T.J. Laverne

Copyright © 2020 by T.J. Laverne

 

Chapter 1

 

The night was surprisingly calm and peaceful. Crickets chirped and frogs croaked in a soothing chorus. A screech owl sang from the trees and a night heron answered it on the river. Their songs were so soothing, it would’ve lulled Roxy to sleep in better circumstances.

 

A light, warm breeze brushed through her short hair and she breathed in a long, slow lungful of air, trying to calm her nerves. It smelled of hyacinths and the Mississippi River. She could just make out the line of the river through the branches of the oak trees, glimmering silver in the moonlight. The tree branches were like the twisted arms of massive, black giants against the night sky. Among them, lightning bugs flashed on and off as they flew peacefully above the wet grass.

 

Through the open sitting room window, Al Jolson’s voice crooned to the night air. Roxy’s eyes welled. Maggie had put on Al Jolson for Ivy, though nothing would comfort her at the moment.

 

A different sound suddenly broke through the calming night chorus, this one jarring and strangely unsettling. The hairs stood up on Roxy’s arms and her breath caught in her throat. It sounded like a pack of yelping dogs.

 

She spun around, trying to discern where the sounds were coming from. What were the dogs barking at? And why were they in a pack?

 

As she looked around, the barking grew steadily louder. The pack was heading toward her, somewhere behind Hemswell Hall. Panic strangled her throat. Were they chasing something? Was it the Ku Klux Klan? Or some wild animal?

 

The barking reached its peak until Roxy felt as if they were right on top of her. Suddenly she looked up at the sky. A flock of geese was flying overhead, honking and baying, mere shadows against the black night sky. Even though Roxy knew they were birds, their voices still sounded like barking dogs. She shivered and hugged her arms.

 

The flock flew over the tops of the oak trees and toward the river, disappearing from sight before their voices died away in the distance. Roxy released a long breath and realized that she had been holding it the whole time.

 

Her mind whirled with another wave of panic and terror. She had read about flocks of migrating geese who flew overhead at night, barking like hounds. Legend called them Gabriel Hounds, Yeth Hounds . . . the Seven Whistlers.

 

It was said they weren’t really geese, but dogs with the heads of humans. They were the souls of unbaptized children, searching for more souls of unbaptized children to snatch up.

 

Roxy felt another violent shiver through her body and hugged her arms tighter. A sob racked through her chest. Was one of the flying hounds the soul of her own unbaptized baby? Or were the hounds searching for the soul of her unbaptized baby, looking to snatch it up?

 

She looked back up at the sky, unconsciously ducking her head and cowering in fear. The sounds of the hounds had long since dissipated, but she still felt their presence, as if they were still hovering in the air above her. She started to hyperventilate, so she forced herself to stand back up.

 

With a trembling hand, she wiped the tears from her eyes, choking back another sob. She couldn’t go back inside the house until she had collected herself. She was being a silly, immature little child, like usual. She would be humiliated if Maggie and Ivy saw her like this.

 

At that moment the front door opened and she jumped, choking back a yelp. Maggie lifted her eyebrows and smiled as she stepped out on the porch beside her.

 

“Did I scare you?”

 

“I was just deep in thought, I guess,” Roxy feigned a laugh, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s so quiet out here.”

 

“I thought I heard geese,” said Maggie, looking up at the sky. She pulled a shawl around her arms as the breeze ruffled her finger waves. “It’s a little early for geese to be migrating back north, isn’t it?”

 

Roxy just nodded, holding her breath and swallowing back a burning knot in her throat. She didn’t answer until she felt she could speak without giving herself away.

 

“I thought it sounded like a pack of dogs, didn’t you?”

 

Maggie shrugged a shoulder. “A little, I guess.”

 

“Have you ever heard of the Seven Whistlers? Or Gabriel Hounds?”

 

Maggie shook her head, cocking a smile as she looked at Roxy. Roxy resisted the urge to feel embarrassed already. Maggie wasn’t usually judgmental, anymore, but Roxy still felt as though everything that came out of her mouth was stupid or silly. She plunged forward quickly.

 

“They’re supposed to be the souls of unbaptized children, searching for souls to take.”

​

She stared at Maggie, trying to discern the expression on her face. Maggie delicately furrowed her eyebrows and looked out into the night. Her eyes were rimmed with red from crying and from exhaustion. Roxy supposed that it must’ve been somewhere around 2:00 in the morning by now.

 

It was June the 24th in the year 1925, only hours after Wyatt had been arrested for being unlawfully married to a White woman—Ivy. His great-grandmother was an African American, and as per the one-drop rule, anyone with one drop of African American blood could not legally marry someone who was White.

 

“Do you think it’s a bad sign?” asked Maggie. “Like someone else is about to be . . . you know. . . ?”

 

Maggie didn’t finish her sentence, looking embarrassed, herself.

 

“Bumped off?” Roxy’s eyed widened.

 

“Not that I’m looking for another murder,” Maggie said quickly. “Lord knows we’ve had enough of those lately.”

 

Roxy looked down at her feet, her mind flashing with an image of their friend, Sorley, lying on his side in the Cambodian jungle with blood dripping from his mouth. She swallowed back another burning knot.

 

“I wonder what the Klan’s doing tonight,” Maggie sighed. “Celebrating?”

 

“It’s better they’re celebrating than finding another victim,” said Roxy, trying to sound positive, though she didn’t feel very positive. “How do you think Wyatt’s doing?”

 

“I doubt he’s getting any sleep tonight, either.” Maggie lowered her lip, her eyes watering. “I don’t know what to do to help Ivy. I’ve never seen her like this. She won’t even talk to me anymore. It’s like she’s—she’s catatonic. You know, like . . . he was.”

 

Roxy shivered again. Sorley, who had been schizophrenic, had become catatonic when the stress of the events had been too much for him to handle anymore—just before he had been killed. He had not reacted or responded to anything. He just sat there, lifeless, not speaking or moving for hours. It had chilled Roxy to the bone.

 

“She’s probably just tired,” said Roxy. “She’s been crying for hours.” A hollow feeling of dread filled her stomach. “I don’t like seeing Ivy cry. It’s like seeing Uncle Merle or Wyatt cry.”

 

“I don’t think I’ve seen her cry as much in her whole life as she’s cried tonight.” Maggie looked like she was in pain. “I don’t like seeing her cry, either.”

 

“Does Donk know what happened?” Roxy asked carefully. She still wasn’t entirely sure how Maggie would act towards Donk now that they were back in Mississippi.

 

“No, I don’t want to telephone him so late,” Maggie looked down.

 

Roxy was surprised to see that her cheeks were noticeably red, even in the low light. She wanted to tease Maggie about it, but she didn’t have the heart to try to lighten the mood at the moment.

 

“We should go check on Ivy,” Maggie sighed.

 

Roxy obediently followed her back inside Hemswell Hall. She was disappointed to find that Ivy was still awake on the couch, staring blankly into space, almost without blinking.

 

Maggie sat beside her and laid her head on Ivy’s shoulder. Mrs. McGivney was on Ivy’s other side, holding Ivy’s hand in her lap and dabbing her own eyes with a handkerchief. Her nose was very red. Mr. McGivney sat moodily in the corner with his elbows on his knees, looking out the window as if expecting someone to visit. His forehead was very wrinkled and he looked older than usual.

 

Al Jolson abruptly stopped singing as the needle slid off the record, and the room fell unbearably quiet. Roxy stood up and made her way for the record player, feeling the need to make herself useful. She felt it was her duty to see to the well-being of all the McGivneys, and right now she was failing miserably. It left a very sour feeling in the pit of her stomach.

 

She put on another Al Jolson record and sat on the floor in front of the couch, leaning her head against her Aunt Ethel’s legs. Mrs. McGivney patted Roxy on the top of the head and stroked back her hair, and Roxy closed her eyes.

 

“What’s that?” Mr. McGivney’s sharp voice cut through the quiet.

 

Roxy’s eyes popped open and Mr. McGivney was on his feet, leaning toward the window with a crazed expression on his face. Everyone, including Ivy, flew toward the window to look into the front yard. Roxy squeezed into a space behind Mr. McGivney.

 

The glare of the lamplight against the glass was almost too much to see through it, and for a while she only saw her scared face looking back at her. After her eyes adjusted, they fell upon a burning orange light. It spread upward, at least eight or nine feet, before spreading out to the sides, forming an unmistakable cross. It was a burning cross. The Ku Klux Klan.

 

Ivy ran for the front door, suddenly on fire, herself. She was in such a burning rage that Roxy was afraid she would murder the man who had lit the cross, right on the spot. Everyone followed her, Mrs. McGivney screaming “Ivy!” at the top of her voice.

 

The whole front yard glowed a violent orange and red, where only a few minutes earlier it had been peaceful and calm. The lightning bugs and crickets had been frightened away. The sound of the burning cross almost scared Roxy as much as the fire, itself. It sounded like thunder.

 

For a moment, they saw nothing but the burning cross on the lawn. Then, slowly, a white-hooded figure stepped out from the shadows behind it, his pinprick eyes glowing beneath his hood. Roxy gulped back a knot of panic.

 

“Who are you?!” Ivy screamed. She tried to jump off the porch, but Maggie and Mrs. McGivney held her back by each arm. “Take off your hood, you friggin‘ coward! Show us your face!”

 

The hooded figure just stood silently, watching Ivy. For some reason, Roxy could tell that he was smiling. He was enjoying Ivy’s distress.

 

“Get off my lawn!” Mr. McGivney roared, his voice more threatening than Roxy had ever heard it before. It made her shiver, as though she were the one being yelled at. Mrs. McGivney grabbed his arm, sensing that he might attempt to attack the hooded figure, too. “You’re trespassing on private property! I’ve already called the police!”

 

Roxy knew that this was a lie and she wondered if she should run back into the house and call the police for him. She took a step back to escape toward the door, but Mr. McGivney touched her arm and ever so slightly shook his head.

 

Roxy stared up at him, confused. Why didn’t he want her to call the police? Did he plan on doing something he didn’t want to be accused of, afterward? Or did he not believe that the police were on their side?

 

“No, you haven’t,” the man in the hooded figure laughed. “You’re embarrassing yourself with your empty threats. You’re far outnumbered in this town and you know it.”

 

Roxy looked up at Mr. and Mrs. McGivney, then at Maggie. They were all scowling and she knew that none of them recognized the man’s voice. She turned back to the hooded figure, her heart jumping to her throat. Was this the Klan member who had tortured and nearly killed Brewster? Brewster had not recognized that man’s voice, either.

 

She suddenly felt a burning in her chest and realized that she was shaking, but not with terror, anymore. With rage. She couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t stand the hooded coward taunting her family, everyone she loved, gloating and mocking them right in front of her. She couldn’t stand the feeling of being powerless to protect them. She had to stand up for her family and defend them. It was her duty.

 

“You stay away from my family!” she screamed. “I’ll fight you myself! I’ll kill every last one of you if I have to!”

 

“Roxy!” Mrs. McGivney whispered. She tugged on Roxy’s sleeve, her eyes full of fear.

 

The hooded man laughed loudly and slapped his knee. His laugh echoed in the trees. “Is that the best you’ve got?” he scoffed. “A teenage degenerate whore?”

 

“You son-of-a-bitch!” Mr. McGivney made a step forward, but Mrs. McGivney grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

 

“Enough with the pleasantries,” the hooded man sneered. “You know what I want, Mrs. Mortimer,” he addressed Ivy. “If you give it to us, we’ll release your husband. It’s as simple as that. You have one day. If you don’t deliver, your husband will be sent to Parchman Farm to work alongside the rest of his slave family.”

 

Ivy ground her teeth, her eyes bugging so far from her head that Roxy could see the veins in them. Her entire body shook. She looked like a firecracker about to explode.

 

“How could you?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

 

In a flash, she flew into another rage and was suddenly like a wild animal trying to break free of its cage. Maggie and Mrs. McGivney held her back by the arms with all their strength.

 

“I’ll kill you, you bastard, I’ll kill you!” she screamed, along with a number of other cuss words that Roxy had never heard in her life, let alone from Ivy’s mouth.

 

Beneath Ivy’s threats, there was another sound which cut through the peaceful night air like glass. The hooded man was laughing. He doubled over and held onto his stomach, as if he had never heard anything so funny in all his life. The sound sent shivers down Roxy’s spine.

 

It was the sound of pure evil.