Black Magic Blues

• Kara Segedin, Grade 11, Green Bay High School
• Short Story
• 2001

1st in the 'Zapped! 2001' competition

His fingers old and weather beaten, tightly rolled a cigarette. He brought it to his mouth and dragged it across his dry tongue. Placing it between cracked lips, he struck a match. Its warmth was exaggerated by the cold of the evening. Moving the match closer to his face its flame cast shadows across its leathery surface. Drawing in a deep breath, the smoke from the burning cigarette danced in the beams of light flickering from the ancient bulb that swung precariously above him on the porch.
Up and down the street parents tuck their children into bed, ritualistically retelling a familiar story.
You’d better be hurrying along and getting to sleep now, because if you still awake at midnight you know you’re gonna be in for some trouble. Dat old black man, Mr McCoy, at the strike of midnight, starts to play his harp, and if you awake and hear his music, he’ll lead you away like the Pied Piper and you ain’t never comin home! That harp he plays is filled with black magic and was cursed by an old Southern Voodoo witch doctor! So you’d better hurry up and get to sleep.
As the lights go out children huddle under sheets, squeezing their eyes tightly, trying to fall asleep. Afraid of being led away by the Voodoo man!
Angie isn’t afraid. At midnight she’ll turn 13-years-old, too grown-up to be scared of any stories about voodoo men. She opened her window, lay back on her bed and waited. The hours passed slowly, then she heard it. It moved over her, it surrounded her. The sound was like nothing she’d heard before; it cut through the night like a ghost. A lump caught in her throat, she wanted to laugh and cry in the same breath. Before she knew it she was in the street, oblivious to the cold. Angie walked towards the porch. Every note crashing over her like a wave. In each breath he sent into the harp, a thousand souls spoke, singing together. Their pain, their love, their life, united in one tremor of his rustic hand. His movements hypnotised her. It was too much; her emotions were in overdrive. Then, it stopped. In the silence Angie forced herself back to reality. This man was filled with a magic. She didn’t care if it was black magic or Voodoo it flowed from him. He looked at her and smiled, flashing a toothy grin. His smile got wider and wider, he began to laugh. His laughter echoed through the night, as he slowly rose up from his chair. He turned to walk into the house but paused, see ya tomorrow night kid, his voice like gravel. Angie couldn’t say a word. Mr McCoy disappeared through the front door. Angie felt a sense of calm float over her. She smiled. She laughed. She had the magic.