Free No Mercy by L. Divine

bend down and grab a fistful of dirt, flinging it into Esmeralda’s cold blue eyes.
    “You stupid little witch!” Esmeralda screams, attempting to brush the dirt from her face.
    “Mama, we’ve got to get out of here!” I run over toward my grandmother, pull her arm and attempt to shake her out of it.
    “No, Jayd. Esmeralda’s using voodoo dolls to manipulate her followers, and she’s coming after you next.”
    “Voodoo dolls?” I ask, remembering Mama telling me about them a while b ack but we don’t work with them—ever. “I thought you said they didn’t work unless you believed in them?”
    “I never said that exactly,” Mama says, watching Esmeralda swing in vain. With out her sight she’s helpless. “If the right person makes the right doll anything is possible.”
                  “Jayd, snap out of it,” Netta says, shaking me by my shoulders.
                  “What the hell was that?” I ask, coming to. I notice Mama’s also waking up.
                  “That was Esmeralda’s handiwork,” Netta says, tending to her best friend. “That evil wench is forcing her victims into a walking sleep and switching then their souls with her loyal pets. She’s making living zombies out of them, manipulating others to do her dirty work and she’s getting away with it. That’s what happened to your friend’s boyfriend.”
                  “And happening to dozens of other victims,” Dr. Whitmore says, placing several acupuncture pins in a brown, female cloth doll with green crystals for eyes.
                  Mama rubs the spots where the pins puncture the doll, eventually laying down on the massage table in the center of the room. “I feel like I haven’t slept in days,” Mama says, groggily.
                  “That’s because you haven’t, Lynn Mae,” Dr, Whitmore says, placing the doll down at the top of my grandmother’s head. He begins prepping Mama for an acupuncture treatment of her own. “What’s the last dream you remember having?”
                  “I was riding an alligator, and Jayd was there,” Mama says, dozing off. “It was exhilarating.”
                  “That was days ago,” I say, holding her hand. “And it was also my dream.”
    Mama looks at me confused, almost as if she doesn’t recognize me. We dream every night without fail and always remember our dreams. Some are just simple REM episodes while others are spiritual messages. When we don’t dream it’s tantamount to insomnia.
    “You’re going to be okay,” I say, kissing Mama’s forehead. I look up at Dr. Whitmore and read the concern all over his usually stoic face. He looks more frightened than I’ve ever seen.
                  Once Mama’s needles are in place she fades off into a restful sleep. Netta and Dr. Whitmore close the curtain dividing the space in half and pull me into the adjacent room.
                  “Your grandmother’s under Esmeralda’s web,” Dr. Whitmore says, solemnly. “The only way to keep her safe and healthy is to keep her in a deep sleep, only waking her once a day just long enough for her to check in.”
                  “No offense, doc but that sounds a little off to me,” Netta says, reading my mind. “How will she eat and do all of the other things we need to do to survive?”
                  “She’ll be fine, trust me,” Dr. Whitmore says, taking a large book similar to our spirit book off of one of the dozens of shelves lining the walls. “This isn’t the first time we’ve been through this.” Dr. Whitmore turns the yellowing pages and stops on one entry in particular.
                  “This is the largest journal I’ve ever seen,” I say, eyeing the neat handwriting. Every letter and number is precisely written making for a completely legible text, unlike our spirit book. The women in my family have