THE TOMB
Once the relentless rain had past, a brisk chill followed. I couldn’t stop shivering. I stood in the center of St. Louis Cemetery in front of Marie Laveau’s tomb. I was early, only a few minutes before midnight.
Strangely, the night appeared dead, not a stir of wind nor a soul in sight, or a black cat prowling. Flowers, beads, and Jesus candles marked the legendary Marie’s grave. One candle was still burning low. The soft light casted shadows, bouncing off the tomb. The boneyard didn’t need any help with eerie, hairs pricked the back of my neck. As my eyes washed over the graveyard, I took note of row after row of weather-beaten tombstones. The old yard had an unquiet beauty. Yet, it didn’t ease my tension any.
A bad feeling washed over me. I worried I might be walking into a t
