Laura Gaisie's books on Goodreads
Twelve Mondays Twelve Mondays
reviews: 7
ratings: 9 (avg rating 4.56)

Twelve Hearings Twelve Hearings
reviews: 4
ratings: 4 (avg rating 4.75)

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Twelve Days of Terror, book 3 excerpt...

1903 Aquin, Haiti

The day their youngest child decided to never speak again, she stood before her open bedroom window and waited for papa Legba, the guardian of crossroads, to grant her request. If permitted she would move forward with the second phase of her plan which included paralysis. She investigated the midnight sky and marveled at how the fireflies below seemed to mimic the twinkling stars above.


“Shoo, you must hurry,” she whispered to the one nearest her window before it’s light dimmed, blending it into the darkness. If she didn’t receive an answer soon, next she’d pray to erzulie mansur, protector of children. With one ear she listened to the sea and the other she tuned to listen for her sister or her mother, manman Linn.


“Linneta!”


She heard the wind call but waited again to make certain. She strained her ear then pressed her tiny body against the bare windowsill, leaned far enough to see the front of their hut in one direction, and the neighbor’s backyard the opposite way. A small group sat with tin cans at their feet, which they’d pick up occasionally and sip the contents.


Rum in their cups and the drum player. He sat cross-legged and beat on his djembe drum. The drum. Her papa told them this was the way the spirits, or loas, responded to their prayers. If the drum player kept beating his djembe drum, and the other’s continued to sip their rum from the tin cans, papa legba would for sure answer her this night.


“Linneta,”


She was sure the wind called her name. A firefly appeared from out of the darkness, nearly touched her nose, and caused her grip to slip on the wooden frame. She grunted when her tummy hit the track that should’ve held a window screen in place. After she pulled herself back inside, she kicked at the wall. Her eye’s prickled before tears formulated, but this was not a time for crying.

 

     Laura Gaisie