Belle Croix: Tales From The Uprising

Chapter 1 (Simone)

siren goes off on television in distance

"Missing child alert. Today a young black girl, aged 7, has gone missing. About three and a half feet tall. Glasses, and braids with pink beads. If you have any information—"

The announcement is drowned out by the chatter in the restaurant.

"17th one this week, ainnit?"

"Oh. Another little girl?"

"Every day there's another one."

"Those damn Marassa again, always up ta summole bullshit. Ain't nobody safe rounem."

The people of Belle Croix have been experiencing the disappearance of children for decades now. It's so bad that some have become numb to the alerts, while others remain hopeful that something will be done. I'm only 23, and I was positive I wouldn't make it this far. I mean, let's be honest. I couldn't even get adopted. I bounced around from home to home until I turned 18, and by then I was used to being alone... but I was also used to nobody looking for me.

Belle Croix is a place that thrives in shadows. The streets are narrow and winding, flanked by sagging houses with chipped paint and overgrown yards. The air is thick with humidity, a constant presence that clings to your skin and makes everything feel sticky. The dense canopy of trees overhead blocks out most of the sunlight, casting the town in a perpetual twilight. Streetlights flicker sporadically, and the faint buzz of electricity is almost drowned out by the symphony of insects and the distant croaking of frogs. The air smells of damp earth, old wood, and a hint of something metallic. I'm surprised I haven't been snatched by the Marassa by now, or maybe even the mamwati, but part of me is still not convinced they're even real.

"Don't be playin rounda wata nie. Get snatched up 'n I ain't gon look for ya" is a phrase I was raised on, but living on an island... it's kinda hard to avoid. Plus, I've never seen a redhead in my life, let alone some sea monster that snatched people, but whatever.

So here I am, 23 with a roommate, living in the sarcastically named Port de Labeau, serving the best gumbo you've ever eaten for far less money than I need. Port de Labeau is on the outskirts of Belle Croix, where the roads turn to gravel and the bayou begins. The air here is even thicker, almost suffocating at times, and the constant hum of mosquitoes is a reminder to never stand still for too long. The houses are small and packed tightly together, with rusted tin roofs and leaning porches. Crime is high, and it's not uncommon to hear the distant sound of sirens or the occasional gunshot.

Mr. François, the owner, is one of the sweetest people you could come into contact with, so I don't mind. He's the closest thing I ever had to a father, and it only took 21 years. So here I am, just hoping some rich guy from Vil Lajan will come and leave a huge tip so I can finally afford to—

"Ay chère. Turn off dat news and serve dem tables nie. Customers gon be mad, ain't gon git nundem tips."

"I'm sorry, François, I gotchu." I turned off the TV and grabbed a tray. The interior of the restaurant is dimly lit, with old photographs of Belle Croix on the walls and mismatched tables and chairs that have seen better days. "Lemme get those plates for y'all. Ya like the food? Can I grab ya anything else?"

Please say no. I really just wanna go home. It's getting dark, and as much as I love François, he's older... and I know he'd die to keep me safe... but I don't wanna take that chance.

"Nah. Food was all good. Thank ya, chile. We gon get outta here. Ya take this tip. And don't be worrin bout dem Marassa nie, ya hear? You get on home."

Aww. They were sweet. I guess they could see the look on my face. All I have is a little blade I carry. Round here, that ain't scaring nobody. I think those were the last few customers. Let me clean up and get outta here.

"Need anything else, baba? Or am I good to go?" I asked, praying to every god, even the ones I don't believe in, that he says I can leave.

"Lemme talk to ya, chère."

Oh God. Here we go. He loves waiting til I'm ready to leave to have his fatherly talks. I mean, I appreciate it... but this can wait. I NEED to get home...

"Don't be lettin dat news get in ya head. You gon be safe out dere. Got alotta knowledge in dat brain, an I know you gon do big thangs. I luh ya nie. Don't wantchu gettin distracted when ya needa be savin up fa dat car ya got ya eye on. How much more ya need? Been savin fa a lil bit, ain't ya?"

Ah shit. I forgot I told him about that. I still need at least a thousand more veux. I didn't want him worrying about it, and I know what he's gonna say as soon as I tell him the num—

"I know ya heard me. Ain't gon leave ya lone bout it nie. How much ya need? Too pretty to be walkin round here."

Just like I thought. He's gonna give me the money. I know he needs it though. I also know he's not gonna let this go. Maybe if I just lie...

"Baba, I only need like 200 veux. Then I'll have my car and I'll be safe. I promise. Please don't give it—"

"Nah nah. Here ya go, ma chèrie. Take it."