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“Wait, what’s happening to me?” Jamal screamed, but his voice came out raspy, just like his brother’s voice.
He was now a shadow, too.
An evil chuckle echoed through the bayou. Lightning and thunder tore through the turbulent sky while rain poured down from the hurricane.
“Now you know what it’s like to really lurk in the shadows,” Dr. Facilier said with a tip of his hat. “You should’ve listened to your grandmother. You can’t trust the shadow man.”
“But you promised to bring my brother back,” Jamal rasped, “not to turn me into a shadow, too.”
He felt himself fading even more. Another chuckle rang out.
“Little man, I promised you no such thing,” Dr. Facilier said with an evil grin. He grew even bigger, stretching almost as tall as the trees that surrounded them. “You heard what you chose to hear. And now you’ll pay the price—and so will the city you love.”
The last thing Jamal heard as he faded into a shadow altogether was Dr. Facilier’s evil laugh echoing across the bayou.
“Carter, turn the volume up,” their mother called from the kitchen.
“Sure thing,” Dad said, reaching over from stirring the gumbo, and pumping up the volume.
“Aftermath from Hurricane Donald continues to wreak havoc on our city,” the reporter spoke into the microphone, showing the swirling pattern of the storm that had passed over the city. It had been a direct hit.
The local news carried footage of the recent damage from the hurricane. Flooded streets. Garbage strewn everywhere. Shattered storefronts. Roofs caved in. Fires from lightning strikes that burned around the city.
The power was still out in the French Quarter, and the streets were dark and shadowy. Some of the shadows even seemed to take on monstrous forms, depending on who you asked.
Only one business seemed strangely unaffected—Dr. Facilier’s Voodoo Emporium.
“Is it luck or magic?” the reporter joked with a knowing chuckle.
“Thank god we moved out of the floodplain,” their mother said, watching with a frown. “Otherwise we’d be going through it all over again. Maybe losing another home.”
“Oh, we’re so fortunate,” their father agreed. “With climate change, it’s only going to get worse….”
Dad carried the pot to the table. Mom took a seat and ladled out heaping helpings of gumbo. The table was set for only two people.
There was no sign of Jamal or Malik.
“The mayor is giving a press conference on the storm,” said the reporter, dressed in a yellow rain slicker.
Their parents watched as the image cut away from the streets. On the television, the mayor stepped up to the podium. He had dark skin, a thin mustache, and a smile with a big gap right in the middle. He wore a purple suit and clutched a staff with a crystal on it. On his head perched a top hat with a skull and crossbones. Around his neck hung a skull necklace. The eye sockets glowed deep red. He tipped his hat forward and leaned into the microphone.
“Enchanté, citizens of the great city of New Orleans,” he said in his silky smooth voice. He grinned widely. “Due to the damage from the recent storm, I’ve been forced to seize power and issue a state of emergency. The city is now under martial la
w….”
It was Dr. Facilier.
Outside, neighborhood kids splashed in the water flowing through the streets. In the gutters they sailed homemade boats, some of which vanished into the storm drains.
Dad glanced outside and frowned. “Kiara, I’m so glad we decided not to have kids. Especially with all these hurricanes. It’s a dangerous world we live in.”
He reached over and clasped her hand. She smiled at him.
“Me too,” she replied, squeezing his hand. “I’m so happy with just the two of us.”
“But we’re right here!” Jamal cried from the shadows. “Mom…Dad…we’re your children! Can’t you see us?”
But it was no use. Jamal and Malik were both shadows. Their parents couldn’t see or hear them, no matter how hard they tried to get their attention. They both continued shouting at their parents, but still it made no difference. It was like they didn’t exist.
