The Muerte Bag
(Intro)
By
Robby Richardson
The sun was low in the sky when Jason made his way back to the hotel. He had taken a spring break to New Orleans with a couple of his closest friends. However his friends had gotten drunk too quick and were now back at the hotel passing out hopefully ready for tonight’s upcoming activities. Instead of sitting around and listening to television or the constant regurgitation of four of his closest friends spewing out their liquor into whatever would hold the vomit. Whether it was the clogged sink, the filthy toilet or the wide bath tub it seemed every inch in the bathroom was covered with some sort of vomit. The very room began to stink and when this occurred Jason retreated to the streets. New Orleans was a lively town with people always traveling along the side streets. The cobbled streets gave it the traditional New Orleans’s feel or supposedly it did according to him. This was his very first visit down south and southern hospitality was something he was unfamiliar with. The street was lined with all two story building and shops occupied every building. Marveling at all the buildings and wished he had time to stop in every shop he only chose the shops that appealed most to him. He stopped in a fish hatchery to see millions of shrimps that would eventually be harvested and used in the many fine cuisines that New Orleans was constantly providing.
Laughing as he exited the hatchery he stopped at the edge of the small stoop and stared at his surroundings. Tourists were walking down the streets, in and out of shops laughing and waving variety of liquor bottles. Deciding to take a path that seemed off the regular trail, he noticed that less people seemed to be traveling down this part of the road. Hoping that this path would take him back to the hotel he made sure to keep the large cigarette box shaped hotel in sight. This street didn’t seem like it was made for tourists and most of the shops seemed to be closing down or at least being renovated. As the sun disappeared behind the sky a soft creaking came from a swinging sign that had caught his attention. It seemed like the only open shop on this street. The sign above a peeling red door read, Oracle de Muerte. “Oracle de Muerte,” he repeated as he examined the tiny hole in the wall place. The building looked to be the size of a closet, however it did not seem like it was a normal shop for Voodoo. Maybe it was something like Hoodoo, he had only ever seen that in the movies what did he really know about it?
Feeling himself shrug, he decided to take the chance and have himself a real cultural experience. He opened the peeling red door and stepped inside to find a room that seemed to have been an actual closet at one time. The air smelled of incense and candles lined every shelf as they wrapped around the small room. In the back was a bookcase filled with different bottles and jars each containing different powders and strange liquids. Next to the shelves was a beaded back room and directly in front of him sat a small wooden circular table. The beaded curtains parted and their stood a dark skinned woman with a face like melted candle wax. It was flat and small as if her head had once been shrunken. She had a black turban wrapped around her head and necklace made of what looked like bones. A small skull hung from her neck and goose bumps appeared on his skin when he saw that the skull was human. It had been shrunken to the size of a ping pong ball. Her eyes were wide as if she was surprised to see an actual customer walk through her door. Soon the awkwardness of the situation began to press upon him.
After several seconds, she gave a very firm and slightly frustrated, “Can I help you”? She asked it as if he was nothing but an inconvenience. He gave a faint little smile, “yeah I am looking for some Hoodoo merchandise for my girlfriend and well . . .” he froze when she gave a look that was warning. “Get out,” she whispered as Jason heard the hiss behind it, “I was just curious I am interested in this stuff, I am actually going to study world religions when I go to college”. Crossing her arms she moved closer to him, she wore a black dress with frails and lace and as she moved around the small table. She pointed her index finger around and in a mocking tone “so this a joke to you then”? “No, I am actually really interested in it and would like to know more. In fact, I am actually a Wiccan”. “This is not mere Wiccan, Muerte is so much more,” furrowing her brow, “Muerte, is that a form of Hoodoo”?
In her frustration she waved her hands and her black shawl fluttered in the air as if it had caught a violent breeze. “This is not mere Hoodoo, nor Voodoo, nor anything you have ever heard of silly boy, Muerte is a way of life,” she clenched her bosom as if trying to catch her breath. Opening his mouth to speak he was quickly silenced by her outstretched waving hands, “now run along you gawking tourist run back to your simple lives, run back to your false world for only a few realized that this is more then a thought or a belief . . . it’s a way of life.” Her hands caught him in the chest as he was being pushed out, “what Muerte”? “Get out,” she repeated as he began to plead, “Wait I am ready to learn and I have an open mind. Please show me what Muerte is”. She paused while he was mere inches from the door, “to first understand Muerte one must read Muerte by author Robby Richardson”. Outstretching her hands to continue his dismissal, “you mean the new master of horror”? This made her stop in her tracks her mouth twitched as Jason added, “Well at least everybody says that he is going to be. If that washed up Stephen King would just retire”. Taking a step back she studied him, “what is your name”? Realizing that he had caught her attention he replied, “Jason,” “and you have read the book”? Nodding as her eyes widened in suspicion, “and you understood it”? Trying not to snort he simple gave a quick, “what was there to understand just some scary stories right”?
Snapping her fingers she pointed to the rickety chair, “I have based my remaining years to try and understand my Muerte and I know that if I had the time I could help you discover yours now but the ever pressures of Muerte demands my time”. “Well I want to learn help me understand it, I didn’t say that it was bad I liked the book”. She traveled around the table studying him as she played with her shawls. “Well let me first ask you this, what do you believe about Muerte”? Shaking his head, “it was just a simple book right”? “Only for the narrow minded, but you . . . your curiosity craves knowledge, craves the unknown.” She moved around to the other chair, “and for that I will fill you in on just a little”. Straightening her dress, “Muerte is so much more than just a book. It’s a way of life. It’s discovering who you are deep inside. It requires the death of you and the rebirth of your soul”. “Your soul,” widening her eyes, “yes only your soul shows who you truly are and with Muerte I embraced who I really am. I have traveled deep within my own self to find it and used the same methods that Robby Richardson used to discover his Muerte.”
Unable to hide his curiousness, “I’ll do it, I want to do it”. “HA,” she smiled, “Muerte has a price that nobody can pay, it is more than a book, more than a carnival . . . it is so much more than that”. He smiled, “you mean that stupid Carnival de Muerte, the one were that kid was hung in front of all those people”. Almost stumbling out of his chair as the woman shot up, “I am the Oracle de Muerte and you are not ready to understand the full extent of Muerte and what it has to offer”! “No,” he shouted as she began to turn from him, “I am you said I had an open mind and I do, I’ll give you whatever I have”. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out forty dollars, “here it’s all I have left to spend . . . take it”. “The mere fact that you offer meaningless money shows me your lack of maturity,” “but the fact that I offered it means that I am willing to understand it and see if . . . Muerte . . . is right from me. I have an open mind now I am asking you to show me what is inside”. Her head lowered slightly as she seemed to hang on his words for what seemed like minutes. “You do make a very interesting point,” she leaned over and took the money off the table. She stared at Jason who could not hide the look of disgust on his face as he saw her take the money, “hey I can’t pay the bills with spells and powders”.
Taking the money, she folded it up carefully and placed it in a pocket of her black dress. Making her way over to the shelves she began to speak, “to understand Muerte you must become one with it, you may see things you like and you might see the darkest parts of your very soul but in the end you will know your Muerte and understand it,” she pulled out what looked to be a black satchel with a fine gray silk rope tied around the top. “This is the same bag that Robby Richardson used to embrace his Muerte, I got it from the Prophet of Muerte . . . they call it the Muerte Bag”. She turned around and made her way back to the table as the candles flickered in the room. Untying the bag she brought it over to him as Jason took it in his hand. The velvet material felt soft on his hands almost as light as air as he looked inside to see a strange silver powder inside. “What is inside,” she leaned in closer and whispered faintly, “Muerte”. She motioned for him to take a hit from the bag she waved her hand in her face telling him to breathe deep from the contents of the bag. Examining the bag one more time, he took a deep breath and let his curiousness seem to silence his inhibition. The silver powder flew into his face and as he took in a deep breath he let the powder sink deep into his nose and lungs. It blew in his face like a miniature sandstorm.
The effects were almost instantaneous as god seemed to outstretch her hand and cover the very sun. His body went numb as the chair seemed to slip beneath him. The fall to the wooden floor lasted an eternity. He watched her stand up from the table as her features began to grow as faint as a shadow. He felt his body jerk and twitch as if he was in a seizure. The world went dark as his vision faded to nothing he stared into the darkness as he felt his body twitch every now and then but the annoying shaking of his leg was the only constant movement of his body. His body twitched every several seconds like an electric charge trying to keep his heart from running out of juice. The darkness surrounded him as he prepared for this so called Muerte.
(To Be Continued)