Eerie events happening, which is why it's taken me so long to write a post. This steamy summer is shaping up to be a hot swirl of spookiness and danger.

I had been forced to go to church on this particular Sunday. The little wooden church building with its white-washed walls, is not air conditioned, just a couple of fans strategically placed. The preacher is a very round jowly bald man, with a pink sweaty face, who reminds me of a sunburned pig.

He has the most disturbing hands: they are dainty and soft, like a womans, and the nails are always manicured and shiny, and I swear he powders them. Anyway, he was spewing the usual mess of hell and sin and how we are living in the Last Days, and my hand was tired from waving the paper fan across my face; add to that a numb ass from the hard pew. I looked over at my mother, who still looked fresh and calm and pretty, barely even breaking a ladylike sweat (or "glow" as she calls sweat), and wished I could be as patient and good as she.

Finally, everyone rose for the last hymn, and with a quick murmur to my mother that I would see her at home, I was gone in a flash ( I was wise enough to drive in my own car!).

After shedding my church clothes for more natural shorts and tank, and a leisurely Sunday dinner of fried chicken, homemade biscuits, mashed potatoes and greens, followed by my mom's delicious peach cobbler, I set out for a walk around our property, with a joint tucked snugly into my pocket.

There are massive oak trees draped with Spanish moss, willow trees and pecan trees, and lovely Cypress trees near the bayou
There are still some old buildings and slave quarters left on the property; many of the buildings that used to house the mills and blacksmith quarters are gone, but this old plantation used to be its own citadel.

Supposedly, my great great great great great grandmother (not positive about the number of greats) learned some voodoo from many of the slaves when she was a girl, and she passed her stories and knowledge down to her daughter, and she passed it to hers, and so on and so on.

I walked about a mile from my home to an abandoned Cajun-style cabin that's been empty for as long as I can remember, and would be very pretty if someone would restore. I marveled at the outside stairs, and wide front porch, as I always do, and sat on the front porch. I was just about to light up, when I had a strong urge to go into the house.

It was oppressively hot; the walls had stored up the years of heat. I realized I had been in a daze, and as I stood there with sweat pouring out of me, soaking my clothes, it dawned on me that I had been led here. It happens to me sometimes: I will sort of "trance out", and it's as if some other part of me has taken over and in control.

Whenever this happens, it means I'm about to see some vision or premonition, but this time I knew I was coming upon something I didn't want to see, not "see" in my mind, but see with my eyes. But I was helpless to stop and run away; I had to look.

I saw evidence that people had been squatting here: dusty liquor bottles scattered about, a chewed-up smelly blanket crumpled up in the corner of the front room, and an lone stained sock.

I glided into the back room, which was probably the master bedroom once upon a time. The smell was cloying, a smell detected by my mind more so than my nose; it was a dead body. I stared, terrified and exilerated at the same time, sweat trickling from my stomach down to my legs, and my hair was plastered to my skull with moisture, like I had been swimming.

There was no way to tell if the mutilated body was a male or female, but I knew it was a woman, and that she had been murdered.

I wondered if I knelt down next to her and touched her, if perhaps I would get a sense of who she was. But better not to touch her; if my fingerprints were to show up, they would wonder what kind of person would want to touch a dead body.

I turned and ran out of the house, mostly because I was afraid I would melt into a pile of goop if I stayed inside that house any longer.

I dug my cell phone out of my pocket, and called the police. I thought about going to a pay phone and making an anonymous call, so I wouldn't have to answer questions. But, I wanted to know who the woman was, and why I had been led to her.

I told the operator I would be at my house waiting for them, and so I walked back to tell my family what was about to happen, because the house was so close to our property, they would hear and see the cops roll by our home. Plus, it's such a small town, everyone would know by nightfall that I had found a dead body in an abandoned Cajun house

I hid the joint in my room, and told my parents what had happened. There were a lot of questions and gasps and exclamations;I grabbed an ice-cold beer from my dad's cooler, sat on the porch and waited for all hell to break loose.

More later...