ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Don't hate me because I'm crazy! [August 2006]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (54) A Rose In Winter (Poetry) Love that never bloomed... written in 1991 about a relationship that wasn't meant to be. [253 words] About My Sisters (Poetry) Life is short... just ask Doc and Judith...I am very close to my sisters and wanted to pay tribute to them... [95 words] All Hallows Eve (Poetry) ....graveyard play. [72 words] Braided Belt From Hell (Short Stories) Frustration of trying to get to work on a rainy day... [393 words] Bruises (Poetry) [55 words] Buried Alive? (Poetry) Daylight dreaming and no way out. [89 words] Chest Of Pain (Poetry) What happened to me but not this bad to make me quit smoking... it stinks, but so did I then. [69 words] Daddy Where Art Thou? (Poetry) Poem about my daughter and her birth father.... [179 words] Dear Stepdad (Short Stories) A stepson realizes what it takes to be a caretaker. [256 words] Desk Lunch Part 1 (Short Stories) A middle aged sales rep deals with the confines of her life. [390 words] Desk Lunch Part 2 (Short Stories) The same but more.... [346 words] Desk Lunch Part 3 (Short Stories) The sales rep continues with her day... [314 words] Desk Lunch Part 4 (Short Stories) On the way to postal... [303 words] Desk Lunch Part 5 (Short Stories) She has totally lost it, but you guess... [153 words] Desk Lunch Part 6 (Short Stories) Life goes on in the cubicle world... [136 words] Dragonfly Mile (Short Stories) Whimsical flight of fantasy reality as a young woman tries to find her lost... you tell me... [191 words] [Fantasy] Floaters (Poetry) Beware of things that fly peripherally... [118 words] Garden Of Bones (Poetry) What lies beneath the backyard? [107 words] Hothouse Lizzards Part 1 (Short Stories) Voodoo, New Orleans, Spanish Moss, etc... all the things that everyone wants to read about... [2,641 words] [Horror] Howling Dog (Poetry) What I hear tonight with senses heightened... [107 words] Is It Real Or Is It Memorex? (Short Stories) You tell me... [82 words] It's That Time Of Year (Poetry) Memories, smells, sounds of Christmas to a young girl. [197 words] Looking At The Moon (Poetry) Waiting for my lover...I wrote this about 12 years ago and I gave it to my husband for Valentine's Day after we were married... [149 words] Madness Amongst The Dust (Poetry) Ssshhh! [81 words] Man And A Tree (Poetry) What happens in a relationship when a man tries to contain a woman and not let her be herself. [215 words] [Relationships] Mark Of The Beast Part Three (Short Stories) The saga continues with a gal stuck in Armageddon. [174 words] Mist Walkers (Short Stories) How I feel every time I visit a new cemetary... [112 words] Mold Or Old? (Poetry) A woman faces her fears of growing old... [116 words] My Curse (Poetry) A woman is plagued by other's sights... [266 words] Night In Antigua (Short Stories) Part one of a slighted warrior bent on revenge towards his derelict father... [194 words] Nightmare At Brushy Creek (Short Stories) While sleeping dreams become reality... [106 words] Nocturnal Juices (Poetry) Sexual demon encounter. [103 words] Procrastination 2003 (Poetry) Waiting can be the death of you. [87 words] Pull Of The Tides (Poetry) Lovers searching... who knows. [246 words] Roachtrap (Poetry) Like sticky glue the roach is caught! [125 words] Rutapottamus (Poetry) I think I saw a Rutapottamus... [114 words] Smoke Lover (Poetry) Hint of smoke, love ? [68 words] Take Me To The South (Poetry) Simple diddy re the South. [187 words] The Countess Of Storymania (Poetry) Everyone knows. [13 words] The Cubicle (Short Stories) Working in a box and what is does to the psyche... [104 words] The Evil Root (Short Stories) Manna Madness runs rampant. [165 words] The Hidden (Poetry) - [27 words] The Keepsake (Short Stories) Love Story... read and review... come one come all! [837 words] [Relationships] The Locket (Short Stories) You tell me.... Please read and review... feel free to comment! [880 words] The Lost Garden (Poetry) Lost History. [129 words] The Machine (Poetry) Sensitive abortion piece from the baby's viewpoint [160 words] The Mantel (Poetry) Leaving your heart on the mantel.... and more. [160 words] The Presidents (Poetry) Twisty and hidden.. You tell me.. I'll let you know if you're right. [122 words] The Talking House (Poetry) Echoes of old earth and stone.. are you listening? [107 words] The Tree Of Life (Poetry) I have a tree in my backyard that I'm sure is the center of the universe... There is a suburbia of animals et all living there... Please Read... [119 words] The Wooden Box (Short Stories) Lesson in shared grief through an antique box. [509 words] [Motivational] Tick Tock (Poetry) Betrayal.... [55 words] Wanderlust (Poetry) You guess... vampire... or lover??? [150 words] White White Wonderland (Poetry) A short poem scaling seasons from childhood to adult... [134 words] [Motivational]
Hothouse Lizards Part 2 D G Williford
I smiled thinking I had made some huge conquest - like I had taken on the whole Roman Empire with a slingshot and won. Marley at that moment reached for my radio dial and surfed the channels looking for something more to her taste. She settled on an R&B channel that wasn’t coming in too well, I could only pick up every other word, but she seemed happy. I pried again. “How long have you been picking, I mean playing?” She burst into a crazy laugh and said, “Little sister of the Mother Earth! You have no idea about anything do you?”
In a town 75 miles away from two girls heading southward lay evil with a warm heart.
The sea breeze made the bones sing from the handmade chimes that hung over Noriste La’Mand’s door. The night was one of wonder and witchcraft; of spells and ancient chanting. The full moon lit up the woods around Noriste’s house and a lone hound dog howled from afar, lending an even eerier mood to the magical night. Candles flickered in the wind as mahogany bodies slick with sweat swayed to the rhythmic chants.
Noriste La’Mand in her flowery dress sat in the midst of this midsummer’s night dream. She was in her 70’s and her once dark curly hair had long ago turned white as a dove’s tail. Her eyes were glazed, manifesting all that she had witnessed in her long life. The Gullah matriarch reigned as high priestess of her gathering. She had been holding these rituals since she was a young woman; now she was revered and feared by all that knew her or that heard her name whispered in the dark. Young children walking past her house crossed themselves, or threw a rock covered with moss for protection from her spells. They were sure, from the stories that their mothers and fathers told them on dark balmy nights that they would turn into the snakes that swirled in the swamps if they were not protected.
Noriste swayed to the drums throbbing around her and let her mind slip away to a time long ago. Her upbringing was steeped in voodoo and the ways of the old ones. She was a direct descendant of Marie Laveau, the most powerful voodooienne to live in New Orleans. Marie was born on Santo Domingo in 1794. To this day, people mark her tomb with three X’s hoping that she will grant their wishes. These wishes have mostly to do with matters of the heart. Voodoo was Noriste’s heritage and birthright. Her ancestors, the La’Mands can be traced back to the Foulah Tribe from the town of Kianah, in the District of Temourah, in the Kingdom of Massina, on the Niger River. Their lineage of powerful root doctors, voodoo priestesses and medicine men was one to be revered. She could not deny it. This was her life and kundalini; the root of voodoo was in her soul. All this power of the ages now lay in the heart and soul of one seventy five-year-old priestess living in the swamps.
Something evil was laying in wait for her. She shook, and looked towards the stagnant water. She was afraid. She was too tired and too old to fight it, but in her heart she knew that a battle lay ahead.
Noriste looked deep into the bonfire that illuminated the dancers, and what she saw almost knocked her off her seat. She saw the image of two faces. The faces dancing in the sparks were nothing like any psychic portal to the future she had ever experienced.
She looked down at the necklace that she wore around her wrinkled neck.
She ripped a bone from the necklace and threw it into the fire. It was a frog’s leg caught in the very swamp that surrounded her home. The bone of a local frog was powerful magic to the Gullahs to ward off all types of evil. As the embers caught fire to the small bleached bone, and exploded in a plume of purple smoke, she shuddered knowing this was the only way to soften the hurricane of trouble that was coming her way.
Marley pulled out a clove cigarette and rolled it over her tongue, then pushed in the lighter in the car’s dash. She looked at me as though she was going to unload all her problems. I waited.
“Just where are you going Little One?” she said. I was hot and tired, and the tar fumes from the newly paved road were making me sick.
“I’m from the lower part of the state, this one, and I’m going to what they’re calling on the news the newest resort location in the South.”
I looked down at my own frayed jeans and peasant blouse and started to tell Marley just what had happened in my life to lead me to this point. I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell her, a complete stranger, that I was a total disappointment to my parents, and that I longed for adventure. I hoped that she would tell me about herself first.
Marley shifted in her seat as I was changing lanes.
She said, “Do you know anything about Charlie Manson or Squeaky Fromme? My parents lived in a commune with them in San Bernardino during the 60’s for about a month. That was all my Mom could handle of sex and acid trips.”
I had heard about the Sharon Tate murders like everyone else in America, but was stunned thinking that I had picked up someone indirectly involved with them. I was shocked and at the same time morbidly curious.
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