Inside, the curtains flapped as if trying to escape the windy assault. The house squeaked and groaned under the weight of the powerful wind. Did I lock the front door? The back door? Did I even unlock the back door when I came home? I don’t remember. I was reasonably sure I closed all of the windows downstairs and had locked all of the doors. Lights were on, everything was locked up tight; all was secure. That didn’t stop me from wishing I had Gumbo, or a dog like him, to keep me company. I hoped the thunderstorm would pass us by; I couldn’t bear to close my window again. I stared at the armoire. I can do this, I know I can. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I threw open the doors, yanked out the bag, and dumped the contents onto the bed. There were books, black candles, incense cones with a burner and a tiny brown bottle of oil. There was also a beautiful red and black gauzy scarf. Underneath it all was another Voodoo doll and a gris-gris bag. I dropped the scarf back over the doll and the gris-gris bag and backed away.
