Murder On The Air

When We're Human

Winter, nineteen hundred and six

Alastor was ten years old, only a few years away from completing primary school. Snow had fallen and covered the grass like a cold blanket. Bare branches from trees intersected with each other, forming un-moving patterns against the white cloudy sky. The boy was wearing suspenders, pants, a buttoned shirt and a hat. Loretta had taught him how to sew before the winter break. She guided him through the needle and thread motions, how to loop and twist in certain ways so the strings could be stitched together. He had slowly gotten the hang of it. Several voodoo dolls were soon put away neatly in his room out of sight.

Alastor enjoyed every moment he had with his mother.

But on one winter day, Alastor was preparing to spend time with his other parent.

"Papa, I don't want to kill any deer or animals," Alastor begged. "Let me stay home."

Alastor had been traumatized last year at the cabin when his father had caught a wandering stag. He had proudly displayed the severed head to Alastor, who fled into the kitchen in tears. Loretta had a long talk with him afterwards, but didn't stop her husband from pursuing his hobby. On occasion, the locals would come up to the cabin and Louis would show his colorful collection of animal furs and heads attached to the brown log wall. Some people were so impressed with his work that they considered buying his items. He happily sold the stuffed creatures, looking forward to gathering more for the next year. When asked if he wanted to join the New Orleans hunting business, he replied: "I'm my own business." It was competitive and risky for a man associated with "outsider folk" to pursue such an occupation. Loretta was having it hard enough with a low-paying secretary job, teaching French in a poor classroom with "colored" children, and daily racial discrimination.

Louis had cheered Alastor up after he used fresh deer meat and duck for their dinner. Momentarily, he had forgotten about the encounter, but still got chills when staring at the displayed head above the mantle.

Loretta helped Alastor pack some clothes in a suitcase on his bed. Alastor's room was upstairs, neat and tidy. The walls were covered with posters of jazz bands and musical groups. Figures of clowns and circus performers stood on display on his bedside table. Voodoo trinkets and dolls were hidden in neatly stacked boxes in his closet. Louis was standing in the doorway, eyeing Alastor's room with scrutinizing eyes at the lack of sport equipment in the room and beautiful women posters. At least the area wasn't messy. There were typical "boy" toys such as cars, dinosaurs and building blocks tucked into a random corner on a shelf. They had remained there for a while, as Alastor was outgrowing them.

"Ah'll be back at the cabin in time for Christmas," Loretta said. "These jobs Ah have are makin' me work more hours all da time."

"But you're treated badly when you're working," Alastor mentioned. It wasn't a question. Loretta had told him how others looked down on her or didn't take her seriously. She had to restrain herself from hitting a bossy white lady for calling her the "n" word.

"Ah have no choice," she explained. "Ah have to bring in a little bit of income and help keep da house presentable. Every little bit counts for da American Dream, right?"

Alastor saw the fatigue in her deep brown eyes. It was easy to get lost in their deep sorrowful depths.

"Besides, this will be a great opportunity to spend some quality time with your father," she added. "With both him and you having a few weeks off and all."

Alastor's eyes lowered. "I...I guess that wouldn't hurt. I'll be learning something new..."

"Turn dat frown upside down," Loretta advised in a playful tone. A big smile crept up his cheeks and he instantly felt better.