Time & Space (Short Fiction Collection Vol. 2) by Gord Rollo, Gene O'Neill, Everette Bell Read Free Book Online

small wooden cottage with a garden full of fruit trees. The only way she could tell this house was different from several other small homes she’d passed was the large elaborate altar sitting on the front porch, and the strong scent of incense wafting out from the suspiciously wide-open front door.
    Was this where she’d find the large black woman who’d sold her the pendant, or was she just playing a fools game, dashing off to a foreign land on the strength of nothing more than a dream. Marcela reached up to stroke the silver ball around her neck, taking comfort from its warmth that she was doing the right thing in coming here. She took a deep breath and headed for the porch. A shadow was waiting there to greet her. A large shadow, but it wasn’t the person she expected.
    A young black man, maybe twenty-two years old, tall and broad shouldered, stood in the doorway waiting patiently for her.
    “Welcome to Semma, our Temple,” the young man said. “You’re too late. My mother, Mambo Ranice has passed.”
    “You…you speak English,” Marcela managed to speak, too shocked at the news of the dream woman’s death to say anything else.
    “Of course. She taught me many languages, many things. My name is Miguel. She told me to wait here for you. Come. I’ll take you to her.”
    “Take me to her?” Marcela was confused. “I thought you said she–”
    But the young man was gone, disappeared into the temple.
    “How did she know I was coming?” Marcela asked the empty doorway. Raising her voice, she tried, “Miguel? How do you know who I am?”
    No answer, just receding footsteps.
     
    ***
     
    Marcela knew that Mambo was the term used for a Voodoo High Priestess and as she followed the mysterious woman’s son inside the temple, all she could picture was the tall ticket vendor in San Jose making the sign of the cross in the air at the mention of this place. She wondered if she was making a dreadful mistake, but that tiny voice inside of her was urging her onward, a quiet strength flowing into her body even though she’d been traveling all day and should have been exhausted.
    Marcela had never stepped foot inside a voodoo temple before, and it was nothing like what she had expected. It was just a comfortable little house but the main room was adorned with colorful curtains and hanging flags that draped all the way to the spotlessly clean wooden floor. Around the room were several different altars, all with incense burning and various eclectic items on them. Marcela noticed photographs of native people, a small stuffed teddy bear with a pink ribbon, a dinner plate loaded with a collection of smooth stones, tree twigs tied together with a thin leather strap, stamps resting on a letter, yellowed with age, and much more. What she didn’t see was blood stained sacrificial knives, terrified animals tightly bound to wooden posts, mindless walking zombies wandering around in search of flesh, or any of the other silly Hollywood images that she’s always associated with the Voodoo religion. There was an 18 inch indigo lizard stretched out on the room’s only sofa, but it was half asleep and seemed friendly enough so Marcela didn’t let it bother her. She breathed a sigh of relief and let herself relax. It was easier than she thought it might be. Crazy, perhaps, but here in this strange little temple Marcela soon felt totally at peace–at home.
    Miguel wasted no time, getting right down to business. He marched over to a doorway, pausing halfway through a set of curtains made from string after string of red beads. “Follow me, she’s in here.”
    Marcela stepped through the beaded curtain, half expecting someone to jump out and yell surprise at any moment, let her in on the game they’d been playing but the young man had spoken the truth–the large black woman who’d sold her the silver ball pendant a year ago, Mambo Ranice, was lying in bed covered in blankets, dead to the world. Her hands were folded respectfully