A Paranormal Mystery Book Series
Simone Doucet Series by E. Denise Billups
Series Excerpt
Simone peers out the narrow cabin window of the Boeing 747 winging toward Baton Rouge Metropolitan Airport, comforted at the nearness of her birthplace. On the last visit home, she and her father attended the Bayou Classic’s football game between Southern University’s Jaguars and Grambling State University’s Tigers. A momentous occasion for the Doucet family and the state of Louisiana around Thanksgiving, more so for her father as staff director of Southern University’s (SU) athletics department. In every respect he’s devoted, attending every game. The profound loss of his favorite cheerleader has stifled the exhilaration, but they will carry Lily in their hearts and minds at every Bayou Classic.
She sighs, releasing unease that’s lingered from four nights of frightful dreams and dampened the elation she would have felt for the Natchez assignment. It’s been a month since she dreamt of her mother, and Simone had never experienced anything as horrific and bewildering as the alien words her mother had spewed. The angelic images floating around her body reassured Simone that her mother was in a heavenly place. But the peach pits rolling from her forked tongue were demonic. Resting her head on the seat, she wonders if images of the wraithlike girl were jumbled in with her mother’s dream? The contiguous nightmares can’t be a coincidence but must be connected. She shakes her head, positing that her mentioning her mother’s peach cobbler to Bridgette had triggered the dream.
A ray of setting sun splits her periphery. She rolls her head toward the airplane window, gazing at low clouds melting through swift aluminum wings. After four nights of disturbed sleep, the airplane’s drone and crystalline heavens lull her to a red-cedar porch swing on her family’s Arcadian-style home in Southdowns Baton Rouge.
Rosaceae vines twist and slither through red-cedar rails, copious flexing tendrils rocking the porch swing to and fro, catching the beginning and tail end of words echoing beside her. Creepers round their waist, an umbilical cord binding them in place. Resounding words elucidate as Mom reads a leaf of paper between bible pages on her lap, softly and solemnly intoning, "Forsaken souls rise at harvest, imparting offerings of history's horrors. Oh, what bittersweet hymns of sorrow, below the bluffs of Natchez Trace . . ." She lifts the testament to her heart, voice elevating: "book of Matthew, chapter seven, verse eighteen." She leans over, kisses her cheek, and whispers, "Moni, tell her story . . ." Vines snap from their waists, snatching her breath, affecting a guttural gasp.
The plane hits an air pocket, jolting Simone awake. She gasps, clutches her heart, and touches her cold cheek.
“Are you OK?” the furrowed-browed man beside her asks.
“Um, yes, fine, thank you . . . Just a dream.” She forces a smile and sits back in the seat, glancing out the window. The Book of Matthew: Chapter seven: Verse eighteen repeats in her mind. What is she trying to tell me? She’s not trying to prevent her from going to Natchez as her father assumed but guide her toward what she discovered.
The talk with her dad three days ago resurface, his tone elevated as she speaks of the dreams, the cryptic stanza, and the assignment in Natchez.
“Natchez, did you say Natchez, Mississippi?”
“Is something wrong?”
For an instant he grew quiet before replying, “Lily visited there right before . . . a month before she passed. Something rattled her in Natchez, but she refused to tell me what happened. She spoke of a poem her friend read to her. I believe it refers to the Devil’s Punchbowl.”
“What’s the Devil’s Punchbowl?”
“A forested basin below Natchez’s bluffs. I’ve heard horrible tales of that place, atrocities that should never have happened.”
“What happened?”
“I can’t discuss this at work. But the stanza you spoke is from Lily’s poem.”
“Do you have it, Dad?”
“It remains where your mother left it, and that’s where it will remain, between pages of her bible in the nightstand. We need to leave it be, Simone. I believe whatever happened to Lily in Natchez contributed to her heart attack. When she arrived back home, nightmares plagued her every sleepless night. She refused to go back to sleep, mumbling about those poor souls. Simone, there’s a reason you’re having these dreams. It sounds impossible, but your mother’s reaching out to you. Don’t ignore the dreams. I believe Lily wants to protect you from whatever she discovered in Natchez.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought it best to leave it be. There wasn’t any reason to disturb you further. Simone, please don’t take the assignment?”
“I’m not turning down another paycheck. Besides, I’ve already accepted the job. Don’t worry. The B&B’s safe. Nothing will happen. Dad, why did Mom go to Natchez?”
“Her childhood friend Ella took ill. Lily was there for support until her family arrived.”
“Is she OK now?”
“Miraculously, her health improved a day after your Mom arrived. I guess Lily’s healthy cooking healed her fast,” he’d supposed, chuckling. “She told me Ella's fridge and cabinets were bare, so she went to the farmers’ market in town. On her way back, she stopped alongside the road at a peach stand owned by an elderly gentleman who spoke in a strange dialect that sounded suspiciously like Gullah, an old slave dialect. She swore she’d never seen peaches so big and plump. When she asked which orchard grew the peaches, the man said they were the best peaches in Adams County and were grown behind his home. Lily couldn’t stop talking about that darn intoxicating cobbler she made for Ella. She said they devoured the entire dish in one night. That same evening, the frightful girl visited Lily with horrible images of the Devil’s Punchbowl. The dream plagued her until her death.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, BTR has cleared us for landing at Baton Rouge. Please be seated,” the pilot sounds from the speaker.
Simone positions the seat upright, buckles the seatbelt, and glances at the greenish-brown Mississippi River snaking through verdant cliffs, looking up and down the banks of Louisiana and Mississippi. Studying the outline, she tries to determine where the Devil’s Punchbowl lies before the river slips past her view. Gradually, the plane glides over squared, russet terrain, freeways, industrial sites, tree-bordered homes, descends, and then taxis across the runway.
Several minutes later, the flight attendant announces over the intercom, “Welcome to Baton Rouge,” the rest of her words muted by Simone’s incessant reflections as she gathers her carry-on bag, moves through the aisle, and deplanes in rote fashion, arriving at the baggage conveyor. Retrieving her Samsonite, she heads toward Hertz and moments later exits BTR airport, actions performed in a mental fog. Since the first dream, she felt something undefinable attached to her soul, woke with her, followed her into conscious and unconscious reality, occupying her thoughts with unknowable compulsions.
Even as she drives through Baton Rouge Central Business District, an urge compels her to detour to her nearby home in the Southdowns’ section and retrieve the poem from her mother’s Bible in the bedside table drawer. But she imagines her superstitious father has locked it up and thrown away the key. She needs to get to the B&B and finish the assignment before visiting home.
On US 84 West, a destination sign points toward Natchez. She realizes she’d seen the sign many times on this road, but it held no significance until now. Nothing much about Natchez ever crossed her path growing up except for the occasional calls from Ella, mom’s dearest friend, but she’d forgotten she lives in Natchez.
Ella . . .
She gave Mom the poem. Is she the poet? If not, she might know who wrote the verses. But she doesn’t have her number or address. Years ago, she’d overheard Mom mention that Ella worked for the Museum of African History in her town. “Hmm . . .” she mumbles, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. She could call her at work or call dad for her number, but he’d see right through her inquiry.
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