Chapter 1
Mama always said not to go down to Pierre’s Bayou after dark. She told us that a voodoo witch queen named Veronique lived off in the bayou. If we kids were not careful, Veronique would boil us and use our bones to tell her fortunes. Of course, when we were kids, we would often dare each other to sneak out after dark, I never saw a hint of any damn voodoo queen. However, my best friend’s cousin’s boyfriend said he and his sister saw her one night.
According to them, the only sound was a high pitched chirping noise. A thick soupy fog shrouded the bayou. Off in the distance, a lady’s voice had rung out, laughing softly. I shrugged that off when Sara told me that story. I knew her cousin’s boyfriend and his dopey sister. Both of them were probably high as kites when this supposedly happened.
I still find myself slowing down on the bridge over Pierre’s Bayou. The bridge connects Highway 14 to the small town of Vernon. I think now is a good time to mention that many of the early check-outs Vernon experiences often happen on that bridge. Locally it’s known as Veronique’s bridge, officially it was Pierre Bayou bridge.
Vernon is the small town I grew up in and still live there. Most people from Vernon stay in Vernon. Those who don’t usually take the fast track route to an early grave. Sometimes though, a bright kid will graduate with honors and then ship off to some fancy school. It’s only a matter of time, though, before something draws them back.
I never left. I wasn’t exactly a star student in school and had no reason to go anywhere else. Family kept me tied to this place. So much so, I often forgot the world outside of Vernon, Louisiana existed. Every year, the population of the town grew smaller. Sometimes, a family from out of town would move in. Then, more times than not, some tragedy would occur. What was left of the family would then quietly depart, never to be heard from again. When that happened, it seemed that less native Vernon residents elected to take the early checkout.
A long time ago, Vernon was a thriving settlement, thanks to the logging industry. However, a hundred years ago, a hurricane leveled the place. Most of the original settlers were killed, many of their bodies were never found. Local legend said that a healer woman had cursed the town for taking her for granted. They had used her continuously, without any regard for her own needs. That woman was named Veronique. The days before the storm, people in the town had heard her laughing and singing “when I die, you’re all coming with me.”
It was another ten years before the town was rebuilt and populated. Present-day Vernon, had a gloomy decay that shimmered about it. Main Street was mostly abandoned. A street full of old buildings with broken or boarded-up windows greeted visitors as they entered the town. The only stores in town were located at the very edge of Vernon now. Almost like the shop owners were trying to get as far away as possible from Pierre’s Bayou. Main Street began a mile after you crossed the bridge from Highway 14. The ones that live in the town around Main Street are some of the most uptight, preacher loving, busybodies I have ever met. Most of them think that they are better than the other townspeople because their families have been here the longest. One of the smart kids I graduated came back to town like they always do. He had earned himself a history degree. He told me that the Native Americans had lived here long before any of those families. He also said that most of those families were just carpetbaggers from the North after the Civil War. The ones like my family have been much longer. Unfortunately, three years after he moved back, they found him hanging from Veronique’s bridge. Didn’t leave a note or nothing. Life went on as nothing had happened in Vernon. But then again, that was a pretty regular occurrence. We just don’t talk about it.
