Swamp Gothic

By Robert Pickering

Sitting at Grandma's feet on cold winter nights as you are growing up, and listening to her spin her tales of the Rougarou, the fifolet or the ghosts inhabiting the antebellum mansions along River Road it's impossible for it not to have an effect on you. The perhaps unintended consequences in this case is that it produced 13 frightening tales related to the reader from a first person point of view, just as Grandma used to tell them. If there is one common theme connecting these uncommonly scary stories, it would be that each of them is flavored with its own unique blend of creole seasoning or Cajun spices. From the seemingly harmless "Miss Annabell" to a hideous, nameless, creature that walks among the rows of the sugarcane fields there is always something lurking just around the next corner. They also illustrate how even people who have grown up in and around the swamps know it's never wise to venture out alone at night.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Pickering
• Release date: Oct 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463847183

Robert Pickering

I never wanted to be thought of as an author. Somehow to me, authors were the men and women who populated the pages of those dreaded anthologies we were forced to read in school. The worst fate I could possibly suffer would be to appear alongside Hemmingway, Melville or O'Connor in one of those enormous volumes - not that I have anything to worry about on that score. I would much prefer a space on bookshelf next to the likes of Stephen King, James Patterson or John Grisham. Better yet, to be in the tote bag of some young lady headed to the beach. I've always considered myself more of a storyteller. If I can get you engrossed in one of my stories, I'm satisfied that I've done my job. I was born and raised in South Louisiana, and draw on the heritage and folklore of the area. Though I may veer off into other genres from time-to-time, be it crime dramas, action adventure, non-fiction, even romance, I find myself returning to my roots time and again. I've also moved around the Southeast, first to Georgia, and then North Carolina. In both cases, I managed to pick up on some of the character of the place, and include it in my writing. I currently live in the city of Wilmington, North Carolina with my wife, my youngest daughter and two dogs.

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Swamp Gothic

By

Robert Pickering

Copyright © 2018 by Robert Pickering

Smashwords Edition

Thank you for downloading this eBook. This book may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form, with the exception of quotes used in reviews.

Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

This book is dedicated to my wife and family whose love and support is invaluable.

MISS ANNABELL

I stepped out of my editor’s office in a joyous mood. He had approved my story idea, the one I had been pitching for the last six months, and now I finally had my dream assignment. Maybe I just wore him down, but I’d like to think that he found real merit in the story. The concept had come to me last summer when my girlfriend and I had been visiting the plantation homes along Louisiana’s River Road. Along with the beautifully restored antebellum homes, we also noticed several other old mansions in various states of disrepair and dilapidation. I thought it might be interesting to the readers of our Southern lifestyle magazine to investigate the origin of some of these old homes and give them a thumbnail sketch of their history. After all, everyone knew – or could find out – about the history of places like Oak Alley Plantation or Nottaway, but perhaps some of these other old places had histories that were just as interesting.

As it turned out, for most of the homes, all I could find was property records at the courthouse. They contained the names of the past owners, some of whom led quite colorful lives, but there was precious little information about the properties themselves.  I put together what I could, but was worried that what I had been able to dig up wouldn’t be enough to satisfy my editor. It would be bad enough that I had so little to show for my efforts, but what was potentially worse was that it might convince him that my ideas really weren’t that great after all, and I’d be relegated back to covering holiday decorating tips from Mrs. Betty Lou Bush in Oxford, Mississippi – no offense to Mrs. Bush or Oxford, Mississippi.

The fifth, and final, house on the list looked more promising. La Maison des Chênes, as it was known, was a Greek revival mansion similar in appearance to Nottaway Plantation, but on a bit smaller scale. The property itself was overgrown with brush and the building had fallen into a bad state, a fire clearly having ravaged the first floor, but looking at it under the majestic moss draped oaks, you could still see glimpses of its former glory. In researching it, I found that there were news stories in the local paper about the home and particularly about the fire that had occurred there. What made it more interesting was not what the stories said, but what they did not say.

The stories indicated that there was indeed a fire that occurred in 1901 that started in the kitchen doing significant damage to the house. There was, however, was no mention as whether anyone was killed or injured. A former army major named LeJeune owned the house at that time and the subtext of the article was that Major LeJeune was a very prominent member of society who had the power to squash any official investigation into the cause of the fire or whether it caused any deaths or injuries. The problem was that unless I could find something more substantial it wouldn’t be enough to generate any real interest.

I was about to admit defeat when I remembered an important detail. Just up the road and across the highway from the old Maison stood an old bungalow that looked like it had been there for many years. The last time I had passed, there was an elderly woman tending the garden. She looked to be about 80 or 90 years old, and while she would not have been alive at the time of the fire, she may have known someone who was or might have some knowledge or background that could save my story.

I climbed into my car and drove back to the little house, hoping the old woman was there. When I arrived, I noticed that while the house was quite old, it was exceptionally well kept. It had recently received a fresh coat of white paint and the garden was neat with colorful flowers blooming all around. I walked up the brick stairs to the porch and knocked on the door.

It took several moments, but eventually I heard the lock turning, and a tiny, white haired figure appeared behind the screen door.  Hi, my name is Cade Hebert, I said introducing myself. I’m with Gulf Coast Living magazine and I’m doing a story on some of the old abandoned mansions along River Road. One of the homes on my list is La Maison des Chênes just up the road there, and I was wondering if you would have any information that could help me.

The old woman smiled.  Pleased to meet you Mr. Hebert. I’m Annabell Arceneaux. Bein’ honest, I don’t have many visitors. This day and age, you never do know what kind of people you’re going to meet, but you look like a gentleman to me, she chuckled slightly. "If don’t mind being a little warm, I’d be happy to sit for a while on the porch and visit. I’ll fix us some lemonade and you can tell me what you’re interested in knowing.

I’d like that.

As she disappeared from view, I wondered how long she had lived here.  It suddenly hit me that there must be a Mr. Arceneaux somewhere. I hadn’t seen anyone other than the old lady, but that didn’t mean he didn’t exist.

Mrs. Arceneaux returned shortly pushing an ancient tea cart carrying a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses filled with ice. So, Mrs. Arceneaux, I began, how long have you lived here?

It’s Miss, I’m afraid, she answered.

What?

"Miss Arceneaux, but please call me Annabell, she paused briefly and grimaced slightly as if remembering something painful. I never married.  No, my Wilfred and I, we were planning to get married, but he was killed in the Army in 1950. He was in Korea, the Chosin Reservoir. I was never able to find anyone who measured up to him, and I wasn’t ready to settle for just any man."

I’m so sorry, I said, sympathizing with the old woman.

Into every life a little rain must fall, she sighed. But the Lord’s been mighty good to me over the years, so I’m not complaining. You know, I’ve never spent a day in the hospital, not one. Never even seen a doctor goin’ on 84 years now.

That is amazing, I responded. Hardy woman, no doubt from good stock, much different from me. Seemed every time the seasons changed, I was coming down with some sort of ailment of the other. I was doing some research on the house. I continued, getting to the point, and I found out that there was a fire there in 1901. Do you happen to know anything about a fire that happened there around that time?

Now I wasn’t around at the time, course, but I remember what my mama told me about that many years later. She worked for Major André LeJeune, the man who used to own the house years ago, back when she was just a teenager.

I nodded.

"Well, you probably don’t know about the Major. He was real famous ‘round here, fought with Teddy Roosevelt on San Juan Hill, or