Farther back in the graveyard, a man in a robe with a cloth around his head was trudging away, his back to Evangeline. Head bowed, shuffling through the weeds and dusty dirt. He turned and looked at her. The Black Man, Old Pharaoh. He looked old now, not eighteen. He looked like he had given up, shot his dog, and doused his truck with gasoline.
“Ma sha.”
Maman Brigitte appeared, standing over Baron Samedi, dipping her hands into his chest, her fingerbones scooping up thick, viscous blood, and covering her face with the gore of her husband. “Ma petite, ma belle.” She smiled down at Evangeline and gestured for her come closer. “Merci. Thank you.”
Evangeline could not find her voice. It had floated away. All she could do was stare as Maman Brigitte, white face blood red, descended from the bone pyramid with her arms outstretched. The bones beneath her feet cracked and shattered. Evangeline shrank back, and then Maman Brigitte laughed and wiped her own cheeks with the hem of her black lace shroud. The blood was still there, smeared all around.
“Your hex,” Maman Brigitte said.
Evangeline cleared her throat. A chunk of sheer terror loosened and plopped into her stomach. She said, “My hex saved you?”
“Fuck, mais non,” the loa replied. “But it showed me that you loved me. And that is so sweet.” She reached out her bone fingers and wrapped them around Evangeline’s arm. They were cold as marble.
As death.
“The baron,” Evangeline said. “Is he—”
“Mort. Dead.” She shrugged.
“But he’s already dead,” Evangeline blurted.
“Not when it’s the kind of death the Pharaoh dishes out. He got hexes we haven’t even dreamed of.” When she smiled, her white teeth split her red face like a wound. “I let the Black Man put his hands on me. Then those two god-men locked horns, like I knew they would, and Nyarlahotep got rid of my man for me. Then my army swooped in and shut him down.” She pointed in the direction that the Black Man had trudged away.
“But how?” Evangeline asked. “Did you get a hex?”
Lady Death sighed happily and arched her back. “Never underestimate your powers, Evangeline. You can wear a man out if he wants you to. And most of ‘em want you to, sure enough.” She planted a kiss on Evangeline’s forehead, and it was like a hex mark, Evangeline was sure. The hex of her womanly power. “Do you want to go see you maman now?”
“Oh, oui!” Evangeline cried, and she threw her arms around the loa. “Thank you! Thank you!”
“Then let’s get going.” Maman Brigitte smiled. Her face was bloody, but her teeth were white.
Very, very white.
“Okay, maman,” Evangeline said.
The blood was wet on her forehead. The drums sounded with her footfalls as beside Maman Brigitte, she crushed man bones. The drums said:
Elles partent.
They leave.
A Night for Masks
Brian M. Sammons
Andy fumed as he watched his little brother, Devon, run up the barely lit path to the stranger’s door. Andy was sixteen, his brother was eleven, and the two boys could not be more unalike as brothers. Check that, half-brothers, Andy reminded himself. Andy was skinny, sullen, red-haired, brown-eyed, and with a face speckled with freckles that thankfully did a pretty good job at hiding the pock marks of adolescent acne. Devon was short for is age and a bit pudgy thanks to too many video games and bad eating habits, which in turn was thanks to the boy’s mom being single, working two jobs, and not having enough time to cook the kids decent meals. Bitch, Andy thought as he saw Devon met up with a trio of other kids at the closed door to the house, under the lit porchlight. Devon was also almost always happy, the dimwit, and had blond hair and blue eyes that matched the cheap plastic Thor mask he wore.
“Trick or treat!” the impromptu quartet yelled out.
“Twick or tweet,” Andy said under his breath with mock syrupiness. He brought his right hand up and used his thumb and forefinger to smooth out his wispy, vernal mustache. He watched the kids shift around, one foot to the other, bobbing and jostling, like they all had to take a leak or something. Clad in bright costumes, except for one kid that went as the Grim Reaper, they looked like the assclowns they were as the door stayed shut and no one replied to their initial challenge.
Come on, shitnugget, ring the damn doorbell or something, Andy thought as he dug his phone out of his pocket for the eighth time that evening and checked the time. 6:48 pm. Goddamnit, he was missing the whole thing. He still had to drag Devon to Ford Street and then back home or else his little brother would no doubt tell mom when she got home from work later tonight and she would have his ass.
“Hey, Devon, come on,” Andy yelled and that caused Thor to turn around and give him a literal blank-eyed stare. Then all of a sudden the house’s door whipped open, there was a cheap, speaker-straining shriek, probably off some Haunted House Sound Effects ripped off of YouTube, and a guy in a rubber and fake fur werewolf mask jumped out of the darkness beyond the door, growling and howling. The kids all jumped, especially Devon who was caught looking the other way, and their legit fright caused Andy to smile in spite of himself. Good, I hope you pissed your pants, he thought.
As the werewolf started pawing out candy to the now giggling kids, Andy looked up at the starless sky and the bulky black clouds that had been promising rain all day but had yet to deliver. Come on, rain already, Andy wished for the umpteenth time that day. Rain would have brought this Halloween bullshit to an early close, and that meant he could run Devon back home and then go off to Ashley Donner’s costume party. That was where he wanted to be, not out here shepherding his little brother as he loaded up on more future diabetes fuel. But while the eleven-year-old was old enough to stay home by himself for a few hours at a time, mom thought he was still too young to go out at night by himself.
Hell, he’s too damn old for tricks and treats, Andy thought, purposely ignoring the little voice in the back of his mind that spoke up to remind him that he had only stopped trick or treating three years ago.
I really don’t care about Ashley’s party, his mom had said, your little brother has waited all year for Halloween, and I have to work, so please, help me out a little will you? After you take him down to Ford you can bring him home and then go to your precious party, okay?
Slap, slap, slap, Devon’s sneakers sounded on the path back towards Andy. “Hey did you see that guy?” He said, lifting the plastic visage of the Asgardian up to reveal his sweaty face beneath. “He was really scary.”
“Uh-huh, come on,” Andy mumbled, as he looked across the street at the next block up. One block closer to the Ford Street finish and then freedom. He placed his hand on Devon’s shoulder and started briskly walking in that direction, hoping that the kid wouldn’t spot the little ranch style house, pushed back from the street and shrouded by pine trees, with the lit Jack-o’-lantern and the porch light on.
Of course he wasn’t that lucky.
“Hey, Andy, there’s a lit house!” Devon cried, spying the house.
Andy dropped his hand from Thor’s plastic shoulder as he dropped his head in resignation. Shit. He knew trying to talk to his half-brother would only waste time as the goddamn crybaby would just play the trump card of ‘telling mom’ after any debate. So he just sighed and mumbled, “Go ahead but make it fucking fast.”