Gris-Gris

Mama Cole tell me that to shake the old man’s curse I need some bleeding done, and not no chicken neither.

Mama Cole say a living breather, with skin and a face.

I know she mean two-foot, but four will have to do. I am no murderer, me.

Just a man who want to shake a ghost.

Use something of his own, Mama Cole say, so I take his cold razor from the high shelf, strop it on the belt he beat us with.

I lead that little billy to the Saint Roch tombstone, look away when I cut.

 

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  1. Lynn Love

    Ah, that first line – sends shivers, cos you just know things are going to get nasty for someone. Love the voice, love the desperation, want to know the relationship between the cursed and the person who set the curse, and the form it took. So many questions and I could happily read more

  2. The Writer's Village

    I had to look up gris-gris.

    A little blood to ward off the evil, but what part of it would you wear as an amulet?
    I’d go for the goatee clustered in silver on a chain around my neck. But that’s just me.

    And I agree: a goat’s better than a human!

    Randy.

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