Main de Glorie
We were standing in front of the House of Bones last night and Marie turned to me and asked, " still dreaming about this place?"
I nodded because in my dreams I can't read and in some of my dreams I can't speak. Tonight I found myself mute.
I'm sure Marie could see the panic in my eyes, on my face. I had been dreaming about this House of Bones every single night, everytime I closed my eyes and then opened them I could still see it.
" It's alright Anita, here... come here and look here " Marie pointed to the spot between her eyes " look here Anita, this is where the Soul lives. Look here. "
And I did.
I reached out and knocked on the door of Baba Yaga and the door swung open and I could smell cinnamon. " Whose house is this? " I called in
I saw the shadows gather and pull itself apart at the threshold several times before they took shape.
" This is my home, "
" Who are you? " I asked
" Baba Yaga, come in ... come in "
Her face was old but not offensive, certainly not demonic but there are ways to hide your face. It's a parlor trick in the world of magic.
Faces are only masks after all.
There was no hiding her expression though; she didn't like standing here and she didn't like showing herself.
" I received your Invitation Baba Yaga, it came to me in a dream and in omens. I don't like that sort of thing. " I said.
" Ah, a non-believer. " she said smugly.
" Oh Baba Yaga, call me anything but don't call me a non-believer. No, I believe in the direct approach. Besides, " I said lighting a candle that sat on the kitchen table " I don't like it when people take what's mine. "
Baba Yaga grabbed at my hand and threw it back then she took the candle from the table and thrust it very, very close to my face...to my eyes.
" Laveau " she spat, " Marie Laveau, you and your tricks. "
" In my world Baba Yaga this is no trick. Possession is no parlor game to us. "
" What do you want?"
" I'm this woman's...spiritual advisor, I want to know why you are in her dreams. "
" I have something of hers and she knows it. She just doesn't know WHAT it is and you know Laveau, I don't have to tell her and I don't have to tell you either. "
I reached back and pushed Anita's hair over her shoulders and smiled her crooked smile and shrugged. " Oh, we both can appreciate the challenge Baba Yaga, but you can't take what isn't hers. Don't even try. This won't be the last time we cross paths Baba Yaga, but I'm warning you. Don't make it necessary for me to come at you from those paths with vengeance in my heart. Don't make me come to you from the shadows. Are we agreed? "
Baba Yaga held her hands up and nodded. " Agreed. "
But neither of us trusted her.
Marie was waiting for me the Next Night and this time I could speak.
" What does she mean, she has something of mine? " I asked Marie.
" Could be anything, strand of your hair, a book, a dress...anything. But unless you find out the dreams will get worse. "
The Sun was just coming up in my dream, but I was sleeping at home in my bed and I'll bet it wasn't even Midnight yet. The Sun was coming up in my dreams because Marie was going to show me something.
" Luis is taking you to a place called Yakima this weekend. You're going to stop in a town called Ryderwood to buy gas. Look, behind the station is this tree. It was a hanging tree back in the late 1800's. The last man to be hung there was buried under it. You won't have to dig far to find him. It's all sand out there in Ryderwood. It's in the middle of the desert and he’s been mummified by the elements. He's buried face down and his hands are tied behind his back. Take his left hand. "
" It's not like the legend, he doesn't have to be hanging to make this work..."
" Why do I need it? " I asked.
" Main de Glorie, Anita. Hand of Glory, you'll need it where you'll be going."
I found the hand where Marie said I would and Luis waited in the car while I completed my task. I came to the car with the hand wrapped in a clean white sheet and I put it in the trunk.
" Are you done? " he asked me.
I shook my head, " I've only just started. "
© anita marie moscoso 2005-text