June 5th, summer of '03. The sun is blazing saddles in the streets of New Orleans. Michelle, age 18, has been sent by her mother from North Carolina to visit her dear Aunt Carla Mae. Michelle is less than amused; having to give up her summer of fun as punishment for smoking pot in the basement. But this wasn't just punishment; this was just mean. Aunt Mae was a creepy old woman with a dark nature. Her fierce grey eyes read you like a book as if she was digging deep into your soul. She owned a cult shop in the French Quarter, serving all walks of life; aiding them in their magic rituals.

Her nails were black as tar, and her hair coiled in thick, blondish-brown curls. She wore black all the time with few hints of color; complete with a necklace full of skulls; said to have been the shrunken heads of past unfaithful lovers. Slightly humped over, Aunt Mae often smelled of smoke and sandalwood incense. It had been only a week since Michelle had arrived and already Aunt Mae had her to work. She swept out the dim-lit mice attic; dusted off the mason jars filled with god knows what inside. Michelle even fed Mae's long-clawed demanding cats and caught the chickens to be served up for gumbo.

Mae had no internet or television to keep Michelle entertained. But she sure had a lot of books. One day when Michelle was cleaning the three-inch dust off the bookshelf, she lost her footing and fell hard. Her back met with the cold hard floor and her head bumped into the sofa; rendering her unconscious. When she came to, she was in Aunt Mae's bedroom. Mae had found her on the floor and bought her upstairs; placing a cold cloth on her forehead.

"You sho' did take a tumble child. I thought you went to the upper room." Mae said.

Michelle sat up in bed, wincing in pain as she noticed the tight bandage on her left ankle.

"When you fell, you twisted it. In a week you'll be right as rain." Mae assured. "Here, have some of this soup. It's my recipe." Mae smiled as Michelle sat up in the bed; taking the warm bowl with both hands. The first sip was a little hot as Michelle blew on it first before taking another sip.

They both sat in silence until Michelle finally spoke. "Thanks, Aunt Mae." She said, receiving a gentle nod from the old lady.

"Are you afraid of me child?" Mae asked.

"No. Well…it's just that the world you live in and what you do is kind of weird. I don't believe in this stuff." Michelle stated. Mae cackled a like crowing hen as she patted her chest rocking back and forth in laughter.

"Oh child, you better believe they real. I've seen some things in my time that'll make your hair stand higher than Marie Antoinette's. You'll want to keep that light of yours on all night. Which reminds me, would you like to hear a story?"

"Um sure, I mean it's not like I'm going anywhere." Michelle gestured toward her ankle as Mae cackled once again. She went to her bedside table; retrieving an old book from the drawer. She blew off the dust as it filled the air with a powdery residue. She pulled up a chair and sat by the bed. Mae opened the book; the pages were brown with age. She licked her fingers to pull apart the crackling pages.

"An old friend wrote this book here of mine,” Mae said. 

Michelle continued sipping the hot soup, the strong spices clinging to her dry lips. She sat up much higher in the bed, eager to hear the hidden tales of the strange and unknown.

“Now, this first story is about a girl whose ambitions rule her entire existence.  She always wanted the truth but never found it, until finally, she did.