Voodoo Mumbo Jumbo

Professor Smith dragged his gaunt, delicate frame to the porch thankful that Elisa doesn’t live on the third floor of an apartment building. He took off his hat and was about to push the doorbell button with his slender fingers but he remembered something. Reaching into his coat pocket, the professor pulled out a small white pendant hanging from a thin bronze chain. It was made of polished quartz and he let it hang from his hand for a few seconds. It was still, suspended by gravity between the porch floor and the palm of his calloused hands. No movement, he thought to himself, better take a note of that. He put the pendant back into his inside jacket pocket and finally ringed the doorbell.

Small, nervous footsteps scurried to the front door before it creaked open. A woman in her late fifties greeted the elderly professor and welcomed him into the house. She had short, cropped hair the way some old women do. Her apron was worn but still brightly colored yellow. Her cheeks were rosy, possibly from preparing something for the professor, but it was equally likely that her demeanor was to be credited. She would hardly ever allow herself to be seen without a smile on her face despite her inability to hide her true feelings in her eyes.

“Please! Please! Have a seat!” she implored Professor Smith. “It’s been so long! I’m so happy you could make it!”

“Thank you, Elisa,” the professor answered as the corners of his mouth curled upwards. “The years have been kind to you.”

“Oh, thank you!” Elisa answered, her rosy cheeks growing even rosier. “I hope you’ll forgive the way I look. Let me take your hat and coat.”

“I’m a bit chilly so I hope you don’t mind if I keep my jacket on.

“If I remember correctly, you always loved blueberry scones with your tea.”

“You really didn’t have to go through the trouble, dear. You asked for my help and I’m here to give it. There’s no need for any of this.”

“Never mind all that! You’re a guest in my house and I always treat my guests with the utmost hospitality!”

“Even old friends?”

“Especially old friends! Oh, look at me blathering on like a doting grandmother. Your tea! I’ve completely forgotten about your tea.”

Those same footsteps that scurried to welcome the professor into this quaint house scurried on into the kitchen. Utensils rattled about and the refrigerator door opened. The scurrying slowed as the refrigerator door closed.

“Oh, my,” Elisa said as she emerged from the kitchen shamefully. “I’m so sorry this never happens to me. I guess I’m just a bit out of practice playing hostess and everything. But it seems I’ve run out of milk.”

“That’s perfectly all right. I really don’t need tea. I can get started right away actually if that’s all right with you.”

“Nonsense! I’ll just skip to the store! It’s not that far. I shouldn’t take long at all. Again, I am so sorry! At least I remembered you like milk with your tea. Really, it’s no trouble and I’ll be back in no time. You sit tight, professor!”

And with that, the scurrying took Elisa out the front door leaving the professor alone in the house. The ticking of the small clock reverberated off the hardwood floors and wallpapered walls. The faint smell of lilacs indicated that she had the windows opened for a short while in the morning. The sunlight, though plentiful, just barely warmed the house. The professor reached into his jacket pocket and let the pendant hang just in front of his face. It moved back and forth just slightly. There was barely any movement until—

SLAM! Heavy footsteps walked through what the professor believed was the door leading from the garage. The professor clumsily put the pendant back in his jacket pocket. A man about the same age as Elisa came into the living room where the professor was sitting.

“Elisa! Have you been moving my tools in the garage around again? I can’t find my—,” the man stopped when he saw the professor sitting in the large chair. Elisa usually saved that seat for guests. “I apologize. I didn’t know that Elisa had a guest coming over. My name is Artie, Elisa’s husband.” Artie extended his hand and the professor shook it.

“Oh yes, of course! Elisa talks about you all the time. I’m Professor Smith. We—”

“Now, I remember. You two knew each other in college if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, she was my student; very bright.”

“That she is. But if I’m not mistaken she brought you in here for a very specific purpose: a purpose which would totally fly in the face of all evidence that either one of you had a shred of intelligence.”

Professor Smith’s eyes widened as he was taken aback by the verbal abuse. He wasn’t expecting anything so aggressive from Elisa’s husband.

“I’m sorry?” the professor tried to be as cordial as one could be.

“I’m sorry again. It’s just that… I know how brilliant she is and how brilliant you are. She talks about you all the time but you are here to get rid of our little ‘ghost’ problem, is that not it?”

“Elisa did mention that there was a possibly spirit haunting the premises.”

“And you’re some sort of ghostbuster?”

“Actually, I’m a medium. I know that sounds strange coming from someone who has worked in academia for so long but I simply help spirits trapped here move on.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Sometimes there’s something a spirit couldn’t do when they were alive. That happens all the time but every once in a while there will be that one thing that doesn’t allow them to leave this plane of existence. And until that one thing is complete, the never will. They end up haunting a place. They’re usually harmless though. Rattling here, banging there.”

“I appreciate that you want to help my wife but she’s just a bit scared of a few creaks, that’s all. It’s nothing but the house settling. It was already old long before we bought it. Honestly, I think you’re just making things worse. You’re just enabling this behavior with all your voodoo mumbo jumbo.”

“Don’t be silly. I doubt I’ll have to use any voodoo for this particular case.”

“Geez, you’re really doing this? Look, you seem to be a nice guy. And if you’re a close friend of Elisa’s I’m sure you’re a really smart, stand up guy but I really don’t appreciate you exacerbating the situation. These are just superstitions, her imagination running away with her.”

“So how scared is she by all the supposed things going bump in the night?”

“It freaks her out. It upsets me because she should know better, you know? I hate worrying about her but when she gets so frightened it makes me wonder how she gets along whenever I’m out of the house.”

“What will it take for you to not worry about her? She’s fully capable of living an independent life. In fact, she had for a long time before she met you.”

“I know, but to see her giving in to these little superstitions is frustrating. If it wasn’t for the fact that I didn’t have a job when she was pregnant with our second child she would have had a PhD herself. She always wanted to go back to school, but I don’t know if she can still do it. Every little floorboard creak has her jumping even if it’s just me coming from the kitchen after a midnight snack. It breaks my heart.”

“Sounds like you care for her on a deep level, Artie.”

“I do. I really do. And I hate worrying so much.”

“How about you just trust her? Maybe she’s so scared is because instead of making her feel safe you make her feel like the victim of her own psyche. I know you don’t mean to but she’s as sensitive as she is intelligent.”

“Yeah, that’s one of the things I love about her. She’s sensitive enough for the both of us. The kids really needed that in their lives. Did you know when our first child was born, I couldn’t even bring myself to read her a bedtime story? How simple would that have been? Just read a story or make one up. Kids really don’t care as long as they hear your voice as they’re going to sleep. Didn’t really figure that out until our son was born. Three times, before we had a son. I guess third time is the charm. Ha!”

“Do you really think that’s all it took? Some implied reassurance from you to send them off to sleep? I’ve always been good with kids but I could never put my finger on why I was able to get them to stop crying or go to sleep or anything like that. But I think it has to do with trust. See, their innocence doesn’t allow them to mistrust their parents. They trust their mother and father wholeheartedly. But trust goes two ways.”

“Oh, I trusted them, all right. I never knew how to say it short of actually saying the words. And even then it took me until they were in college for me to tell them how proud of them I was. How much I would trust them with my own life.”

“Maybe they feel that on some level. It’s that one bit of comfort they need. They trust you but felt they didn’t have your complete trust.”

“Now that you mention it, I did get closer with our oldest daughter around the time she graduated college. Makes me wonder what else I missed out on.”

“It’s the little things, Artie. Those are what count. You don’t have to say the words to tell someone something.”

“Are you saying I don’t trust my wife? That’s why she’s scared all the time?”

“I’ve only been talking to you for ten minutes and I know that you undoubtedly trust your wife as much as you love her. But does she know that?”

“I don’t think she does.”

“Then let her know.”

“How?”

“Let her feel safe. Let her talk to me about this ‘voodoo mumbo jumbo,’ as you call it, because it comforts her. It’s not going to hurt anyone. And she’s going to get the sense that you trust her decisions.”

Elisa’s familiar scurry approached the front door and both men looked towards the rattling knob, then towards each other.

“I better get back to the garage. It would look out of place if I just all of a sudden was supportive of this haunting nonsense. But I won’t interfere.”

“I understand. It was nice meeting you, Artie,” the professor said. They shook hands and Artie headed towards the garage before turning back saying, “Stay awhile and have some of her scones. She’s quite the little baker, Elisa.”

“I’ll do that,” the professor answered. The door creaked open and the professor offered to carry the small plastic jug of milk for Elisa.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Elisa responded. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying this thing to the kitchen. Now have a seat and I’ll get you your tea.”

“And a scone too if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, yes! Of course.”

“Elisa?”

“Yes, professor?” Elisa asked. The usual cluttering noise of the kitchen ensued as she boiled a pot of water and popped in a few scones in the oven to heat them up.

“I never really got a chance to ask you since you left to go to the grocery store in such a hurry. But how are you? How have you been?”

The scurrying of her feet stopped as if Elisa had completely disappeared from the house completely. Professor Smith walked towards the kitchen and saw her just standing there. Elisa was watching the steam slowly billow out of the tea kettle.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” the professor apologized.

“No,” she answered, “Don’t be sorry.  I’ve been good.”

The professor took out the pendant once more and let it hang in front of him. There wasn’t even the slightest movement.

 “What’s that?” Elisa asked.

“Sacred stone,” he answered. “In the presence of a spirit it should swing.”

“It’s not moving.”

“No it’s not.” The tea kettle began to whistle and the professor put the pendant back into his jacket pocket. Elisa scrambled to make the tea and prepare the scones.

“Look at us blathering on,” Elisa said. “You know my husband would have never approved of all this business. Other than your foray into the supernatural, professor, I think Artie would have liked you.”

“I’m sure I would have liked him too.”

“I miss him,” Elisa said, her voice breaking up, “so much.”

“I understand.”

“But wait. I could have sworn all that ruckus in the garage in the afternoon was him, my husband’s ghost. The kitchen lights turning on and off in the middle of the night when he would get those late night snacks. It had to be him. Don’t tell me all that was just the house settling.”

“Who’s to say it wasn’t Artie?”

“But your pendant. Your stone didn’t swing a single millimeter. That means there’s no spirit here at all.”

“Not anymore.”

“What happened?”

“Just some ‘voodoo mumbo jumbo.’”

Mr. Porter's Last Supper

Mr. Porter is a man of great influence, well-known throughout the city for his power which he acquired through means both legal and not so legal. At 6’5” and 300 pounds, his mere presence was intimidating. But his cordial demeanor went a long way to smooth things over with people who were fortunate enough to be on his good side. He recently received the news that his estranged daughter and only legitimate child is pregnant. Having been the conqueror of all he surveyed for so long, Mr. Porter decided it was time for him to step down from power and become a true family man for the first time in his life. He would get to know his daughter better, help her raise the baby, and ensure that his grandchild would never want for nothing.

Noble a move as that may sound, it creates one rather messy problem: stepping down is seen as a sign of weakness and Mr. Porter has acquired many enemies on his way to the proverbial top. It only took a matter of hours for news of his retirement to reach the ears of his fiercest competitors in both the corporate world and underworld. Mr. Porter knew that his corporate rivals were of no consequence, and his lawyers have ensured him that there are no more connections between him and his criminal empire (at least none that can be proven in court) so the FBI was nothing to fear. But it only took one day after he announced his retirement to his staff for Mr. Porter to learn that one of his enemies had hired an assassin, one that goes by the name of The Fox. No one had ever met The Fox in person and if it wasn’t for the fact that Mr. Porter had hired this mysterious mercenary once or twice, he would have little reason to believe such an assassin actually existed.

When it was confirmed that The Fox was the one hired to take him out, he knew there was little that could be done to escape imminent death. He made sure his affairs were in order. He named the successor to his businesses, both legitimate and otherwise. There was no easy way he could tell his daughter face to face what was about to happen so he wrote her a letter to be given to her when he died. One does not attain Mr. Porter’s position without being prepared for such matters so when the day that a hit was actually put out on him there was little else to do than to have his last supper. He knew exactly which restaurant, which meal and which courses, which wine to order, and he even knew which suit he was going to wear. A part of him wishes he could spend his last meal with his daughter but she was visiting her boyfriend, father to Mr. Porter’s grandchild.

“Is there anything else I can get you, sir?” the waitress asked as she poured him his wine.

“That should be all. Thank you,” Mr. Porter responded as the waitress hurried back to the kitchen. His eyes wandered around the room deliberately, a habit that has kept him alive in his earlier days. But old habits die hard even if he has had a cadre of bodyguards following for the past few years. It’s a good thing too because his experienced eyes spotted a single person who didn’t quite fit in that particular restaurant.

Mr. Porter spotted the tall, thin man before he sat down and thought it was odd that the stranger was wearing tinted glasses indoors. Where this thin man was sitting, he had a perfect view of Mr. Porter’s seat. This may very well be The Fox, Mr. Porter thought to himself. He didn’t anticipate being killed this early. The thin man wore a smart suit that was expensive but did not attract too much attention other than the pale ivory cufflinks and beautiful silk tie. While the tinted glasses hid the thin man’s eyes, it was pretty clear he was looking straight at Mr. Porter. The thin man sipped at his espresso. The waitress then came out of the kitchen and served Mr. Porter’s starters. When she left his table, the thin man approached him.

“Yes?” Mr. Porter asked the thin man without looking at him, perturbed at the thin man’s audacity.

“I know you’ve been expecting me,” the thin man replied. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“You’ve got some balls, pal,” Mr. Potter answered. “Can’t I enjoy this meal in peace, at the very least?”

“Mr. Porter, if you don’t wish to eat with me that’s perfectly fine. But know that our business with each other will be seen through by the time you finish your dinner regardless if I’m permitted to sit down or not. I simply came over to tell you how much I respect you.”

“This doesn’t seem like a move you’d normally make. It seems messy to me, if I’m being completely honest with you.”

“I hardly ever do this. But for you I’d make an exception.”

“What’s so special about me?”

“Let’s just say you’re business has helped my business.”

“So what about me do you respect, exactly? What makes me so special that you show yourself to me before our little transaction is complete?”

“You’ve led quite a life, Mr. Porter. But for you to walk away from it and right the wrongs with your daughter is very admirable.”

The waitress came and took Mr. Porter’s empty dish away. The thin man watched as the attractive, young waitress hurriedly walked past. He took off his tinted glasses and put them in his inside coat pocket.

“As you can see, it’s not exactly going as well as I’d hoped,” Mr. Porter responded, “being interrupted in the middle of dinner and all.”

“I understand,” the thin man said as he was about to turn around, “I’ll let you finish your dinner.”

“No,” Mr. Porter stopped him, “You can sit. If this is my last meal I might as well take advantage of the company. Even if it is you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Porter,” The thin man took the seat directly across from him. The waitress came by and served the main course. Mr. Porter offered to pay for another espresso for the thin man who politely declined. “I know it sounds silly to admire someone like you even if it is for something as noble as taking care of family.”

“There’s no shame in wanting to get out of this dirty business. I’ve thought about it many times.”

“So why did you wait so long to actually do it?”

“I’m not going to lie. I really loved the power and the money. When you get that at the rate I was getting it, and at a young age too, it’s really hard to give that stuff up. Every so often you’ll run into a girl that will make you want to leave the life.”

“Of course, of course,” the thin man watched as Mr. Porter methodically devoured the perfectly cooked steak. The waitress came by and poured another glass of wine. “Obviously none of them had a lasting effect.”

“Not exactly true. One girl nearly convinced me to get out of the life completely: my daughter.”

“What happened?”

“Her mother didn’t exactly want me in her life. She took off with her. Can you imagine that? She was my daughter too and she just took off with her. I sent people to find them but my ex-wife refused to be found.”

“So when did you reconnect with your daughter? How did you find her?”

“She found me actually. It was a few years ago and she was just out of high school. She wanted to know who her father was so she hired a private investigator. I seriously thought it was a fed. Nearly had the guy killed too.”

“But you didn’t. I would have known about that.”

“No I didn’t. It’s messy business to have someone killed anyway, expensive too. Obviously there are no do-over’s so you better be damned sure the guy you want killed deserves it.”

There was silence for a minute as Mr. Porter continued to eat. It was obvious he was enjoying it despite having an unexpected guest.

“You don’t seem afraid of me,” the thin man said.

“I don’t see any need to be. A situation like this was bound to happen the way things were going. I just wish I had more time to spend with my daughter. When she first found me, I was caught off guard. I had no idea what it took to be a good father. I ended up just throwing money at her whenever she came to talk to me.”

“Men like you aren’t built for family life, anyway.”

“Men like us, you mean,” Mr. Porter remarked as the waitress brought out the dessert.

“No, Mr. Porter,” the thin man clarified, “I’m not like you. I don’t indiscriminately throw a man’s life away as if it were a simple plaything that happened to be in my way. I feel every death that I’m responsible for.”

“You get numb to it after a while. Trust me.” Mr. Porter devoured the desert. He sensed his end was near and decided there was no reason to mind one’s manners at this point.

“That’s what’s different between you and me. We take lives all the time. But I have no choice to live the way I do. You made your choice to be a crook.” The waitress came by to refill Mr. Porter’s glass with wine one more time and left the check at the table.

“I don’t know if it’s your reputation or the fact that you’re about to kill me, but I admire the guts you have to talk to me like that. It’s been a while since someone has. But you’re wrong.” Mr. Porter took a swig of wine into his mouth.

“Wrong about what?”

“I was built for family life. I did my best to take care of my daughter the only way I knew how. It was the wrong way, sure, but I tried my best and you can’t fault me for that. At least, with me out of the picture, my grandchild won’t have to know about the monster who was his grandfather.” Mr. Porter savored the last swallow of wine.

“Are you ready?”

“I was born ready. Can I ask you something first?”

“Of course you can, Mr. Porter.”

“Aren’t you afraid of being seen here with me? You got a lot of eyewitnesses around.”

“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Porter.”

“What don’t I understand?”

“I’m not here to kill you because I’m not The Fox.”

“Then who the hell are you?”

“I go by many names. But many people refer to me as Death. These other people here haven’t been able to see me since I approached you.”

“What? So I’m dead already?”

“Soon.”

“How? How soon?”

“A minute or two, and a man of your know-how should be able to figure it out, Mr. Porter.”

Mr. Porter closed his eyes when he realized that his antiquated notion of “hitmen” had deceived him.

“The waitress,” Mr. Porter finally said.

“The waitress,” Death confirmed.

“I would have never expected The Fox to be a woman. Is she going to shoot me?”

“She doesn’t have to. She’s a bit more subtle.”

“Poison? I didn’t taste any--”

“You wouldn’t have tasted anything different. The chemicals she used, alone, were completely harmless. But used together, it is quite a powerful poison. It’s quite elegant approach if you ask me.”

“I thought that waitress was a little too good at refreshing my wine,” Mr. Porter said as he chuckled to himself. “So that’s it. Is it going to hurt?”

Death didn’t respond. He just got up from his chair and Mr. Porter joined him. The two shook hands as Mr. Porter looked back and saw his lifeless body slump over and fall off the chair. The strange duo walked out of the restaurant to the sound of panicked patrons screaming.