Light from the full moon illuminated the old Bell Oaks cemetery. It was an obscure little place, well off the beaten path, which was mostly reserved for the burials of more well to do families. The Bell Oaks Presbyterian church had burned down years ago under mysterious conditions, but the wealthy paid a lot of money to keep the grounds clean so they and their loved ones could be buried in the same place as their ancestors.
A chill wind whistled over the mix of old and new gravestones. The gust caught the wrought iron gate and flung it wide, its ancient hinges creaking loudly in the otherwise silent night. The rusted out old lock that usually held it firmly closed was lying, smashed, on the ground. It had been demolished by the spade of a shovel only moments earlier.
A dark figure moved about the graves, stopping occasionally to check the tombstones. He knew the one he wanted, and the necropolis was so small that it wouldn't be long before he found it.
At last he came upon a freshly covered grave and knew it was the one he had been searching for. He shrugged off the bag he had been carrying, rooted through it, and finally drew out a small black box. He set it down cautiously and opened it slowly, careful not to spill any of the contents. If he made a mistake with his task the consequences could be dire.
He kneeled down and grabbed a handful of dirt off of the top of the grave and then sprinkled the dirt over the contents of the box. He closed it carefully and shook it a little. Satisfied, he searched through his bag for something else. He drew out a small torch and its holder. He poured some kerosene inside for fuel and struck a match to light it. The faint glow revealed the face of a man of Haitian descent who looked to be in about his middle thirties. His teeth were visible for only the briefest of moments as he grinned wickedly before the match was moved to light the wooden stake. It was placed in its holder, which was revealed to be a slightly cracked skull, and the two were positioned on top of the still unsullied tombstone.
He picked up his shovel, which had already proven useful, and began to dig. He had never thought that he would be stooping so low as to dig up a grave, but right now it served his purposes. He grinned again as he heard the dull thump that signified he was that much nearer to his prize.
Once all dirt was clear of the coffin, the man jumped back out of the grave and picked up the small box he had been using earlier. He opened it and took a small pinch of powder in his fingers. He threw it into the grave, where it scattered across the top of the coffin like falling rain. He then proceeded to draw a circle around the grave with the powder. Once that was accomplished he stood back for a second, almost as if he were admiring his handiwork. Then he rubbed the remaining powder onto his face and stepped back fully from the edge of the grave.
He put his hands together and raised his face to the night sky. He whispered a small prayer to the supreme god before beginning the incantation.
"La vie a mort
La mort pour abattre
Se presenter, presente
Votre maitre vous attend
Pour faire attention a son mot."
He repeated this over and over again, becoming more frenzied each time. Finally, he heard the sound that he longed to hear.
A dull thumping was coming from inside the grave. The lid of the coffin was being broken open…from the inside.
There was no one around for miles and miles, but if there had been, they would have heard a most disconcerting sound.
Hysterical, manic laughter resounded throughout the tiny graveyard. Had it been a little softer, our imaginary passersby might have heard the accompanying pitiful moan.
Miles away and deep beneath the streets of Manhattan, an old rat opened his eyes and raised his head; shaken from meditation by a feeling he couldn't explain.
To Be Continued…