Writing for Fun
June 2015
The Turn Of A Card - Jan Osborne
Night was well advanced when Rouly, a fully fledged, card carrying psychopath quietly sidled into the dimly lit and rubbish strewn alleyway. The fetid stench of rotting garbage assaulted his nostrils like a physical force but did not slow his impatient stride as he made his way to a certain back entrance. His destiny was in Cap Haiten's notorious red light district, a small but well frequented brothel; Madame Joujou Saramones. Her girls were just to his liking; especially black eyed Veronique who was his long suffering favourite. If he paid Joujou over the odds she would turn a blind eye to his brutal misuse of the girl. He was finding it hard to contain the rising levels of excitement washing through his body at the thoughts of the pleasures to come and rapped impatiently on the door. The grille flew open and, after a quick glance to make sure he was not police, he was allowed to enter.
Sometime later he emerged, sated in both mind and body and, caressing his bruised and abraded knuckles, he slowly made his way to the flea pit of an apartment he called home.
An hour later Joujou's sixth sense prompted her to go to Veronique's room to check on her. The sight of her pale, bloodied and lifeless body lying in a crumpled heap on the floor at the base of the bed confirmed her worst fears. Rouly had gone too far this time.
Downstairs she made two 'phone calls: one for an ambulance and the other to a Mambo, a high Voodoo priestess.
* * *
Two nights later Rouly returned home and the sight that met his eyes as he opened the door turned his knees to jelly. Next to an effigy of himself stuck through with pins lay a bloody and disembowelled chicken. Shaking, he found and opened a bottle of rum and began to take deep swigs. With liquor running down his vest he sat down with a thump on his stinking, sagging bed and, shaking with fear, began to sob. He knew there was no escape. He was a cursed man.
In the deep of the night the door crashed open and Rouly was roughly dragged out of his bed, blindfolded, bound and gagged and bundled down the stairs.
Hours later Rouly was pulled from the car boot and forced onto his knees on what felt like rough grass. He could hear Voodoo drums being played, the hypnotic beat getting louder and louder until it invaded his very soul. He could also hear voices chanting and, as the volume increased, the meaning of the words became clear. The crowd were calling for Baron Samedi to appear. His bowels turned to water. Samedi was the king of the underworld.
Samedi chose whether you lived or died.
Suddenly the voices sighed away to silence and a fearful groan ran around the group. Someone behind him whipped off his blindfold and the sight of the apparition that confronted Rouly nearly stopped his heart. Slowly rising out of the ground in front of him a top hat appeared and under it the red burning eyes and cadaverous grin of the tuxedo jacketed skeleton of Baron Samedi.
As if at an unseen cue the drums crashed into life and all the white clad disciples of this spirit shrieked and screamed a welcome to their Lord and began to dance in ever decreasing circles around the now leaping Baron and his kneeling victim Rouly.
Samedi came to a halt in front of Rouly and the laugher died out of that terrible visage. He plucked a card from the hat band of his shiny, black top hat and twirled it close to his victim's face. 'Shall you live or shall you die for your crimes,' bellowed the Baron. He turned to his acolytes. 'Shall he live or shall he die?'
'Die! Die! Die!' screamed the crowd.
Baron Samedi put a bony forefinger to his skeletal mouth and shushed the baying hoard. In the dense, almost palpable silence he turned the card towards the terrified man and held it a few inches from his eyes. Rouly's ashen face crumpled as he saw the mark of death. He whimpered and closed his eyes to block out the sights and waited for the end. The last thing he heard was the bellowing laugh of the King of Death.
* * *
A week later an awful stench forced police to break into a seedy apartment in a rundown district of town. Inside police found a dead body, later identified by a smiling Madame Joujou Saramones as that of Rouly Rasonnet. Word went round that he looked as if he had been scared to death . . .
