Conjure Woman

by David

Mama made a leaf man the year Daddy ran off. She said a leaf man wouldn’t hold up well, but he’d last long enough. I didn’t want her to send anything after Daddy. Even though I was glad he was gone, and not just because Tom and I could get real private in his workshop. Mama didn’t know about what Daddy did, and she would have been real mad. Madder than she was.

Mama was particular about the leaves. Oak for strength, willow for passion, cane for flexibility, pecan for the mind. It’s important, she said, to get the right mix. Otherwise, leaf men won’t mind hardly at all. No more than real-life ones.

She didn’t let me watch, said I didn’t have the conjure spirit. She was right. I could never do some of that stuff you had to do. Hard enough to do what Tom wanted when we were alone together.

When it was done she led the leaf man to Daddy’s workshop. The creature wasn’t big. It was late in the year and I’d had trouble finding enough good leaves. If you use spoiled leaves the leaf man will be spoiled, she said. He was shaggy, leaves sticking out everyplace, but he moved like he had a purpose and meant to get to it.

Mama whispered in his ear. He leaned to the door like he was getting a scent, then made off down the road. That’s when I thought I should say something, even though Mama would find out about Tom and me. It was too late: the leaf man was gone, and I kept quiet.

When the Sheriff told us, I knew he suspected Mama, but he never charged her. I didn’t tell, just like I didn’t tell Mama about Tom. The way I screamed when the Sheriff told how Tom was found, and the look she gave me…she knew. Had sent her creation after Tom apurpose, never after Daddy. I hated her then, left home soon after. I had nightmares for years about how it must’ve been like, choking on leaves and them keeping on coming as the thing crawled down his throat. Tom pulling them out and out, but never fast enough.
Now she needs me; can’t talk or hardly move since the stroke. I sit by the bed, and the look she gives me now, I think we’re both wondering: do I still hate her?

end

First Person

by Ken Brady

No matter how hard you try, you can’t see your legs. Your arms are fine and you can pick stuff up, hold it in front of you. You pull a pistol from parts unknown and adjust your grip, get familiar with the gun’s sights. Your gloved hands look a little disfigured, but you’ll get used to that.

You don’t know where you are, except on the roof. You can see the city all around you to where it disappears in the mist. It all looks the same.

You drop through a broken skylight to the warehouse floor below. You grunt when you hit the ground and your vision goes red, a bit blurry. But you’re not badly hurt, just dazed. What a distance to fall and you didn’t even drop your gun.

You hear unfamiliar music playing from the warehouse speakers, and it makes you feel somewhat safer.

You walk around, inspecting shipping containers, wooden crates, forklifts. On a whim, you aim your pistol at one of the crates and pull the trigger. Though you’ve never fired a gun in your life, your aim is dead on, and the crate shatters, parts flying. Something flashing catches your attention. You walk to to the spot and look down, find a shotgun, some shells, and a box of ammo, luckily the same caliber as your pistol. You pick up the shotgun, jack the action once to make sure it’s loaded. Where the hell did your pistol go? You decide not to think about it.

You see a medic walk into your field of view. You swear he wasn’t here before. “You don’t look so good,” you hear him say. “Take this medkit.”

You do, and your vision clears immediately followed by a suspicious “100” that appears in the upper left of your vision. You turn to ask what the hell is *in* that medicine to make you see numbers, but the medic is gone. Oh well, you get the feeling you’ll see him again if you really need him.

You continue checking the place out, amazed by the amount of supplies for the taking, including a shit-ton of ammunition. You grab as much as you can carry, which is way more than you thought humanly possible. A persistent whine in the back of your head mentions something about the laws of physics, but you ignore that.

You hear the music suddenly get louder and more urgent, so you must be running short of time before trouble shows up. There are a lot of crates, and you decide the best way to get what you need quickly is to break them.

Now grab that flashing crowbar hanging on the wall and get to work.