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"…Maybe it’s magic."

"Maybe that’s the only thing that could bring the kid out of it." Joked Jacob Kolinsky. "Since we’re finally down here, maybe we could get an authentic Voodoo Hoodoo man to do a ritual on the boy, huh?"

"Don’t joke about that kind of thing, Jacob!" Chided his wife, angered over her husband’s less than empathetic view over the deformity on their thirteen-year-old son’s face and lips.

"Well, Katie, the accident has been just over a year now and I think he needs to man-up a bit – to get his life in perspective. I mean he’s got a huge scar running down his face and across that lip of his, but the kid is not a monster. He’ll be fine, you’ll see."

"I’m not so sure, babe. This house used to belong to an old gypsy woman, the one the townsfolk call Lady Mallory.  Ray is always going through the weird junk she left in the attic. When are you going to throw all that creepy stuff out?"

"What? - Huh? I thought I already did! …Ha, I guess it slipped my mind, Kate. At any rate, don’t worry too much about our son, he’ll adjust soon enough."

"Yeah, but his stuttering is getting worse and he spends so much time in the garden, and all the kids in his school make fun of him. Ever since the accident, he’s been…different. He barely even talks now, not that you’ve noticed."

"Oh, come on, honey; I noticed his depressed behavior, but it’s not unusual for a child his age to act so weird, especially since we moved down here to New Orleans. The boy is a teenager now and his hormones must be raging. I mean aren’t they supposed to act weird? Besides, we’re from New York City, Queens to be exact; don’t you think this is a big change for all of us?"

"Yes, I know, especially with so much riding on you with your new architecture assignments, but it’s so rural out here. I had never seen so much open country. I don’t know, I suppose it could all be accounted for as culture shock – you know, the Spanish moss, the humid weather, and all these corn-fed townsfolk."

"I’ll admit; I’ve been having a bit of a rough time adjusting, too, Kate. I suppose it will pass in time. However, our son does need to crawl out of his shell. I swear, sometimes I think he might be getting a little autistic."

"Autistic? …Really? You think so?" I mean he has been spending hours in the garden, just looking at the creepy statue with the freaky bell. He’s always jumping around or even dancing around that thing. I’m telling you, babe, sometimes he doesn’t talk for days. I’m getting really worried about him."

"What? No. Don’t worry about him, Katie. Sure, he’s got some tough issues ahead, especially going through puberty and all, but this thing will pass. These kinds of things always do. You’ll see."

Jacob walked to the wide back porch and saw his son whispering to the black idol they had just commented on. Tall and standing on a stout pedestal, it featured a jet-black figurine of onyx. The black stone was carved in luxurious detail, forming a slender woman that was partially covered in a robe. The slanted, feline eyes of the sultry southern siren were cast downward, giving the impression that she – it – was looking at whomever glanced upward to her ultra-smooth visage. In her left hand, the statuette held a working bell of gold, metallic-colored tin. As the wind rocked it back and forth, the bell often rang with an eerie chiming sound. It was somewhat reminiscent of the sound that distant bells made when a ship was approaching the shore; or so thought Jacob, as he recalled his early days in the Navy. Nevertheless, he could feel a strong sense of ornate sexuality emanating from it, making him believe that whoever created it was a very talented sculptor. Yet despite this, Jacob, taking notice of his son’s continued whispers, smiled optimistically.

"Well, honey, at least he’s talking to something."

Among the blue flowers and clover filled garden, young Ray sat down in front of it. The sun was just beginning to set. As always on Sunday, he was allowed to stay in the garden until dark, while his family made the last meal of the evening inside the big house behind him. In the middle of the patch, the busty effigy stood tall and proud, oblivious to the warm winds that surrounded the apple trees planted beside them.

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