I was convinced that Tom Bauer was cursed.  In the space of two months, his house burned to the ground, he was fired from his job as chief engineer for Tektronik Industries, he lost control on a curve and totaled his new Mercedes, and he was beaten and robbed in a parking lot.
From the first time I met Tom, several years ago, we struck up a solid friendship.  An odd couple we were: he was a successful professional man, a Georgia Tech graduate, and married to a beauty who had modeled for one of Miami’s largest  stores.  Neither Tom nor Mitzi were native Floridians; they hailed from Milwaukee.
I’m a Seminole, native to Florida.  I’m a high school grad, married to a beauty who served burgers at Wendy’s, and I make my living by performing for tourists in The Gator Glades, a tourist attraction near Miami.  Among other things, I milk rattlesnakes and wrestle alligators.
Tom was a practical man, and when I suggested he’d been cursed he laughed it off.  “Sammy Bearclaw, I never figured you for the superstitious type,” he said.  “I’m having a terrible run of luck, that’s all.  Things will work out, I’m sure.”
But Tom’s run of bad luck continued.  He lost a large sum on the stock market, and his savings were dwindling.  Nobody, not even smaller companies, wanted to hire him.  The insurance company balked at paying for his fire loss--they suspected him of arson. 

We were sitting in Havana Joe’s, our favorite watering hole, having a few drinks. 
“I hate to admit it, Sammy, but maybe there’s something to this curse business.”  He took a sip of his Guinness.  “And concerning that, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
I suspected something was on his mind.  I sipped on my Bud and waited for him to continue.
“A few months ago, in December, Mitzi and I attended a company pre-Christmas party at the Jamaica Tavern.  There was a performer there called Dan the Voodoo Man.  He was performing magic tricks, reading minds, and such.  The man did some kind of mumbo jumbo and put a hex on me.”
I’d lived around the Miami area all my life, but never heard of `Dan the Voodoo Man.’  Probably from somewhere in the Caribbean, I guessed.   “Just like that he put a hex on you?  Why the hell would he do that?”
“To make a long story short, I’d had a little too much to drink and was heckling him.  He got real upset when I called him Dan the Doodoo Man.  The crowd cheered him when he put the hex on me.”
“What exactly did he say?”  I asked.  “Can you remember?”
“Not exactly.  But he said something about ill luck following me until...”  He looked around, as if to see if anyone was listening.   He lowered his voice. “Until the one I love most is murdered in her bed.  That...that’s got to be Mitzi.  In light of all that’s happened, I can no longer laugh it off.  Sammy, I’m scared as hell.”
“Maybe we can find the Voodoo Man,” I ventured.  “If you apologize--and offer some money to soothe his feelings--maybe he’ll call off the hex.”
He shook his head.  “I thought of that.  I called the Jamaica Tavern and found that he’d already returned to Haiti.  But I have a plan to get Mitzi out of danger.  I’m going to tell her there’s another woman and I want a divorce.  She’ll be hurt, but she’ll leave and be out of my life.”
“It won’t work,” I said.  “If she left you, would you love her any less?  The Voodoo Man hexed you and `the one you love the most.’  Nothing would be changed.”
“I never thought of it that way.”  His fingers turned the glass nervously.  “But what the hell can I do?  Just wait for Mitzi to be murdered?”
“How does she feel about it?” I asked.  “Have you told her your feelings on this?”
“No,” he said, “I don’t want to upset her.  As far as she’s concerned, we’re having a phenomenal run of bad luck.  She’s forgotten about the incident at the Jamaica Tavern.  Anyway, If I told her, she’d probably think the stress was getting to me.  Maybe it is.”
“Maybe.  And maybe not.”  I signaled the waitress to bring another round.  “But I think you should take this Voodoo Man seriously.  Tom, I may know a way to find out if the hex is genuine.”
His face lit up.  “I’m ready to try anything.  Just knowing would mean a great deal to me.”
“I have a great uncle who is a shaman,” I told him.
He raised his eyebrows.  “A shaman?”
“Yes. In these times, Seminoles live pretty much the same as everybody else.  But there are still a few who cling to the old ways, and my uncle is one of them.  He lives in a chickee near Big Cypress Swamp, living as our ancestors did.  Many modern Seminoles--and even some whites--go to him with their problems.  I’ve seen him in a trance.  It’s scary.”
“Shamanism,” he said.  “Isn’t that just magical mumbo jumbo?”
“Yep.  Just like Dan the Voodoo Man.”
He threw up his hands. “I get the point.  Okay, I said I’d try anything and I meant it.  What do I have to do?”
“Nothing,” I answered.  “I’ll handle it.  I’ll take a day off from Gator Glades and go to my uncle.  Just give me something that belongs to you, like a tie clasp or something.  Also, a little cash as payment for his services.  In the meantime, I’d advise that you don’t leave Mitzi’s side at night.  And if you can, keep a gun handy.  Even if the Voodoo Man’s a phony, he might send an assassin to make his hex look real.”

My great uncle was glad to see me.  In earlier times, he would have brought out his home made wine, and we’d have gotten drunk together.  But he was old now, and much frailer than I remembered.
“Sammy my boy, it’s good to see you.  It’s been a long time.”  His teeth were all gone now, and I had to strain to understand him.   “How’s the snakes and gators?”  He laughed and made motions like he was wrestling. “What brings you to see your old uncle?”
I got right to the point.  “I’m here to ask your help for a friend of mine.”  I went on to explain Tom’s situation to him.
He was silent for a long time before answering.  “Voodoo,” he said.  “Pretty powerful stuff.  I don’t know if I can handle that...it’s risky.”
“Uncle, I don’t want you taking any risks, but thanks anyway for hearing me out.”  I rose.  “I’d better hurry back and try to find some way to help Tom deal with this thing.  Time may be running out.”
He glared at me.  “Sit down.  I only said it was risky.  I didn’t say I wouldn’t try.  Matter of fact, it’ll be a challenge.  Did you bring something of his?”
I handed him a tie clasp and an envelope containing five twenty dollar bills.  He closed his eyes and held the tie clasp for a moment.  “Good.  This’ll do the trick.  Sammy, I’ll need to go into a deep trance, and I must not be disturbed--no matter what.  Understand?”
I’d seen him in a trance before and knew what he meant.  I nodded.
At first he lay perfectly still, almost as if he were in a coma.  He began to tremble.  His eyes flew open and he looked around wildly.  He then went into convulsions, kicking, swinging his arms, and moaning.  After a few moments, he was still again.  His eyes came into focus, and he asked for water.  I got him a drink, and he sat up, still breathing hard.
“I met this Dan the Voodoo Man,” he said.  “Our spirits struggled in the ether.  I couldn’t hurt him, but he damn near did me in--I barely escaped with my life.  But I remembered to keep my identity shield up, so he didn’t know who I was and couldn’t follow me.”  He paused to catch his breath.
My uncle didn‘t have air conditioning--not even an electric fan, and the heat was stifling.  I wiped my brow with my already damp handkerchief.  “So you weren’t able to learn anything about Tom, then?”
“Oh, I was able to do that.  Your friend must have made Dan real mad--he put a bad one on him.  You’d better hurry back, Sammy, because the person who’s going to murder Tom’s wife is Tom himself.”
He handed me the tie clasp.  “I did a spell on this,” he said, “and made it into an amulet--it can chase off the hex.  You’d better be on your way, boy.”
“But what about you?  Will you be okay?”
He shook his finger at me.  “Don’t you worry about me.  I’ll be okay when I rest up.  But tonight may be the night that your friend kills his wife.  Now go.”
I looked at my watch.  It was already seven o’clock, and I was looking at a four hour drive--some of it over rutted roads through the swamp.  I’d never make it in time.
I tried calling Tom with my cell phone, but no one answered.  They had caller ID and didn’t answer any caller they couldn’t identify.  My cell phone didn’t register my ID on their system.
I jumped into my Suzuki Sidekick and set out as fast as I could over the rutted road.  When I finally reached the paved road, I stepped on the gas and hoped there were no State Troopers around.
If Tom killed Mitzi while under a spell, I didn’t think he could live with himself once he’d discovered what he’d done.  In my mind, I pictured finding both bodies lying together on the bed.  At that point I made up my mind:  If Tom and Mitzi were dead, I was going after the Voodoo Man.  I would find a way to make him pay--and I hoped he was picking up my thoughts.
                                                   
I had a little trouble remembering the location of the temporary place that Tom and Mitzi had moved into when their house burned down.  I finally found the street, and it was already past 11:00 PM when I pulled into the driveway.
I pounded on the door, but there was no response.  My adrenaline pumping, I put my two hundred pounds behind a hard kick.  The door splintered and flew open, and at the same time the lights came on. 
I found myself facing Tom.  His eyes were glazed, and he was holding a 9mm pistol.  He raised the weapon and aimed at my chest.  I held up the tie clasp, praying that it would have some effect on him.
He stared at the clasp, then at me.  His eyes cleared and he lowered the gun.  “Sammy!  What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’ll explain later,” I said.  “What about Mitzi?  Is she okay?”
“My God!  I was having a terrible dream about her.  I was standing over her, aiming the gun at her head.  But then I heard a pounding...damn, it wasn’t a dream, was it?”
Just then, Mitzi came into the foyer.  “What’s going on?  Sammy, what’s the matter, are you in trouble?”
“I was driving by and saw someone breaking into your house,” I said. “When he saw me pull into your driveway, he ran.”
Mitzi accepted that, and no more was said about it.

Tom’s luck took a turn for the better in only a few days.    He accepted a job offer paying better than the one he left.  The insurance company paid in full for a new house.  And Tom never lets that tie clasp out of his site.
                                                     
Tom is the new owner of Gator Glades.  He hired me to manage the attraction, but you’ll still sometimes find me milking rattlesnakes and wrestling alligators.  It’s what I do.

 




I spotted the  grave marker, barely showing through the leaves and pine straw that covered the ground.  At first I thought it was just a rock, but  clearing away the leaves revealed that it was definitely a headstone.  It was protruding about eight inches above the ground.
Jeff, my older brother, got down on his hands and knees, and the smell of  fresh earth filled the air as he began digging with his gloved hands in the soft dirt around the marker.     He dug until  the marking on the stone was visible.  He read aloud,  "James Carver,  1802-1870."  He stood up and gazed around.   "This has got to be a cemetery, and the foundation of that building we found nearby must be a church."
"Then Grandpa was right," I said.  " This is probably the cemetery for the old settlement he told us about."   Grandpa Sanderson had told us about an old settlement  in these woods called Jackson's Corner, and how it  had burned to the ground about a hundred years ago.
  He also told us a tale about buried treasure.  A local man was accused of robbing a bank in Willow Springs and burying the loot somewhere in Jackson's Corner before he was captured by the sheriff.   He had some of the money on him, but never told where the rest was hidden.  He died in prison.  This happened  sometime around 1900, just a few years before the town burned down.
"If this was a church and graveyard,"  said Jeff, "it was probably right on the edge of  Jackson's Corner.  We should find the settlement close  by."  He checked his watch.  "It's only 1:15, so we'll have plenty of time to look around and dig for artifacts before dark."
Jeff was to start college next year, and had his heart set on becoming an archeologist.  He was more interested in finding artifacts in the old settlement than in searching for buried treasure.
"You can look for artifacts," I said.  "I'll look for the treasure Grandpa told us about."
He laughed.  "Yeah.  In all this time nobody has ever found the treasure, but you're gonna find it.  You'll just be wasting your time, Matt.  You'd best help me look for artifacts like tools, bottles and stuff.   Probably be worth much more than the mythical treasure.  And besides, we only got a couple more months that we can come out here and poke around."
These woods would soon be sold to a logging company.  The land had belonged to our family for about fifty years, but Grandpa and Dad decided to sell.
We continued looking around and found ten more headstones.  As Jeff was digging around one of the grave markers, he suddenly jumped back and yelled.  "Run, Matt, run..  A hand is reaching up from that grave!"
I felt my blood turning cold and rushing from my face as I turned to run.  But suddenly Jeff started laughing.  I stopped, and my fear turned to anger.  He knew of my fear of the supernatural ever since I was a little kid, and now he was having fun at my expense.
"If you're gonna pull crap like that, I'm going back.  You can hunt your artifacts by yourself."
He was truly apologetic.  "Gee, Matt, I'm sorry.  Really I am.  I don't know what got into me to act like that.  I know that you've been fighting your fears, and you've been doing real good.  That was stupid of me, and I'm asking you to forget it happened, OK?"
It was true that I had been gradually overcoming my fear.  Just being in this cemetery was a big accomplishment for me.  I made Jeff promise not to pull anything else like that, and agreed to stay with him.
He smiled and patted me on the back, and we continued  our search.  "Most of those stones are dated from the early to the late 1800s," he said.   "The town burned down in 1900, so it must have been in existence around a hundred years before the fire.  We should find some interesting artifacts."
 Jeff suggested we search for Jackson's Corner by walking in a circle around the cemetery, and gradually widening the circle. 
As we walked in an ever widening circle, we came across another headstone some distance from the other stones.  Jeff kneeled down and cleared away the leaves and dirt.  "Holy Smoke!  Check this out, Matt.  This is crazy."
My first thought was that he was trying to pull another one on me.  But I kneeled for a better look at the inscription on the stone:  "Evil lies here.  Disturb not her grave."
I was bewildered.  "What on Earth..."
Jeff stood up.  "Look at the stone and the marking," he said.  "The stone is rough and natural looking.  It's not finished like the others.  Also, the lettering looks to be chiseled by an amateur." 
"But what could that mean?"
"It means this wasn't done by a professional like the rest of the gravestones.  I think we may have stumbled onto something big."
"How do you figure that?"  I was even more confused.
"Think about it.  The bank was robbed by a local man.  Before he was captured, he hid the money which was never found.  Matt, I'll bet we're looking at the spot where he hid the money."
I understood what he was thinking.  "Yeah.  He put this inscription on the stone to keep people away.  But he must have known that the townspeople would  be suspicious and wonder how the marker got there."
Jeff pondered on that a moment.  "It's my guess that when it was found,  the locals figured that since it was located away from the cemetery, it was there before the town was built.   The people of that period were very superstitious, and  there was probably  no one who would dare to disturb the spot."
"What do you think we should do?"  I asked.
He pulled an army surplus entrenching tool from his backpack.  "Get out your tool,"  he said.   "We're gonna start digging."
The lure of the treasure was great, but I was still leery about digging this close to a graveyard.  "But you're only guessing, and you can't know for sure.  And what about artifacts?  I thought you weren't interested in the treasure."
"Yeah, I could be wrong, but  it sure appears like we've stumbled on the treasure. Anyway, we'll never know unless we dig.  We can always look for artifacts later."
Jeff was a practical minded guy, and if he thought the treasure was here, then I wasn't going to argue, especially since I had kept insisting that we look for treasure.  I pulled the entrenching tool from my pack, and we started digging with the small shovels. It was a chilly, September day, but it didn't take me long to work up a sweat.
Our hole was directly in front of the stone.  It was about four feet across and six feet long, just big  enough to allow the two of us room to dig.     We dug down to a depth of about four feet when Jeff stopped.  "I think we may be digging in the wrong spot, or else the gravestone is just a hoax.   I don't think the robber would have buried his loot any deeper than this."
He crawled out of the hole and poured a hot cup of coffee from his thermos. "It'll be dark soon.  It's already after four, and we have an hour's hike through the woods to get home."
I agreed.  "Yeah, we  can come back tomorrow and try another spot."  I stuck my shovel in the soft soil and it hit something  that felt like wood. .  I was excited.  "Hey, I think I've hit the treasure box."
"Probably a root," he said.  "C'mon out and have a cup of hot coffee, and then we'll start for home before it starts getting dark   Tomorrow is Sunday, so we can come back and dig some more."
I  dug down a few more inches until I could see what my shovel had hit.  "Hey, this is not a root, it's a board."
Jeff  jumped back in the hole and we started digging.  In another twenty minutes, we uncovered most of the top of an elongated box.    The middle part of the box top was  exposed, with the ends still covered.
Jeff struck a blow to the top of the box with his shovel, punching a small hole in it.  "It's rotten," he said, as he began striking the hole to enlarge it.  As the hole got bigger, I could make out the contents.  It held bones.
I felt a chill and quickly scrambled out of the hole.  "That's a skeleton in there, Jeff.  Come on out and let's get out of here."
"There's nothing to be afraid of, Matt.  It's probably the bones a poor woman who was convicted of witchcraft and put to death"   He continued to punch the hole in the box.  "I see something shiny in there," he said.  He stuck his hand in the hole and came up with something.  "It's a cross."  He tossed it up to me.
I examined it.  It was a small cross and appeared to be made of silver.   "Must be something of the woman's that they buried with her," I said.  "But why would they think  a woman wearing a cross was a witch?"
Jeff looked up at me.  "C'mon back in here.  This is a great chance to fight your fears.  They say the best way to overcome a fear is to meet it head on.  There's nothing but bones here, and they can't hurt you."
I knew he was right, but I couldn't bring myself to jump back in.  "I gotta think about it, " I said.    "I think we ought to head for home now and come back tomorrow like you said."
Jeff leaned over for a closer look.   "Wait.  I see something else.  Looks like something stuck in her rib cage."  He reached in and pulled out an object.  "It's a sharpened stick, coated with pitch or something, probably to preserve it."  He tossed the stick up.
 As I looked at the stick and the silver cross,  a horrible thought came to me.  A stake in the heart, and a cross as added protection against evil meant that she was a vampire.  "Jeff, get out of there now.  Hurry.  That's the corpse of a vampire!"
"That explains it," he said, "They thought this poor woman was a vampire."  He punched another hole above the woman's head, then jumped back, a horrified look on his face.  From where I was standing, I could see what terrified him. 
It was like one of those dreams where you try to run from something horrible, but can't move.  I was frozen to the spot with terror as I saw the bones in the coffin begin to flesh out, showing a sallow skin.  Small fangs began to grow from her mouth.  A hand reached through the hole and grasped Jeff's hand.  He did not struggle, but kept his gaze on her face.
I finally found my tongue.  "Jeff!" I shouted.   Get out of there.  Let's go!"
He did not take his gaze from her eyes.  "No.  She needs my help.  I must stay here and help her.  She will need me until nightfall."
Jeff was under her spell.  I knew that I needed to go for help.  "I'm going, Jeff, but I'm not abandoning you.  I'll be back."
The  vampire moved her head.  Her gaze left Jeff and her eyes turned toward me.  As I looked into her eyes, I could feel a strong compulsion to stay here, and that I must not go for help.  With great effort, I managed to break eye contact, and turned and ran.
It was dusk already, and I had to hurry or I might be too late.  I found the trail leading home and started moving at a fast trot.  After about fifteen minutes, I was tiring and slowed to a walk. 
As I walked along, I realized that nobody was home but Grandpa.  Mom and Dad were in another town attending the funeral of Mom's aunt, and wouldn't  be back until tomorrow.  Grandpa had a bad back and would be of no help.  I could go to a neighbor, but who would believe me?  They would think I had lost my mind.
I could not--I would not--leave Jeff to such a terrible fate.  I became aware that I was still holding the sharp pointed stake in my hand, and the cross was in my pocket.  I had weapons to fight the vampire.  I made up my mind that I would return--whatever the consequences--and help Jeff. 
I turned around, and again moving at a trot, I headed back.  A half moon was now visible through the pines, lighting up the woods.  I shivered, for I had heard that moonrays helped to revive vampires.
I was almost out of breath when the grave site came in view.    Jeff and the vampire were standing only a few feet from the hole.   I positioned my self behind a tree and caught  my breath.  It seemed to me that my breathing was loud enough to be heard for miles.  My fear was taking hold again. 
I wanted to turn and run.   The stick and cross I held seemed  puny and ineffective weapons to face a vampire.  I started shaking and broke out in a sweat.   My knees were weak as water, and my heart was thumping wildly.
 She said something and Jeff lay down the ground.   She kneeled down beside him and her head moved toward his neck.  I knew that I could wait no longer.  I had to move now--that  or turn and run.  Summoning every ounce of courage in my body, I moved from behind the tree, and holding the cross before me I ran toward the vampire. 
She jumped up and held her hands up to shield her face.  With all my strength, I lunged forward attempting to drive the stake into her heart.  But she moved at the last second and the stake penetrated just below her right breast, missing her heart.  Blood spurted, but she snarled and grasped the stake.  She yanked it from her body and threw it to the ground. 
During the attack I had dropped the cross.  She came at me.  As I turned to run, I felt the  steel grip of her hand around my wrist.  She spun me around, and her mouth opened revealing her fangs as she came for me.
Suddenly she released me from her grip and screamed..  I looked to see Jeff standing behind her.  She fell forward, the stake protruding from her back.  This time it had pierced her heart.
Jeff and I embraced.  He explained that he had been dimly aware of what was happening, but was powerless to act until my attack  broke her spell.
Before leaving for home, we reburied her--with the stake and cross.   But just to be on the safe side, each night before going to bed I hang a cross and a clove of garlic at the entrance to my bedroom.