Friday, April 15, 2011
The Rude Chamber (Voodoo/short strory)
The Rude Chamber (The Voodoo Guardian of Haiti) A short story within the Paranormal/part of the Cadaverous Planets (Whatever Happened to Tfarcevol?) Advance: Tfarcevol the Wise, seen in the pages of the History of Moiromma, known as one of the Cadaverous Planets, had his one-hundredth life, as did most Moirommalit’s, but for some reason, out of the velvet darkness he was cast into where his mind and soul went, he was chosen, and resurrected for the 101st time, but there was a reason for this, as there is for most everything within the universe—to be the Voodoo Guardian of the Citadel in Haiti (this happened in 1986, how long he was the guardian I do not know, perhaps since the time of Napoleon; the story has been handed down to me by a woman named Sam Pound, I shall narrate it in the first person, and do my best to see it his way, Dan Weber’s way, the friend of Sam’s.)
[The Citadel] Its passageway let up to the chapel, I and Sam, my female, assistant, walked slowly through it by candle light, it reflected on the walls, glowed on the floor, the ceiling, made a lovely haunting-ness to the thick stones walls. The Citadel was built in the early 1700s, on top of a hill, 3000-feet high hill, it took 20,000-Haitians to build it, in fear Napoleon would takeover the Island; evidently he had such intentions, but it never happened. Thus, it was built in a hurry and many of the forced labor were killed in the process. Perhaps the citadel can be more thought of as crematory, or sacred ground, than a fortress, but it has been called the 8th wonder of the world. The year was 1986, when I was there with Sam, I was thirty- nine years old then, and she was ten-years younger. Both of us were treasure hunters (looking for collectables of the ancient), part time archeologists you might say. We had found the chapel, it was blocked off, and we had to go under the floor, and through the walls, and up again. A new roof was being put on over the chapel, and most of the work had been done, it was evening, and the workers had gone home. We were unobserved, Sam Pound, was from Minnesota, like me, Dan Weber; I lived on Jackson Street in the city of St. Paul. This was not our first adventure together.
[Midnight] The evening was intensely hot, my body was sweating pitilessly. In another hour we would attempt to locate the treasure we came for. I pulled out a book to read, by Bram Stoker, “Lady Athlyne.” During this time a workman came on watch, a Haitian, checking out this and that, the doors in particular, the ceiling and roof, etcetera. He then left as he arrived, and I started to read afresh, trying to figure out between sentences the secret place were the writings were, the treasure we sought after. (The treasure being the secret scriptures of Moiromma; they were taken to earth by Agaliarept, the henchman of Hell, hidden from everyone because of a three-year war that took place on the Planet, and now guarded by a voodoo priest, also known as the Prophet of Moiromma, or wise man of Moiromma, Tfarcevol.) Not much was known of him, only legends told of some far off planet, and he was resurrected from the dead, to guard the scriptures, ones he had written long before they were taken to earth, written on his Planet. Anyhow, I was hoping most of this was legend, not fact, only the scriptures. Normally, 90% of legends are bull, and 10% fact, so I’ve found out in my worldwide search and travels. I put my book down, got thinking, and strangely enough Sam stood up, looking down, over me: like a cat looking above a mouse; she was still, as I lay on the floor. She was hauntingly looking, which didn’t connect to her breeding or personality. I forgot about the treasure for a minute, lost all interest in it, lost in a contemplation of her despair. I quickly stood up and said horridly “What is the problem with you?” Thinking she saw something, and was paralyzed by it, or shock in seeing it.
[Trembling Spirit] She spoke in a strange low tongue, one I had never known. Her body became contorted, as if there was a spirit form inside of her, too large for her, and her skin was budging like rubber being stretched to its limits. She was trembling, or so it seemed, and in a low rustic voice that was not hers, slowly, the language she was speaking turned into English, almost a gradation, syllables being worked out, the words were forming. Then she said, “If I offended you, pardon me!” then added, “I am not the owner of this body, as you well know, but I am the guardian of this citadel, as you should know, and known as Tfarcevol the Wise, from Moiromma. And you see, if it is the treasure of the scriptures you are after, I cannot allow this, it must—in time—be returned to Moiromma.” Then she raised her hand in protest, “Stop your search, and I will release your woman friend….” I had also read about this legendary planet, and knew should I do as this spirit said, it could not be trusted, and I wanted the scrolls. In all respects, the spirit that filled Sam to the brim, if he was good natured at one time, he was no longer, in a word, he was bad news, but he could not possess two people at once, so I had a chance to escape, or try to deal with it. I paused a moment, my eyes roving about, to see what I could do, Sam’s fingers nervously moving about, trifling perhaps. “Be careful,” the spirit said, I think the scrolls were in the room and I was making him nervous. “Do you not see the importance of you leaving this area and not coming back?” The voice said inside Sam. “Perhaps not,” I said. “For many generations, many have come to find this treasure, only to find misfortune.” The voice alleged. Again I thought the spirit, that called himself …the Wise, was playing games with me. Perhaps the treasure was nearby, and what could an old spirit do in a woman’s body, that was half my size, and I knew karate. “There is not a corner of this chapel or for that matter, the whole Citadel that has not been searched so looking for the scrolls is useless, plus I will not allow it even if you could find them,” exclaimed the spirit. But I felt not all was lost. “Someday someone will find them, you can’t stop everyone!” I stated. “By that time, I will have given them to a Moirommalite to deliver back to the planet, you see there are many of us down here on your earth, I simply cannot leave this fortress to go and find one of my kind at this time, if I could have I would have long ago.” Before I could say another word, he leaped out of Sam, she must had said something to him, he mumbled something anyhow, as if he was talking to himself or Sam in a confusing dialogue, and leaped inside of me, quicker than a leopard. And the only thing I could see was her running out of the chapel door too freedom, as this large, perhaps seven to nine feet tall spirit (for I saw him for a second, during the transfer). Then he went into the cellar, opened up an old coffin, bones inside (I could hear Sam breathing, she must had come back for a moment to see what was taking place, because the spirit said…’shoo’ which I took for: go away), and he lay down, and he told me, “You will die here, and I will wait, and when you do, I will go about my business as normal.” He wasn’t going to leave my body quite yet, and he wasn’t kidding. I tried to negotiate with him, but he wouldn’t have it, he feared me, feared what I first feared, that he was lying; now he assumed I was lying, but I wasn’t, and I guess he wasn’t.
Written: 4-18-2007 (the author was in the Citadel in 1986, and it is a wonder to see) Reedited 4/2011 for publication in 2012