Swamp Hag’s Curse

A Horror Story

By Robbie Lee (USA)

Swampy areas are nowhere to complain about the weather.  Rain comes and goes more often than pimples on a young man’s face.  Thad Winslow could not welcome the rain nor could he wish it away.  For this day is out of sorrow and pain, a time when you must say goodbye to someone--and there is no good way--so just let it rain. 
The Minster gives last rites; everyone’s head is lowered except Thad’s who’s looking at his grandfather (Pawpee), staring at the coffin, reciting the Lord’s Prayer, silently.  Thad is almost certain that’s what he is doing; he recites it every Sunday, before every meal, before bedtime and in the morning when he wakes up.  Now that grandmother (Mawmee) is being laid to rest, Pawpee will recite it all day long. To him, there won’t be anything else worth saying.
The funeral breaks, town folks--that knew his grandmother--lay flowers on the coffin and part to go about the rest of their day.  Thad walks over to his grandfather.
“I’ll be by in an hour to get your stuff, Pawpee.”  That’s what he likes to be called; being called grandfather made him feel old.
“No need,” he said. “Mawmee will come for me.”
“Pawpee, she died. You can’t live by yourself out in the bayou.”
“Mawmee will come. She has cursed me.  I belong to her.” 
             Thad lets out a heavy sigh.
 “I’ll see you in an hour.”  He walks back to his car, holding hands with his wife, Nancy, under an umbrella.  He opens the car door for her, closes it, runs around to the driver’s side, shakes off the excess water on the umbrella and enters.
“What was that all about?” Nancy asks.
“What was ‘what’ about?”
“Your grandfather saying ‘She will come for me’?”
“Swamp bullshit,” Thad replies.
“Huh?”  She questions.  Thad pauses for a moment to think on how to word this so Nancy will understand. 
“Some of the town’s folk believe--as well as my grandfather--that Mawmee was a witch of some sort.”  Nancy lets out a little giggle followed by an apology.  “No, I’m serious. It’s got something to do with some incidents that happened a long time ago.”
“Do you believe she's a witch?” asks Nancy.
“I’m not sure.  Part of me says yes, the other part says, swamp bullshit.”
“What about your mother?  Did she believe?”
“Well, that’s the part of me that says yes.  My mother said something one day that struck me odd.  She was talking to a neighbor when I overheard her tell the story of why she was an only child.  She claims that Mawmee had castrated Pawpee and put his testicles in jar, placed on the window frame. 
“Oh, that’s gruesome.  Did you ever see them?”
“I can’t recall.  When Mom and I would visit, we never stayed at the house; we would stay someplace else, a hotel or someone’s house.  She always said ‘they didn’t have enough room for us’.  The only time I ever went into the house was to use the bathroom.  We never ate in the house; it was on porch or some local restaurant that was serving one of Mawmee dishes.”
“Why would she keep them?” asks Nancy.
“My guess, that’s how she ‘supposal’ cursed him, “Thad says, putting his two first fingers up, motioning like quotation marks.
“But why would she curse him?  Did she find him with another woman?  I know if I found you with another woman, that’s what I would do.”  Nancy laughs.
“Very funny. I do believe that’s why she did it.  Mom claims she caught him with a town whore and used tree limbs to kill her with.  Mom also claims that Mawmee taught her how to curse her man.”
“Why would your mother tell someone this?”
“Because the neighbor’s husband was leaving her for a younger woman and she wanted to get back at him.  Now, I don’t know if Mom told her this to scare her or help her?  You know, now that I think about it, Mom died just weeks after telling her this.  Strange.”
“You mentioned a couple of incidents; did Mawmee kill someone else?”
“Not to my knowledge. But Mom did say something about using animals.”
“Thad, you’re freaking me out.  Are you telling me that I married a man whose family was into black magic?”
“Well, I’m not into it and I don’t know how to curse you, but don’t double cross me or I’ll castrate you,” he says, grabbing Nancy by the back of her neck, leaning her toward him for a lovers kiss.  Nancy leans into the kiss, knowing this man really loves her, but not sure if she believes him, for his family’s foggy past lingers inside her heart.  Does Thad know any black magic?  He doesn’t know where his father is; did he become a victim of black magic? What does he really know about his family? These thoughts make her shutter, when Thad asks if she all right, she claims she’s cold.
What Thad knows about his family’s past and the incidents of the urban legends are just a fraction of what really happened.

Thad’s grandparents were young when they became new settlers in the swamp.  In fact, they built the same house they still live in.   The town was small; everyone knew everyone and could address you by your first name.  Most of the local income was from trapping or poaching -- at the time there was no law against it.  If it lives in the swamp, it has some value.  Alligators were the high ones for poaching; some sold their hide, others made clothing or food out of the rest.  Many of the town’s restaurants served crawfish and fresh water crab; some even sold gator wings—the alligator’s foot.  The money wasn’t the best, but you could make a living on it—providing you could handle the swamp—the bugs, gators, snakes, thick muck—for some reason, the muck can make your feet itch and burn.
Trapping and meals were the income for Thad’s grandparents.  Mawmee made food out of almost anything in the swamp--her best dish was turtle soup gumbo.  She always said the swamp was the best food supplier.  She had her way of preparing certain dishes and never told anyone her recipe, but the dishes where the best around; you could always find one of her dishes at the local restaurant. She never stayed at one restaurant. She wanted to share her dinners with everyone, so each week a different restaurant would make her an offer for the ‘Dish of the Week’ and she loved given’ everyone a chance to taste her homecookin’.  All the town folks seemed to love her cooking’, even Ole’ Jasper liked it, but wouldn’t admit it.
Jasper Koone was also a trapper/poacher, and he lived on the east side of the swamp; he hated everyone and everything, lived alone, and spent most of his money on boozing and whorin'.  Town whores were the only women that had the slightest interest in Ole’ Jasper; they saw him as easy money, despite his rudeness and nasty, smelly appearance. Since Jasper lived alone, there was no one to complain about his smell; he always smelled like mucky swamp water.  It was the type of smell that comes after a heavy rainfall and the worms come out of the ground and dry up on land. Sometimes the local tavern would make him use the shower in back. He would smell so bad if he didn’t take a shower that he couldn’t even drink there.  Some of the town whores would charge him double unless he showered, but one thing for sure, they would make sure he drank a lot before any sex action took place, because, sometimes he would fall asleep before the sex happened, and the whore would act like it was the best they had, just to keep him coming back for nothing’.
Jasper hated competition; when Thad’s grandparents moved in; he had made threats of raping Mawmee, robbing Pawpee’s traps, and even blowing up their house.  Jasper even almost set fire to their house, but there was no proof that’s what he intended to do.  Jasper stood ten feet away from the house, poured the alcohol on some grass, and lit it on fire. It only lasted a short time.   It seemed that Jasper drank most of the alcohol rather than using it to burn something.
Plus, he would spread rumors; he claimed since they didn’t have any children Pawpee didn’t like women, but men instead.  He also says he saw Pawpee one time in the swamp, alligator humpin.’ No one cared for Ole’ Jasper; to the town folks he was just a swamp bum, with a big mouth that is full of hot air. 
Pawpee returned one Friday night, after a good sale at the market, to the local tavern.  Pawpee liked to have a shot of whiskey to celebrate the money that came in that week and this peculiar week had been successful, but only to him.  Ole’ Jasper was there, drowning his sorrow for an unsuccessful week.  He kept to himself until he saw the wad of cash Pawpee pulled out of his pocket.
“Where did you get all that, ya old fool?”  Jasper asked.
“I had a very good week, Jasp.  How did you do?” asked Pawpee.
“My week was for shit, ya old gizzer,” Jasper said looking at Pawpee. Anger crept up in his eyes. “I would say that someone has been cleaning out my traps sometime during the night.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that.”
“Oh, are ya? Well, I bet it was you robbin’ me blind.” Jasper turned to face Pawpee.
“I trap in my area and don’t go toward yours.”
“Lynin’ fool!”  Jasper yelled as he leaped off his barstool, attacking Pawpee, shoving him down to the floor, trying to pound his fist into Pawpee’s head.  The others in the bar watched the show; it was not uncommon that a fight would break out.
They rolled around on the floor, swinging at each other, swearing, kneeing, trying to get the best of the other -- it lasted just a couple of minutes.  The bartender /owner broke it up and sent Ole’ Jasper home.  Once the dust settled, Pawpee went back to the bar for the drink that he didn’t finish. He downed it and ordered another.  When he reached into his pocket to pay for the drink, it was bare.  Nothing inside but air and some dirt; his wad of cash was gone.  There was no way to prove Jasper took the money, but Pawpee figured that was the whole reason for the fight, to rob him.  After he got home and told Mawmee what happenned, she cleaned up her man, put him to bed, saying the swamp will provide.
The next night Ole’ Jasper got himself washed up, put on nice clothes—the nicest he had—got in his boat and headed to the tavern.  As he rowed, he noticed a fiery light coming from an area inside the swamp.  Who would be cooking there?  He pulled ashore and snuck up.  There stood Mawmee, naked, dancing around a fire, chanting some words that he couldn’t make out, with snakes wrapped around her arms.  At the end of each word, she would bring one of the snakes up to her mouth and let its slithery tongue kiss her.  At the end of her dance, she uncoiled each snake, wrapped them together, and rubbed them between her legs, covering them with her menstrual blood. 
What the f---? What a weird bitch.  When it got to be too much, he headed back to his boat and got the hell out of there.  I need a drink. 
Locals in the tavern knew that just last night he had little money. Now a wad was in his pocket, but, sometimes it was best to mind your own business.  Jasper was drinking heavy when he started telling what he had witnessed in the swamp.  The bartender told him to stop his foolish stories or out ya go.  It wasn’t long before his mood changed from storytelling’ to sexual desires.
“Who wants to f--- a man with money?” he yelled, looking at some of the women in the place.  All turned their faces inward, looking at someone else; they didn’t want to give the wrong impression.
“I will.” a voice said. He turned and saw Mawmee standing at the door.  The tavern grew quiet; every eye was focused on the scenario playing in front of them.  It did seem kind of odd that after all the story telling, Jasper was saying’ that Mawmee showed up willing to make love with Ole’ Jasper.  Despite what Jasper had seen, it didn’t make any difference to him, sex was sex.
“Well, well, you decided to have a real man instead of snakes.”
“Yes,” she said walking up to him, touching his face, reaching for his hand and kissing the back of it.  “I’ll be at your place in an hour.”  She turned and left.
“Oh, you bet ya sweet ass she gonna get my snake.” Jasper laughed as he moved his hips back and forth.  “Oh, I’m gonna f--- that bitch so good and hard she’ll never go back to that old geezer.  Another drink!” He yelled.  He downed the drink, yelled for another, and left to outside where most of the men go to use the piss bush; it was easier to use the piss bushes than wait for the outhouse to become vacant. 
Jasper opened his pants, started peein', and then felt pain shoot up his leg.  He looked down; there at his foot was a snake staring up at him.  Jasper brushed his foot at it. It didn’t move; it just stared at him, and then bit him again, bringing Jasper down to its level. 
As Jasper fell, he noticed that the snake was covered with blood; it bit him three more times before wrapping itself around his leg.  As he tried to pry it off, another shot of pain came calling on his other leg.  Another blood covered snake wrapped around his other leg, biting him.  Jasper struggled and cried out, but before he could grab the other snake, one clapped down on his right hand, wrapping itself around his wrist, biting and swallowing his thumb, while another one was attacking his left hand and doing the same thing.  He banged them on the ground, trying to force off the snakes, but they held on, squeezed tighter, biting more, tearing flesh, drawing blood in a steady stream. What the hell is going on? Snakes don’t attack like this, especially not in packs.  The pain became more intense as Jasper grew tired; he fell onto his back. The snakes, biting, were tightening around his legs and hands.    
Something from the left caught his eye. Another snake emerged, bigger than the others, covered in blood; it slithered toward him, crawled under his neck, and wrapped itself around his head. Jasper’s scream became muffled. He tried to bite the snake, but its skin was hard and rough like biting through leather.  The snake tightened; Jasper’s eyes started to bulge out of their sockets. Blood escaped his ears; he couldn’t breathe, panic rose. His heart was beating rabidly, death coming soon.
  SNAP!
A couple hours later, one of the tavern’s drinkers found Jasper on the ground with his neck broken; the spinal column sticking out of his neck.  Little snakes were trying to swallow Japer’s fingers, while ripping the exposed tendons on his hands.  As he told everyone what he saw, one of the town folks went and fetched the sheriff. When he arrived, and he was overlooking the body, a low growl came from inside the piss bush.  The sheriff froze. Living in the swamp, you get to know certain sounds and this is one sound you don’t want to hear.
Oh, f---!  He started to back away from the body.  Within seconds, an alligator emerged from the bush, big, black, teeth showing around his massive jaws. It clamped its mighty jaws around Jasper’s head and pulled him into the darkness.
The town folks stood there in awe, not moving, not saying a word; just one thought. Maybe what Ole’ Jasper said about Mawmee is true?  Fear shot down some of the town folks’ spines, but in the end, the town folks brushed it off.  No one missed Ole’ Jasper anyway.

About a year after Jasper’s death, Pawpee stared to spend more and more time at the local tavern.  The money seemed to roll in and it was easier to get whiskey for a paying man.  Soon one shot of whiskey turned into three followed by four beers.  Before too long, Pawpee would come home drunk and looking for his woman.  Mawmee didn’t mind too much, as long the work got done and he was coming home to her.
With all the late night rendezvous, Mawmee became pregnant; they both were thrilled, but the excitement soon changed; Mawmee’s mood swings came on strong and Pawpee didn’t want anything to do with it, so he would stay at the bar longer than normal.  Sometimes he would sleep it off there or on the back porch of the house.  Being sick of it, one night Mawmee went to fetch her man.
When she arrived, the bartender told her Pawpee was upstairs sleeping off the whiskey.  She walked up to the room, opened the door, and found her man lying on the bed, pants pulled down, with Gladys -- the town whore -- straddling and pumping up and down on him.  Mawmee saw red, not the type of red that’s cheery, but the type of murder.  She screamed something fierce. It echoed and made your body shiver like a cold wind shooting up your leg.  Some say that when Mawmee screamed at the incredible sight. The whole tavern shook with the force of an earthquake.
Pawpee came falling down the stairs, trying to put his clothes on, with Mawmee chasing him and yelling “You are my man. And only my man!”  Slapping him in the face, his chest, and anywhere else those hands could land--all the way out the door.  Mawmee turned to face everyone inside the tavern, the devil in her eyes, face as red as a drop of blood.
“You all let him do this.  I should curse you all, but I won’t.  It was my man’s decision so I will deal with it myself.”  After they left, Gladys came downstairs and asked who was next?  Everyone laughed and went back to drinking\.
Later, when the bar closed up for the night, Gladys followed her usual tradition - closing up the bar in case someone was looking for a good time. She walked her trail back home.  She lived about a mile down the road, but taking the trail was quicker and since she wasn’t drunk, she wouldn’t worry about tripping and falling on some bush.
She was half-way home when a sound came loud. SNAP!  She stopped and turned around, looking to see if someone was following her.
“Is anyone there?  Someone want a good time?”  She asked while raising her dress, showing off her pantieless sex area.  It would not be a surprise to find someone following her; often there are men who were shy, who didn’t want anyone knowing they want some of her or men are just looking somewhere to stay, because they can’t go home drunk.  When no one answered her call, she shrugged off the noise, and continued to walk. SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
“Ok, that’s enough. You keep this up and I’ll be so pissed you won’t get any!  So come on out now.”
No response.
“I’m getting mad.  Get the f--- out her--” She was cut off by vines reaching out from the darkness, one on the left and one on the right, wrapping around her ankles, bringing her down to the ground, spreading her legs.  She shrieked; another set came, wrapped around her wrist, forcing her arms to the side, stretched out in a crufied state.  She struggled to break free, cried for help, but no one came to her rescue.
The vines pulled tighter, lifting her off the ground about six inches; more snapping sounds came from the black of night.  Tree branches covered with hanging moss rose to her sides. They started whacking. The twigs hit her, ripping her clothes along with flesh; they struck hard, fast, and furious.  The pain was strong; blood started to appear on the leaves as they continued to pound on her.  Gladys’s screams echoed through the swamp; stirring sleeping animals, sending them away in terror. Then the branches stopped.
Relieved, Gladys looked over herself, still hanging off the ground, vines holding her, but now, she was naked.  This can’t be happening!  I have to be dreaming this!  She looked at the cuts and scrapes. Some were deep, some were no more than scratches, but all drew blood.  Movement caught her eye. She saw something down the trail, a dark figure.  Someone’s coming, oh, thank God.  She asked for help, but with no response. It advanced. The closer it got, the more she could not make it out, but it was getting larger.  The figure started to tremble and shake vigorously as it stood in the moonlight. She could see limbs coming out of the figure. A crackly jittery sound it made, like when you break walnuts from their shell.  One limb struck out toward her.  She screamed with pain as the limb entered her sex area.  She screamed; the scream was high pitched until the limbs advanced, and then her screams became a deeper cry. Then it stopped. 
Gladys was able to let out a sigh of relief, with tears flowing from her eyes. She grew weak, but the violation had only begun.   Thorns emerged from the limb inside of her; the pain intensified as the limb began to move within her.  She could see a bulge under her skin of the moving limb reaching up her body toward her face.
“Oh God, it hurts” she yelled, her body thrashing, blood coming out of her mouth. She coughed and tried to get breath, only to be met by bulking tree limbs exiting the side of her neck.  The green leaves turned to a hanging hunk of flesh, with brown branches dyed red; the terror came to a rest, and her beating heart stopped.
The locals found her the next day. By the looks of her, in the middle of the path, some would say she fell on a tree. Others claimed the tree fell into her.  Branches came out of her hands, eyes, and mouth; her feet had roots, coming out, planting into the ground. The creepy thing was that she was standing tall, erect, looking like a human plant.
No one could explain what happened. The locals believed that Mawmee had something to do with it and they all suspected that she was a witch.  It wasn’t unheard of that some would practice black magic in the swamps, but no one had ever suspected Mawmee could do something like that.  The town folks started to talk; they thought it was more than a coincidence that something so unexplainable could happen to Ole’ Jasper and Gladys and both have had run-ins with Mawmee and Pawpee. 
Some of the town locals avoided her, while others became friends to her. They all feared her; and to keep on her good side; they never stopped eating her homemade dishes.
Over the years, vegetation grew around the trail. The flesh turned into bark and the tree remained there.  If you could find the location, you would have a hard time finding the tree. There were two ways to tell. One would be to find the tree with bark shaped like Gladys’s face; the other would be to cut deep into the tree; it will bleed dark red blood.

When Thad and Nancy arrived later at Pawpee’s house, he was sitting on the porch, facing the pier that branched off into the swamp.  Thad approached him while his wife went into the house to gather some things.
“Ready to go, Pawpee?”
“I can’t go. I belong here, with Mawmee, and she’ll come for me.”
“Oh, Pawpee, she is dead and all of the hearsay of her being a witch is bullshit. There’s nothing she can do. Come on let’s--” His sentence was cut short by a loud bang. 
He turned; Nancy had come out the door; her mouth open to say something when she was pulled into the porch pillar by a vine wrapping around her body, holding her tight against the pillar. 
“She’s here.” Pawpee said.  Thad turned back to Pawpee; he sat in the chair as vines wrapped around him too, securing him.
“What the?”  Thad said, looking confused. He made an attempt to rescue Pawpee, when he noticed that he couldn’t move.  Vines had crept up through the bottom of the porch and wrapped themselves around his feet.  He tried to unwrap them, but they pulled tighter, ripping his pants, drawing blood.  Thad ground his teeth in pain.  Holy shit, it hurts.  His thought was disturbed by splashing noises from the pier.  He looked at the murky water; large ripples approached the shore. Something is coming? Before he could answer the question on the movement, an alligator rose up, his eyes skimming across the surface of the water as it hit land and it headed toward the porch.  It was about ten feet away with long, black scales along its back, teeth sharp enough to tear flesh.  Once upon the porch, the gator growled at Thad and snapped its mighty jaws twice. Thad lost all control of his bodily functions. He started to tremble, and fear was gripping him in a state of shock.  Nancy tried to scream. A vine with moss on its end entered her mouth, gagging her.  The gator walked over to Pawpee, who had begun to recite the Lord’s Prayer.
“Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,” There was no sign of terror or horror in Pawpee eyes or voice as the gator clamped its mighty jaws down on his foot. Blood gushed out.  Pawpee didn’t scream or yell. He just continued the Lord’s Prayer.
“Give us today our daily bread; forgive us our debts.”
 The vine loosened as the gator pulled Pawpee off his chair. Once off the porch, the vines reattached themselves to Pawpee, holding him stiff, as the gator pulled him into the swampy water.
“But deliver us from the evil one.” Pawpee continued.
They entered the water; the gator started its death roll.  It turned and turned, water was splashing around, blood turning the mucky water red, Pawpee’s body went limp, and his arms were thrown to the sides. Then the gator shook him until there was no sign of life.  The gator let go of Pawpee and walked back to the shore where half of Pawpee’s body lay still. The gator let out a grunt, re-clamped its jaws on Pawpee’s head and dragged him into the water. Bubbles came to the surface from Pawpee’s last breath as the water ripples moved away from the shoreline. 
The vines went limp on Thad and Nancy; they ripped them off and ran into the house, staring out at the bayou, trying to catch their breaths.  After their anxiety calmed and the scent of danger was gone, they sat at the kitchen table, trying to recap what had happened.  Nancy was the first to speak.
“Are you alright, Thad?”
“Yes, I think so. But I truly believe Mawmee was a witch of some sort.”
“I would say so.” Nancy got up and walked over to the kitchen sink. “Come here, I wasn’t going to say anything, but here.”  She pointed to the jar on the window cell above the kitchen sink. 
Thad rose and looked.
“I think you know what those are?”  Nancy asked.
He looked at Nancy and nodded his head.
“Yes. Pawpee’s testicles”