Jeff Strand - A Bad Day for Voodoo

“Okay, it’s a groove. You’ve got a big groove in your leg. If you didn’t want to walk into the store, I’d totally understand. I wouldn’t want to walk in there either in your condition. I was paying you a compliment by saying that you would want to walk in there even though you got shot in the leg. When you said you didn’t need to go to the hospital, I was impressed! I thought, wow! I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of that kind of devotion.”

I stared at him. “I think that is the most babbling I’ve ever heard a person do. It’s like every sentence you say gets more and more desperate. What’s wrong with you?”

“Please don’t make me go in there.”

“You’re coming with us.” I opened the car door. “If you try to run, I swear, hurt foot or not, I will take you down.”

Adam sadly opened the driver’s side door and got out of the cab. Kelley and I got out as well. I held the voodoo doll very carefully, because losing it with six or seven steps to go to our destination would be beyond lame.

I had no idea what was going on with Adam, but I couldn’t help but suspect that there was some sort of unpleasant revelation awaiting us when we entered the store.

We pushed open the door. A small bell above the door tinkled. The shop was very tiny, consisting of little but two long display cases of jewelry. Behind the counter was a beaded curtain. The place smelled like incense mixed with mildew mixed with Lysol mixed with a cheeseburger that should have been eaten much sooner than now.

“We’re closed,” said a voice that sounded like it belonged to the oldest, croakiest, phlegmiest woman in the world. It came from behind the curtain.

“My name is Kelley,” said Kelley. “I called earlier.”

The woman pushed through the beaded curtain. She was dressed entirely in black, except for her immense amount of gaudy jewelry. She looked about eighty years younger than she sounded, meaning she looked about forty.

“You called about the doll?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, where have you been for crying out loud? Do you think I have nothing better to do than stand around all night waiting for you? You said you’d be right over! This wasn’t right over!” “We’re sorry.”

“You’re lucky Gordon Ramsay isn’t on tonight, or you’d be out of luck. So you’ve got a doll problem, huh?”

“Yes. Like I said on the phone, you sold our friend a voodoo doll, and we need its power taken away.”

“Voodoo?”

“Voodoo.”

The woman snorted. “Calling my practice voodoo is an insult to true Haitian Vodou. This has nothing to do with the supreme god Bondye, nor are there any loa involved, and I’m as much of a mambo as you are a member of the Blue Man Group. Even if we extended the definition to include New Orleans voodoo, where’s the Legba? Where’s the gris-gris? Why don’t you do a little research?”

Kelley remained calm, though it was clearly not easy. “Do you sell dolls that are like what somebody would call a voodoo doll?”

“On occasion. Maybe. Touristy stuff. Who wants to know?”

“I do.”

“I don’t know who you are. My eyesight is terrible. I literally can’t see more than six inches in front of my face. Come up real close and state your business.”

The three of us looked at each other. Well, Kelley and I did. Adam was looking at the floor.

Do you think she can hurt us? I mouthed to Kelley.

She seems harmless, Kelley mouthed back.

What if there’s a trapdoor? I mouthed.

Kelley shrugged. I think we have to trust her.

I mouthed back something that would have been blurred on television.

What else were we supposed to do? We couldn’t just walk out of the place and hope that we happened to stumble upon some other lady who could deactivate a voodoo doll. We had to trust that this woman was not going to whack off our heads with a machete.

Despite all of the homicidal people we’d encountered, I wasn’t getting a I’m gonna kill you vibe from this woman. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if she said, “Come closer. closer. closer. cloooooossssssseeeeerrrrrr,” and then when we were only a couple of inches away went “BOO!!!” but I didn’t think she’d try to slay us.

We walked up to the counter.

The woman’s eyes widened, and she pointed at the side of my head. “Holy cow, kid, your ear is pulped ! Why aren’t you at a hospital?”

“We need your help first,” I said.

“Are you crazy? You can’t be walking around with your ear like that! You need medical attention! At least put some ice on it for Pete’s sake!”

“It’s fine,” I assured her.

“Are you not seeing the same thing I’m seeing?” The woman turned to leave. “I’m calling an ambulance!”

“No! Please! We really need your help.”

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Yes. Bad.” I set the doll on the counter. “Please, whatever you did to this, I need you to undo.”

The woman turned back around and inspected the doll. “I didn’t do anything to that.”

I bit down on the sides of my mouth to keep from screaming in frustration. Was it really so much to ask to have one, just one conversation tonight that didn’t make me want to rip out every single piece of hair on my head and then paint over my scalp so that new hair couldn’t grow back in its place?

(Yes, that’s the exact thought I had at the time.)

The beaded curtain rustled, and another woman pushed her way through. She was dressed in similar black clothing and wore similar gaudy jewelry but looked like she could be the other woman’s great-great-great-great-great-grandmother.

“Who do you speak to?” she asked, her voice raspy but otherwise pleasant. Her face lit up as she looked past us. “It is he!” “Who?” I asked. I glanced back at Adam. “Him?”

She ignored my question and picked up the voodoo doll. “Ah, yes. The doll I make.” She tapped the side of its head. “It hurt your ear, yes?”

“Yes!”

“Good, good.”

“No, not good. It also killed two of my toes.”

“Yes. Very powerful magic. Very powerful.”

“We want the magic gone,” I said. “It’s too powerful. I don’t like having a doll that can do this to me. You made it too strong.” The woman smiled. “My magic very small,” she said, holding her index finger and thumb a tiny bit apart. Then she pointed at Adam. “His magic huge.” She threw her hands apart, miming an explosion. “Kaboom!”

“What?” I asked.

Adam continued to stare at the floor.

“He add to power of doll. Make it super-magical. He Chosen One.”

“ What?”

“He Adam Westell, who will stop conquest of the hobgoblins.” “Ma’am, I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” I said, “but he’s not the Chosen One. He’s a dork.”

The woman glared at me. “You regret harsh words when hobgoblins gnaw on your bones! They suck out marrow! They dine upon kidneys! He will save world! He come in asking for doll of teacher. I, Esmeralda, give him doll of teacher. His magic make my magic stronger. I see what it do on television. Teacher leg come off. He come back in and ask for doll of you. I not want to make doll, but not want to piss off Chosen One. Want to be on savior of humanity’s good side. Make doll. It work good, yes?” “What makes you think he’s the savior of humanity?” asked Kelley. The idea did not seem to enthuse her.

“Look like him.”

“Okay.”

“I give him doll for eighty dollars. Not tell him he Chosen One, and he not ask why he get such good deal. Take Chosen One blood to make very powerful syrup. He come back, wanting new doll. I tell him destiny. Give him complimentary doll. You so smart, you doubt status as Chosen One, then explain to me extreme doll power?” Esmeralda had a point about the doll, but the concept of Adam saving the world was going to take me a few decades to process.