The session progressed for what seemed to be simultaneously hours upon hours as well as five short minutes. Everything about the atmosphere enveloped everyone in a trance-like state, and they felt the presence of the mystic press down upon them as if it were real. Harry himself began questioning whether it wasn't real.
What had he learned in this life if it wasn't that every corner had a hidden wonder or nightmare behind it? Hadn't he himself met ghosts and poltergeists?
Didn't he know that they were as real and terrifying as a spider or a snake might be? It didn't seem so far-fetched to believe that these shadows pooling at Guidry's feet, licking their lips in the dark corners of the room, really existed and that Guidry either commanded them forward or kept them at bay.
Harry didn't know which thought was the more terrifying. Despite the things that Harry thought (he was fairly certain but couldn't discard it completely) were utter hogwash, Guidry still managed to put up a spectacular show, and it was hard not to be on edge for the hour that it lasted.
It wasn't only Harry and the ladies. However, Guidry himself seemed poised and tense as a spear, focusing completely in a way that didn't seem fake at all.
At long last, when the shadows that so perversely seemed to be lapping at their feet were nearing closer and closer, and Harry physically began feeling icky and moving away from the walls, Guidry pretended that the 'lady of the future' had become upset, clapped his hands, and the candles all went out, the ladies gathered letting out startled gasps and cries.
Harry wondered what would happen next, and he hoped that something would happen soon because, in the utter darkness, he thought he might just wet his trousers. A whispering came from Guidry, low and incomprehensible, like the low ravings of a madman.
The whole room was hushed other than that, holding their breaths like something terrible might happen next. After a minute, Guidry stopped whispering, and then he spoke in a clear voice. "She has forgiven our slights. For now," he proclaimed in his best scary voice, and that gave Harry the idea that he really was fooling all of them. That voice might've raised every hair on the ladies necks, but Harry understood it for what it was. "She will allow the light once more," he said expectantly.
They all waited in silence for an awkward moment until Harry realized that that was his cue. He lit all the candles in a flurry, one by one, and the ladies all watched with amazement. Guidry's eyes flickered to Harry as if saying too slow. Harry gulped.
Next time he wouldn't miss his cues, but, to be fair, it wasn't as obvious as it seemed to Guidry. "The presence is gone. You may now break the circle," Guidry told them, and the ladies all released each other's hands warily as if afraid something bad might happen if they did, even after their relief flooded into them together with the returned light.
They all understood that the session had ended soon enough, and smiles of rewarding courage surfaced on their weird, powdered faces.
They laughed flutteringly and accommodated their hats on their heads. Thanking both Harry and Guidry profusely, they allowed themselves to be guided out the door and into the blessed sunlight. Harry waited in the room for Guidry to come back.
When he did, Harry was about to ask him about his tricks with the shadows, or apologize for lighting the candles late, or both, but he soon realized that Guidry was already being followed by the second group of the morning. He kept silent as the next session took place.
The thing that seemed most shocking to Harry about Guidry's performances (and there were a lot of things that stood out to him as he changed what he said and the tricks he pulled) was the Constance of it all.
Guidry maintained a perfect balance, a crafted edge to his voice that never faltered nor seemed droll even though he had done something similar the previous hour - it was like watching the same episode of a TV show over and over again. Though it slightly differed, the plot was always the same, and one grew bored of it eventually.
Well, maybe not bored because the shadows were always a looming menace that was impossible to grow accustomed to or not be afraid of, but the act in itself was something that, after the sessions passed one after the other, was rather droll.
They had a few sessions, Guidry giving Harry more silent cues as they progressed, and he grew to trust him - that was an odd thing about Guidry: why not just tell Harry beforehand what he wanted instead of having him guess? He was an odd man, that was certain.
They had their first break at lunchtime, and Guidry took Harry out to get a sandwich across the street since they barely had an hour break, which meant no time to cook. Luckily, the shop was so close by that they didn't get many weird looks, Harry being a pasty white teenage boy and Guidry an older black man.
The man with the sandwich stall had weathered, dark skin and a weary look to his eye, and he said nothing when Guidry ordered two sandwiches, quote, 'loaded with everything,' which Harry didn't know the meaning of. He quietly set out to slap ingredients onto ingredients and then shove the bursting sandwich into their hands.
Guidry asked for two ales, and they were delivered in dark, label-less bottles which looked far too suspicious for Harry to drink. He did so anyway.
They took their lunch in the store silently, Harry itching to question Guidry on his methods but finding that he didn't have the pluck or an empty mouth to talk. Taking slow, meticulous mouthfuls, Harry was sure he wouldn't be able to stomach the behemoth - it literally had everything one could imagine. The man in the stall didn't joke around with his ingredients.
The ale was surprisingly sweet and tasty, and Harry had no trouble downing it. When Guidry was sucking on his fingers and Harry was trying to put the sandwich away small bite by small bite, the next group arrived, and they tossed everything in the garbage and set to work once more. The afternoon shift was the longest one.
There were no breaks, and it stretched on for hours and hours, seemingly endlessly. It was the worst kind of job because it was impossible to do mindlessly, but it was also horribly repetitive. The one exception to the monotony was the session that came at five.
At precisely five in the afternoon, Carmelita Lundelville's group arrived for their own session. Harry was horrified to find that all her friends were just as she was: powdered to the fifth hell, grotesque and caricaturesque, and, worst of all, walking on self-important airs.
They seemed like the kind of people who would demand a special show for no reason other than that they deemed themselves exceptional. Regardless, Guidry led them into the room just like he would've any others. The ladies all seated themselves, occupying all the chairs, and held themselves up rigidly, excitement glittering in their blue-shadowed eyes. They looked like those really creepy ancient dolls that grandmas have, only life-sized and racist. For a moment, their presence seemed even more threatening than the shadows, especially Carmelita's.
Though all the other women seemed to be eying him with interest (yet not surprise, which Harry took to mean that Carmelita had told them about him), it was Carmelita's almost predatory gaze that set him ill at ease. She even seated herself in a way so that she wouldn't be out of sight from him.
It was unsettling, but he tried to look at anything and everything other than her. She seemed flustered and displeased, but she was soon entertained by the proceedings. Guidry began the session as usual, but with a special twist that he hadn't used yet - considering the frequency with which Carmelita seemed to come to these sessions, he probably had to take care to keep it fresh every time.
At first, Harry was incredibly uneasy, even more than he had been in the other sessions or even the first one he had witnessed. Still, soon enough, the whole thing appeared to be rolling smoothly, and he calmed down, focusing only on the shadows that seemed to nip as his feet and whatever cues Guidry might give him.
Harry, however, as the sessions had passed, had become more and more aware of the shadows around him, which grew at an alarmingly speedy rate compared to those in other corners of the room: they seemed to reach out to him particularly like they wanted to follow him or swallow him whole.
And he wouldn't have been able to explain it, but he felt like there was a particular shadow that was hungry for him. He thought it might be grabbing at his feet, much like one would have that sensation when your feet were dangling off the bed. He almost missed a cue from Guidry to light the candles at the center of the table.
As Guidry spoke some mumbling mess, rolling his eyes to the back of his head, Harry physically felt something pull at his trousers.
He jumped up and looked down, but there was nothing there. At that moment, a blood-curling scream came from the table.
Harry looked back to the main attraction and found that one of Carmelita's fine, long sleeves had caught fire. She was the one screaming, but after half a second, all her friends were yelping as well, breaking the circle as they scattered to get away from her.
The whole thing couldn't have taken more than half a minute before Guidry swiftly took a hidden bucket of water from below the table and threw it on Carmelita, who sizzled like a pig on a spit. So Carmelita stood, drenched, her sleeve blackened, looking around her like bloody murder. And yet.
There was a cool sort of rage in her eyes like she was contained. It was odd, and Harry saw that same predatory gaze even more intensely now, even though she looked like a wet cat. She already seemed vengeful instead of hurt. She trained herself on Guidry, who, on his part, looked downright furious.
Harry didn't understand the people's expressions and so wondered whether he was even reading them correctly. "You did this!" She suddenly bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at Guidry, who frowned at her. "Miss Lundelville-" he began, with a tone that was less of an apology and more of a reprimand. "You will pay for this," she said, gesturing to her ruined gown and the sad-clown paint running down her face. She turned up her nose, snarled, and then left the room with violent, dignified steps.
Her friends all ushered out after her, looking around startled like loose, wild hens. Once they were gone, Guidry met Harry's eyes with rage.
Now Harry thought he understood - it had been his fault. He had somehow made the flame on one of the candles too large when he had gotten distracted with the shadows, and Carmelita had caught fire as a consequence.
Guilt dropped to his stomach and made him feel like he was about to vomit. A million outcomes came into his head: Guidry would shoot him, or skin him, or boil him alive, or maybe he would just turn him out and leave him alone in this dark and dangerous world.
Maybe he'd offer him up to Carmelita as a sacrifice as a way of apology. He didn't know which was worse. "Guidry-" he began, his voice quivering. "Clean this up, boy," Guidry snarled, storming out of the room himself, probably to keep himself from murdering Harry. He had to appreciate the sentiment.
0-0 0-0 0-0 0-0 0-0
Harry went into the storage closet and mopped up the water as best he could, but he couldn't remember any drying spells, so nothing did him much good considering that most things here were draped in cloth. He paced the length of the room, running his hands through his hair, thinking of what he had done, how that could've even happened, and what would happen next.
He imagined the punishment he would suffer and the consequences that this small, foolish mistake would bring.
After a while, Guidry returned to inspect the room. He looked around, sniffed his disapproval, and then left again, presumably to tend to the next group that was coming. When they entered, Harry stood like a good little soldier at his post, and Guidry seemed unshaken by the events that had just occurred. There were only two groups left, including this one, and Harry already dreaded the conversation he would have once they were gone.
Surprisingly, Guidry kept on giving the cues, and now Harry wouldn't have gotten distracted by the shadows even if they pulled down his trousers and gave him a wedgie. They proceeded much as they always had, Guidry acting as he always did.
When the last group was done, and Harry helped Guidry close up shop, he thought he would now face judgment without interruption. But Guidry only looked weary, beaten down. He didn't seem in the mood for something of the sort, though Harry knew better than to assume he would avoid it for now - besides, it all made him so nervous that he almost wished he would do it already and be done with it. Done with him.
But Guidry only ran a hand through his oily face and huffed. "I'm gon' start on dinner," he said dejectedly and headed up the stairs, leaving Harry in the gathering darkness of the empty shop. Harry lingered downstairs for a moment, considering everything that had happened that day, how wild it all was and how many questions he felt he should pose, and yet would've felt inadequate in doing so.
He realized, shocked, that for the first time since he had arrived his mind had been working away and stressing itself on something that had nothing to do with his home or returning to it. Shaking the surprisingly unnerving thought away, he headed up the stairs.
As he did so, he heard the lock clicking as someone entered the shop. Mrs. Cormier had just arrived, looking tired but happy, somewhat.
Harry didn't want to be the one to spoil her mood, so he put on his best normal face (whatever that was, at this point) and greeted her as warmly as she greeted him. They headed up together to find Guidry setting up the table silently, and Harry knew that Mrs. Cormier could basically sniff that something was amiss.
She took one look at Guidry's beaten face and knew. "Long day?" She asked, eyeing them both as she took off her coat and set her bags down, which clinked as if she were carrying tools or glass objects within. "That it was, Molly," Guidry told her, but he didn't seem up to any conversations. Mrs. Cormier pursed her lips but said nothing, heading over to her room to put away her things.
When she returned, she sat before the fire and began to knit. Harry naturally gravitated towards her and stared at the fire quietly, in the utter silence they all shared, the only sound coming from the tranquil crackling of the burning logs. When Guidry informed them that the food was done and asked Harry to set the table, the boy braced himself for the conversation to come.
Doubtless, Guidry would inform Mrs. Cormier of the events of the afternoon, and then Harry's judgment would come. He didn't fear Mrs. Cormier as he feared Guidry - rather, he was afraid of her disappointment, of letting her down, or having her think he was irresponsible.
But there was no remedy, and as he sat down, he was both relieved and anxious to find that Guidry immediately began the tale. "We had an incident. Today at one of the sessions," he told Mrs. Cormier. "Oh?" She asked, serving herself some salad and trying not to betray the nerves in her voice or the dread that she doubtlessly felt. "Carmelita Lundelville and her group came," Guidry said, and then Mrs. Cormier's blood seemed to run cold because all the color drained from her face, and she set the salad bowl down roughly on the table. "Everything was going as usual, and then her sleeve caught fire," Guidry said in a low voice.
It might've been something one could tell as a funny anecdote, but the tone with which it was stated might as well have been forecasting a gruesome death. "I'm sorry," Harry blurted, looking down at his plate in shame. Mrs. Cormier's head snapped towards him. "Sorry for what, sugar?" "I- I don't know how it happened. I was in charge of the candles," he told her pleadingly, as if stating his case before a holy judge, "I must've gotten distracted, or something, made the flame too high, I-" "Just what in the goddam hell you talkin' about, boy?" Guidry barked at him, and Harry stared at him in awe. "The flame wasn't too high or nothing of the sort. I seen what was happened with my own two eyes, that little brat put her arm right on the candle." "You mean she did it on purpose?" Harry asked, baffled.
Carmelita's calculating, somewhat checked anger surfaced in his mind. "Why would she do that?" Mrs. Cormier asked in a low voice. She believed whole-heartedly that Carmelita had done it on purpose, and the question was posed rather than questioning her intent. Guidry shook his head. "I don't know yet. She said we'd 'pay for it. That witch got somethin' up her sleeve, and it ain't just fire." The table fell into a contemplative silence after that, and it took a little time before they felt comfortable eating again.
It was almost weird to carry on like they ought to build up some strategy, speculate on Carmelita's odd play, but the fact of the matter was that they were completely in the dark about her motivations.
Harry was partly relieved that it hadn't been him that had brought on this mess and that he didn't have to fear Guidry's wrath. Still, new anxiety took its place: he found himself horribly nervous for whatever Carmelita had in store for them. The story about the Robinsons was all too vivid in his mind. He reckoned that the Cormiers were thinking much the same.
The Robinsons had been hanged for selling meat that wasn't even bad - what would happen if the Cormiers had set fire to the town's darling? The dinner passed relatively quietly, and when it was done, Guidry took out two shot glasses, set one before Harry, and poured out a little of that suspicious amber liquid he had seen before.
Harry was about to object, but he thought better of it. Mrs. Cormier eyed the two glasses with some doubt in her eyes but said nothing. Harry took the glass tentatively and held it to his lips with slow hesitation. "All at once, boy. Hold your breath, let it out when it's down," Guidry instructed.
Harry nodded, held his breath, tipped the glass into his mouth, and grimaced as it hit the back of his throat. He sputtered, and spittle landed on him, but it would have been worse if he had actually tasted it with his tongue. Guidry laughed a bit, and even Mrs. Cormier had to hide her face so as not to show her amusement. Harry set down the glass. "Better'n my first time, that's for sure," Guidry commented, and Harry couldn't help but be a little proud.
The mood lightened after that, and they could share some fruit for dessert with relative comfort. Guidry rolled a cigarette, and for a moment, he seemed about to offer it to Harry and then thought better of it. Better not to push Mrs. Cormier's limits.
The evening was pleasant enough, or as pleasant as it could be, though quieter than usual, all of them with many things on their mind. When they said goodnight and Harry went to his own little bed, he thought over what had just happened.
It felt almost a betrayal to his home to admit it, but he actually liked it here with the Cormiers. Despite the madness of the world that they lived in, they managed to maintain peace between them, an unshakeable nucleus of strength that seemed to be able to weather even the most awful of circumstances. It was what Harry and always thought a proper family should be, and he had seen the same kind of thing with the Weasleys.
The fact that he could fall asleep soundly and quickly could be attributed to either the alcohol or the homeliness of the Cormiers. Or both. Regardless, he fell into a deep sleep, and when he was roused the next day, he barely remembered the situation with Carmelita or how horribly homesick he was.
He got a rude awakening soon enough, however. After breakfast, when Mrs. Cormier had already left, and he and Guidry were just about to open up the shop officially, there came a knock at the door. Harry was unused to its sound since Mrs. Cormier had a key, and no one tried to get in outside of business hours.
His head shot up from the ledgers like a dog sniffing a squirrel, and Guidry was already moving towards the door. From the desk where he was, Harry couldn't see who the person was until she had entered the shop. Carmelita came in, her step clunking with the weight of her dignified airs.
She stepped around Guidry, not caring that she had intruded on them, and looked around as if she owned the place. As if she owned them. When her eyes landed on Harry, there was a certain satisfaction to them. Harry felt every part of him shrivel up under her gaze. "Miss Lundelville, how can we help you?" Guidry asked, formal as ever, shutting the door behind her.
Carmelita shot him a vicious and made her way inside as if she were in her own home. She was wearing a dress whose sleeves came down to her elbow, exposing her very pale, very unscathed forearms.
She walked over to where Harry was sitting and stood there as Guidry followed. "I am here to discuss the… attempt made on me," she pompously stated. Attempt? "I assure you, Miss Lundelville, what happened yesterday was a mere mistake-" "I doubt the sheriff's office will see it that way," Carmelita shot at him, silencing him with a look, telling him that she held all the cards.
The exhibition of her smooth forearms was evidence that she had the power here, and they were weak to her whims, however delirious and unfair they proved to be. Harry gulped, feeling like he would puke his breakfast. Guidry looked at her apathetically, but Harry thought he could see the murder in his eyes. "What can we do for you?" He asked again, this time less courteously. "I believe some recompense is in order, don't you?" She asked without asking, looking from Harry to Guidry.
They said nothing, so she proceeded. "You haven't the slightest idea what pains overtook me yesterday! You quite rattled my nerves. Papa thought I was about to faint, so horrible was the shock. He insisted on coming here that very night and setting fire to this little… shop you have here, much as you tried to do with me," she said, her bottom lip quivering. Harry's blood froze. He had known that people in older times were intense, but this lady really seemed like she had been pulled out of the U.S version of Wuthering Heights.
He couldn't believe she had just explicitly stated that they were comfortable committing arson, but then again, these people most likely did as they pleased to the black folks in the town, and such talk didn't meet any consequences. It was awful and inhumane to say be able to do and say such things and face no repercussions. "But I begged him not to do anything. I've always had such fun here - I don't know what could've possessed you to do such a thing. Maybe… ah, well, I don't know how you lot work," she said dismissively, producing a handkerchief and barely dabbing her face with it.
Every single word that she said just made the whole thing worse and worse, and Harry didn't know how Guidry could refrain from taking one of the bigger rocks hanging from the ceiling and bashing her head in with it. As she spoke, he could see the venomous linings of her face, and once again, he had to question how old she was.
She couldn't have been older than her mid-twenties, but then again, the powders sometimes made her look fifty, or her pouty expressions gave her the appearance of a child. "And I am so fond of Harry…" she said, fluttering her eyes at him.
Why was she fond of him? they couldn't have shared more than a dozen words. Harry had to refrain from looking away in utter disgust. He would much rather skin himself alive, pour lemon juice on himself, and roll in salt before being someone she fancied.
But it was also odd: he knew how young he was and how boyish he looked, his scrawniness never doing him any favors in the aging department. How could this woman treat him in such a way? She smiled a little and then continued.
He hoped he had the wrong impression, and she only liked him as a sort of pet. "I asked papa to let me handle it, and, you know, he's such a kind man, he was sure I would do whatever was right. And I, too, am merciful, and I want to believe that you don't mean me any harm. What I ask is such a simple thing - oh, it shouldn't even be a request! I'm sure you will be happy to agree," she said, and Harry was sure that that wouldn't be the case.
He couldn't see their desires aligning with hers in any conceivable way. "I'm sure we will," said Guidry through gritted teeth. "So, what is it that we can do?" "Oh, nothing at all. I should only like to invite Harry over to mine a few times in the week. You know, we have tea parties and everything. Really, I would just like the company, try to smooth things over with y'all, mend bridges, and whatnot. I'm offering my hand," she said, and the smile that she gave them was downright contemptible.
Though the request was odd in and of itself, and Harry dreaded the thought of sharing a cup of tea with the woman, the look on Guidry's face didn't seem to justify the request. The man looked absolutely appalled like he had been told he had a terminal disease or that his favorite dog would be shot for no reason at all.
Harry cleared his throat, for Carmelita was looking at him fixedly now. "I-" he began. "Boy," Guidry warned, but Carmelita shot him a look, like that of a bratty child being denied a sweet. "You would refuse my peace offering? After all, you have done to me and my kindness?" She asked, with fake indignation that made Harry sick. "Of course not," he said, trying to mend the situation. Whatever it was that Guidry feared, it couldn't be worse than Carmelita calling the police on them.
Whatever could happen to them was not worth Harry's refusal just because he didn't want to have tea with the creepy woman. "I'd be happy to go, Miss Lundelville." At that, she squealed with delight and held her hands together. "Oh, how I love that accent of yours! And please, call me Carmelita," she said, winking at him and reaching forward to stroke his arm. Harry swallowed and fought the urge to jump back as if he had been injected with poison. "Well, how good that we can all be friends," she said, smiling at Harry, though her face morphed into one of hatred when she faced Guidry. "We'll be seeing each other soon," she said, heading towards the door with a winning smile.
The bell clanged after her. When she was gone, Harry and Guidry remained in silence for a moment, but it was Harry that broke it. "Well, it's an easy way out, right?" He asked weakly. An easy way out of a situation that isn't even real in the first place, he thought, but he wasn't about to say that.
It was even scary to think of the power Carmelita had wielded with next to no effort, how loftily she displayed all the terrible tools at her disposal. Harry thought back to his first meeting with Carmelita about something strange that Guidry had said, but he couldn't recall it just now. Guidry only stood, severe and with a shadow hanging over his face, looking as though he had been condemned.
Harry had thought that he would answer him eventually, but as the minutes passed, he became more and more convinced that it was likely that Guidry hadn't even heard him in the first place. "Guidry?" Harry asked tentatively. Guidry heard him alright, but his expression remained much the same until finally, he looked up at the boy with vacant eyes. "Carmelita Lundelville got… a reputation," he said very slowly, looking at Harry almost apologetically.
He would've preferred anything other than that, and it only intensified his fear. "What do you mean?" He asked, clearing his throat and trying to gather his courage. "She like to-" and here, Guidry cut himself off, as if unsure of how exactly to phrase what he wanted to say. "She was very taken with young boys," he finally said. Harry recoiled.
He thought he knew what that meant, but he really did not want to believe it. Guidry must've caught the horrified, repulsed expression on Harry's face because he immediately began to wave his hands about as if trying to erase what he had said from the air "'S far as I know, ain't nothing serious happen to any of them.
She just likes to keep 'em around. Pets. But it's strange, it ain't right, for a woman her age not to be married, to like all them kids…." Guidry looked like he wanted to say something else but was trying to restrain himself. Harry looked at him warily. "What is it? Tell me," he said, his voice rising in hysterics.
What could Carmelita Lundelville do to him if she had him in her claws? The very tone with which Guidry had told him that the boys were fine just implied that he was unsure. "Well, if something did happen to any of them, I hardly think we'd know a'it."