𝙱𝙰𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙱𝙴𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃

•𝚃𝚆𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚈 𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽•

June 15, 1999
15 Years Ago

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the dusty yard of his grandmother's house. August, a curious and mischievous eight-year-old, sat hidden behind the wide, weathered trunk of an ancient oak tree. He could hear the soft murmur of voices drifting through the air from the old porch where his grandmother and her friends sat in their rickety rocking chairs. They gathered there every Sunday afternoon, sipping sweet tea and sharing stories that danced on the edge of legend and reality.

From his hidden vantage point, August strained to catch their words. Today, they were deep in conversation about the old voodoo folklores that had been passed down through generations. He loved these tales, the way they made the air seem thicker, the shadows deeper. His grandmother's voice, rich and warm, carried through the yard.

"Now, y'all ever heard about the one with the period blood and spaghetti?" she asked, her tone conspiratorial, as if she was about to reveal the secret ingredient in a family recipe.

August leaned in closer, his eyes wide with curiosity.

One of the women, Miss Hattie, gasped and clutched her pearls. "Lord have mercy, Eudora, you better not be talking 'bout what I think you are."

Grandma Eudora chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that always reminded August of a contented cat. "Oh, it's real, Hattie. They say if a woman wants to keep a man bound to her, she can put a bit of her own blood in his spaghetti. It binds his spirit to hers, makes him love her fiercely."

August's small mind whirred with the bizarre and unsettling image. He didn't believe it, of course. How could something so strange be true? But the idea of it fascinated him, the mix of horror and enchantment that these stories always seemed to hold.

He was so engrossed in the tale that he didn't notice his older brother, Marlon, sneaking up behind him. Marlon was eleven, tall for his age, and took great pride in acting as if he knew everything. He tapped August on the shoulder, causing him to jump.

"What are you doing hiding here, August?" Marlon asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

August grinned, an idea sparking in his mind. "Just listening to Grandma and her friends talk about voodoo. Wanna hear something scary?"

Marlon rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his interest. "Sure, what now?"

August leaned in, lowering his voice to a spooky whisper. "They say there's a voodoo spell where you can take someone's hair, put it in a jar with some graveyard dirt, and bury it under an old tree. If you do it right, you can control that person, make them do whatever you want. Forever."

Marlon's eyes widened, and he took a step back. "You're just making that up."

August shook his head solemnly, trying to suppress a grin. "Nope, it's true. I heard Grandma say it just now."

Marlon's face paled, and he glanced nervously toward the porch where the women still chatted. "Stop it, August. You better not be lying."

August couldn't hold back his laughter any longer. He burst out laughing, the sound ringing through the yard like a bell. Marlon's expression turned from fear to anger as he realized he'd been tricked.

"You're such a brat!" Marlon yelled, giving August a shove.

But August was already darting away, his laughter trailing behind him as he ran across the yard. He could hear Marlon's indignant shouts, but they only made him laugh harder. He loved teasing his brother, loved the way these moments of childish mischief made the world feel light and carefree.