New Year's Eve: The Curse of Blood Bayou

By Peter Crabbe

Hurricane Katrina has unearthed a 140 year old Zombie in the Louisiana bayou. His eternal mission: is to cleanse the unholy ground surrounding his burial site. But today that ground is a vacation home occupied by young people enjoying the New Years Eve holiday. They have to send him back to the deep before midnight on New Years Eve or he will walk the earth forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Crabbe
• Release date: Feb 17, 2010
• ISBN: 9781370099818

Peter Crabbe

Peter Crabbe is a writer living in Los Angeles. His works include feature films for Universal Studios and Orion Pictures, television movies for NBC and The Discovery Channel - award winning documentaries and live variety programing for Comedy Central, HBO, and the Military Channel.He has performed live shows for over 30 years. He began as a stand-up comic, moved into writing and then returned to the stage with Eric Idle performing Monty Python across North America.

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NEW YEAR’S EVE

THE CURSE OF BLOOD BAYOU

BY

PETER CRABBE

PUBLISHED BY PETER CRABBE AT SMASHWORDS

COPYRIGHT 2010 PETER CRABBE

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1

There is nothing as sad as a new headstone. Perfectly cut, etched in granite, cold as the truth – a loved one is dead.

Harley Robb fingered the words loving sister scribed under the name Jessica. The sharp edges cut into his skin, their meaning crippled his soul. Nearly three years of desperate search, thirty-three months of hope slowly fading, a tortured yearning, a family’s determination defeated by time and circumstance. There was no way she could be alive and he knew it.

The headstone was only a symbol. It marked a life not a body. Harley, his two older sisters and parents, would never get that kind of closure. It was a stake in the ground –a stand - a farewell – a white flag.

Harley laid a small pendant on the top of the stone. On its face a gold relief of St Francis, the patron saint of animals. Jessica had loved animals. Merry Christmas, Jess, Harley said quietly. He looked around the old cemetery. It was filled with crypts and mausoleums – all above ground, typical of New Orleans. Only Jessica’s plot was without a structure. There was no need.

She had walked out of their Kenner Louisiana home for spring break and that was the last they saw of her.

Harley came to the cemetery often since his father finally allowed the headstone to be placed. There was something about being amongst the dead that fascinated him. It was oddly comforting.

How can the dead make you feel alive? he wondered. At fourteen years of age he blamed his inability to answer the question on his lack of spiritual depth – something he recently began to explore. This wasn’t the daredevil, running-through-the-cemetery-at-night feeling his friends had… there was a connection to the dead, it was like a knocking on the door and he didn’t know how to answer it – or if he even wanted to.

2

Kristan pulled back her dark hair and ignored the horn blast from the driveway. The house phone was ringing and she waited for the caller ID to show the number. Jeff Reagan - the ghoulish, well-groomed local reporter. The call went to voice mail. Kristan knew the words by heart. The press won’t let a family heal, won’t let people move on, not when there is an ounce of sick stimulation to squeeze out of the audience.

Douche bag, she thought.

Kristan had learned that death equals ratings. The idea that her family’s grief was being taken advantage of by so-called well-meaning members of the press was the first thing that turned her cynical during her sister’s disappearance.

Hi Mary and John, Jeff Reagan. the message would begin in a properly personal-yet-concerned professional manipulation of her parents. Hard to believe it’s been nearly three years. Once again, we here at the station respect your family’s privacy, he would lie, It’s December 30th, we’re putting together our year-end cold case report and wanted to include Jess. If you have any new information or anything you want to say we’d love to give you the chance to get your story out. Who knows? Maybe it can help. His turning of blood thirst into benevolence and a chance to help was the most infuriating.

Jeff Reagan was the last holdout. In the beginning there had been Nancy, Greta, Larry, CNN, MSNBC, and FOX - it was national news. Her parents had used the notoriety, pleading far and wide for any information on their daughter. Her sorority picture was one of the most searched photos on the internet – long blonde hair, athletic, a spark in her blue eyes - Jess was a beautiful girl and the press cashed in. Kristan was never happier to be the opposite of Miss Perfect.

The world had shown its color in this case. Not only had Jess driven off toward Florida and disappeared without a trace, the family endured relentless hounding by the press, misinformation by police, and thousands of web postings claiming everything from seeing Jess working in a bar in Corpus Christi to running a string of college call girls in Cancun. One group of high school boys had thought it funny to find a girl who looked just like Jess, put on masks, and video tape themselves holding guns to her head. One of the guys had been stupid enough to put the video up on his mybook space. Even the police couldn’t screw that one up. The Robbs were no better for the justice.

Slowly the national news stopped calling. The child of a banker had been kidnapped in Wisconsin and that now had the attention of the big bloodhounds. Kristan watched as the same emotional beats played out on the family’s 50 inch flat screen in their tidy upper-middle class den. She saw the false concern, the trademark facial expressions, patent sorrow and outrage, and the perfect cadence of the questions. The anchors’ voices would crack and tremble at just the right moment. One of the FBI agents who worked on Jess’ case had been so popular he had 75 marriage proposals.

Almost all from women, Kristan would sarcastically snarl whenever it was mentioned.

The network jumped on him. He left his job at the FBI to become host of America’s Crime Stopper - a show that highlighted outrageous crimes and a lame attempt to gather information from the public to help solve them. The former agent-turned-crime-celebrity now had hair plugs, a laser-whitened smile, and a spray tan. Kristan thought he looked like a hairy cooked chicken or a game show host. She thought the punishment of fame was appropriate for the bastard. That he gained it from her sister’s death cut Kristan deeper than she would ever allow others to see.

The second horn blast shook her from her thoughts.

Jesus. I’M COMING! she shouted although her father would never hear her in that soundproof, sanitized SUV of his.

Kristan slammed the front door, avoided setting the alarm, and ran to the car where her family – minus Jessica – was waiting.

3

John waved at Justin Williams as he backed the SUV out of the driveway. Justin, who had grown up alongside the Robb kids, was tangled in a mess of Christmas lights and frustrated by the process. The sight of Christmas decorations turned a knot in John’s stomach. He caught himself and thought, Geez, how can I be pissed off at Christmas lights? Come on John, pull it together.

Next year we will have to put our lights up, Mary said from the passenger seat.

John looked at Justin taking the lights off the bushes and sighed, Yeah. Definitely.

John Robb had met and mastered many obstacles in his forty-five years but this had been the worst. No parent should ever have to bury a child, many a friend had lamented but no one had advice on how to give up hope, put the obvious behind you, and move on. Mary had figured it out. She did it on her own; some strange mother-love knew life was with the living and there was work to be done. She was the rock. She walked the perfect line of concern, sorrow, and practicality. She was a miracle to him. How did she do it? Her strength was a marvel and a mystery. Jess had been so much like her mother. Only recently John had agreed she was dead. Mary was the one who ordered the headstone; he would have never done it. She had told him he had to move forward – if not for himself, for his family.

As John reached down to the gear shift, Mary put her hand on his and softly squeezed. He gave a slight smile and moved the transmission into drive.

***********

An hour and a half later Kristan stared out the window as the SUV rolled down LA-Route 662. A sign read Now Entering Assumption Parish.

More like ‘Ass-Hump-Son,’ she snickered in her mind and then smiled at the extent of her own perversion. Her friends would have thought that was hilarious but she wasn’t with her friends at the moment, she was with her family. She found it so easy to be hateful these days - the vile just rolled off her tongue. She despised just about everything in her life – not the least of which was the fact that she was now the eldest child and unwillingly given the mantle of role model – she would never be that. She hated Jess for doing that to her. Many a night she wondered if her perfect older sister had disappeared just to make her life miserable.

Poor little Kris-kris, Jess would tease her in her mind, constantly recalling the name their perfume-laden, bourbon-breathed grandmother had smothered her with when Kristan was four, Little Kris-kris has it so hard. Kris-kris doesn’t like being the big sister, Kris-kris likes being the edgy underachiever. Kris-kris is just a bayyyyy-beeee.

Kristan would respond with a middle finger to her sister and Jess would explode with laughter. Somewhere Jess was loving the fact that Kristan was being tortured with the position of the responsible one. In this way she felt closer to Jess now than she ever did in life – she felt she understood her – she could see the world through her eyes.

Jessica seemed to handle the expectations of eldest without effort, but after all, she was the eldest from the start. It wasn’t thrust on her suddenly and out of family tragedy. Seventeen years of being the ignored, teased, alienated little sister who had to figure out a completely different path in order to be noticed was suddenly changed. Suddenly she was expected to be the leader, be… an example.

Bull shit, Kristan thought, I’m not doing it. And she could hear Jessica giggling in the back of her mind.

Jonna was a different story. She had never been in the mix between Jessica and Kristan. Being the third child had its advantages – while the two eldest children where locking horns and killing each other, the third child wasn’t as threatening. She was 16 now – six years younger than Jess. When she had been born Jess was old enough to really want a little sister and had loved Jonna to pieces.

Kristan couldn’t be bothered with either one of them.

The result was that Jonna had become a self-absorbed cookie cut out of Jessica – or so Kristan thought. Blonde, cute, not nearly as smart as Jess but very social and very self absorbed. When Jess had gone missing Jonna asked if it meant she couldn’t go to prom. Kristan was horrified but not surprised.

That Jonna was now her only sister was thoroughly depressing. For all the torture there was with Jess, at least Jess was intelligent, at least she was a serious challenge. Jonna was pudding – a cheerleader body with a debutant mind. Kristan looked over at her younger sister sitting on the far side of the backseat in her designer jeans and two hundred dollar hair cut, madly texting her friends, her elbow constantly bumping into Harley who was squished in the middle.

Oh my god! Jonna blurted out as a crucial text arrived.

Harley looked over and could see it:

TREVOR SORRELLS PARENTS OUT OF TOWN. NEW YEARS EVE PARTY AT THEIR FRENCH QUARTER CONDO. CAN YOU COME?

We live in one of the greatest party cities in the world. Remind me exactly why we are leaving? Jonna’s plaintiff teenage voice pleaded, her eyes not leaving the Blackberry.

We go out to the cabin every New Years Eve, Mary responded in a perfectly even tone. Her mother’s talent wasn’t lost on Kristan. She saw how she had learned the perfect balance of authority and love. It seemed hypocritical to her at this point in her life but she was smart enough to file it away and realize, at some point, she too would want to be loving and still have it understood who was in charge.

We haven’t gone out there for the last two years! Why do we have to go now? Jonna asked, still not looking up.

Don’t be stupid, Kristan said turning her face back to the window.

Jonna looked up from the cell phone. Harley noticed how her mouth hung open in a stunned sort of way. She reminded him of Jess but with less courage. Jess would have slugged Kristan by now.

Shut up! Jonna finally blurted out in an attempt to stand-up for herself.

Kristan summoned her greatest eat shit look and turned to her little sister. They are attempting to return our life to normal since the great fairy of all goodness disappeared.

Harley’s head swung to the other side of the car – now watching every movement on Kristan’s face – reading her body, her eyes, as well as her words. Harley hated it when Kristan got like this. He couldn’t bear to hear anyone talk badly about Jess.

Kristan looked down to her brother’s eyes. What was it she saw in them? He was always insignificant. Not only was he the youngest, he was a boy, something for their father to deal with and for Jess to fawn over. Even so, she had always liked Harley; no one had ever asked her, Why can’t you be more like your brother?

Harley was strong, smart, and an Eagle Scout. Kristan hated the boy scouts in general – she called them the Hitler youth. She always went for the bad boys and they don’t give merit badges for tattoos in the boy scouts. But don’t let anyone say anything bad about Harley; ever since Jess disappeared Kristan had become very protective. She had shocked herself one night when one of her stoner friends had said Harley reminded him of a little George Bush. Kristan felt an uncontrollable urge to annihilate him and did exactly that. She had to be pulled off by her boyfriend and two others.

But by far the strangest reaction she had was when her best friend said Harley was delicious. She went on a twenty minute rant about how her friend was a sick pedophile and would end up being one of those twisted 27-year-old teachers who had affairs with their students. Delicious? He’s fourteen! He’s my kid brother! My kid brother isn’t delicious.

He was still staring at her.

What’s your malfunction, shrimp? Kristan sneered at him.

Harley continued examining, studying, pondering, exploring every nuance of her expression. Kristan shifted in her seat.

We don’t forget but we do move on, their mother said, almost as if it were a mantra for the family.

Kristan mouthed her mother’s words mockingly at Harley, We don’t forget but we do move on.

Ugh! Trevor Sorrells is having a party in the Quarter. Everyone is going to be there!

Mary shot Jonna a look and Kristan burst out laughing.

OMG Jonna, Kristan said in her best cheerleader imitation, What will you - like - do? You will be so out of the center of attention I may just ROTF and LMAO!

Kristan noticed Harley still intensely staring at her.

Speak mutant! she blasted, frustrated by his penetrating silence.

Harley stared at her a long beat and then, from somewhere in his soul, the words came out, You are loved.

Kristan stared at him and then burst out laughing at the absurdity of it. I am loved? she thought, perfect, of course. Jonna couldn’t help but smirk as well.

Ever since you went to Bible camp, Jesus you scare me! Kristan said, turning away.

He knows everything, Harley continued, He’s watching.

Kristan looked back at him; she wasn’t going to be lectured by this spiritual newbie, You mean Jesus knows when I’ve been naughty and nice?

One long list and one short list, Jonna slipped in as she continued texting.

Christmas is over, I got what I want, Kristan retorted as she turned back to the window.

A crack pipe and an IUD? Jonna shot back, not satisfied that she had defended herself earlier. Kristan turned to her sister with a smirk. Had Jonna developed backbone that Kristan didn’t know about?

Oh note to self – great ideas! What about your list, princess? ‘Santa I want to go to Tulane, be a Pi Phi, and a Mardi Gras queen.’

At least I won’t be flashing my tits for beads from drunks.

Can’t flash what you don’t got.

Jonna dropped her jaw in mock shock and then the two girls laughed at each other. Ultimately they were sisters - they were blood. They let their stress out in ways that would make the world cringe but everyone inside the walls of the Robb SUV knew that if the death of Jessica hadn’t torn them apart nothing said in teasing would. It was stress relief and a very dysfunctional way of getting closer.

Momma, when I’m forty can I visit Kristan in rehab or should we just send Harley to preach to her instead?

Mary saw John smile for the first time in months. He reached toward the radio and turned on the Classic Rock station; Creedence Clearwater Revival played Born on The Bayou. John turned it up loud. In the backseat, three ipods came out, three sets of earphones were crammed into ears, and three mouths went quiet.

"I used to like rock music