My Boyfriend is a MONSTER, page 26
Nathan was not sure if he agreed with the waiter, but agreed nonetheless. “Oui, plus aventureux,” he said commenting on the book making some women more adventurous and then handed the wine menu back.
“Oui monsieur,” the waiter agreed. “Puis-je vous offrir quelque chose?” he asked if he could get him anything.
“Chateau Margaux,” Nathan said ordering a wine.
“Très bon,” he said and left the table.
Nathan looked at Lily who was trying not to laugh. “I love this place,” she said looking around the restaurant trying to change the conversation immediately.
“I'm glad.”
“Here's hoping the food is good.”
The waiter returned with a bottle of Chateau Margaux, looking to Nathan to see if he wanted to test it first. Shaking his head the waiter began to pour them both a glass and said he would return shortly to take their order. Raising his glass Nathan smiled. “To the most fun I've had in a French restaurant bar none.”
“Why thank you,” she said and raised her glass. Taking a drink Lily actually enjoyed the taste and let her sip run a little longer. Finishing with a pleasant sigh she set her glass down. “Very nice,” she said wanting to take another.
“I thought you might like it. So, what do you feel like eating?” Nathan asked while looking at the menu.
Lily did not even bother to pick up the menu. “Whatever you suggest, just don't tell me what it is,” she said in a jokingly, but serious tone.
“Very well,” he chuckled.
“Serious,” Lily said wanting to be clear. “If it was crawling before it got to my plate. I don't want to know,” she explained.
“I understand,” he assured her.
“I feel I should say something about the other night.”
“You don't have to,” he offered.
“I was hoping you never had to see any of that, and I am sorry.”
“You don't have to apologize.”
“Thank you, but I'm glad you did. In case you couldn't put two and two together, he sometimes got rough,” she explained while Nathan just nodded. “Pretty rough some nights, but I finally stood up for myself and left.”
“You stood up to him pretty good the other night too,” he said taking a sip of his wine.
“Yeah, I did. And, please don't get upset, but I will never let anyone treat me like that again, so if ...” Lily said then began to laugh as tears welled up in her eyes.
“I don't,” Nathan said quickly to extinguish any thought. Then, with the most genuine smile he could give her he held out his hand.
“I know,” she said and took his hand and squeezed. “I just want to show you I'm not a frightened little girl. But a strong woman, a woman you'd want to be with.”
A single tear slide down her cheek Nathan caught it with his free hand. “When you stood up to that man at the party it showed me without a shadow of a doubt what I already suspected.”
“About me,” Lily inquired while sniffling.
“That you are the most beautiful, funniest and strongest women I had ever met,” he said taking her hand and resting it on his cheek. It was the perfect kind of soft.
Then he gently kissed it.
Chapter XVI
ONE:
A Preacher in Yazoo City
He sat in the booth at the farthest corner of the old diner quietly sipping at his tea. He had fading reddish brown hair and a weathered face that looked kind and contempt. It was not the fact he wore an "On Duty" badge of a priest, the white detachable collar worn in front of a black clerical shirt that made him look kind. It was his frequent smile that seemed genuine and comforting.
Two other men, who were dressed like they just walked out of a mob movie, and spoke like they lived it, filled the rest of the diner. They were rude and short with her all night. She tried to be polite and talkative to make the obvious Out of Towner’s feel at home, but she was met with insults about the way she talked and the town she lived in. Even the food she served was “Horrendous” and the coffee as they put it tasted like “Cat Piss”. In fact, the only positive thing they said actually made her skin crawl since they wanted to know when they were done with their business here if she wanted to go back to the hotel room with them and take one in the front and one in the back.
But when the man wearing the white stripe came in and took a seat at the farthest booth, she felt safer. Then, when she welcomed him, and he smiled back at her, she felt warm, guarded even. The night even felt a little sophisticated with his English accent. She liked him, he was polite and patient. She tried to engage him whenever she had a chance since the alternative made her earlier dinner want to vacate.
“Where is the man’s dinner Frank?” she wanted to know while filling the coffee filter up and dumping the last bit in the pot out.
“Something’s wrong with the stove Amber, its coming, hold your horses,” Frank said from the serving window.
“Well he's been waiting,” she said putting a new pot in and starting the brewer.
“He's a priest, not the freaking Pope.”
“He's a customer that's been waiting an awful long time, especially since his is the only order.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Frank said leaving the window.
“Hey sugar,” one of the mob men who introduced himself as Bobby called out. He was a balding man with a rather large nose. His suit was well worn, but he had a dirty look about him.
Amber did not want to go over, but did. Wondering how much longer they were going to be here she stood waiting for their next rude comment. “What else can I get you?” she asked as she put on her best fake smile.
“More coffee,” the other one who introduced himself as Andy said, dangling his empty mug from his finger. He was fat and bought his suit off the rack. He looked cheap and sounded even cheaper.
“I just put a new pot on. It'll only be a couple of minutes.”
“Why don't you give us a little show until then,” Andy said still dangling the mug on his finger. He began looking her over. Too creepy for her taste.
“You have a nice set sweetheart, really firm I bet,” Bobby said looking back and forth from her to his friend. “Damn girl, you could be a model.”
“Well, I’m not. And just so you know, I'm seventeen. That means I'm a little illegal for you fellas,” she challenged, letting her hometown niceness wane.
“We won't tell, if you don't,” the fat mug twirler said puckering his lips and sending a repulsive chill up her spine.
Thankfully she heard the sweet sound of the “Order up” bell go off, and Frank's phlegm filled growl yelling at her to, “Come and get it.”
Grabbing the plate she walked over to the man of the cloth who smiled graciously as he sat up and made room. “It smells delicious,” he said softly and smiled.
She placed the plate down and noticed his tea was done. “More tea?” she asked.
“That would be delightful my dear,” the man said handing her his cup and saucer.
“Ketchup or vinegar, maybe some barbecue sauce,” she offered before going to get more tea.
He laughed lightly. “Heavens no, but thank you, just the tea would be lovely.”
“Right away sir,” she said, feeling as if she was in a whole other diner.
“How about that coffee sweetheart,” Andy called out.
“Yeah, then come have a seat with us,” Bobby suggested.
“I'll be right back with another tea,” she said realizing she was not in a different diner at all. Walking to the counter, she saw the coffee pot was unfortunately ready. Grabbing it, she walked over to the table and noticed that even their smiles sent out wrong intent. At least the older men in town had the common courtesy to look at her when they thought she wasn't looking. There was flattery and then there was offensive.
“What took you so long sexy?” the chubby one named Andy asked.
“Other customers,” she said pouring coffee into the mug.
“The cloth back there?” the thinner one with less hair inquired glancing behind him. “Yeah, he won't tip you like we will,” he said giving her a wink, then he gazed down at her skirt.
“You’ll like my tip,” Andy laughed wagging his tongue slightly.
Moving away from him while she attempted to finish pouring the second cup was difficult.
“I bet she tastes great,” Andy said to his friend.
“Please, please,” Bobby said holding up his hand and shaking it. “Let's see how she tastes once I've been in her.”
“That's a real dick move,” Andy said taking a sip of his coffee. “I'll still taste her though,” he declared turning to Amber and giving her a wink.
“Why wouldn't ya?” Bobby said laughing at him.
“Look guys, I don't-”
“Miss,” the Preacher called out.
Amber looked back at him and just stared.
“The tea please,” he said smiling.
She shook her head a little distressed. Walking back to the counter she put the coffee back on the burner. Pulling herself together, she got the hot water and a new tea bag. Walking back over to the farthest booth and pouring the hot water into the cup she could not help but tremble a little.
“Are those gentlemen bothering you my dear?” he inquired as he took the tea bag.
“Just a couple of creeps,” she said setting the pot of water on the table and taking a break. “It doesn't happen often, but when it does it's always late at night when I'm alone of course.”
“The cook doesn't say anything?”
“Sometimes, if he's not too busy getting high,” Amber said rubbing her face trying to calm down.
He tilted to his side looking around her. “They don't seem to be local.”
“No, never seen them before,” she affirmed then started to feel better. She looked at him curiously. “Haven't seen you around before neither,” she said hoping she did not come across as rude.
“No, you have not,” he said immediately then looked at her adoringly. “Been a while since I've passed through Yazoo City,” he said sparking more interest.
“So you have been here before,” she surmised.
“Oh yes, a few times through my many, many years,” the Preacher confessed recalling in his mind.
“You're not that old,” Amber said trying to make him feel better.
“You are sweet. But I am,” he said pouring sugar in his tea. “I remember when it was Hannan's Bluff, and then Manchester,” he recalled while stirring his tea.
“I remember learning about that,” Amber said deciding to take a seat.
“Oh yes, I recall the first time the Yellow Jack came to town,” he said and took a sip of his tea.
“Yellow Jack?” Amber repeated with curiosity.
“Yellow fever,” he said taking another sip and seeing she was still unsure what he was talking about. He continued to explain. “A nasty little virus carried by female mosquitoes, most likely originating from Africa.”
“How did it come to Yazoo?”
“Slave trade my dear,” the Preacher said putting his cup down and leaning forward causing her to lean in too. “Some say it was a punishment from God,” he said leaning back.
“Do you believe that?” she asked still leaning forward.
He just looked at Amber and tilted his head with a smile, letting her look at what he was wearing.
“Right,” she said feeling a bit dumb.
“I also remember when the Confederates lost New Orléans to the Union, and the Confederates made Yazoo their new shipyard. And, when the Union soldiers marched on Yazoo and took it they destroyed that one too,” he said shaking his head.
Amber now sat intrigued folding her arms on the table. “I remember learning about that too, but the Confederates took back Yazoo.”
“That's right,” he said pouring more hot water into his cup since the pot was already there. “But a year later the Union returned-”
“And almost burnt the entire town to the ground,” Amber finished proudly. “That wasn't the Witching Fire was it?”
“No, not the Witching Fire,” the Preacher said smiling as his memory sparked. “But I remember that as well, it was 1904 and as local legend has it, the result of a Witches revenge.”
“I remember the Witch stories,” Amber said recalling the stories she was told as a child. “We were told not to go into the swamp area to the north of town at night because that's where the witch lived, on the bank of the river.” Then she also remembered, “Or not to lie to your parents or they would put you in a sack and leave it at the end of the driveway for the Witch to take you back to her home and skin you alive.”
“Terrible, the stories parents will sometimes tell to try and get the young to obey.”
“I just remember the swamp scaring the shit out of me,” she said suddenly covering her mouth, realizing she just swore in front of a man of the cloth.
The Preacher just laughed and smiled. “It's quite okay my dear.” Then he continued. “As I recall the Witch did live on the bank of the river, an appalling thing that took great satisfaction in knowing the people feared her and the children were terrified of her.”
Amber looked at him and for a moment thought he was actually recalling the story as if actually being there, then shook it off as being silly.
He continued. “She was very open about her craft, not coming out right and saying so, no. But dropping hints. Letting people in earshot hear her intentions for the evening, talked in obvious chants and that sort of thing,” he said pouring the last of the hot water and evacuating every bit of tea out of the bag with the spoon.
“I can get you another bag,” Amber said starting to stand up.
“No my dear, this is fine,” he said adding some sugar.
“Go on,” she said getting more interested in the story since it was fascinating and it kept her from thinking of the two creeps behind her.
“Well,” he started again. “One spring evening on May 25th 1884 a young fellow by the name of Joe Bob Duncan was coming down the river in his boat, when he heard a loud moaning come from the old Witch's home. Followed by what he said sounded like – sinister laughter.”
“Oh my God, I have a cousin named Joe Bob,” Amber said a little embarrassed that she was related to a character who always seemed to be doing something stupid in stories taking place in these parts.
“Not the same one I'm sure,” the Preacher said.
“Actually I think he's my cousin, and my uncle,” she said trying to do the family tree math.
“You don't say,” the Preacher said becoming interested in the young Waitress's story.
Amber realized what she just said and felt a little more embarrassed. “And I'm not doing anything to help the international conception of southern redneck stereotypes, am I?”
“Not to worry my dear, I have found through my travels all over the world most places are the same, southerners just admit and joke about it a bit more openly,” he said laughing.
“Okay, enough of my interbreeding family, the Witch,” Amber urged.
“Right, the Witch. Anyway, Joe Bob made his way to the old shack which was two stories and quite large. Peering through the window, he saw two bodies lying on the floor while the Witch danced around and dropped a powder like substance on them, singing her incantations,” he said then took a breath. “Joe Bob, unseen, went back to his boat and made his way back to town where he told the sheriff what he had just witnessed.”
“Did the sheriff believe him?” Amber questioned.
“Enough that he thought he'd better make his way out to the old house and at least check it out,” the Preacher said. “When they got there, there was no answer from inside. So the sheriff and the deputy busted their way in and found nothing on the floor. They checked the other rooms and still nothing.” Pausing for a moment, he let the suspense grow. “Finally they made their way up the stairs, and in one of the rooms they found two bodies hanging from the ceiling, but ...” He paused and leaned forward again. Amber loving the story leaned forward as the Preacher lowered his voice. “Their heads were untouched as well as the neck with ropes around them. But the rest of their bodies were just skeletons, stained red. Cats were below them licking some blood off of the floor,” he said leaning back and sitting up.
“I hate cats, they say they'll eat your eyeballs if you die,” she said quieting herself so he could go on with the story.
The Preacher continued. “They heard the crunch, crunch, crunch of leaves outside and from the window they saw the Witch running deeper into the swamp.”
“Then what happened?” she asked even more invested.
“They went back into town to organize a group to confiscate the bodies in the house, and another group to hunt down the Witch, including a Preacher to protect them against her unholy powers.”
“Did she have unholy powers?” she asked wanting a bit of a spoiler.
“Well, when they caught up with the Witch she was deep in the swamp, and as fortune would have it, up to her neck in quicksand.”
“I thought she fell off a bank and drowned?” Amber questioned, recalling the version she heard as a child. “That's why you don't go in the swamp at night because she hides in the water.”
“I assure you my dear, she was neck deep in quicksand,” he said, smiling as if he was recalling it from memory. “The look on her face was that of terror and hate as she looked at the men who came not to help her, but hunt her down and kill her. She cackled and screamed things at them that I was never able to figure out.” He stopped and thought about it for a moment before continuing. “She then singled out Joe Bob, as if she knew it was him who started the whole thing. She spoke to him, saying her chant and then swearing, she would return twenty years from that day and burn the town to the ground.” He took a long sip of his tea and exhaled. “They did not rush to get her out, and she drowned. We finally got her out with a pitchfork and some rope and took her back to town where she was buried in the cemetery. Marked with a large stone with the initials, T.W. Along with a large chain around her grave to stop her from ever getting out. Even in his proud drunken state, the Sherriff dared the witch to try to come back. And, that if she actually could rise from the grave and breakthrough the chains that were blessed, well then she deserved to burn down the town.”
