Page 28 of The Most Unusual Haunting of Edgar Lovejoy

Jamie

The tunnel narrowed, and Jamie was trapped in the dark.

They pushed at the heavy forms crushing them but found no way to free themself except turning back or moving through them.

The air was warm and close. The muffled sounds of screams and scratching came from all sides.

Jamie’s heart started to pound. Finally, after what felt like a Homeric journey, they pushed their way to freedom.

But as soon as they were free of the maze, the ceiling began to dip lower and lower.

CRAWL IF YOU WANT TO SURVIVE , the sign said in glowing drips and fingerprints.

Jamie dropped to their knees and crawled.

Something brushed their cheek, and they flinched away.

Spiderwebs. There was no light, no sense of which way was out.

With multiple people attempting to escape, it would be even more difficult to navigate.

They tried to climb over a body-shaped obstacle on the floor, but the ceiling was too low, the wood rough and dusty, and they ducked back down to find another route to freedom.

Finally, a faint glow emanated from ahead.

Jamie followed it, the scent of fog and sawdust thick in their nose.

The tunnel opened just enough that Jamie could stand, and then they were hurrying toward the exit.

They cleared the door in a rush of relief.

Just as the feeling swelled, a terrifying figure strafed them, trailing bandages, eyes glowing holes.

The smell of metal and rot lingered in their wake, and the second act of the haunted house commenced.

“Dude,” Jamie said to Dante, who stood in the doorway. “That’s really working.”

Dante, one of Jamie’s favorite coworkers, nodded and smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the darkness. “Cool. What’s left?”

“I think we could fill the sandbags a little more, especially at the top. We should get Maurice to go through and see where they hit him.”

At six four, Maurice was their gauge for whether the illusion was maintained for tall people.

Dante agreed.

“And I know it messes with the texture, but we’re gonna need to pad the ceiling in the crawl-through tunnel. If anyone freaks out and sits up, they’ll get brained.”

“Spray foam or sheet, do you think?”

“Spray would be faster and easier to do but harder to strike. Sheet would take longer to put in but come out easily. Your call when we do most of the work.”

“Spray,” Dante concluded immediately. Striking the haunted house was the worst part of their job, and Jamie would’ve made the same call. “Now about those spiderwebs…”

***

Edgar’s invitation had come as Jamie was driving home from work: I know this is maybe not fun, but I’m at my sister’s. Any interest in coming over and hanging out? Jamie was exhausted and smelled like haunted ass, but they hadn’t seen Edgar in a week, so they turned around at the next block.

Allie lived in the Irish Channel, not far from Magpie Vintage.

Jamie threw their truck into park and sniffed tentatively under their arms. Not good.

Outside, the day was turning to evening, but a few honeybees still feasted on the wisteria.

They hummed along lazily, pollen-drunk and dizzy.

Outside of Allie’s place, it smelled of jasmine, fry oil, and beer.

It was Poe who opened the door, Edgar fast on his heels.

“Hey,” Poe said, looking frazzled. “Welcome to hell.”

Edgar elbowed him, his eyes warm on Jamie’s. “Hi. Come in. Thanks for coming.”

Edgar shifted his weight from foot to foot like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss or hug Jamie in front of his brother. A pang of hurt clanged in Jamie’s gut at the rejection. They’d certainly dated people before who claimed to care for them, as long as no one was watching.

But when they looked into Edgar’s eyes, all they saw was longing. He wasn’t ashamed of Jamie—he just didn’t know how to behave, and he was looking to Jamie to show him.

Jamie fixed their eyes on Edgar and stepped forward, sliding a hand around his waist and the other on his shoulder. They kissed him gently on the lips.

Edgar leaned into the kiss and buried his fingers in Jamie’s hair. The feeling in Jamie’s stomach twisted from hurt to glee as they felt Edgar’s yearning. Jamie’s presence wasn’t a burden. He wanted them—needed them. And it felt really, really good.

“Sorry I smell so bad. I was crawling around in a bunch of—soft, cheerful, uh, dirt,” they concluded, not wanting to inadvertently plant any seeds of fear in Edgar’s fertile mind.

Edgar squeezed their shoulder in thanks and turned and walked into the living room, Jamie and Poe trailing after him.

Jamie leaned close to Poe. “So what’s this about hell?”

“I dunno, dude. If you like babies, it’s probably great. But I…do not.”

Allie sat on the couch with the baby in her arms. They wore a plain white onesie and had a shock of dark brown hair that stuck up like a fledgling crow’s feathers. Their brown eyes were round and heavy lidded, and they blinked up at Jamie, Poe, and Edgar with interest.

Jamie preferred older kids who could draw weird pictures of monsters and make hilariously inappropriate comments in polite company, but Allie’s baby was pretty darn cute.

Jamie began to ask Allie how she was doing when the baby puked on her stomach and all over the couch cushion. Niceties dispensed with, the adults sprang into action, then, once everything was clean again, flopped onto the couch together.

“Here’s the thing,” Allie said once she’d changed. “This baby is clearly a demon sent here to collect my soul. But I love them so much that I guess I’ll let them do it? Nice knowing you.”

“I know you’re kidding,” Jamie said. “But could demons exist?”

Allie shrugged and gestured to the baby, who was burbling adorably in her lap.

Jamie looked to Edgar.

“I don’t know,” he mused. “Since there are ghosts, there could just as well be demons.”

“Vampires?” Jamie asked hopefully.

“Who knows?” Allie said mildly. Disturbingly mildly.

An excited shiver went through Jamie. “If you ask some people, there are vampires, werewolves, witches, everything. That’s New Orleans for you.

But even if that’s true, I’ve never seen them.

At least not that I was aware of. I’m not sure how I’d know for sure. ”

“Vampires would be rad,” Poe said slowly.

Jamie imagined Allie’s baby as a mini vampire who’d suck her dry while breastfeeding and shivered, filing the image away for next year’s haunted house.

“What did your mom and her family think? Were there theories?”

Jamie had asked Edgar before, surprised that he didn’t have a more cohesive theory about what he saw, only to realize that answers were not something Edgar’s mother had ever offered.

She had been trying to survive, trying to raise her kids in a difficult situation, and she had spent her energy making sure they knew their experiences were real.

“What you have to understand about our family,” Allie said, “is that they aren’t the most trustworthy sources of information.”

“That’s an understatement,” Poe said wryly. “They’re all drunks, druggies, and crazies. Like our aunt Alaitheia. She hasn’t been anywhere except her bar or her apartment in ten years, and she hoards broken pottery in shoeboxes.”

“She does mosaic art,” Allie said. “It’s not like she collects it for no reason.”

“Mm-hmm,” Poe said dubiously and shot Jamie a look .

“Does she see ghosts too?” Jamie asked.

“Oh yeah,” Allie said. “She doesn’t hide it either. She’ll talk to them when people are around and everything.”

Jamie was confused. In all the conversations with Edgar about his experiences, he’d never mentioned an aunt who sounded like she could be a resource for him. But why?

“People think she’s faking it,” Poe said.

“She’s cultivated a certain reputation, sure,” Allie said. “But it’s better for people to think you’re eccentric than dangerous, isn’t it?”

“I would think that it would be pretty acceptable in New Orleans?” Jamie asked.

When Edgar stiffened beside them, they realized how that might sound to him.

“Shit, Edgar, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jamie said. They slid a hand to his thigh and squeezed.

“No, you’re right,” Poe said emphatically. “As we’ve tried to tell him forever.”

“You don’t speak for me,” Allie cautioned.

“What ‘forever’ is this?” Edgar asked sharply. “Because you haven’t been around to tell me anything in six years.”

“Yeah, well—”

“Poe!” Allie warned. “I’m begging you to shut up before you make a fool of yourself.”

Poe made a theatrical bow of assent and then flipped them both off.

“Um, so,” Jamie said, “where’s your aunt’s bar? Would I know it?”

The siblings exchanged speaking glances. After a moment, Allie answered.

“Le Corbeau, over in the Marigny.”

“Le Corbeau,” Jamie said, rolling the familiar name around on their tongue. “Wait, the old Rondeau place?”

Allie cut a glance over to Edgar, who was looking at Poe with a narrowed gaze. Finally, Edgar turned to Jamie and said, “The Rondeaus are our mother’s family, on her mother’s side.”

Jamie’s mouth fell open.

The Rondeaus were legendary for anyone who’d grown up in New Orleans.

Stories of their preternatural abilities were passed down from generation to generation by those who believed the family’s powers were genuine.

Others believed the Rondeaus had made up their abilities to strike fear into the hearts of those who might wrong them.

Still others claimed the Rondeaus’ power was real but only granted to them in exchange for horrible acts of fealty.

Things fell into place with a click in Jamie’s brain: Edgar was probably far more powerful—and far more tortured—than they had understood.

Even though they had believed Edgar about what he experienced, Edgar never really described his encounters unless Jamie specifically asked.

He’d say, It wasn’t a great week for ghosts or Pretty gnarly encounter earlier .

And Jamie, not wanting to make him relive the horrors, tried to offer comfort without fully comprehending what Edgar was going through.

Edgar hadn’t told Jamie he was a Rondeau because he hadn’t wanted Jamie to know. Because if Jamie knew, they’d understand how bad it was. And if they understood that…what? What was Edgar so afraid of? Did he think Jamie wasn’t strong enough to handle it? That they would leave?

He had to know Jamie would never think he was crazy. Learning that some of the things they’d been fascinated by since childhood were real had been a dose of magic directly into Jamie’s veins. Unless that was the problem? That Edgar worried Jamie would want him for his hauntings and not for himself?

Edgar’s hand found theirs, touch tentative. He was seeking comfort but didn’t want to presume. Did he really think Jamie’s feelings were so conditional? Jamie was trying not to be offended when Edgar pulled his hand away.

It’s not about you, dude. His father rejected him for this. It’s not a referendum on your character; it’s a fucking trauma response.

Jamie grabbed Edgar’s hand tightly and looked at him.

In Edgar’s eyes was the same fear and shame and longing they’d seen when Edgar wanted them to tell him what to do in bed.

The fear that the most personal, vulnerable parts of him might be rejected in the moment he trusted someone enough to reveal them.

They squeezed Edgar’s hand and let their eyes communicate: I got you . Edgar visibly relaxed.

“We don’t exactly advertise it,” Poe was saying. “Since people believe we sacrifice virgins and all that.”

Edgar said, “When we were kids, our mom would tell us stories about ghosts she saw. How this one was juggling and that one was walking a dog.”

“She was trying to prime us not to be afraid,” Allie offered. “She thought if we got used to knowing there was something there that we couldn’t see, then maybe we wouldn’t be so freaked out when we started to see them.”

“Did that work?” Jamie asked.

“No,” Edgar said, shivering, as Allie replied, “Kind of.” Poe just narrowed his eyes.

“I was twelve, my first time,” Allie said.

“Walking home from the river with a friend, I laughed at a parrot on a woman’s head.

My friend asked what was so funny, but when I pointed at her, my friend didn’t see anyone there.

And even though the ghost itself didn’t look scary, I would have been super freaked out to realize my friend couldn’t see her if I hadn’t been prepared for it. ”

“It wasn’t necessarily your first time, though,” Poe pointed out. “Just the first time you were aware what you were seeing wasn’t alive.”

“True,” Allie allowed.

“What about you, Poe?” Jamie asked.

“Uh. I think I was like nine or ten? I don’t really remember.

But it was near the aquarium, and there was this guy dressed in old-fashioned clothes, juggling.

He looked like he came from one of those Depression-era traveling carnivals, y’know?

At first, I thought he was entertainment for people going into the aquarium or something, but then he disappeared while I was watching. ”

Jamie turned to ask Edgar the same question, but before they could, Edgar turned to Allie and abruptly asked, “So have you picked a name yet?”

The conversation then devolved into more absurd suggestions—Idont, Dontyou, and Cantwee Lovejoy, among many awful others—and Jamie sank into the sweetness of being included in the intimate family gathering.

But even as they enjoyed cheesecake and sibling razzing, Jamie didn’t forget that Edgar had dodged their question. And Jamie wanted to know why.