The Curse of 1977 (Book 2)

Chapter 30

"How many of you guys believe in jinxes?" An old, white homeless man asked his fellow bunkmates, as well as Cloyse, inside the men's shelter that evening.

The five men that surrounded him, two white and three black, all sat in amazed silence at the man's question. The two black men just twisted their lips and rolled their eyes, while the white men glanced at each other as though the question itself were a ticking time bomb.

But Cloyse remained perfectly still Indian style on his bunk bed steadily glaring at the old, odd man, waiting in ardent anticipation for him to finish what he was going to say.

"Man, what kind of jinx are you talking about?" One of the black men tossed up his hands. "I'm talking about witches hexes."

The old man adamantly pointed to the floor. "When I was sixteen and in the Navy, way back in 1912 we sailed to Guam. While there, we snuck up on this old witch woman who put a hex on one of our crewmates for stealing some of her beads." Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

"What kind of hex did she put on the fellow?" One of the white men peered into the old man's eyes.

"The hex was that of deep pain in the balls." The old man stared right back. "For weeks his balls itched and burned, until finally, they fell right off."

Every man, minus Cloyse, burst out in jovial laughter. "Man, that ain't no curse, that's called the blue ball snatch!" One of the black men giggled. "He screwed her, that's how he ended up with dropped balls!"

The old man just sat back on his bunk bed and rolled his eyes before waving his hand, as to say he was through entertaining his listeners.

Cloyse stared at the old, downtrodden man for a bit more before scanning his dull surroundings. Rough and ragged men, black, white, Hispanic and a couple of Asians were all gathered inside the stuffy shelter. The air-conditioner was out which meant oscillating fans that were distributed in various points throughout the area would have to suffice.

From a distance Cloyse could see the kitchen where two white men, one middle-aged and the other elderly, were conversing in what appeared to be a heated conversation. The young man made sure to keep his waning attention locked on both men, all the while watching the front entrance fifty-two feet to his left.

"You all can laugh at me all you want." The old man harangued his hecklers. "But I happen to know for sure that someone put a hex on this here city of ours."

Without warning, Cloyse's attention was immediately snatched from the kitchen and back to the conversation that was being held within his tight circle.

Yawning, one of the white men said, "I don't believe in hexes, but I do believe that this city is in for a whole world of hurt if we don't find whatever it is eating everyone up."

Cloyse sat sullen and motionless on his bunk bed and carefully observed his fellow mates as they bickered back and forth on a subject that in all honesty they had no clue as to what they were talking about.

The young man was numb. He felt more hopeless at that point in his excruciating journey than he ever did back at home. Surrounded by foreigners, naysayers and blusterous fools, Cloyse was suffocating. He could hardly even bear to be around them any longer, let alone listen to another word come out of their collective mouths. All he could do right then was drop his head in defeat and try to drown out their voices with the sounds of other men gathered inside the shelter.

"Shit, all I know is that just one of these dogs killed Clavell and his entire crew in one night." One of the black men said. "And we all know how bad Clavell was. So just imagine what it could do to the rest of us."

"Dere are two." Cloyse grunted with his head still dropped to the floor.

Everyone amongst him stopped speaking and pointed their astonished faces at the man as if he had become a brand new person right before their very eyes.

"It had to be two of them for them to do all the killing like they've been doing." The old man stated.

Raising his head, Cloyse said, "Dey are more dan dogs. Dey are demons."

"Well, look at this, the dead has arisen at last." One of the black men pointed at Cloyse.

"I have seen dese tings and what dey can do."

"Oh yeah," one of the white men spoke up. "Tell me, kid, what do they look like? Because all anyone can seem to say is that they saw nothing but fur."

Cloyse only glared deep at the shabby man before saying in a raspy whisper, "You see dese people in here. People outside dis place. You all have not seen like I have. Dere is evil in dis city."

"Shit." One of the black men waved his hand. "Next thing you know he'll be preaching to us about God and Lucifer."

All the men gathered began sniggering, but Cloyse held his composure. "I as well did not take it seriously. Until my people began vanishing. Until screams and cries in de night became more and more frequent. Until bodies began piling up all along de shores. Bodies of women, children, even other animals. Where is God? Where is Jesus? Nowhere to be found. All I've ever seen is Lucifer. He sent them to my island to devour us all. What does God know? The Devil eats everyone in de end."

Every man gathered within the tiny circle all just sat with their collective jaws hanging to the floor as their eyes stayed on him like finely tuned targets. Their staggered silence meant absolutely nothing to Cloyse. He sulked inside his bitter trance like a cool bath on an otherwise sweltering evening. He didn't even desire to make eye contact with any of them.

Scratching at his heavy beard, the old man asked, "Where are you from anyways, young fella? Africa or something?"

"No, no, he's from one of those cities out there in California I bet." One of the other white men suggested.

Just then, a mild uproar began to stir within the shelter. Cloyse, along with the rest of his circle, all looked up to see the two white men that were arguing in the kitchen, along with several other men, putting up five foot tall boards against the front door.

Becoming anxious, Cloyse asked, "What are dey doing?"

"They're locking us in here for the night, my man," one black man replied.

"Thank goodness too, because I guarantee you, those women at their shelter definitely didn't think of doing that." The old man said.

"Your blockades are useless." Cloyse grunted as he began to get up from off his bed.

"Hey, where are you going?" One white man asked. "I'm leaving dis place."

"Man, are you crazy? It's getting dark out there. Who knows where that thing or things are?"

Cloyse only stared at the man for a few scathing seconds before pulling himself away from them all and charging towards the front door.

"Where are you going, young man?" One of the white men in charge of the shelter stood before Cloyse.

"I'm leaving!" Cloyse defiantly pointed at the door.

"I don't think so." The man adamantly responded. "We're locking up for the night. Once these boards are up, no one gets in or out until the morning."

Sidestepping the man, Cloyse began removing one board after another. Every man in the shelter all stood by and watched in wonder at what the young man was attempting to do; like he was the craziest human being alive.

Grabbing Cloyse by the shoulders, the older gentleman desperately said into his face, "If you go out there, there is no coming back in here. Do you understand that? You will be out there all night long."

Cloyse looked deep into the man's grey eyes while the others stood around him. From there, he unhinged himself from the old man before unlocking the door and heading out into the sunset.

Not once looking back, Cloyse carried on down the sidewalk where on the street beside him passed cars, trucks and buses in their usual routine of getting home for the evening. Behind him was the fading sun whose shining luster was still hanging ever so glorious in the sky. It was warm that twilight, somewhere within the 70 degree range; a bit cooler than it had been the past few nights.

Cloyse treaded with a scornful purpose with his hands inside his pockets. Every person that passed by him were mere distortions in his eyesight. He had completely lost sight of why he was even in Ohio to start with. Ever since first arriving all he did was wander and blunder from one part of town to the other in an angry descent.

Meeting up with Akoni the other day was completely by accident, and he realized that before it was all said and done both her and Arthur would make their ultimate strike right before his eyes, and there wouldn't be anything he could do about it.

Horns honked, police sirens blared, pimps scolded their prostitutes, and yet Cloyse was oblivious to it all. He had been walking long enough to the point where when he looked up at the sky he found it to be saturated in blackness. Nightfall had arrived with a fresh, full moon in tow.

As Cloyse dropped his head back to the earth he suddenly noticed what looked like flower petals scattered on the sidewalk. As he continued on he saw more and more. At first glance he figured it to be nothing more than trash floating about on the ground, but when he saw his feet step on and over a collection of stems, his waning attention couldn't help but to be drawn further in.

He shouldn't have been so enthralled with flowers of all things, but the young man just could not resist. He followed until he came face to face with some steps. Upon the steps were even more flowers, roses, carnations and lilies all strewn across the steps of the vacant women's shelter.

Cloyse stood back and looked up at the blackened, lonely building. His eyes were then directed back down to the flowers again. He reached down and picked up one rose. He didn't even have to put it to his nostrils to smell the fragrance that was still ever present.

On one of the steps Cloyse could see a spot or two of dried up blood. He carefully placed the lone rose right on top of the blood, but before he could even raise back up, a sudden jolt seized his entire body. He nearly fell backwards from the commotion, but Cloyse knew full well that what had taken control of him was no mere feeling.

With a trembling jaw and a steady stream of drool dripping from his bottom lip, Cloyse stuttered, "Where...where is she?" The man clinched his right fist so hard that blood began seeping from within. "Where is she?" He continued to whisper to himself.

Soon, he had to catch himself from falling completely to the ground. Once Cloyse was able to regain his bearings he gawked all around the sidewalk and into the street with bugged out eyes. He unknowingly stumbled backwards into a brightly dressed pimp and a couple of his "workers."

Grabbing the pimp by the shoulders, Cloyse screamed into the man's face," Where is your police station?"

Snatching himself from Cloyse's crazed grip, the pimp retaliated, "Hey, blood, what's the matter with you?"

"I need to find de police!"

Both the pimp and his charges all stared at the young man in the most confounded sort of way before the pimp stated, "Man, I don't know what you'd want with the fuzz in this town." He then pointed southward. "Head down that street, about three blocks, you'll find them."

Like a crazed fool Cloyse spun around and around before storming out into the blazing traffic with horns, curses and vulgar hand gestures scooting him along the way.