Crossroad Blues

“Tell me ‘bout Papa.” Rascal would sit on her grandmother’s lap every night before bed, waiting for the story she’d heard a thousand times.

“Girl, you know you heard this enough times.” Etta would smile at her granddaughter nonetheless. Rascal missed her grandfather, the only father-figure she had. Rascal’s birth father was long gone, as was her mother. Etta was the only thing that girl had.

And when Rascal turned into an ornery teenager, just as her mother did, Etta had to remind herself of such. No longer would Rascal ask for the stories of the relatives who had gone to Heaven. No longer would Rascal bother with such childish nonsense as sitting with her grandmother after dinner. No, now it was running ‘round with Sheryl Covington and her brother Billy. Nothing serious though. Rascal was only brought home by the sheriff once.

All Etta had to do was give Rascal a look and utter her full name, “Augusta Laine Williams,” and Rascal would straighten up in a hurry. Etta was everything to Rascal; the stronghold, the glue that kept the family together. What was left of the family, anyway.

So Rascal knew something was wrong when her grandmother ran into her room one night. It was just before midnight on the day before Rascal’s seventeenth birthday. Etta looked over shoulder frantically as her hands reached blindly for her granddaughter.

“Maw, what’s wrong?” Rascal took Etta’s hands in hers, rubbing her thumb over the wizened knuckles soothingly. Etta looked at Rascal, brown eyes wide and searching. Her coarse black hair was matted with sweat over her glistening brown forehead. Rascal barely looked anything like her grandmother, with the creamy light skin and brown-hazel eyes that only mixed race could give. But none of that mattered now.

“You listen to me, Augusta Laine, and you listen well. There’s somethin’ after me. Somethin’ evil. It’ll leave you alone, but it’s gonna take me.” Etta’s tongue darted over her lips nervously as Rascal tried to process.

“Maw, what are you talkin—”

“Hush. Don’t you hear it?” Etta shook her head and the white bandana she wore to sleep went flying across the room. “Never mind that. I need to tell you something.” Then she stopped, sucking breath through her teeth.

“What is it?” Rascal shook their entwined hands a bit and Etta seemed to shake out of her stupor.

“Do you remember when you were about seven years old?” Etta asked.

“When I was so sick?”

“Yes, bébé.” Rascal was taken aback by the pet name. Etta only spoke French when she was trying to calm Rascal. “Do you remember when you got better?”

“Yeah, the doctors couldn’t figure it out. Maw, what’s this about?” Etta jumped suddenly, causing Rascal to look around anxiously. Her grandmother’s fear was contagious though Rascal couldn’t find the cause.

“That’s exactly what this is about.” Etta pulled her hand away from Rascal’s to swipe a hair off her granddaughter’s cheek. “I m-made a deal, bébé. With the devil.”

“Maw, what? You’re talking crazy.” Rascal shook her head, sending more coarse locks flying from the bun on the back of her head.

“A demon, Augusta! You were ‘bout to die, and I-I just couldn’t lose you too. So I made a deal, and they coming for me. They coming for me right now, ‘cause it’s been ten years. Ten years since I made that deal.” Tears leaked from Etta’s eyes, leaving dark brown streaks down her cheeks.

“Maw,” She shushed Rascal with a finger to her lips.

“I’m gonna go to my room now, and whatever you hear, don’t you dare come up.”

“Maw, I—”

“Promise me, Augusta. Promise.” Etta’s eyes searched Rascal’s face wildly. After a minute of shaking silence, Rascal nodded.

“I promise.”

“I love you, my sweet girl.” Rascal’s eyes watered for some unbeknownst reason. She didn’t know what was happening, but she trusted Etta completely, so she nodded again. Etta kissed Rascal’s forehead and let go of her hand.

“I love you too Maw.”