1 comments/ 27812 views/ 4 favorites The Tortured Spirit of Lover's... By: ronde The Tortured Spirit of Lover's Mountain The old black woman quickly wrung the rooster's neck, and then slit open the belly. The heart still throbbed as she spilled the entrails onto the floor of the cabin that housed her altar. Light from the many smoking candles lit the glistening, gruesome mass of ropy intestines and dark organs as she stirred through them with a wrinkled finger. "Ah, the time is right," she muttered to no one in particular. "Tomorrow, she will feed tomorrow." She to the side and said aloud, "It is time. Do you have the charm?" The young woman sitting beside her nodded, then rose and left the dark cabin. The old woman turned back to stare into the flames that licked at the logs of the cooking fire. "Mambo Jeannette must live a while longer," thought the old woman. "I must live until the young one learns to read the sign and how to make the spell." She threw the entrails into the fire and began plucking the rooster for a chicken stew. The forty year old business man from Florida was on a working vacation in Haiti, and thought himself lucky when the stunning, copper-skinned young woman walked into the bar. She was unlike many of the Haitian women; her fine features and light copper shaded skin whispered of an intimate liaison between a plantation owner and one of her slave ancestors. Her black hair, probably straightened somewhat, he guessed, hung in shimmering, rippling waves over her shoulders. His eyes absorbed her sensuous, feminine grace as she walked toward his table, and he noticed that her rounded hips swayed in the loose, comfortable motion that seemed common to the women of the island. She was wearing a short skirt and an open blouse that displayed the ripe mounds of her breasts, and he was sure that if she bent over very far, he'd catch a glimpse of the nipples that stood out proudly against the thin material. As if he had willed it, simply by thinking it, she stopped, bent down and fiddled with her sandal, and the blouse gaped open to reveal large, firm breasts topped with dark brown nipples that cried out to be fondled. The dress rode high enough up a smooth thigh that he caught a glimpse of tiny white lace panties that contrasted nicely with her coppery skin. He realized he was staring when she looked up, caught his eye, and smiled. She finished with the sandal, and walked to his table. "Hi, I haven't seen you here before, have I?" "No, this is my first time on the island. I'm vacationing here, from Florida. You know, in the US?" "Oh, I know of America; I even know Florida. I was born in Miami. I came back to Haiti a couple of years ago when my aunt got sick, and I loved the country, so I stayed. I guess my roots were here, all along, but I had to come back to know that." He had earlier decided from her display as she fixed her sandal that she was probably a prostitute, but now, he thought perhaps not. If she was looking for money, the pitch would come soon enough, and since she was beautiful, and he was alone, he asked her to sit down. He ordered her a drink and another for himself. She sipped her drink, flashed him a gleaming smile and asked, "So how is your vacation going?" "Well, rather slow, but that's OK. The country is beautiful, but I guess I should've taken a commercial tour. I'm just roaming around by myself, and I really don't know where things are. I'm having a good time though, just relaxing." "Relaxing from what, if I may ask?" "I own a business that imports merchandise from the Carribean and South America. I resell to discount stores throughout the US. I had hoped to run across some new stuff on this trip, but so far, I haven't seen much that's different from what we already have." "I see. " She sipped her drink and paused for a moment in thought. "Well, I can't help you much with your business, but I could show you some interesting sights, old plantation houses and such, if you're willing to drive up the coast. My cousin lives in Bale-de-Henne, and I want to see her anyway. If you drive me up, we can look at some things that aren't on any tour. Only the residents know about them, and they don't want tourists tromping all over the place. You'll be all right with me, though, and I know a great little place in for dinner. What do you think?" The thought that she might be attracted to him crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it as wishful thinking. He hadn't been with a woman in the six months since his divorce. This girl was beautiful and sensuous, but was so much younger than he. Probably she did just want a ride, and someone to have dinner with, and that would be it. "I can give you a ride, but I don't know about dinner. I uhh...well are you asking for dinner company or...well, I really don't know how to ask this. "God, I'm sorry. I tend to be very open; some people call it rude, but I say what I think. I'm only looking for a ride. I thought I might repay you by showing you some places known only to the locals. Since you're not wearing a ring, I figured you weren't married, and I thought you might enjoy some company for dinner. If you're worried about it, don't be. I don't bite. She giggled. "That is unless you want me to." "That makes me feel better, I think. I just..., well, I wondered why a pretty little thing like you would want to have dinner with an old guy like me." He stood up dropped enough cash on the table to cover the tab. "I don't have anything better to do today, and I have a car outside. Are you ready to leave, or do you need to get something first?" "No, I'm ready now, and you're not old. You're older than I am, but you're not old. By the way, my name's Jesse." "Well, hello Jesse, I'm Dave, Dave Marshall." She sat, relaxed, in the rented sedan as he drove along the coast road to Bale-de-Henne and told him about her life in Miami and how she lived today. Occasionally, she would shift positions in her seat, and the already short skirt had ridden high up her slender, golden thighs to reveal the rounded, small patch of white at their juncture. He hoped the dress would rise higher; he willed it to rise higher, but to no avail. She didn't seem to notice, and he was not about to spoil this lovely view by saying anything. He passed a small sign with the wording hand painted in French, and she said, "Now there's a place no tour ever visits." "I don't read French. What does the sign say?" "It's not a site recognized by the government; that's why the sign is hand painted. It marks the trail for the locals, and points the way to an old grave on the hill. The grave is said to hold a woman who had strong sexual desires when alive. Her spirit is supposed to give that desire to any woman who touches the headstone. Of course, that's just an old Voudou legend, and no one takes it seriously except the young men who take their dates there in hopes of seducing them. They call it "Lover's Mound," and that's what the sign says. Graves just give me the creeps, so I've never been there before. The view of the sea is supposed to be nice, though. Would you like to see it? We have time for a quick look." He parked the car on the roadside, and they started up the path. At the top of the hill was a clearing, evidently maintained by someone, because the native plants would have taken over any spot of bare ground unless continually cut away. The grave stood in the center, but instead of the small stone cross he was expecting, a stone structure with a large, cracked, flat stone top stood before a huge headstone. The headstone was so weathered and moss covered that the name was difficult to make out, but he thought he could read "ANG L E" and the date 1816. There was also an intricate carving above the name. He looked for Jesse to ask her what she thought and saw that she was looking through an opening in the trees. He joined her and saw the panorama of the beach below, the rolling swell of the ocean stretching away, and the infinitely distant horizon. "You were right, the view is spectacular. It's just the kind of place I used to take my high-school girlfriends. They loved the view, and would get more, shall we say..., agreeable. I never got any of them past the kissing and feeling stage, though." He laughed. "Their mother's had already warned them about men." She laughed with him. "Mothers must be the same everywhere, then, because mine warned me about the same thing when I was twelve, and even though I'm twenty-two, she still does it in every letter. She says men only want to sleep with every woman they see. That's why the boys bring their girls here." Her voice became deep and ominous. "The powerful spirit that lives here can take away the girl's ability to resist, and will give her desire that can be satisfied only by a man between her thighs." She laughed again. "That's the local legend some people believe, including my aunt. She's never been off the island, or even to school for that matter, and like a lot of the old people, really believes the legend. She's the other reason I've never come here. She'd be worried silly if she ever found out." She looked at him with her eyes full of innocence, her hands went to her breasts in mock fear, and she said in a quavering voice, "Oh, Mr. Marshall, you're not going to rip off my clothes and have your way with me, are you?" Then the smile beamed at him again, and she giggled. As she had clasped her hands to her breasts, she had inadvertently pulled open the top, and the sight of the full, gentle curves made the prospect inviting, but he knew now that she was just teasing. He decided to play her game for a while. "Well, you know, every legend is based on some actual event. Maybe this place is special, after all. What would you do if it were?" "If what my aunt says is true, I would be powerless to resist you, but I think one has to believe in the legend for it to have power. Since I don't, I don't think anything would happen..., at least nothing that I didn't want to happen." Now he wasn't sure she was teasing, but decided that, while it was a nice fantasy, it probably should remain just a story to take back to his office in Florida. "Well, don't worry. You're young enough to be my daughter, and I don't think I could feel right about that. You're a very beautiful woman, though, so if I were you, I wouldn't bring any young men up here. They might see things differently." The smile hit him again, and he almost changed his mind. "Thank you for the compliment, and I'll keep that in mind. As for our ages, people on the island are not so concerned about that as people in America, but I understand. I grew up there, remember?" She took his hand, and led him toward the headstone. "Now what did you want to show me?" "The date says 1816 and there's a name - Angel something, I think. I can't really make out much more than that for all the moss and weathering. There's a nice carving at the top too; I wondered if you'd know if it means anything." They stopped before the large monolith of rough-cut stone. "It must have taken a real effort to get all this rock up here with what they had in those days. This woman must have been rich, or very famous in some way." He knelt at the headstone, and brushed at the lettering to remove some of the moss that had accumulated over the years. He saw the full name, Angelique DuQuoins. He started to ask Jesse if she knew the significance of the carving, when he felt her hand on his shoulder. She was leaning on the headstone, obviously in some sort of distress. Her eyes were glazed when he looked up at her, and her breath came in short gasps. He stood up and turned her to face him. "Jesse, are you OK? You look like you're having trouble breathing." "No, it's all right. I just feel...funny, that's all." She started to slump, and he instinctively reached for her. She caught herself on his shoulders, and as she sagged into him, her breasts crushed through his polo shirt. Her nipples felt rock-hard against his chest, and with each breath, it felt as if they bored deeper. As her strength returned, she straightened, and in the process, dragged her erect nipples up his chest. She looked up to his face, kissed him passionately, and her dark eyes glowed with an inner fire as she gently pushed him away. She locked her gleaming eyes to his after she pulled the shirt over her head; it was then he noticed the intricately carved pendant that hung between her heaving breasts by a simple, leather cord. His thought the pendant to be a match to that carved on the headstone, but could not tear his eyes from hers to make the comparison. Jesse's heavy breasts bobbed as she threw the shirt to the ground, and reached for the button on the skirt. He stood, mouth agape, as she dropped the skirt to the ground, and rolled the white thong panties down her thighs. She slipped her fingers through the dark bush of hair below her belly, stroked slowly and sensuously, and then lifted them to her nostrils and inhaled deeply. Letting the breath out slowly, she touched the fingertips to his upper lip, and he caught the scent of her sex. She pushed him down on the flat stone top of the grave and straddled his legs as she knelt over him. Her fingers quickly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, and she pulled them down to his knees with one stroke. She nearly tore his shorts from his body as she pulled them down his legs, and then grasped his organ and began to slowly stroke. Her other hand pulled up his shirt to rub his chest, then returned to rub her swollen nipples and squeeze the tips of her breasts. She took a nipple between her fingers, rolled it and then pulled hard. As her breast stretched into a long cone, she moaned deeply and her head lolled to one side. She dropped to take him in her mouth, and her lips and tongue raised him to an erect state larger and harder than he had known since he was a teenager. When she took him deeply into her throat, it was his turn to groan. She slipped him in and out of her full lips, sucking hard and raking his shaft gently with her teeth, then slid her wet tongue over the head and down to concentrate on the sensitive spot just below. He was rapidly beginning to lose control and began to thrust against her. She stopped and raised over him. Her inner lips fluttered as her fingers rubbed them furiously. Clear, viscous fluid coated her hand, and she rubbed it on the head of his member before returning it to massage her clitoris in quick, circular motions. She moaned softly and moved the hand to her mouth, licked two fingers, and then offered two to him. The taste was intoxicating, and his mind began to reel with the need for release. With the sinuous motions of a cat, she positioned her opening over his shaft, spread herself wide with her fingers, and sank down over his length. The sensation was exquisite as her wet passage grasped his shaft, and when she began to ride him, he thought he would explode immediately. She seemed to sense this, and slowed her rhythm until his excitement subsided somewhat. As she rocked herself against his body, her fingers pulled at her nipples and rubbed her grossly swollen clitoris, and she soon resumed her deep stroking. She was moaning small sounds that came from deep in her throat in a series of small murmurs, and as he saw her belly begin to ripple, her strokes became faster. He would not be able to hold back much longer, but it seemed as if she would not need him to do so. "Oh, God, now, now," she cried and he felt a gush of warm fluid around his member as she pumped quickly up and down. Her head rolled back uncontrollably, her eyes were blinking but unseeing, and her only feeling was that centered in her belly and clitoris. As he felt the gush of wet warmth, he exploded, his semen filling her passage and making them both even wetter. She continued to pump on his shaft, experiencing continuous waves of release, and he erupted three more times before he began to grow soft. Still she rode his softening member, and moved from one flood of warm liquid to another, from one shattering orgasm to another, until, when he slipped from between her lips, she finally stopped and smiled down at him. He was exhausted and closed his eyes as she rubbed her lips and clitoris over his thigh. He felt the combined fluids from their passion seeping over his thighs to fall on the stone underneath and drip through the large cracks. He felt her lean over him, her hands on his shoulders and her still rigid nipples brushing the bare skin of his chest. He felt the kiss she placed on his lips as she tasted herself. He felt cool breezes waft over his arms, legs, and neck as she raised off him. She spoke, "Mistress Angelique, demon of my ancestors, take this man that you may live and feel the torment of your victims for all time," and watched as the blue-white wispy mist encircled his body. She saw the familiar looks of surprise, then shock, and then pain, and said in a soothing voice, "I'm sorry, but she must eat. The beginning is immense pleasure, but the end, unfortunately, is painful." She frowned when he tried to rise, and placed a finger to her lips when he screamed in agony. "You'll only upset her, and she'll take longer. Besides, there's no one to hear you." She smiled, and then laughed. "By the way, you were very good lover, better than most I've brought to her. I'm sure she will enjoy you." The rapidly shrinking, red-purple mass that had been her lover continued to scream for a while, and then went silent as the mist absorbed the life and soul that had been Dave Marshall. She stayed by the grave until the body was a mere husk covering bare bones and desiccated tissue. When the mists returned to the small portals hidden under the stone top, she stepped forward and easily picked up what remained of him and his clothing. She carried it a short way to a large hole in a stone outcropping, and dropped it in. For several seconds, there was no sound, and then she heard a quiet "plop." She quickly dressed, walked back down the hill, and turned in the direction of Gonaives, leaving the sedan parked by the side of the road. It would disappear by morning. The local police would ask questions of the hotel manager and the bartender, who both knew of the powers of Mambo Jeanette, and believed in the legend. They would have no information other than that Mr. Marshall had left in his car early one morning and had not been seen since. They would also ask to sell the few possessions left in the hotel room in partial payment for the bill. The police also knew of Mambo Jeanette, and the matter would soon join the mildewed stacks in the room behind the station office. ********************************** Elizabeth finished her chores for the day, and smiled with the knowledge that she was to be married, married to John in a month. They would still be simply Elizabeth and John to the mistress and master of the house, for she was a slave employed as a cook in the mistress' household, and he was a slave employed in the cane fields that brought wealth to the master. As slaves, they had no surnames, so on the eighteenth of August, 1816, Elizabeth would not become Elizabeth Martin, or Elizabeth Duncan, or take any other name than the one given her at her birth. This was well known by all the whites on the plantation, and they were comfortable with this arrangement. The master was a kind fellow who never mistreated his workers, but unfortunately, he was aging, and unable to satisfy his wife, the young mistress of the plantation. She was a native born Haitian of French parents, and her needs would have challenged a satyr. Her husband, shamed by her lust and his inability to satisfy it, largely ignored her after the first year of their marriage. In reprisal, she began to dally with certain of the household slaves, and found their physical strength and stamina more to her liking. She soon exhausted the few male members of the household staff, and began seeking her pleasure with the bodies of the field slaves. On most plantations, it would have meant death for a slave found in the arms of any white woman; to be intimate with the mistress of the plantation would have meant a death received slowly and painfully at the whip of the master himself. This master, however, was so shamed by his impotence that he ignored this conduct as well. The Tortured Spirit of Lover's... On this same evening, Mistress Angelique watched as the field workers filed in at the end of the day. One tall, brown-skinned slave caught her fancy, and she sent her personal servant to tell him to come to the mansion kitchen that night, and thence to her bedchamber. The worker was by chance, Elizabeth's John. John was not eager to fulfill his mistress' desires. He had heard the tales told by a past consort of being bound to the bed for hours while the mistress impaled herself on his manhood and rode him until he was sore, and of being ordered to lick and suckle on the mistress' private parts until she passed from consciousness. It was also known that she enjoyed the female sex as well as the male, and often forced a male and female slave to copulate before her. After witnessing this act, she became as a woman possessed, and wished to be entered in every possible orifice with fingers and tongues as well as the male slave's shaft. More often than not in these sessions, the female slave was given a large wooden or ivory likeness of a man's organ to thrust vigorously in and out of the openings not occupied by the man. At other times, she would attach cruel pinchers to the female slave's nipples and require her to open her sex for the mistress to lick and suckle while the male slave entered the mistress from the rear. Woe be unto the female slave who could not achieve release many times at the lips of the mistress. Few of her slaves were able to stay the course until her needs of the evening were satisfied, and those who failed were given the task of licking her body clean of the fluids remaining from the lustful encounter. He held this treatment in disgust, but his true reason for reluctance was that he loved Elizabeth deeply, and would never willingly lie with another woman. As it were, John would have to go to the mistress, for, just as the master was kind, the mistress was cruel to any who refused her wishes, and John knew that others who refused had been castrated, or had their manhood severed by the butcher's knife the mistress kept just for such purpose. Perhaps she would tire of him quickly, and he would have saved his life and manhood that he might share it with Elizabeth. Elizabeth was told of the pending liaison, and was enraged that the mistress should threaten her soon-to-be husband. Elizabeth would act on her rage, as only she could. She had been given her birth name by her mother for the pleasure and use of the whites of the plantation; her aunt had given her another on her sixteenth birthday, that of Mambo Celeste du Brochette. On the instant of her first breath, her aunt, Mambo Jette du Clarisse, had read the signs of the bones and pronounced that the baby girl would become her initiate in the religion of Voodou. Elizabeth began her training at the age of six and had been named ten years later. In the two years since that day, Elizabeth had been the religious leader of the slave community on the plantation as well as for other slaves of the area. No slave would say her true name in the presence of whites, for the practice of Voodou was punishable by death, but the name was said with reverence when the slaves were alone. Elizabeth's knowledge and magic would rid the slaves of this white beast forever. Elizabeth sent three men to build a special structure on the hillside of the plantation that overlooked the ocean, and then prepared a tasteless potion with ingredients known only to those of her calling. This potion would cause the mistress to fall into a deep sleep, a sleep filled with dreams of lust and violent sexual activity, and the continuous stream of thoughts and sensations would render her unable to control her consciousness in any manner. It would also prepare the mistress for the end to which Elizabeth had planned. Elizabeth placed the potion in the food the maid would set in front of the mistress at dinner, and waited for the events of the night to begin. True to form, after dinner, the master retired to his study, which for the last few years had also served as his bedchamber. The mistress went upstairs to her own room to prepare for the evening's dalliance. It was nearly dark when John tapped on the kitchen door. He was surprised to see Elizabeth waiting for him. "Elizabeth, you are still here. I waited until I was sure you would be gone. I came to the house because -" "I know the mistress summoned you for her nightly pleasure," interrupted Elizabeth. "She has no right to continue this cruelty to us, though we may be but her slaves. Tonight, I shall bring an end to all this. The slaves will be free of this white demon who consumes us like meat at the table, and the kind master will be free of the embarrassment of living with a woman who behaves as a bitch in heat. Perhaps he will find a new mistress who will be as kind as he. No matter, the deed will be completed before the sun rises. Come, we must go to the mistress' bedchamber. You will enter first, and if she is not yet under the spell I have cast, you will do as she asks. The spell will soon render her unconscious, and when she passes into this state, you will open the door for me." "But, Elizabeth, if the mistress suspects, she will have us killed." "She will know nothing but that she sees all the sights and feels all the feelings that she would have tonight had her desire been fulfilled by you. Now, go, quickly." John knocked on the door as Elizabeth slipped around the corner of the hall. The door opened, and he found himself staring into the wanton eyes of the Mistress. She was dressed in a thin, filmy robe, and instructed him to come in. She closed and locked the massive door behind him, and when he asked what she wanted of him, she merely turned and walked to the bed. John looked around the bedchamber, and was stunned by the contents of the room. The walls of the room were hung with paintings of men and women in various acts of copulation, and small statues of the same act were placed on the dresser and night table. Vicious looking whips with many lashes hung from pegs on one wall, and on a small shelf stood a collection of wooden and ivory replicas of male organs, including one carved of ebony that was as long as his forearm, and nearly as large in circumference. The huge bed with its four massive posts stood in the center of one wall. On each post, an iron ring had been affixed, and heavy leather straps hung from these rings to the floor. The bedclothes were pushed to the foot of the bed, and the Mistress lay naked on her back with her legs spread wide as her hands roamed from her mouth to her breasts, then to the engorged lips between her thighs, and back to her mouth. She suckled each finger, making a small moan as each slipped between her lips, and then used the wetted fingers to pinch and roll her nipples. John tried to remain calm, and asked her again what was desired of him. "Slave, I burn with desire. My flower weeps sweet nectar as would a split fruit, and my nipples beg to be twisted and suckled. I will have need of your shaft, but the first of our pleasures will require a steady hand and a keen eye if you are to keep the manhood I so desire. Because it is very hot, I am in the habit of shaving the locks that grow between my thighs and over my mound. I find it cooler, and the sensitivity is much more extreme than when the lips are insulated by hair, but it has been some time since I last had it removed, and the short hairs irritate my sensitive areas. On the night stand you will find hot water, soap, and a freshly sharpened razor. Bring them to the bed." John brought the items to the bedside, and she turned so that her thighs rested on the edge of the mattress. She spread her legs wide, and viciously said, "You will shave the hair that is so troublesome for me, but have a care. If I am cut by a careless stroke of the blade, I shall shave you, and I fear your manhood will be much the shorter for the experience." John looked in amazement at the lips before him on the mattress. He had vowed some time ago to be truthful to Elizabeth, but before that vow, he had been with his share of women, both young and not so young. He had not before seen a woman so sopping with her own secretions. Her thighs were wet, the short hairs were glistening with her fluid, and a spot was developing on the sheet beneath her. He picked up the soap, dipped his hands in the hot water, and worked up a lather. He soaped the stiff stubble, working the lather well into the soft skin of her mound before moving to the swollen and extended lips. As he touched them, her hips jerked in convulsion and she caught her breath. "Yes...rub it in well there. The skin is sensitive, and will cut easily. Do your work well, and remember my promise if I am cut." She was already so wet with her own fluids that when his soapy fingers touched her turgid petals, they slipped between them. He started to speak, when the bite of the before unseen whip slashed across his back. "Damn you, you ignorant, heathen slave, for entering my portal unbidden. You will enter my passage when I say, and not before. If your fingers lose their way again, you will feel my lash tenfold." John continued rubbing in the soap, and she seemed to relax. She was rocking her hips in time with his rubbing, and he spared no effort to soften every hair. She placed a hand on his, and said, "Now, shave me, but carefully." He picked up the gleaming straight razor, and began on her mound, carefully stretching the skin before each stroke. He finished and rubbed his hand over the satin smooth skin before attempting what he knew would be the most difficult part of the task. "Very carefully, now," she commanded, although he noticed that her voice was softer and deeper. He took a deep breath, and attempted to stretch the skin of her outer lips by pushing them to one side. The wet, soapy skin merely slipped from his grasp. After several attempts, and her command to "stop messing about and get on with it," he finally grasped one lip between his thumb and forefinger, and pulled gently. He was awaiting the bite of the lash, but instead heard only the low moan that slipped from the mistress' mouth. From that moment, John treated his task with the same care as he would have used had he been shaving the sack holding the balls that swung between his legs. Lift, pull to stretch, and then make a very small, very gentle stroke. The hair was being removed; he saw it in the lather on his hands and on her thighs, but the process was taking a very long time because of his care. It was made more difficult because, at the times when he accidentally brushed the large, engorged nub at the top of her passage, she cried out and her hips jerked. Once, he was nearly ready to slide the razor over her skin when she convulsed, and was fortunate to lift it just in time. He finally completed the task, wiped her clean with a towel, and asked what else the mistress would have him do. He received no answer, and when he looked in her face, he saw that Elizabeth's potion had done its work. Her eyes were glazed but open, her mouth worked open and closed, but without so much as a tiny sound, and shortly, she began to shake as if in the throes of great release. Her breasts were swollen firm and high. The nipples and the dark circles around them were taught and wrinkled with passion, and when he looked back to her shaven lips, he saw more clear liquid slowly flowing from the opening. Suddenly, she arched high off the mattress, again and again, as her lips mouthed unspoken sounds of passion. A gush of fluid stained the white sheet dark. John stood up, walked to the door and called softly to Elizabeth. She entered the bedchamber and closed the door behind her. She watched the scene on the bed for a moment, and then turned to smile at John. "There are three men with a mule and cart waiting in the garden. You must carry her to the cart." The cart creaked over the rough path to the ocean side of the plantation and up a large hill. When they arrived in a small clearing at the very peak, John saw a rough coffin of hewn stone. A large stone slab leaned against the huge headstone. He asked Elizabeth, "What is this?" "This, my dearest John, is the tomb of Mistress Angelique. Here she will spend eternity in payment for her sins, but she will not die. Her body and spirit will remain alive, fed by men of her own race at times revealed by the signs to me and to those who come after me. She will taste of the flesh, but not of the pleasure, for she has taken pleasure enough from the men slaves of the plantation. Her eternity will be spent with an unquenchable fire in her belly, breasts, and thighs, and her soul will beg for release, but none shall come." Elizabeth hurriedly lit the candles that sat in a circle around the stone coffin. At her signal, John and the three men carried Angelique into the circle and sat her on the ground. She moaned and began to convulse again, and would have fallen had the men not supported her. Elizabeth opened the bag she had carried, took out a small parcel, and said, "Open her mouth." She placed a small pinch of powder on Angelique's tongue, and pushed her jaw shut. Another pinch of powder she rubbed into each of Angelique's nipples, and they immediately became very warm to her touch. "Now for the last of this magic powder, and the last thing she will feel pushed inside her greedy passage." She placed a large lump in her fingertips, and pushed it inside Angelique's swollen, dripping opening until her hand was buried to the wrist. Elizabeth then instructed the men to lay Angelique in the stone coffin; that done, she stood over the naked woman, and mumbled the words of a Voudou spell that would complete a ritual not practiced for centuries, but still learned by each initiate before being named Mambo. When she had finished, they placed the top on the coffin. "Did you carve the signs, both the large one for her and the small one for me?," she asked, and the old man who served as the plantation mason nodded. He pointed to the top of the headstone, and then placed a small packet in her hand. "Good. We are finished here. Return to the plantation, and tell of this to no one. We have relieved the plantation of this demon for all time, and your part is done. Only I will think of this night, when I read the signs. It will be six months before I need watch, and then I shall plan the sacrifice. The master asked each slave the whereabouts of his wife, and was told that his wife had been seen leaving the plantation with a buyer of rum and sugar, and no one ever saw her again. Over the weeks that followed, slaves would come to Elizabeth on certain nights, telling of strange sounds they heard from the hill on the far side of the plantation. She would only say, "The demon spirit screams for relief, but she shall have none." In time, the sounds stopped, and Elizabeth knew the spell to be binding. The master did not appear to grieve for long; after one afternoon ride, he began to avoid the ocean side of the plantation, and in three months, he introduced a pretty, middle-aged woman as the new mistress. She proved to be as kind as Angelique was cruel. Elizabeth and John were married, as planned, and the plantation returned to it's normal state of affairs. As Elizabeth grew older, it became more difficult to entice white sailors or visitors to the hillside, and she took an initiate to train in the old ways. The girl was intelligent, and quickly learned both the signs and her part in the seduction of the human sacrifices needed to keep Angelique alive in the stone coffin imprisoning her body and raving soul. As Elizabeth became deaf and nearly blind, the duties of reading the signs and making the sacrifice were passed to this girl, along with the new name of Mambo Felice Au Claire. She in her turn, continued the ritual, for, were the sacrifices to stop, Angelique's body would die, and the evil spirit would be freed to roam the plantation in search of victims once again. No one in those times in Haiti noticed when the occasional sailor went missing. Most supposed that drunkenness was the cause of their disappearance; the unfortunate lad had most likely fallen into the sea and drowned. Visitors were sometimes missed, but no information was ever revealed that would lead to the discovery of their whereabouts. And so the vigil continues to this day, a selfless vigil stood by a long line of women who have devoted their lives and bodies to keeping this devil in the chains of her own forging. The area is still very remote, and visitors are few. The tourists who do not return to their hotel rooms are assumed to have been killed, but none has ever been found, and many are the dusty files of photographs and interviews that sit in the boxes marked simply as "Missing." As the years have passed, and the root of the truth has been covered by the passage of time, rumors have surfaced, been corrupted, and become a legend of the island, the legend of The Mistress Angelique. The location of the stone crypt is known to all the local inhabitants of the island, and young men do sometimes persuade their ladies to visit the site in hopes that the legend is true. The magic they hope for does not happen, and they go away to seek love potions and charms to persuade their loves to join with them. The special power of the tomb over women is only for those who wear the mate to the carving on the headstone, and this secret has been carefully guarded by the few who speak with the Voudou Gods. As Mambo Jeanette understands, this vigil must never cease, and one day soon, Jesse shall take up the watch. The American college student sat in the restaurant, drinking coffee, and digesting the excellent meal. His companion, a young Haitian woman with golden skin and a lush body, was speaking of the local legends. She leaned toward him, and he saw both her naked breasts as the loose top fell open. "And it's said, by the very old people of the island, that the spirit in the grave has special powers to increase a woman's sexual desire. I don't believe it myself, but then, I've never been there." She shivered. "Too scary for me." In his mind, he had her shorts and that top off already, and she was gasping for him to fuck her, right now, as he rolled her nipples and diddled her clit. "Aw, it's probably just a bunch of shit, like the Bermuda Triangle and aliens landing on earth and becoming the Aztecs. I'd like to see this grave. Whatcha think? Would you take me there?" "Well..., I suppose you're right, and there is supposed to be quite a view of the ocean." She giggled. "You have to promise not to try any funny stuff, like ripping my clothes off, or holding me down while you ravage my body. My mother warned me that men will do that if given the chance." "I'll have you know that I hardly ever ravage; I seduce, and I don't need some moldy old corpse to help me do that. I'm quite capable of seducing you all by myself." He winked at her slyly. "We'll see about that after we get back. Now, let's go. I'd love to see this ghost, if there really is one." "And I'm sure she will love seeing you," she thought to herself, and rose to follow him to his motorcycle. ********************** Thanks for reading this work. Please vote to indicate how much you enjoyed it, and send feedback if you can spare the time. Your votes and feedback are the only way I will know how much you enjoyed my effort, and furnish the only means to improve my writing. Thanks again, Ronde