K. M. DouceLLC

The Estate: The Birth of a Voodoo Queen

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Sloane stood for a moment gazing out over the dark, languid water beyond the jagged shoreline. Her thoughts meandered through her childhood memories of this place she had thought she’d never see again. She couldn’t help but to wonder if her memories were more based on reality, or if they had become some sort of embellishment fabricated by the passing of time. 

            It was so incredibly dark beyond the property line. She was sure the movement she perceived was nothing more than an optical illusion. Her eyes were simply playing tricks on her, as they had time and time again during her childhood visits to this ghostly place. Her mother had been adamant about that fact. So much so that she had colored those memories a pail bister, like an acid washed photo, according to her mother’s explanation and completely discounted her own supposed witnessing, at least until now.

            As she stood fully attending to the scene before her, the fog visibly thickened, and the darkness began to creep toward her like a swelling tide. Sloane froze with fear as the chill ran through her bones and painted goose bumps across every inch of her flesh. Her breath hitched in her throat, and her eyes widened in an attempt to combat the ever-advancing darkness. 

            This couldn’t possibly be happening again. Those memories couldn’t be real. Disbelief quickly conceded to paralyzing fear when her vision began to adjust to the thickening darkness. 

Their eyes stood out first, glistening in what remained of the fleeting moonlight. They seemed to cut through the darkness like distant fog lights on the placid bayou, and she had nearly convinced herself that they were nothing more than that until she felt his breath on her neck. The stench of it brought a tear to her eye and filled her mouth with the warm saltiness that always signaled her immediate need to vomit violently, but she stood paralyzed until his hand met with the flesh of her arm. Every hair on her body stood at attention as her head began to swirl. 

            “Slooooane…” he hissed in her ear. She bolted. 

Hearing her dead father’s voice speak her name ignited her will to escape, to survive. She ran headlong through a darkness so thick and so deep that it felt as though she was moving through time but not space. The once latent images of her true childhood memories whirled and frenzied past her eyes in a brilliant cascade of silver and crimson sparks. 

            As each soul collided with her own, the true nature of her inheritance, of her birth rite, was finally revealed through her acceptance of the memories she was now powerless to deny. She is the estate. Within her, now live the immortal souls of each and every fallen member of the DuBuisson Clan. 

            At that moment, Sloane DuBuisson felt more alive than she ever had before. The blood that coursed through her veins was on fire as if it were laced with molten steel. Her eyes burned with the power of a thousand souls, each more powerful than a mob of men. She was now a god, a legion of gods, and she held the world within her grasp.