The sunset was a red slit of light like a devil’s eye, hanging low and depraved over the Mississippi River bluff. Storm clouds thundered all around as Little Man Lacy ran for the river, his pants legs flapping, his long arms and big hands pumping as he moved up the street past the train depot. He was seventy-three years old, tall and skinny, his nose and earlobes giving way to gravity. He was meant to be a bluesman all his life, long as he could play. Instead, he’d dropped his music by the side of the road, abandoned his sax, like leaving an infant alone in a tub. Now fear was his instrument. His lips pressed together, and he hummed as he raced, searching for the pain that made his music real. But even the music couldn’t help him now. He ran for the mighty Mississippi with all his heart, knowing water was his only salvation.
The Evils were upon him. He knew the power and the nature of the woman who’d released them. His breath whistled in his lungs, not because he was weak, but because the Evils were drying up everything strong inside. If he made it to the bridge, he might trick them into jumping in the water where they’d be trapped with no escape. Then he would stand on the bridge and laugh at their mistake, because everyone knows that once the Evils set out to take your soul, they’ll have you one way or another. You can’t shrug off fate, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t try.
The storm clouds hanging between him and the river saw him coming. They opened up, and the rain fell down. The water gave him hope that he wouldn’t be taken, but the Evils just laughed, the sound buzzing in his ears like a thousand metal toys clicking.
By the time he reached the top of the hill, the street had filled with rain and mud that soaked his shoes. The mud was draining from the deep hole dug in the ground, deep as a cave. He saw DANGER signs and the neon sign for the Blue Monkey Club shining blue and yellow in the sky, which he took as a good omen. The river pulsed nearby, pounding in its banks. He heard its music.
He was a bluesman. He still had hope.
Then, around the corner came the woman carrying the Evils. She was tall and wearing golden hoops in her ears. She called out his name, “Little Man Lacy!” as she moved across the street like a viper on legs. She came at him with a small gray bag held high, a conjure bag made for carrying things only the Evils know.
His heart tore open. He turned to make a run for the river, but the mud was slick, and his feet went out from under him. He was falling.
The last thing Little Man Lacy saw as he tumbled into the pit was the woman’s eyes shining in the dark.