Oh that feeling of wealth, of security, of being at the right place… Charlie stretched his back and yawned. As he was sitting on this plump duvet, ready to dive under it and forget everything until tomorrow morning, he couldn't help but to correct himself in the process. He wasn't really at the right place. It had been, what, more than a month ? And he wasn't still used to being at this place of plantation master. It had been his ultimate act of thievery. And the greatest one yet, for Charlie the Great. The old man had not seen it coming, not one bit, sir. As long as he had had the youngster in his bed, his pants or whatever, he had barely paid attention to what Charlie had been doing behind his back. He was forgiving. Too forgiving, it was his only mistake.
He sighed. During the day, he would brag, show off, be nasty and bossy enough to be respected by the slaves (or so he thought, little did he know they were speaking about cursing him with voodoo spells, not knowing their previous master was already doing it)… But at night, it was… different. He went to the window and looked at them. Maybe he would tell them to stop and go to sleep. Maybe. Would they hear him above their slave songs, from the upper floor of his new castle ? Prince Charlie of the plantation de Marigot and the most luxurious house in the surroundings. Woah. And such a territory under his sight… Even if right now, he could see the light dancing in the dark, a few feet of sugar cane fields and no further. From the first floor, he would hardly see the ground, and the forest at the end was so dense, it was completely dark, darker than the sky. He shivered. Would the mysterious attack strike again this night ?
He went back to the bed, feeling its emptiness one more time. He had shared it for a while with its previous owner and… No, he wouldn't say he was missing Alfie but… The Dandy was for sure a bit too "hungry" some nights but always caring, loving and gentle. He could have been mean, violent and demanding, but… Except for good manners, he had never asked for too much. Damn remorse ! He was pretty sure he was making Alfie way better in his memory than the former count de Marigot really was.
He suddenly punched the pillow Alfie used to sleep on. Why on earth was he missing him ? The whole plan relied on seducing him and in the end, take his place but… The part he had enjoyed the most was seducing him, hands down. Long time since he had done this with a man, and it was a different game, fun as hell, more difficult… The count had tried to resist but Charlie had worked his way on him, oh so well… He would never say it to anyone but damn, the man was so GOOD at what he did under the sheets, sometimes Charlie wondered how many young men had been here before him. He was missing an eye but he knew how to work with his tongue and hands and well… Manliness as they say. Those kind of activities were very rewarding. First in bed, and then in both their humor the next morning, even if Charlie would not show too much, so the Dandy would have to "work" to keep his lover close to him. Spoil him with everything.
Now the game was over and he was feeling empty, pointless. Oh he had tried to seduce ladies with his new title but… Something was feeling wrong. Way too easy for the gambler he was. Any man or woman would be ready for him as soon as he mentioned the plantation. And most of them were just like him, he could spot them at first sight. Once, he had drank too much and almost confessed to a whore that his most fulfilling relationship was the one he had with Alphonse… The very one he threw in hell's flame when he backstabbed his former master. Needless to say he was now a black sheep amongst the templars and none of them would speak to him unless forced to. And since they did their best to remove him from any templar affair, he was pretty much on his own now.
When Alfie was the master here, they were amazing parties at night with all the candles lit, all the crystal lamps glimmering, food smell all over the place with many of his templar friends and it had been nights of wonders for the young man he was. The closest he had ever been to heaven. So many people, from different countries, with different purposes, histories, and lots of things to tell to whoever was listening. And gorgeous and brave women, runaways, aristocrats, pirates… Those short haired brunettes who would swing axes and pistols as well as men did, or that blonde woman, Sylvia, with her amazing breast barely covered with a single layer of clothes and many pearls, it was impossible to speak to her face to face because your eyes were attracted down there, under the pearls… Except for Alfie, whom she seemed to like for his respect. Oh, she knew he wasn't interested but it was some kind of different bargain to her. But after Charlie almost followed her into a haystack one night, Alfie somehow forgot to invite her to the next meetings. And if he said nothing to Charlie (too forgiving, as we said), his body language would speak for him later at night. All those memories… A coffee farmer would look strange in such a luxurious party, but he was at ease, talking to that aristocratic redhead who loved to make thing go BOOM and with another Spanish dark haired noble who spoke to the farmer as if they were equals, they looked like a trio of friends nothing could split despite their different origin. A drunkard pirate would speak to a voodoo hougan and that Chinese woman who looked like she could freeze you in one single glance even laughed once or twice at Alfie's jokes. The templar society was full of wonders, but betray one of them…
He froze, on his bed. Something was going wrong. Something had woken him from that awoken dream but he couldn't figure out what until a second scream, followed by many others tore the night apart. He rushed to his window and opened it. Whatever it was, the upper floor was keeping him safe. He saw nothing but shadows rushing to the slaves quarters and the sugar canes in their fields, moving in a strange way… As if they had their own will. The wind wasn't blowing, the air was heavy, the pressure in the air suggested a storm incoming but there was nothing in the sky but stars shining. Not a single cloud, no rain, nothing but that heavy pressure and that panic coming from his heart and pounding through his veins, freezing him on point. No wind, no air, it was almost painful to breathe, but the sugar canes were moving, like a trail, from the forest to the slaves. It was them, again. A few nights ago, the same pattern had been repeating itself. No one was to be seen, but something attacked the slaves at night, and most of them would refuse to work and were living in the fear of the night hours. Not every night, not on regular schedule, those attacks were unpredictable and thus even more terrifying. He had heard the slave talk about some voodoo gods that had been angered and their answer, crawling at night to the usurper, coming closer and closer as the time went by. The first time, they had stopped in the middle of the first field, the closest to the forest. Then they went at the border of the second, and still, invisible, or too close to the ground to be spotted. And now, they had reached the middle of the second field, the one Charlie had under his windows, and he could see where the trail stopped, in the middle of the sugar canes, as if something had stopped them. As if they were looking at him, whatever "they" were. He could see the sugar canes move, and knew whatever had come so far was still here, waiting for something. Waiting for him to go down?
They would wait until hell froze over. But they remained here, silent, long after the slave locked themselves into their basements, leaving Charlie alone, facing the unknown, petrified. Some slave had seen what they were, but no one told Charlie. They would speak Creole every time he could see them talking about this and looking at him with anger, as if they knew it was his fault.
The sugar canes moved a bit, as they came closer, and stopped again. It was too much for his nerves.
"LEAVE ME ALONE !" he shouted before he even knew he had opened his mouth.
A strong gust of wind came from the forest with something like an insane laugh, but it couldn't be a laugh, who'd laugh like that? The wind became stronger, dashing leaves and insects into his room, extinguishing the candles as well as the torches in his property and he had to struggle to close the window, remaining in the complete darkness for a few seconds before diving under his duvet as quickly as he could, shivering from top to bottom, cursing his stupid plans of thievery.
The night went on with no further problems than panicked slaves and a weird smell he couldn't identify. He allowed himself to sleep only when the sun began to rise in the morning.
At noon, he emerged from the worst sleep he had ever had, full of nightmares of dark figures accusing him, hideous black faces with colored pain on them, speaking Creole and threatening him with throaty noises.
When he went down, his steward who looked like he had spent the same kind of night as he just had looked troubled but Charlie couldn't find the strength to ask why. The man finally admitted that since the slave overseer had been the first one to run away that night, half of the slaves were missing. The other half refused to leave the basement.
Then he bowed and went out, leaving Charlie more lonely and confused that he ever had been his entire life, unaware that a single leaf painted with weird symbols in stinky paint was now remaining under his bed, promising more nightmares to come.
The slave in charge of his room saw it though. And when she looked at the symbols, a terrible headache caused her to drop on her knees and when she gathered enough energy to stand on her feet, she fled away. A few hours later, she had forgotten it was here, and would never touch it again.