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A cinematic horror tale set in 1850 Louisiana. Voodoo and European folklore mixes in this 1970's comics novelette.
In the bayou, something that should be dead arises animated by a single thought: Revenge.
Across the swamplands, a drum summons it into a terrible night of murder and lost memories.
Voodoo tradition mixes with European legends in this cinematic tale from the author of ‘The South Will Rise Again’ and ‘Dead Men Tell No Tales’.
Rushing all over him, seeping inside his clothes, drenching him to the bones.
What’s this? Where am I?
His mind awakens, stirring. It's as if he was in a dark slumber constructed of lost memories and brackish waters. He wonders where he is, why he’s here, and mostly, who he is.
Yet, he can’t remember it. He just knows being. And water, all that water. Opening his mouth to take in a deep breath, he realizes it’s already open and water has flooded the cavity, down the throat, inflating his dormant lungs. He tries to flush it out, to no avail.
There is no power in his organs, no beat to the heart.
How is this possible? Oh, Holy God, am I dead?
Still, he feels his form, muscles flurry under the soaked skin. Arms reach outward, frantically searching for surroundings. Something holds them. He can feel his brawn struggling against the tight hold of ropes and begins to fight against that strain when he discovers he’s being held underwater by unseen leashes. He doubles his ghostly strength, pulling at the vises, for it is unnatural for a being, living or dead, to resist the weight of constriction. A master can not stand the leash.
And he was a master, wasn’t he?
Images flash into his dulled mind; a mansion, a couple of bay horses, fields of white cotton, and the radiant smile of a beautiful woman.
His beloved Valerie, the woman he’d won the heart of and was living for. Sweet, gorgeous Valerie, whose hair smelled of roses and whose eyes sparkled like deep blue lakes with fresh joie du vivre.
Bubbles froth around his thrashing figure, escaping to the safety of the surface, only to find sudden death once their thin film of liquid ruptures allowing the air to escape the hollow globules. Yet, more form and rush up; a spuming herd of suicidal fizz.