Since childhood, Kenny Lawson has had visions of his Great-Aunt Delilah Ashford, who disappeared in 1955. When the malevolent Gretchen Greeley arrives from 1955 hunting her, Kenny hopes Delilah is still alive. He also fears that Gretchen has discovered time travel. She was responsible for Delilah’s disappearance and her family has lynched a man.
To find Delilah, Kenny must time travel to 1955 Charleston. But how? A photograph as a portal and Hoodoo as his conveyance.
To stop Gretchen, and survive the Jim Crow south, he will need his wits, his family, and his family’s Hoodoo tradition.
Kenny’s actions will determine his ancestors’ fates, therefore, his own.
Since childhood, Kenny Lawson has had visions of his Great-Aunt Delilah Ashford, who disappeared in 1955. When the malevolent Gretchen Greeley arrives from 1955 hunting her, Kenny hopes Delilah is still alive. He also fears that Gretchen has discovered time travel. She was responsible for Delilah’s disappearance and her family has lynched a man.
To find Delilah, Kenny must time travel to 1955 Charleston. But how? A photograph as a portal and Hoodoo as his conveyance.
To stop Gretchen, and survive the Jim Crow south, he will need his wits, his family, and his family’s Hoodoo tradition.
Kenny’s actions will determine his ancestors’ fates, therefore, his own.
CHAPTER 1
A beautiful wide-eyed, dark-skinned, eight-year-old girl in a white dress with an indigo sash and hair bow sat alone at a counter with a fancy glass bowl of strawberry ice cream. She spooned a big scoop of the ice cream and held it up to her smiling face, which beamed and showed her deep dimples. As she looked at the spoonful, a bite-sized portion vanished and reappeared in her mouth. She closed her eyes and savored it, moving it around before swallowing. She giggled as she scooped another spoonful from the bowl, anticipating its magical transference to her mouth.
When she held the last portion, she stopped smiling.
The ice cream on her spoon had morphed from a beautiful light pink treat with chunks of fruit to a deep brown blob with hairy green spots. Disgusted, she left the bowl and spoon and went around the counter to get more ice cream. She saw that the strawberry ice cream container was mostly full, so she lifted the door and leaned over to fill another bowl. As she scooped the ice cream, she joyously hummed her favorite nursery rhyme. When she finished, she stood up and held her bowl up to get a good look at it. As she beheld her delicacy, she saw a shadow out of the corner of her eye.
When she turned to look, she saw another girl sitting in her seat. She had thought she was alone, so her arms and body twitched when she saw her. She was further surprised to see that the other girl also had a bowl of strawberry ice cream. She looked at her own ice cream, and it again
transformed into a foul composition. Searching for any explanation, she returned her gaze toward the stranger in her seat. She wanted to ask the intruder a question but couldn’t manage to.
The girl was the same height as her and had the same smooth dark- brown skin. Both had long black hair, wore white dresses with indigo sashes and hair bows, and had deep brown eyes. They held similar bowls of putrid ice cream. They resembled twins, but the seated girl spooned the repulsive blob into her mouth. After she swallowed, her eyelids fused and vanished. Her brows disappeared, her nostrils and lips sealed themselves closed, rendering her face a smooth blank slate. Without moving her head, she turned her body and walked directly to the door.
The girl behind the counter stood in disbelief and put her ice cream in the sink.
“Who are you? What’s wrong with your face?” she asked.
The lookalike ignored her and opened the door. After the door closed, the girl behind the counter ran around the display to the door. When she yanked the door open, her double was nowhere in sight. No matter how far to the left and right she looked, there was nobody around. There was, however, a trail of hairy green spots leading down the road. Following the trail, she ran as fast as she could until it led to an opening in a nearby forest. The forest was a good place for the other girl to hide. It was also a good place for scary animals to hide, so she stopped to consider entering. It wasn’t until she heard the echo of footsteps on twigs and eaves that she resumed the chase. As she went deeper into the trees, the forest darkened. She stopped again to listen for sounds of movement. A faint cracking sound led her further into the dense tree
cover.
Light from an opening amongst the trees made her hasten her pace. When she arrived, she stood still and gasped. She saw a large black wolf with menacing eyes and raised fur on its back. It glared at her and growled. She slowly stepped backwards. The wolf stood over the lookalike’s body as if protecting its kill. She decided her only option was to run. After a quick pivot, she dashed through the trees toward the road.
“Not today . . . not today. I ain’t home yet,” she repeated between heavy breaths.
Turning around never occurred to her. If she turned, she might lose the advantage of her head start and her last vision would be of a menacing beast approaching and violently capturing her. She decided the ice cream shop should be the last image in her mind even if the wolf caught her from behind. Her only other advantage would be if the wolf needed to protect its kill instead of wanting a bigger feast.
The girl’s legs burned as she exited the deepest forest, but when she heard rustling behind her, she pumped her arms and legs faster. The beast wanted her after all. She heard the rhythmic sound of front and back paws treading on the soil, and she tried to move even faster. Some of her steps were unsteady on the uneven dirt and tree roots beneath her feet. She almost lost her balance a few times but recovered quickly.
The wolf’s growl grew louder. It was gaining on her.
She was worried the wolf would overtake her. She was on the animal’s turf, and its paws were accustomed to the undulating earth. She knew four-legged animals ran faster than humans.
Where is that road? How long will it take me to get there? she wondered.
The road was a smooth straight path; she could be more surefooted and swifter there. When the wolf barked, she felt her heart skip. Where is that road? she thought more desperately.
In another moment, she reached the road and turned toward the ice cream shop. As she had suspected, her feet gripped the road better than the forest soil. She moved faster and more confidently. Her lips turned upward in a slight smile. It was too early to celebrate, but she felt she had a better chance of keeping her lead. Then she heard the clicking of claws behind her. She told herself that the road made the claws sound louder than the dirt had. That was the only way she could avoid falling into despair. If it was a lie, it was a necessary one. Another growl from her pursuer made her lips turn downward.
As her arms and legs burned and her chest felt as if it would burst, the shop came into view. Sweat poured down her face and soaked her clothes.
If I can see it, I can make it, she told herself and soldiered on.
A strange and hollow guttural noise from the animal echoed through
her body like a passing train. Only a few more seconds to the shop . . .
To her surprise, she reached the ice cream shop safely and ran through the door she had left open. She shut the door quickly and leaned her back against it to assure it stayed closed. Her head throbbed and her legs shook while she struggled to catch her breath.
Suddenly, she heard scratching from the other side of the door. Then
a loud, angry howl shook the door. She kept her body against the door as a barricade. When another howl pierced the air, she covered her ears with her hands.
“No, no, no!” the girl screamed. When the beast howled again, she screamed again.
If she could drown out the animal’s noise, she might calm down enough to prepare an escape plan. How could she get away with this monster waiting outside? How long would the wolf wait for her? How long could she wait for it to grow bored and return to the other girl’s body?
She sat on the floor with her back to the door and repeated, “No . . . no...no...Ijustwanttogohome.Ijustwanttogohome!”
After repeating the phrase four times, she noticed silence outside. She waited for a few moments, then removed her hands from her ears. She only heard the chirping of nearby birds and leaves rustling in the wind. She got up from the floor and walked tentatively to the front windows. She peered out from one edge of the window frame and saw no wolf. Now she felt more confident and leaned toward the center of the window, and her pursuer was still not visible. The pleasant sunny day beckoned her outside to frolic among the field of flowers across the road. But she didn’t know where the wolf was, so she walked to a booth and sat.
A tall glass bowl of strawberry ice cream rested in the center of the table. A spoon lay on a napkin next to it. The girl reached out to touch the bowl, but her sweaty hand shook uncontrollably. Her whole body shook. She was drenched with sweat, and her throat was dry from
panting. The ice cream would certainly soothe her overheated body, her parched throat, and her terror-stricken soul, but her ordeal had started with a bowl of her favorite dessert. Maybe another lookalike would visit her again if she partook in the treat. She took the napkin from the table and wiped her brow and neck.
She turned to look out of the window again. Was the wolf watching from a hiding place nearby? Was the ice cream part of its trap and the other girl a lure to get her out into the forest?
Who was that other girl? Why did she look like me? What happened to her face? she wondered.
There were no answers. Her happy sanctuary had become gloomy, and it was time to leave. She sat long enough for her breathing to slow and her body to stop shaking. When she felt stable enough, she stood and walked to the counter where she had been sitting to eat her ice cream. She stared into the mirror behind the counter.
“I want to go home!” she tearfully said out loud. She turned to one side and walked along the counter to a side door. She opened it and exited, closing the door behind her.
Kenny abruptly woke from his dream and involuntarily yelled, “No, don’t go there!” He sat up and tried to make sense of what he had just seen. In his dream, he felt she had looked into the mirror as if through a window and stared directly at him. The angel who had brought him joyful images and restful sleep was now possibly prophesying death. Kenny had counted on her pleasant forays into nature to counter his visions of suffering. Now she was presenting him with a nightmare and death. None of his premonitions had shown him literal death or a
predator close to doing bodily harm. The assaults he had seen were always from within the victim’s body.
Once again, Kenny tried to correlate this horrific scene with something that had happened the day before. But nothing came close to terrifying him as this dream had. Even a patient’s delusion about child slavery didn’t appear to be linked to this dream. Although the thought of such bondage sickened Kenny, it was familiar history and didn’t frighten him.
What also bothered Kenny was that he knew the girl wouldn’t find her way home exiting from the side door. He was confused as to why he knew it, but this was one of several conundrums swirling inside his mind at 5:30 a.m. He also could not understand why the girl had stared at him, but it bothered and scared him. In his lifetime of dreams, she had never before looked at him. Kenny had always observed the girl and lived vicariously through her travels. This time, her stare bore into his soul like he was a voyeur who had been caught.
The girl’s glance also felt like a finger pointing at him through millions of miles of space and time as if accusing him—he had witnessed the killing of the girl in the woods and was beholden to act on it. Her facing him communicated that he could not be a bystander anymore. As he had with his premonition dreams, he needed to discover what that action would be.
The happy visitations with the girl were over. They had been permanently tainted by their dark turn.
The only thing Kenny knew was that his nightmares turned out to be broadcasts of someone’s suffering. That usually meant a family member
was imperiled, but he didn’t recognize the girl as being in his family. He had never seen anyone who resembled her or any children in his family. Was the second little girl a relative he had not yet met? And what was the malady? A face that morphed to nothing could mean disfigurement as in a fire. Loss of eyes and mouth could mean someone becoming a blind and mute. A stroke? But the girl was too young for a stroke.
The first thing Kenny had to do was identify who was at risk. Figuring out who was at risk on the basis of this dream would be Kenny’s greatest challenge yet. His past visions had shown him pain and suffering that represented medical conditions lurking inside a relative’s body waiting to steal life. On the basis of on this understanding, he had acted to save scores of people from morbid conditions and mortality.
Kenny had first saved a family member when his premonitions began at age ten. Sleeping in Philadelphia, he had seen his uncle Allan devastated by unrelenting abdominal pain. Because the dreams persisted, he compelled his mother to call her brother-in-law in California. The man was still alive thirty years after Kenny’s warning had led him to visit his doctor whose testing detected pancreatic cancer—frequently a death sentence when found. He went on to save scores of other relatives across the country because of similar dreams.
After his premonition about his uncle Allan proved true, Kenny became obsessed with the well-being of family members near and far. With every call or visit, he inquired about everyone’s health. This ongoing concern won him the moniker of “Papi,” a beloved term of endearment. Kenny embraced the term and wore his responsibility like regalia.
Decades of experience with dreams, training in psychiatry, and years of psychotherapy had not prepared Kenny for this night’s dream. The dread he felt with this dream was worse than with any other, and it told him someone might be about to die immediately. He worriedly got out of bed and paced the room to think.
Who is it now? he wondered.
Kenny’s first thoughts were of his immediate family. Because he had dreamt of this girl for so long, he considered that she must represent the females he had known the longest in his life: his mother, aunt, or grandmother. If the dream didn’t denote a female, it could represent the male he had known the longest in his life: Brandon, his only brother and lifelong bully. Their father died when Kenny was in his mother’s womb. If the dreams of this little girl were representations of his mother or brother, this might be a chance to convince them how valid his dreams were. If this dream was wrong, however, it would open him up to even more ridicule.
While Kenny’s grandmother and aunt Lovey had encouraged him to welcome his power as a seer, his mother had referred to his dream “gift” as nonsense that was being fed into his mind by lunatic relatives. She never accepted he was clairvoyant or in tune with the paranormal. She chastised Kenny for trying to delve deeper into the occult and Hoodoo, a religious practice rooted in African spirituality and adapted by slaves in the Americas. Mama had warned her mother and sister to not teach him this practice. She whipped him with a belt out on the front porch the one time he brought a gris-gris home after a visit with Nana. Soon thereafter, she marched him to a trash truck to put the item into the compactor and
made him watch it disappear with the city’s filth.
“Mama, you came from South Carolina, but he was born in Philadelphia. That voodoo stuff is old and backward. My son is not gonna walk around killing chickens, waving cats over his head, and chasing spirits around old houses. He’s gonna be a doctor one day!” she used to say.
Mama frequently misused the word “voodoo” in place of Hoodoo. This was as much out of carelessness as ignorance of the difference between the two. Kenny’s brother Brandon didn’t believe Kenny was a seer, either. At one point, Brandon changed his little brother’s nickname to “Ralphie” after the local dog the cancer society trained to sniff out cancer in patients. Whenever he heard Mama object to the concept of “being a seer,” Brandon would just call him Ralphie and laugh so hard Kenny’s soul would shrink and search for a place to hide.
Kenny felt choked by anxiety because he wanted to check on his mother and brother first. He needed someone to strengthen his resolve so he could make the calls, but it was too early to call his therapist. Even though Dr. Bosley had told him to call him anytime, a 5:30 a.m. call was too much of an intrusion. The only person he could entrust his concerns with was his grandmother, Nana. Nana had soothed the fear his first premonition caused and counseled him through subsequent ones. While he had thought he was having bad dreams, Nana told him he was picking up on someone reaching out through ephemeral transmissions.
Nana had explained that messages were sent out for interpretation, but some were less clearly received than others, distorted by distance and white noise. As a result, the source and the message were hard to
In a nutshell, Michael Kennedy’s novel is much as described. Since age ten, the main character, psychiatrist Kenny Lawson, plagued by dreams of a little girl is pulled into a family mystery. The girl turns out to be his great aunt, Delilah Ashford, who disappeared in Charleston, South Carolina in 1955. Philadelphia bred Lawson who lives in 2019 is not prepared to deal with the social dangers and psychic threats behind what happened.
Gretchen Greeley is a villain from a white supremacist past that threatens Lawson’s great aunt and family. She hunts through time for Delilah, which touches off a struggle. To stop her evil spirit Lawson deeply dives into Hoodoo, African spiritualist religious practices still relevant in the South Carolina Gullah culture.
Now, readers who accept those few details without a deeper read into this powerful novel are like people who with a cork sniff claim to sample fine wine - they miss the flavor. Kennedy's writings are reminiscent of Octavia Butler's best time travel adventure and Gabriel Garcia Marquez's magical realism; fast paced, smoothly plotted, tightly researched with vivid scenes:
In another moment, she reached the road and turned toward the ice cream shop. As she had suspected, her feet gripped
the road better than the forest soil. She moved faster and more confidently. Her lips turned upward in a slight smile. It was too early to celebrate, but she felt she had a better chance of keeping her lead. Then she heard the clicking of claws behind her. She told herself that the road made the claws sound louder than the dirt had. That was the only way she could avoid falling into despair.
Characters swirl through the plot with almost new revelations in each chapter. The only element that might trip up some readers is the Black dialect:
The wrinkled seventy-five-year-old man’s gums glistened in the firelight as he smiled and received the bottle. “I take dis heah haint from you, Delilah. I gon’ make sho’ she don’t go nowhere, and she gon’ make me laugh fuhebbuh. She gon’ make my chillun laugh and dey chillun laugh, too.
Kennedy use matches individuals and deepens the scenes, but some readers might find efforts to translate the words dulls the experience. Nonetheless, get to know this writer and the story. Lawson's saga is not likely at an end.