The Folly of Cats: Beyond The Cat's Door

It’s silly to believe anything my father said in his old age. He spoke of the Bellows. The past 7 years, he has been on his deathbed… for the past 7 years, I have been a victim of his greed just as much as the towns that he’s inflicted.

He spoke fondly of Riviere d'Erbane. My father spoke highly of the food, but most of all the people. The people made him sob. He called their names in the darkness as if they were standing in the corners. He cried out for them, for forgiveness and understanding. I know what he did to those people. Betrayed them… used them. My father thinks he will walk through a plain of utter madness and devastation, as that is all he had caused in life.

Being honest with you and myself, I know where that effigy came from. I was hard to get my hands on, but my father? The thing was given to him. If you listened to him tell the tale… it sounds more like luck than anything else. My father says he won it from the Devil. The Devil, yes, I know… It’s an obtuse notion, but tonight I believe it might be something… maybe Devil is the only word my ailing father could surmise it to be. He aligned the statue with the Bellows, even though it is clearly much older. For God's sake, we were catholic before my father. He got into this folk faux-religion of the swamps. This nasty and obscure religion seems to have infected everyone it grabs hold of. It took hold of my father when he inherited my grandfather’s business. He became absorbed in their teachings. The late nights in the study with his so-called colleagues. Late nights filled with… lies for a weakened mind. If you ask his contemporaries, they would say he lost his mind only when the caves started to sing… No, his mind was gone before then.

Before his mind began to fail, my father asked me what I was willing to sacrifice for the station our family had come to hold. What would I do to keep it? To keep it out of the hands of another person? What would I do to protect our family name? I didn’t know what that meant or what all it intaled, I should say. But now, I know… Before I could even give him an answer, he placed his hand upward to silence me. That’s when he told me of the time he met the Devil of the Bellows.

My father’s pale eyes shuddered in describing him. There was a flicker in them, as if life had been drained from them, and it seemed to come back as he recalled the man.

He was a friend of David’s, David Hamilton, your uncle. It was my first time, and it was a blast. The parties, the women, and the balls. Oh, the balls… but those ended a little too early for us. We wanted to keep the good time going. James suggested the juke joint next to the MAMGA (Mobile Area Mardi Gras Association) ballroom. He walked in with one woman on each arm. They were the ones escorting him, not the other way around. He towered over his female escorts, nodding as they brought him over.

“This is your man, Mr. Hamilton?” One of the ladies asked with a giggle. “This gentleman got lost in the ballroom. Figured he was a friend of yours. “

“Don’t lose track of this one.” The other winked at me, “This one is slick.”

“I’m not slick at all. I only inquired: if I could prove I was at the marches, could I get a full-time membership? I got photos on the wall, darling, I promise. I can take you both to the Temptations back across the pond. What do you say?”

They both giggled as they dropped him off in a chair across from us without a second look. David had begun shuffling a deck he pulled from his jacket. “Settle down, my man. Settle down.” He whispered, winking at the girls as they left. “How about a game to sober up before we chase more necklaces before the night’s over? Oh, how dare I? Introductions.” David set down the cards and stood. He put a firm hand on the taller man’s back. “ This is my good friend, Augustine Dagnehart. We met some years ago on a British hospital ship. Augustine, meet my business partner and bestman, Charles Atwood.”

My father locked in, in his frail state, when he mentioned that man’s name to me. That name haunted him.

Do not call upon him, his family, or his agents. He’s the devil that takes mile after mile. Augustine Dagenhart walks through the darkness with the Bellows in his tracks. Never play him for anything.

My father panted with wild delirium filling his eyes.

I shook his pale, icy hands. His grasp didn’t match his eyes. His grip was iron-clad, strong and firm, but his eyes… His eyes were kind. Soft hues that the barlights bounced off of. Those were the eyes of a sympathetic predator, though I doubt he would ever grieve his prey.

“Charles Atwood.” He hummed my name. “James told me all about you!” his grin widened. “Especially about your time in the military. You Americans are a tough bunch, he told me tales of your dogfights in the Korean skies. Impressive, labs.”

It wasn’t the first time David bragged about our time in the skies. So there was no telling what conflated story this man heard. But like usual, I was along for the ride. “Yes, Sir. That’s me, nice to meet you. I’m afraid Davie hasn’t mentioned much of you.” I side-eyed David.

“That’s probably because I have a nasty habit of not mentioning my debtors.” David snorted.

“Lies, David. You don’t owe me anything. Everything you’ve done, you’ve done on your own. I was just merely a conduit for your choices.” Augustine sat down.

The pair laughed, and I was utterly lost on what they were talking about at the time, but now I understand. We played several rounds of poker around the juke-joint, hitting each table at least once. We laughed and drank until we couldn’t read the cards in our hands, but we kept playing. It was Mardi Gras, the people were up, the music was pumping, and the food was good; the night was alive. We weren’t leaving anytime soon.

Hours passed, and the last of the parades came through, the juke-joint was clearing out, and it was only us three and the barback remaining.

“One more game?” Augustine chuckled.

“With what money?” David piped up. “I’ve cleaned you two cats out.”

“Yeah, I’m broke.” I looked over to Augustine. “I saw you borrow about $3.50 from that miss earlier for a Gin and Coke. What do you have?” I teased.

I remember the look in his soft eyes, those gentle hues that were betrayed by a cunning smile. He lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. “I have something.” Augustine pulled out a statue from his jacket pocket. It was no taller or thicker than a bottle of soda. “See, I was holding out on this one. It’s a pretty little thing.” He placed it in the middle of the table for David and me to examine.

“What is that?” David asked for both of us after we shared a questioning glance. “Is this from the trip you were telling me about?”

He snapped his fingers and pointed to him. “Correct. To fill you in, Charlie, after my service, I found myself with shadowmancers, witches, and faeries, and your man has walked away with power, grace, and more trinkets than I can carry. This is one of them.”

“Witches, Faeires and shadow- what's?” I couldn’t comprehend what he was saying, I was tore out the door frame. “None of that exists outside of fairy tales.

“But Britain is a magical place, they have King Arthur, knights, and Camelot and all that shit.” David lisped.

“Davie’s right.” Augustine's laughter was like thunder coming from the thinly framed man. “Britain’s got magic. America’s got fight,” He paused in thought as if he were wondering if it were in his best interest to keep speaking. “We don’t have a Camelot anymore, but we still have knights, and there’s no king… but a tribunal.”

“Last checked, you had a Queen.” I pointed out. “You don’t need a king.”

“Both puppets to ones that pull the strings in the dark.” He hummed, tapping the top of that statue, diverting to it. “I can wager a gift.”

“Wait-” David held up his hand. “ Is this THE Wedding gift you’re about to wager?”

“No, No.” Augustine laughed darkly. “That is something else. That is for you and you only. No, this is a little extra, if you win. But for my new friend, Charlie, it could mean the world.”

“What do you mean?” I pointed to the statue. “This thing grants wishes?”

“Damn, I love Americans. You got it. Your desires come true at any cost. Any. That is what is up for grabs. Your deepest want made manifest.” He waved his fingers. “Now, how about we play a game of Black Jack for the black cat?”

“Let’s go.” David slammed back his last shot.

“I’m in.” I regret my last shot just like I regret winning that thing.

My father raised a shaky hand, pointing to the efiigy. “Damn that thing. Damn the things it made me do…” He said tearfully.

I didn’t know what it was. I was drunk, and all I knew was that it was a genie in a bottle. If I had a wish, it would come true, according to the Brit. It was as strange to me then as it is now. Three faces of an upside-down cat heads with hands, maybe tentacles for legs? The stone was glistening, as if it were freshly polished, or was this its natural state? I couldn’t tell. But it was shiny, and I loved that. “ So how does she work? Do you rub it or what?”

He was helping David to his feet as he laughed. “Oh, just think of something, and the world is yours. Do they have cabs this far south? I’m sure if I don’t get him home to Charlotte, she’s going to kill me.”

You don’t remember, but we lived in those swamps, too. You were just a baby; you weren’t old enough to remember the carnage. “ I lived down the road, I can drive. No need in Charlotte getting us both.”

It didn’t matter; we both got cussed out by Charlotte. She yelled that David shouldn’t have been out drinking so much because of his heart, and she yelled at me for driving in my current state. Fortunately, I wasn’t a guest in their home tonight, but Augustine was. He gave me a pleading look. I gave him a warm send-off to his and David’s fate.

I sat in the study while your mother slept. I didn’t want to disturb her. I pondered the things Augustine said. He was close to David and Charlotte enough to stay with them. But that had to be only for the wedding that was happening the next day. How close were they that David hadn’t mentioned a word of this man to me before tonight? David was my closest friend and your uncle. He was my brother, so who was this man? I pulled out the statue from my pocket. I was feeling a certain kinda way. Was it jealousy that this newcomer was closer to my best friend than I was? Or was it something else? David and I fought in the Korean War together. He was one of the few Tuskegee Airmen whom I had the privilege of flying with. Flying with him was like flying with history in the making. He had my tail when no one else did, flying or otherwise. They called us the Ghost of the Skies. This man was my brother… Not Augustine.

“Who the fuck is he?” I remember saying… I made the choice. Something that could do David some good. Money. That’s why we go into real estate after the service. It was normal, and it was booming sort of… We’ve hit a dry spot here in the South. We were expensing more than what was budgeted. So money and land. That’s what I wanted for us. I just didn’t know how exactly… but it knew. I looked over to the calendar. It was David’s last night of freedom; the night before Fat Tuesday. “Something more important to any man, something substantial,” I remember talking to it and holding it in my hand. It was so light, though its consciousness was heavy. I could swear the thing is alive with a pulse… a hum… a sweet melody that was beyond hypnotic. I made a choice for myself and for David. If I didn’t make the choice, then we wouldn’t be who we are.

I made a wish. I didn’t know what would happen next.

My father sobbed, grabbing my hands and repeating that he didn’t know. And someone should forgive him before he walks into the Bellows and is forced to walk among the dead. He begged me to forgive him for a sin I couldn’t comprehend.

The next day, a thunderstorm warning was issued on the day of Charlotte and David’s Wedding. Through the lightning and storms, they moved the outside venue into the church. The shudders howled, and the storm raged. The Brass Band was nervous, and so was the choir. The Riviere d'Erbane issued flash flood warnings as we threw sandbags at the back of the church to keep the water from flowing in.

Before they could seal their marriage with a kiss, the sirens rage out. Tornado. Earth’s weapon had formed against us. Before the choice of celebration or shelter, it was decided for all of us. There was a terrifying hum. The same hum I heard the night before from the statue. The sun shone brightly through the rain, through the stained glass, just briefly. As the sun shone, the hum grew louder. I thought it was the choir's symphony, but I noticed the choir director spin around, looking for the source of the sound as well. The sound grew louder, and the rain stood still all for a brief moment, but this didn’t deter the priest from speaking over it, even leaning his matrimonial sermon into it.

I stood behind David, waiting to hand him the ring. The sermon was getting longer and more feverish as the priest fought in volume with the hum. His eyes were wide, his arms opened, and his head leaned upwards towards the cross on the ceiling. The sermon grew fiery, moving from the joys of marriage to the trials of an unyielding God. He did what no priest I knew of had ever done: he spoke of the Bellows.

“Be damned those that talk of the Bellows before the halls of Heaven. The Bellows are a source of a sour land, inhabited by a sour mind. No sound God would make cruel rituals burden the soul down!”

The priest's thunderous voice cut off as the hum swelled into a roar, and that roar splintered the front of the church. The tornado had landed, and everything went black.

There were screams when I came to. I lay strung across the flattened church pew like a rag doll. The screams were deafening; the hum was no longer present, and I found peace in that at least.

The ceiling had caved in at the back of the church, but the front lay separated from the rest. The choir was littered on the front lawn. The pulpit was across the street. My eyes darted around to look for something sane in the madness around me. People were running from the rain and storm, seeking scarce cover. The winds of the tornado howled. I turned my head to see the mother of the church get sucked into the winds, snatching her away from the pillar of the foundation of the church. All I could do was lie there and watch in my horror. This was the Bellows coming up to meet us all. The earth started to crack, and in the daylight, shadows spilled out. Forms of beast and men seeped from the world, in black silhouettes, gnawing at reality, scrambling to be on the surface. I was frozen; I couldn’t scream, but I could only watch. I wanted something to make sense, but I refused to look at the impending darkness engulfing me. My eyes landed on David. David was screaming over his bride, Charlotte. She was crushed beneath the cross that was hanging on the ceiling. He held her gloved hand, screaming into the wind… but I couldn’t hear him. Next, I saw Augustine standing, impossibly straight in the storm. Augustine laid a hand on David’s shoulder in sympathy, but there was none to be found in that man’s grin, none to be found in his kind eyes. Now, he betrayed what he truly was… I passed out again before I could call out.

I woke at Providence Hospital in Mobile. “Where the fuck, am I?” I stirred.

“Hospital.” I heard from the corner. There was a mask of darkness before leaning into the hospital's artificial light. “You’ve been out for about two days now.” The voice mused.

I knew it was him. That British mother fucker. “Augustine?” I said weakly.

“The one and only, friend. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”

“What happened?”

“You made a wish, from what I can tell.” He leaned into the light, his icy blue eyes looking full from a meal.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I was angry, I was strapped up to IVs and monitors that beeped in the background. “So what if I made a wish? Wishes aren’t real. I didn’t wish for a storm, if you must know. That was the furthest thing I wanted. Where’s David? Oh God, where’s Charlotte?”

He was silent in his footsteps; he seemed to glide over to the hospital window. He cracked it, and the night breeze flowed in. Augustine lit a cigarette before speaking. “ Charlotte’s dead. Crushed by the cross, she said her vows under. David is alive, mourning his bride-to-be… or was to be. She wasn’t the only one. The morgue is filled with the choir and several residents who were caught in the storm. They’re still evacuating the bayou from the gas leak.”

“What gas leak?” He didn’t say a word but merely turned on the television.

The news anchor was grave on screen. “Rescue efforts are underway in the Riviere d'Erbane and surrounding bayou areas. Forty-eight hours have passed, and we are still uncovering bodies. If you or a loved one lives in the area, know that law enforcement has not deemed the area safe. Sheriffs are awaiting clearance that the carbon monoxide risk in several neighborhoods has passed. The death toll tonight is at 57 souls-” Augustine turned off the television as if proving a point.

“What did you wish for? The Philosopher’s Stone?” He took a drag from his cigarette, chuckling.

“Fuck you, I didn’t wish for any of this.”

“But you did wish?”

“For money. Not even for me but for David,” I shouted, frustrated and dazed. “ We’ve had a tough time selling homes and acquiring land. I just wanted him to be comfortable in our business. That’s all.”

“You… succeeded…” He hummed. Why was he jolly about this?

“HOW?” I shouted. “ My best friend’s wife is dead, there are people without homes and loved ones… how did I succeed?”

“The dead can’t hold on to land,” he said coolly. “Buy it from their next of kin. Who wants land that’s.. How’d the priest put it… sour. In a few months, no one will care…”

“The people here are attached to their land. Thei-”

“Yes, yes, their blood lies with the land, and the Bellows came up and shaped the fields in its own image. Yes, I have heard the insanity.”

“Watch your mouth, Augustine.” I tried to stand but was still too dazed. “ Have some respect.”

“ Yes, you’re a believer in the Bellows. We all have fairytales.”

“I thought you Britons were the land of magic?”

He laughed and put his hands in the air. “Darkness is Darkness, I suppose. Yours just has extra steps. How did you think David was going to get the money?” He asked softly, pitying me. “You're his best friend. You didn’t know that he put a large insurance policy on his poor Charlotte?”

“I didn’t ask for this.” That's all I could say. I knew how much David loved Charlotte. She was his first love. They were planning on having a family together. We were planning to take his new family back out West to Palm Springs. “ How was I supposed to know?”

“You weren’t.” He said as if nothing mattered. He was gleeful. “Just be careful next time.”

“I’m not using that thing again!”

“Then give it back.” Again, he said coolly.

“So you can use it? I don’t think so, I’m going to destroy it so no one else gets hurt.”

I can’t forget the laugh. It was low and guttural, almost like a dare more than a laugh. “I’m sure you will destroy it. So sure, now that you’re newly rich.”

“I’m not rich-”

“You will be,” He sang out, heading for the door. “Neither you nor David will leave that kinda money sitting on the table. Have strength, Charlie. You’ll know how to use it next. Tenebrae No Ligare, ol’boy. I’ll be at David’s should you need me.” With that, he finally left.

I was discharged later that night… The first thing I did was go into the study and grab the damned thing. I was all but ready to mash it on the floor, but there was something that called to me. Son, it started whispering things that made sense. How can a man unmake the land by summoning a tornado? I didn’t do anything wrong; it was just an unfortunate coincidence that Augustine was right. It was a terrible coincidence. So why don’t I ask for something specific, something I wanted to see for myself?

They speak of the temptation of the soul as it journeys through the Bellows. My boy, I have always been confused… are the Bellows among us, or are we destined to walk through them in the afterlife? I wanted to know. I wanted to see. If a man or a demon lives a righteous life, can he be tempted to take something he cannot give back, and a sacrifice be made in the Storm of Storms, will the God of Night come upon the land by sea? If it weren’t a fable, it was a scene to be seen.

It hummed again. The perverted cat statue seemed to breathe and hum in a tune that shook me to my core. I can’t recall if I passed out, and I was in a dream or if I was spellbound staring at the effigy until a knock came upon my door. The rains had returned, and the humming was silent. There was another knock at the front door. It either awakened me or stirred me, and I cannot tell which. It was David, my friend, who was in a poncho.

“Let’s head out.” He said blankly.

The first thing that came to my mind was his heart. “I’m so sorry about Charlotte.”

He winced as if I had struck him in the eye. He let out a hitched breath. “ I know, bud. I.. Thank you. “ David hugged me. He was warm, too warm in comparison to the night rain. Was this the weight of pain? I don’t know. I just hugged him back. “Remember, I told you about the backyard justice we have here in the South. This is it.”

“My brother, we should talk. This might not be the best thing right now.” I pleaded in the rain.

“This will at least make me feel something. I invested $500 into finding that kid. Now we know what happened.”

A kid was missing; the heart of the community, some Waterson girl who volunteered and sat in with sit-ins in troubled areas. I wasn’t surprised when she went missing. But the anger never left. I stuffed my keys in my pocket and locked the door, but not before grabbing an umbrella. We all marched to the docks in the storm, together as a neighborhood, in honor and anger for a young girl.

And there he was, Augustine, in the rain like all of us. He gave me a curt nod. Had he seen one of these before? We locked eyes, and he merely grinned. The storm raged as we trudged to the docks. David was a shell of a man; he spoke not a word, no matter how hard I pried. My attention was split between David and the now-halted crowd. We were at the dock’s end. We three stood in the back, but close enough to hear clearly what was being shouted against the wind.

“Handle your business here! FOR THE GODS TO SEE!” The stranger screamed out. That man, he had taken her? Where were the authorities? Were they among us? How come no one was arresting this man in the midst of his confession? Were we to subdue him and take him to the police? I was confused about what justice we could bring in the rain on the dock? The people were mad with bloodlust. This man had taken their sweet Samantha, and the Reverend, my reverend, was up front amongst the group.

He was a man who told his Thursday congregation of the word of the Fogotten Gods and their journey through the Bellows, and how we were to walk in their footsteps into Nivarna. The reverend was a calm, remarkable man, always dressed sharply, holding the black book. He was a man of kind words and a giving spirit. What could he be doing at the head of this kind of march? What was he planning to do with this fiend who claimed to have taken Samantha?

Looking back, I’m sickened by how naive I was. It hit me. He was going to sacrifice that man. Eye for an eye- a life for a life. It suddenly weighed on me; the scene lay before me. What can tempt a man to murder but vengeance?

“David.” I grabbed my bestfriend, his eyes forward and furrowed. “ David, we gotta stop this. They are going to kill that man. This isn’t justice, we can’t watch this-”

“Then go home.” Augustine leaned on David’s shoulder, “A community that preys together, stays together.”

David looked at me, “Augustine’s right. We’ve been here, and that man had no business coming here and taking her from us. She was a good kid, Charles.”

“WE don’t belong here, or have you forgotten that we’ve been taking the land from these folks?” I spoke low through the rain. I didn’t want unwanted ears focusing on us next.

“No, Charles. I’m from the swamp. I’m taking to give back something better than what they had before. We’re improving things, but some things, regardless of sect or religion, remain the same.”

Before I could say anything, that damned blue-eyed demon chimed in. “Oh, if you’re so worried about civil hands being unclean,” He rolled his eyes, “ Watch this. Especially you, Charlie, this counts as training.”

With that, Augustine slunk into the darkness of the dripping wet willow tree. It was as if reality warped around him in a fade of shadows, and he was gone.

“What the fu-” before I make any sense of what I just saw, I heard his scream. The man screamed suddenly; spears of black began raining down on the dock. Everyone ducked and covered; they fell silent. The reverend hushed the screams and exclaimed that the Gods were at work, and be hallowed in their presence as the storm raged.

The lightning flash, and it was him. In the Distance in the water, hoisted on sharp spike-like legs, was Augustine, soaked in the sea and rainwater. He summoned, no, he formed spikes from the dark and threw them. With each onyx-like spear, whispers grew. I spun around to see who was defying the reverend and speaking through the work of the Gods. We were all silent, but whispers from the dark invaded and surrounded us. It encompassed us. I narrowed my eyes once more to see Augustine’s silhouette in the darkness, summoning a godhand made of shadows and spikes that came crashing down upon the dock and snatching the corpse into the darkness with him.

The whispers were too much; they echoed salacious things that I couldn’t comprehend or begin to bargain with. I looked to David for stability or normalcy, but I found his image like Augustine’s: warped by shadows, reality bent around him. I reached out for him, and in the darkness, I was taken.

I woke up the next morning warm in my bed. The only sound hummed in my ears was the soft crackling of the fire. Next to my bed on the nightstand was that damned effigy.

That night would be the last time I would see your Uncle David, hell, that was the last night I saw that demon, Augustine. Later in the week, one of David’s attorneys came with an offer to buy out his half of the company. He left me a note that simply said:

Change the land, while I changed the world. Tenebrae No Ligare.

-David Hamiltion’

Those words haunt me. Now and again, I would get a postcard with that phrase, just as a reminder. A reminder of what? Pain? Loss? Or maybe that they’re waiting for me to enter the darkness behind them. I don’t know. But I see this statue has made us who we are today, and when I die, bury me with it so that I can call upon it when it is my turn to walk the Bellows.

My father later died, after confessing. As you know, the statue stayed with me. But in all this time of handling the effigy… It’s never hummed for me. It’s never sung its symphony. Then again, I’ve never wished upon it. So tell me, Evie… what did you wish for?