Read Online Darkness Conjured by Sandy DeLuca - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sandy DeLuca
Ads: Link
are articles on upcoming art shows. In photos,
artists stand by large abstract canvases.
I sigh and turn the page. There is a layout about New Orleans, the Mardi Gras
coming up in March and a list of available hotels with descriptions and prices.
I flip a page. Here’s photo of one of the historical graveyards. There’s an article, too. It explains: The above-ground tombs in the cemeteries of New Orleans are called cities of the
dead. Enter the moss covered gates and you will be greeted by decorative, rusty
ironwork, and sun-bleached tombs. Crosses and statues on tomb tops are old and
cracked, yet they retain mysterious and eerie beauty.
There’s more photos of random tombs. One where a politician is buried, another a jazz
singer who died of a drug overdose and the last is a large marble tomb emblazed
with the words Magic Man of the Garden District . There are coins, votive candles and flowers on the tomb. I look closer at
words carved into the moss covered stone.
Kenneth Rogers Aster, Born 1901 Died 1930.
I think it might one of Ken’s relatives. His father? It’s a common name. Isn’t it?
I read the caption beneath the photograph.
Kenneth Rogers Aster was a carpenter who made sturdy furniture and hauled his
wares cross country to merchants. He worked with local dressmakers to
distribute their clothing. Aster was said to practice dark magic. He was linked
to the disappearances of several children throughout the country. Scant
evidence and iron clad alibis worked in Aster’s favor. Suspicion mounted, but he was never convicted. Some said he hauled the
bodies of his victims to the underworld.
Aster was murdered in 1930. Killer unknown. Body cut and bleeding inside his
trailer.
“What are you reading?” Maureen Dugan is standing over me, hands on hips. Marcy is next to her.
“About New Orleans. I’d like to go there.”
She smirks. “Sure. Come on. Doctor is waiting.”
“He’s coming to get our babies.” Marcy’s voice is soft. She’s got a faraway look in her eyes.
“Don’t be taunting other girls. Stay in your seat until they’re ready for you,” Maureen snaps at her.
I watch Marcy move slowly back to her seat. So docile. I guess they’re still giving her sedatives.
Now I follow Maureen to a small examination room where I’m told to strip from the waist down and then lay on an examination table.
I do as I’m told and close my eyes. A vision of Ken lifting bloody bundles fills my head.
He stops for a moment, looks my way and smiles slowly.
“Coming back for you. Won’t be long.”
I hear a metallic sound and a man clears his throat. “Everything is normal,” says a young doctor as he tosses metal clamps on the table.
I shiver when he smiles the same way Ken did in my vision.
* * *
The first night I spent at Amelia Leech’s I dreamed of the girl with the teardrop in her eye. I sat on the stairs. The
storm sounded outside and someone—a woman—was chanting, or singing in another room. The photographs lining the stairs were
as large as life; like massive works of art hanging in modern galleries.
I heard a sigh and turned to see the weeping girl lean forward, toss her hair
and then climb over the photo’s frame. She clutched her lily. Now dead, brown and smelling fowl.
She wept as I approached her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
“They wouldn’t let me see my baby. Her father came. Took her away in his old truck. Tucked
her in between furniture and clothes.”
“Who is her father?”
“ The Magic Man . He wants me to make another like her. He’s coming back. Even though he died it doesn’t stop him. It never stops.”
“What?”
Suddenly she was gone. The sound of chanting intensified and the sound of
beating drums filled my head.
The girl’s words rung in my ears when I awoke.
“Even though he died it doesn’t stop him.”
7
I’ve been looking through Paradise Lost tonight. Lots of it scares me. Pieces of it tie
artists stand by large abstract canvases.
I sigh and turn the page. There is a layout about New Orleans, the Mardi Gras
coming up in March and a list of available hotels with descriptions and prices.
I flip a page. Here’s photo of one of the historical graveyards. There’s an article, too. It explains: The above-ground tombs in the cemeteries of New Orleans are called cities of the
dead. Enter the moss covered gates and you will be greeted by decorative, rusty
ironwork, and sun-bleached tombs. Crosses and statues on tomb tops are old and
cracked, yet they retain mysterious and eerie beauty.
There’s more photos of random tombs. One where a politician is buried, another a jazz
singer who died of a drug overdose and the last is a large marble tomb emblazed
with the words Magic Man of the Garden District . There are coins, votive candles and flowers on the tomb. I look closer at
words carved into the moss covered stone.
Kenneth Rogers Aster, Born 1901 Died 1930.
I think it might one of Ken’s relatives. His father? It’s a common name. Isn’t it?
I read the caption beneath the photograph.
Kenneth Rogers Aster was a carpenter who made sturdy furniture and hauled his
wares cross country to merchants. He worked with local dressmakers to
distribute their clothing. Aster was said to practice dark magic. He was linked
to the disappearances of several children throughout the country. Scant
evidence and iron clad alibis worked in Aster’s favor. Suspicion mounted, but he was never convicted. Some said he hauled the
bodies of his victims to the underworld.
Aster was murdered in 1930. Killer unknown. Body cut and bleeding inside his
trailer.
“What are you reading?” Maureen Dugan is standing over me, hands on hips. Marcy is next to her.
“About New Orleans. I’d like to go there.”
She smirks. “Sure. Come on. Doctor is waiting.”
“He’s coming to get our babies.” Marcy’s voice is soft. She’s got a faraway look in her eyes.
“Don’t be taunting other girls. Stay in your seat until they’re ready for you,” Maureen snaps at her.
I watch Marcy move slowly back to her seat. So docile. I guess they’re still giving her sedatives.
Now I follow Maureen to a small examination room where I’m told to strip from the waist down and then lay on an examination table.
I do as I’m told and close my eyes. A vision of Ken lifting bloody bundles fills my head.
He stops for a moment, looks my way and smiles slowly.
“Coming back for you. Won’t be long.”
I hear a metallic sound and a man clears his throat. “Everything is normal,” says a young doctor as he tosses metal clamps on the table.
I shiver when he smiles the same way Ken did in my vision.
* * *
The first night I spent at Amelia Leech’s I dreamed of the girl with the teardrop in her eye. I sat on the stairs. The
storm sounded outside and someone—a woman—was chanting, or singing in another room. The photographs lining the stairs were
as large as life; like massive works of art hanging in modern galleries.
I heard a sigh and turned to see the weeping girl lean forward, toss her hair
and then climb over the photo’s frame. She clutched her lily. Now dead, brown and smelling fowl.
She wept as I approached her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
“They wouldn’t let me see my baby. Her father came. Took her away in his old truck. Tucked
her in between furniture and clothes.”
“Who is her father?”
“ The Magic Man . He wants me to make another like her. He’s coming back. Even though he died it doesn’t stop him. It never stops.”
“What?”
Suddenly she was gone. The sound of chanting intensified and the sound of
beating drums filled my head.
The girl’s words rung in my ears when I awoke.
“Even though he died it doesn’t stop him.”
7
I’ve been looking through Paradise Lost tonight. Lots of it scares me. Pieces of it tie
Similar Books
