***I live in New Orleans, Louisiana, that's were I was born and raised. Voodoo is my life, my history, my culture. I am the Voodoo Queen's great-great-great-great-great granddaughter. She was Marie Lavaeu. There are two types of voodoo in this world black voodoo and White Voodoo. I don't get involved with White Voodoo. White Voodoo is mostly African and Haitian. In the Black Voodoo, we use spells and dark magic. White Voodoo uses dolls and rituals, they don't mess with spells.***
Right before dusk I walk up to my Voodoo room. The floor boards creak, and the wind blows through windows blowing out all of the candles. That is the best time to practice Black Voodoo. I brought my half melted wax candle up the dusty old stairs. The hallway was dark and moist. It had one flickering candle showing me the way to my room. Once I found my room I opened up the door quickly and slammed it behind me. I had to make sure that none of the spirits got released. I grabbed a handful of brick dust and scattered my room with it. The wind blew the brick dust, making them dance in spirals around the room. I lit the dust on fire and grabbed a cloth soaked in oil and flung it around. The cloth caught on fire but I did nothing. I am doing a luck spell, that I preform every night. If the spell worked my house and I wouldn't catch in fire. For the luck spell you either got good luck or bad luck. One time a few months ago I got bad lick, everything caught fire, including me. It left me with no house and scars. I looked around the room and smiled, until the damn fire chose my fate. The flaming brick dust latched themselves onto the curtains, rugs, and me. I let go of the cloth and ran to the door. My back started to burn, I could smell the terrible scent of burning flesh. The door was locked, just as I left it. I looked around, until I heard a click. I looked at the door and saw it slowly open. This is some bipolar voodoo luck I have. I ran out the door looking back at my room. The door shut by itself and trapped the fire inside, for now.
I ran outside and saw my house burn down. Pieces of my roof were tumbling down and crushing all my magic roots and herbs. I ran up to the surviving ones and picked the most important ones. I grabbed black roots, alfalfa leaves, blood root, cardamom seeds, motherwort, pennyroyal, and the mist important black pepper. My voodoo church friends came, and all looked at my house and threw brick dust on the burning house. Once they threw the brick dust on the house it stopped burning, and all fell to ash. I looked over at one of my neighbors, Preston. He smiled at me and walked away. He was always nice to me for some odd reason, he was deeply in love with voodoo. Voodoo was literally his life. He was wearing a torn up wife beater and plaid pants. That night I spent picking out the remains of the house. I found some candle holders and a ton of brick dust. Then grabbed a burnt, but usable, bag and put the remains of the house in them. I grabbed a handful of ashes, that were once my beautiful house, and out them in my bag. I can use the ashes for safety. I walked over to my shop that me and my best friend owned. It was an art shop, I wanted to have a voodoo shop but I wanted some of my life to be normal. As I walked in a dark ally way, I could feel a ghostly presence following me. I grabbed some of my house and threw them in front of me, as I said, "Met mwen renman anpil yo, mwen ta renmen sevi ak sa yo sann dife, yo bay m'ak sekirite, ki soti nan sa ki mal." in Haitian Creole. After I said that spell, the ashes made a comforting circle around my feet. I had to run to my store because the spell only lasted a couple minutes. I looked in the window and saw a shadow moving down the hall.
I tried to turn the door nob, but the door was locked. The key slid into the door, and turned opened up slowly.
