cotton fields. I’m certain he’d get a decent sum.” Mistress said, picking up her wine glass and sipping slowly, the corners of her pert mouth turned up in a cruel smile.
That white witch speaks about my son as if I can’t still hear her. Mami seethed silently. I wonder what Mistress would say if she found out that that ‘Mailto’ was the Master’s half-breed son? Maybe I should tell her that her husband prefers my ample curves to her boney hide.
“That’s my adorable bride, always practical. I believe you are right, why waste the time and resources feeding and housing him. Let him become someone else’s problem. I’ll arrange for the sale at the next market.” he said, raising his glass to her a broad grin spread across his face.
Mami’s heart skipped a beat, my baby!
She cleared the table, and stacked the dishes, for the young girl in the kitchen to wash.
I won’t let them send him away. She told herself firmly. She removed the scarf covering her hair and socked away the few scraps she could before turning and hurrying out of the room.
Down the stairs, she crept, to the boy who lay face downward in the dirt his leg shackled to the wall with a great iron chain. She knelt beside the boy and fed him the small bits of food with her hands, her eyes locked on the angry weeping welts on his back. “As soon as you are strong enough, we are leaving here.” She whispered in her native language.
The boy’s eyes flew open, and he tried to move causing the chain to rattle loudly. “Hush, child, if they catch me here they will skin us both alive.” She glared down at him.
A week passed as she formed her plans, the few whom she trusted telling tried in vain to warn her of the risks of being arrested.
“They’ll whip you, before quartering you,” Seema hissed, “leave me out of it, I have children to think of.”
“I am thinking of my child too!” Mami retorted gathering her skirts as she turned away.
That night, standing in the blackness hidden behind a bush she clutched her young son’s hand, and prayed, waiting for the proper moment, ready to act as soon as Sir’s light was blown out.
When off in this distance she heard the yelling of people, and the rhythmic pounding of drums. Her son opened his mouth, but she clamped a hand over it. She shook her head, a dire warning look etched across her face.
Sir’s light relit, and her spirit sank, “Run back to the quarters, wake everyone up!”
The boy picked himself up out of the bushes and went as fast as his spindly legs would take him.
Several weeks later, Mami was on her knees, sobbing, as she stared upwards at her son’s head perched atop the city’s gates. “They killed him! They killed my boy!” she screamed, as someone helped her to her feet. “I’ll get them, I’ll see to it that they pay for this. I’ll make them pay!” She screamed out in French, as she broke down and sobbed into Seema’s chest.
She watched as the executioner gathered the remains of the eleven who were put to death and carted them off to be buried in an unmarked mass grave.
Sir grabbed her arm and pulled her behind the cart, “See what happens when you try to escape?” He sneered, “I should fling you in the pit with the remainder of the trash for threatening to harm the Master.” He pointed to the open hole in the ground one hundred yards away.
Mami jerked her arm free and spat at the man’s feet.
1823
Mami concealed the small clay jar in her pockets, as Mistress called from above for her to hurry up. They were headed to town, and she would have a few precious moments to herself as Mistress shopped.
Mami’s heart clenched as they passed through the gates, she looked up to the spot where her son’s head had been placed, and she shivered, feeling as if his eyes were staring down at her, warning her not to do what she had spent so many years planning.
Quietly she slipped off to the site of the grave, she said a quick prayer, calling upon the dead to do her bidding. Laying pennies in a hole she dug she collected the dirt, hoping she was able to get enough from the place for her trick, before covering the coins with dirt and pouring water over the spot.
A satisfied smile slowly spread across her face as she slipped the small jar into her pocket. At last the last ingredient is mine, she thought. Those white devils is gonna get it now!
That eve, as Sir bent over her on his bed, his hand pressing her down while he loosened his pants, she slid the dagger from her pocket, when she felt his weight shift as he readied himself, she waited until he slid into her, she groaned, as he quickened his pace, Almost she thought, hurry up you rutting pig. She felt his arms tense, finally! She thought as she clamped her legs hard around him, in one smooth motion she slit his throat, laughing as his blood soaked her through, she felt his member contracting as he emptied his seed into her. She waited until his body stopped twitching before pushing him off her. She stood facing down at him, his eyes wide in surprise with his pants falling down about his ankles. She took out a little bottle from her clothes and opened the upper side, she kept it in one hand as she sliced off Sir’s manhood catching the blood in the tiny vial.
She crept up the stairs of the mansion, the deathly quiet muffled by the beating of her heart. I hope the sleeping powder worked. She stopped at the door, and pressed her ear against the cold wood. After a few moments she turned the knob and quietly pushed the doors open, even without the moon’s light she could see they were sound asleep.
She opened vials, and quickly dispatched with the sleeping man and woman. She smashed the mirrors and collected the pieces that scattered on the floor before she left spitting on the threshold of the bedroom’s doorway as she laughed. She nearly tripped down the stairs, as she made her way to the slave’s quarters, where she killed them as quickly and painlessly as possible. Her heart pained as she killed her friends, she left gifts with each of them, asking them to follow her in their deaths.
The new moon had been perfect for the slayings, but now I have to wait for the waning moon to finish the binding spell. Thankfully the Sugarcane processing season was over, and no one would come 'round looking for them anytime soon. She thought as she inserted the vials into wax effigies of the dead. She worked quickly to make tiny mirrored coffins for each of the dolls, when she was finished, she buried the vials around the property.
“Oh my God Dean! This place is so pretty!” Emily exclaimed as she spread the blanket out over the grass.
“I thought you’d like it.” He flashed her a seductive grin as he stripped off his white tee shirt, flexing as many muscles as he could in the process before he sat down beside her. ”How did you find this place?” He brushed a long stray hair from her face as she spoke.
“Oh, someone in school suggested it, said it was nice and… private.” He winked as she blushed and giggled. His eyes dilated as he looked her up and down.
“I bet you bring all your girlfriends out here!” She looked up at the moss covered trees. “Did you know that Spanish moss kills the host tree?”
“No. And no, I’ve never taken anyone here, you are my first.”
She crept closer to him on her hands and knees, “So I’m special?” She kissed him, “it really is beautiful, and so peaceful.” ”Yeah, you’d never know what went on here…” Her hand, which had been slowly making its way up his thigh, stopped and tightened painfully. “What do you mean? What happened?” He placed his hands on her shoulders. They say that there used to be a plantation house here, and that it was haunted.” Her eyes widened as he spoke, better, he thought. “The story goes that the ghost of a slave burned it to the ground back in the seventies, after killing a few people.” Emily’s face went white, “Hey, baby,” he brought her to his chest and kissed the top of her head, “it’s just a stupid story. I’m sure nothing like that happened. Don’t be scared.” He smiled as he tilted her face up and kissed her. “Dean, I think we should go. What if there are ghosts here?” Nice going slick, backpedal or you can kiss any chance you had goodbye. “I don’t believe in that silly stuff. Do you?” He hugged her tightly, caressing her upper arm with his thumb. She shook her head, “Good, now come here.” She giggled as he laid her on the blanket. “No fair stopping in the middle like that, lets finish what you started.” he teased as he moved over her.
1811
“Who did this boy? The woman demanded in Senegalese as she poured water over the young boy’s broken, bleeding skin. The child hesitated, “John.” The boy replied, wincing as the older woman began to spread a salve over his back. She gritted her teeth as she worked, she could see the child’s struggle as he tried to hold back the tears that stung his eyes. The women started to chant softly waving her hands around wildly, the rhythmic ritualistic words calmed him slightly.
She grabbed his arm, forcing him to look her in the eye, “Do not say his name! Not even in private,” she spoke in English this time, “if he hears about it he’ll kill you for sure. We are no better than mules to them, show disrespect like that and you’ll be sold off, or worse, Master, and Mistress aren’t so bad but Sir, he a whole other story son. He done killed for less.” He blinked back a fresh bout of tears, “Sorry, ‘Sir’ beat me, with da whip.” Mami nodded, “That’s betta, rest, I’ll bring some food afta I get ma suppa chores done.” The young man glanced at her and seen murder in her eyes as she pulled away. He tried to rise, but the effort only served to bring a fresh river of blood trailing down his ribcage where it spilled onto the dirt floor. Fearfully Mami watched from the doorway of the slave’s area, waiting for Sir to come back and finish what he’d started. She bit her tongue until she tasted the metallic bitterness of blood, she glanced around to make sure no one would catch her sneaking out of the punishment room.
“John had to beat the mailto boy, he dared back talk him in the fields.” Master Jonson said to his wife as Mami ladled soup into his bowl. Mami chocked back a sneer, I bet he did, she thought as she finished setting supper on the table. She waited near the wall, her hands clenched behind her ratty apron as they spoke and ate.
“Perhaps we should sell him?” The master continued, without looking up. “That is your decision. We have been good to them, but they refuse to fall in line. Why just last night they were out there beating their drums and creating such a racket I could scarcely sleep. Perhaps seeing him sold off will quell the ranks. He is light enough, he’d make a fine houseboy for someone with a firm hand if they chose to spend the time to break him, or in a few years he’ll be a strong back in the cotton fields. I’m certain he’d get a decent sum.” Mistress said, picking up her wine glass and sipping slowly, the corners of her pert mouth turned up in a cruel smile.
That white witch speaks about my son as if I can’t still hear her. Mami seethed silently. I wonder what Mistress would say if she found out that that ‘Mailto’ was the Master’s half-breed son? Maybe I should tell her that her husband prefers my ample curves to her boney hide.
“That’s my adorable bride, always practical. I believe you are right, why waste the time and resources feeding and housing him. Let him become someone else’s problem. I’ll arrange for the sale at the next market.” he said, raising his glass to her a broad grin spread across his face.
Mami’s heart skipped a beat, my baby!
She cleared the table, and stacked the dishes, for the young girl in the kitchen to wash.
I won’t let them send him away. She told herself firmly. She removed the scarf covering her hair and socked away the few scraps she could before turning and hurrying out of the room.
Down the stairs, she crept, to the boy who lay face downward in the dirt his leg shackled to the wall with a great iron chain. She knelt beside the boy and fed him the small bits of food with her hands, her eyes locked on the angry weeping welts on his back. “As soon as you are strong enough, we are leaving here.” She whispered in her native language.
The boy’s eyes flew open, and he tried to move causing the chain to rattle loudly. “Hush, child, if they catch me here they will skin us both alive.” She glared down at him.
A week passed as she formed her plans, the few whom she trusted telling tried in vain to warn her of the risks of being arrested.
“They’ll whip you, before quartering you,” Seema hissed, “leave me out of it, I have children to think of.”
“I am thinking of my child too!” Mami retorted gathering her skirts as she turned away.
That night, standing in the blackness hidden behind a bush she clutched her young son’s hand, and prayed, waiting for the proper moment, ready to act as soon as Sir’s light was blown out.
When off in this distance she heard the yelling of people, and the rhythmic pounding of drums. Her son opened his mouth, but she clamped a hand over it. She shook her head, a dire warning look etched across her face.
Sir’s light relit, and her spirit sank, “Run back to the quarters, wake everyone up!”
The boy picked himself up out of the bushes and went as fast as his spindly legs would take him.
Several weeks later, Mami was on her knees, sobbing, as she stared upwards at her son’s head perched atop the city’s gates. “They killed him! They killed my boy!” she screamed, as someone helped her to her feet. “I’ll get them, I’ll see to it that they pay for this. I’ll make them pay!” She screamed out in French, as she broke down and sobbed into Seema’s chest.
She watched as the executioner gathered the remains of the eleven who were put to death and carted them off to be buried in an unmarked mass grave.
Sir grabbed her arm and pulled her behind the cart, “See what happens when you try to escape?” He sneered, “I should fling you in the pit with the remainder of the trash for threatening to harm the Master.” He pointed to the open hole in the ground one hundred yards away.
Mami jerked her arm free and spat at the man’s feet.
1823
Mami concealed the small clay jar in her pockets, as Mistress called from above for her to hurry up. They were headed to town, and she would have a few precious moments to herself as Mistress shopped.
Mami’s heart clenched as they passed through the gates, she looked up to the spot where her son’s head had been placed, and she shivered, feeling as if his eyes were staring down at her, warning her not to do what she had spent so many years planning.
Quietly she slipped off to the site of the grave, she said a quick prayer, calling upon the dead to do her bidding. Laying pennies in a hole she dug she collected the dirt, hoping she was able to get enough from the place for her trick, before covering the coins with dirt and pouring water over the spot.
A satisfied smile slowly spread across her face as she slipped the small jar into her pocket. At last the last ingredient is mine, she thought. Those white devils is gonna get it now!
That eve, as Sir bent over her on his bed, his hand pressing her down while he loosened his pants, she slid the dagger from her pocket, when she felt his weight shift as he readied himself, she waited until he slid into her, she groaned, as he quickened his pace, Almost she thought, hurry up you rutting pig. She felt his arms tense, finally! She thought as she clamped her legs hard around him, in one smooth motion she slit his throat, laughing as his blood soaked her through, she felt his member contracting as he emptied his seed into her. She waited until his body stopped twitching before pushing him off her. She stood facing down at him, his eyes wide in surprise with his pants falling down about his ankles. She took out a little bottle from her clothes and opened the upper side, she kept it in one hand as she sliced off Sir’s manhood catching the blood in the tiny vial.
She crept up the stairs of the mansion, the deathly quiet muffled by the beating of her heart. I hope the sleeping powder worked. She stopped at the door, and pressed her ear against the cold wood. After a few moments she turned the knob and quietly pushed the doors open, even without the moon’s light she could see they were sound asleep.
She opened vials, and quickly dispatched with the sleeping man and woman. She smashed the mirrors and collected the pieces that scattered on the floor before she left spitting on the threshold of the bedroom’s doorway as she laughed. She nearly tripped down the stairs, as she made her way to the slave’s quarters, where she killed them as quickly and painlessly as possible. Her heart pained as she killed her friends, she left gifts with each of them, asking them to follow her in their deaths.
The new moon had been perfect for the slayings, but now I have to wait for the waning moon to finish the binding spell. Thankfully the Sugarcane processing season was over, and no one would come 'round looking for them anytime soon. She thought as she inserted the vials into wax effigies of the dead. She worked quickly to make tiny mirrored coffins for each of the dolls, when she was finished, she buried the vials around the property.
