Spellbound: a Tale of Magic, Mystery & Murder

Be forewarned before reading further. This is a cursed manuscript and the reader runs the risk of becoming cursed. Proceed at your own risk, if you dare, for you may become

SPELLBOUND!

Because this tale is based on real events, this manuscript was cursed to keep the tale of real magic, real mystery, and real murder from being told. This is a fictionalized account based on one family’s incredible experience and the magical practices in Hispaniola and the United States. This is a tale of Santeria and Voodoo, and a book of great magical power, which if mishandled, could harm the user and spellbind the unwary. Such books are the Grand Grimoires of the Dominican Republic and their magic is contained by burying the book when not in use.

I first heard this story about 30 years ago, in a New York, inner-city high school. Thinking to make my Dominican, immigrant students feel welcome here in Nuevo York, I asked them to take turns telling Dominican folk tales. One young man agreed, instead, to tell his family’s story - and an incredible tale it was!

He told of Santeria, Voodoo, a demon, and a book of magical secrets that was so powerful, it had to be kept buried when not in use. He said his mother had married outside the Santeria community and, to please her new husband, became a practicing Catholic. She soon gave birth to a son, the boy who was now my student. His maternal grandmother was a powerful Santera and, when she died, and the time came to pass on the book and its power, the boy’s mother had no wish to disrupt her new life.

And so, the book stayed in the ground.

The young woman’s brother desired the book and its power, but he couldn’t take such a thing by force. His sister must first agree to the transfer and, even then, he could only retain the power until she chose to reclaim it. Her brother badgered her everyday, in every way, until he had the book. When he opened it, he found magic both bright and dark.

His sister was good; he was evil.

He distorted the power for criminal purposes, murder, and human sacrifice - and there were those said he could take the form of a black horse or a dog. When I decided to turn this story into a novel, I was told, This is such a common occurrence in Dominica, why would anyone even bother writing it down?

My writing prompted the boy’s mother to belatedly claim her inheritance. She telephoned her brother, the villain of the piece, at his home in the Dominican Republic and asked him to return the book.

Her brother was getting on in years and thinking of retiring - or so he pretended. He knew he couldn’t keep the power if its rightful owner chose to claim it, so he did the only thing he could. The brother agreed to return the book, but remained true to character.

He said he would sell it to her.

And then he cursed the manuscript.

Because of the curse, it would take ten years to complete this book and another twenty before it could be published. During this time, I learned of Santeria’s mysterious history.

The practice of Santeria and Voodoo in the United States has been, up until recently, one of the best-kept secrets. By now our age of innocence has passed and the time when such exotica were only encountered in fiction ended years ago. Until then, most of us had never heard of Santeria, and those involved would feign ignorance if an outsider broached the subject. Since then, an influx of immigrants from different cultures and subcultures has increasingly exposed us to these colorful religions.

It is most distressing to Americans when we begin to encounter such practices on our own turf. We trip over smashed eggs and animal remains on the way to our cars. We hear on the evening news that cemetery skulls have been stolen for ritual purposes. We read instructions in a local library book that Santeria practitioners may obtain ingredients for animal sacrifice by looking in the yellow pages under Pet Stores.

When our government learned that animal sacrifice was very much a part of African-based religions, special task forces and new laws were developed to deal with the growing practice in this country. These laws vary from state to state and, in Florida, animal sacrifice became legalized, providing the animal wasn’t someone’s pet and was subsequently eaten for dinner.

The book referred to in this novel should not be confused with the Christian Bible, often called The Book. On the contrary, the book referred to herein is the kind kept by Santeria practitioners. Individually written, they contain great magical power, which, if mishandled, may destroy the user and spellbind the unwary.

This is the story surrounding only one of the many Grand Grimoires of the Dominican Republic.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

BE FOREWARNED

CHAPTER 1 - THE POWER

CHAPTER 2 - THE SHARING

CHAPTER 3 - THE OPPORTUNITY

CHAPTER 4 - THE PROPHECY

CHAPTER 5 - THE RESPONSIBILITY

CHAPTER 6 - THE FUNERAL

CHAPTER 7 - THE INHERITANCE

CHAPTER 8 - THE JOURNEY

CHAPTER 9 - THE PREPARATION

CHAPTER 10 - THE SACRIFICE

CHAPTER 11 - THE ACCOMPLICE

CHAPTER 12 - THE PARTY

CHAPTER 13 - THE GIRL

CHAPTER 14 - THE THEFT

CHAPTER 15 - THE BLONDE

CHAPTER 16 - THE DECISION

CHAPTER 17 - THE WOMAN

CHAPTER 18 - THE INVESTIGATION

CHAPTER 19 - THE PLAN

CHAPTER 20 - THE VICTIMS

CHAPTER 21 - THE CURSE

CHAPTER 22 - THE VISIT

CHAPTER 23 - THE TAKEOVER

CHAPTER 24 - THE POLICE

CHAPTER 25 - THE BREAKING

CHAPTER 26 - THE MARKET

CHAPTER 27 - THE LOUNGE

CHAPTER 28 - THE DRESS

CHAPTER 29 - THE SPRITES

CHAPTER 30 - THE WEDDING

CHAPTER 31 - THE CEMETERY

CHAPTER 32 - THE TOURISTS

CHAPTER 33 - THE TOILET

CHAPTER 34 - THE STORY

CHAPTER 35 - THE DREAM

CHAPTER 36 - THE BOY

CHAPTER 37 - THE WRAITH

CHAPTER 38 - THE CHOICE

CHAPTER 39 - THE CHARM

CHAPTER 40 - THE ARREST

CHAPTER 41 - THE BURNING

CHAPTER 42 - THE CLEANSING

CHAPTER 43 - THE PATRIACH

CHAPTER 44 - THE JOINING

CHAPTER 45 - THE CONFRONTATION

CHAPTER 46 - THE LEAVING

CHAPTER 47 - THE STALKING

CHAPTER 48 - THE RESURRECTION

THIS MANUSCRIPT IS STILL CURSED

BIBLIOGRAHY

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

SPELLBOUND:

A TALE OF MAGIC, MYSTERY

& MURDER

CHAPTER 1 - THE POWER

In the village of Cristo, in the Dominican Republic, 1970.

It was a very special book. Everyone agreed on that.

Even though its owner was dead, even when the book had been closed and stored away, magic that powerful had a tendency to seep out into the world. The family soon learned there was only one way to protect the living when the book wasn’t in use.

They had to bury it. And so they did.

It was foolish of them to think that such a thing could stay buried for long. The book was Maria’s birthright. She knew where it was hidden. She wanted to dig it up.

The book belongs to me, she said turning toward her husband in the narrow bed. It contains the secrets of Santeria and many powerful spells. I must claim it.

No, Maria, her husband pleaded. You must not do this! Owning the book changes people. The one who possesses the book must engage in dangerous practices. And what will become of our son? This book will destroy our family!

Maria’s fixation with this cursed book was poisoning their marriage and he had no defense against it. He reached out to stroke her dark curls. When she didn’t respond, he reluctantly withdrew his hand. For a long time neither spoke and they lay there, motionless, as moonlight streamed through the small, curtainless window, bathing their brown, naked bodies and the bedclothes in silver light.

Blessed Mother, protect my family. Do not let this happen, Jose prayed. As he lay there, staring at the strange, silvery landscape now covering their once-familiar bedroom, his memory drifted back to when he and Maria first met.

It had been less than two years since he’d stumbled upon her in the woods, with all those candles burning. And there was Maria, so young, so beautiful, with her colored necklaces, setting forth food and herbal offerings to her ancient gods. He knew then that they would marry, but first he had to save her from the old ways.

You must become a Christian, he’d said. It is the only way.

Maria had, of course, countered with her best argument. As the daughter of a high priestess, she was special. She had been initiated as a small child and had a destiny to fulfill. Certain things were expected of her. But he kept after her and, finally, Maria had accompanied Jose to speak to a missionary. A frustratingly long time passed before she agreed to be baptized, but as Jose soon learned, it was not to be that easy.

Maria’s mother, a generously proportioned woman, who wore gold earrings and had piercing eyes, soon found out about them. From the beginning, Julia was fiercely set against their union and, at last, the tormented, young lovers did the only thing they could.

They ran away.

Jose soon realized there wasn’t any place for them to hide, for the eyes of Julia’s gods were everywhere. Julia saw his hiding places in seashells, in water, and in dreams. When she thought the time was right, she came for him.

Jose had been willing to gamble anything to be with Maria, but, deep in his heart, he had always known they would be found. Even so, when he came home one evening and found Julia, so splendid and powerful, he caught his breath. He couldn’t speak.

She turned and looked at him with eyes that bore into his soul. It would do no good to lie. Julia would know, so the conceited young man decided to charm her.

Welcome to our home, mother-of-my-wife, he said and smiled. He held out his arms to her and would have kissed her cheek, but Julia stood still, as unresponsive as a carven image. Then her eyes flashed and her nostrils flared. She raised her arm and pointed directly at him. Jose cringed. He could feel forces gathering around him and he held his hands in front of him in a vain attempt to ward off her power. A strangled cry burst from his throat.

We love each other!

Julia paused. Gaining confidence, Jose dared to peek at her through his fingers.

I love her and she loves me, he insisted. We are meant to be together.

Julia lowered her arm. Jose grew bolder and lowered his hands. They stood facing each other. Julia glanced about the tiny hovel and a strange smile played on her lips. The poverty didn’t disturb her. She, too, had come from a humble environment.

At that moment Maria came through the door carrying a jug of water. One glance at the visitor stopped the girl in her tracks. The sun shone through the window behind Julia, momentarily blinding the girl, making Julia appear as a heavenly being.

Maria gasped in astonishment and dropped the jug. Water splashed across the floor and, to Maria’s surprise, the golden goddess dipped to the floor and recovered the vessel. Not realizing until that moment how much she’d missed her mother, Maria threw herself at the woman. They kissed and embraced until the jug fell again and emptied onto her bare feet.

Maria was crying and, of course, this made Julia cry. While they were distracted, Jose seized the moment. Moving quickly, he took the old, rickety, straight-backed chair, their only chair, and placed it behind Julia. He put his hand on her shoulder, tenderly, disarmingly, and eased his mother-in-law into the seat. Although she didn’t acknowledge his presence, Julia accepted the chair.

Maria sank down in a heap beside Julia, her arms wrapped around her mother’s knees, her wet face pressed against Julia’s skirt. Julia glared up at Jose until her hostility drove him from the room. He reluctantly withdrew to the tiny, outside area, where food could be prepared without inadvertently burning down the living quarters. Glancing nervously back at Julia, he set to the task of slicing melon. With shaking hands he laid the crescent shapes on the best plate he could find, arranging the slices to hide the crack in the plate’s center.

The women, meanwhile, had stopped crying and confronted each other. Maria, still seated on the floor, looked up at her mother with a tear-streaked face. Her right hand nervously clutched her mother’s skirt. I love him, Mommi, Maria said. We must be together.

Jose, hurrying back with refreshments, caught sight of Maria. He stopped, transfixed, gazing at his wife's beautiful, upturned face, which shone with love for him. Julia spun angrily about but, as she saw their faces, she softened, her original purpose drained away. Jose recovered first.

Beautiful lady, he crooned, crossing over to Julia, It is such a hot day. Perhaps you would like some fresh, cool juice of mango. To his delight, Julia accepted the perspiring jelly glass. She raised it to her lips and sipped. Jose held his breath.

Julia smiled. Maria smiled. Jose grew bold, leaning over to place the cantaloupe arrangement on the table beside her. Mother-of-my-wife, we also have melon. With exquisite majesty, Julia raised one hand, allowed it to hover above the plate and, to his dismay, descended to choose the center slice. Julia stared down at the cracked plate and then up at Jose. Although she laughed, he realized her mood might shift without warning. He understood she would now accept him, but she would also change him.

Jose sighed. He knew he had little choice in the matter. You will be our guest for dinner. He leaned over to kiss her cheek. Julia permitted the kiss. This made Jose bolder still and he deliberately tickled her with his mustache until she squealed.

We eat within the hour, he announced. Maria began to stammer, But I have not yet . . .

Jose cut her off. He drew himself up with purpose. I will take care of everything. He took his battered, straw hat and backed out the door. Maria watched him disappear in open-mouthed amazement.

When is the last time he prepared the evening meal? Julia asked in amusement. Maria made no reply. I thought as much! snorted her mother. We have much to speak of, my daughter, and you will listen.

CHAPTER 2 - THE SHARING

Jose, meanwhile, trotted swiftly up the road to Las Naranjas, the quaint, little hotel belonging to Jacob Tannenbaum, named for its tiny, potted, sour-orange trees. Up the broad, freshly painted, white-wooden front steps and across the porch he hurried. Into the empty lobby with its colorful pots of orange trees and ever-spinning, overhead fans he went and stopped before the polished, wooden desk where Jacob’s wife was sorting mail.

Jose waited politely for the woman to acknowledge his presence and, for a few moments, he watched her work. She was old and frail, like Jacob, and her name was Goldie because, as Jacob was so fond of recalling, her now gray hair had once been the color of gold. And, like Jacob, Goldie had numbers on her arm.

Jose had always wondered about those numbers, but the opportunity to inquire never seemed to present itself and placating Julia would take all his time today. So, once again, he pushed the numbers from his mind and concentrated on the problem at hand.

When several seconds passed and Goldie still hadn’t looked up, Jose cleared his throat politely, or so he hoped. Goldie jumped in surprise. Forgive me for startling you, Goldie. I would speak to Jacob. Goldie recognized him and smiled a greeting. She lifted the phone. Jacob, come, she said. Your friend, Jose, waits at the front desk.

The office door behind the desk swung open and Jacob peered out. Wisps of gray hair stuck out in different directions giving him an elfin appearance. Gold-rimmed glasses perched on his generous nose set off a kindly face. His rumpled, white, summer suit hung on his frail frame making Jacob appear even smaller than the last time Jose had visited the hotel.

Jacob tottered around the desk and into the lobby, arms outstretched to embrace his visitor. Jose, my friend, so good to see you. Come, come, my boy, out to the terrace. Calling back over his shoulder, he instructed Goldie to send refreshments to their table.

They passed through the double doors into the garden near the river. Jacob motioned Jose to take a seat at a small table under the branches of a large oak tree.

Life is good! Jacob exclaimed, smiling. Jose nodded in agreement and, almost immediately, they began to speak of their families. Jacob was delighted to hear that Jose’s new bride was happy and the marriage went well. He was even more delighted to hear the dreaded mother-in-law had finally made her appearance and her name was Julia.

Julia is my friend, Jacob confided much to Jose’s surprise. We met years ago. I was bathing in the ocean, walking off the beach into the water. Water as smooth as a polished glass. Jacob smiled at the memory. A young girl came up to me. You understand, a real looker. Jacob winked at Jose. She smiled. ‘What does she want from me?’ I asked myself. Then she spoke.

Jose had been hanging on every word. What did she say, he begged.

She said that no one here, who knows better, ever strolls straight out into the ocean. It was unthinkable to her that I should ask the ocean goddess to take me for her own.

A young, dark waiter in a short, orange jacket with brass buttons interrupted Jacob’s story by placing two glasses of beer and a platter of appetizers on the table. Jacob waited discreetly until the waiter departed before resuming his tale.

So, I tell this poor, superstitious, native girl, who was also a real looker, you understand, that I was born a Jew, I am a Jew all my life, and I will die a Jew. I tell her I do not believe in her ocean goddess.

What did she say to that? Jose asked.

Jacob chuckled. Before she could say anything, a big wave comes up. Rears right out of this smooth, quiet sea and slams me. It knocks me on my back. The air is out of me. Water is in my mouth. I think I will drown. And then all the water runs off. Just me and the girl. I look up and she is laughing at me! Jacob paused to sip his beer. Goldie sees us. She comes running down to the water. Goldie gives the girl a mean look, like this. Jacob screwed up his face.

So, she thought Julia wanted you, Jose laughed.

At first, yes, Jacob agreed, but Goldie could not stay mad at Julia for long. He absently picked at a pineapple chunk. So the girl says she will teach us how to enter the water and not to show her goddess disrespect.

Jose took up a piece of cheese and popped it into his mouth. How are you supposed to enter? he asked.

Jacob stood up and stepped away from the table. Like this, he told Jose. Watch! Behind me is sand. He waved his arm. Before me is the ocean. He turned sideways and entered the area designated as the ocean. So, from then on I have always entered the water crabwise. And, he concluded triumphantly, have never again been knocked flat!

But there is no ocean goddess! Jose exclaimed.

Jacob smiled. Are you so sure, my boy? He picked up a barbecued chicken wing and took a bite.

Arturo, the missionary, teaches us that . . . Jose began, but Jacob interrupted.

"All my life, in Europe, no matter what country we lived in, or hid in, I practiced Judaism. Understand, my boy? I did not believe in other gods. I did not believe in Julia’s orishas. I did not believe in your Jesus."

Jose twisted nervously. But . . ., he began.

Jacob shook his head. Try to understand, Jose. Here, in your Dominican Republic, things are different. I am still a Jew, he said bringing his fist down on the table. That will never change, but there is something else here.

Jacob’s eyes met Jose’s and his voice dropped to a whisper. Some kind of magical power, right here, from before time. He brought his face close to Jose’s. You must learn to respect it. You must! Or it will destroy you.

No! Jose jumped up, shouting. I will not listen! Jesus teaches us . . .

Jacob raised his hand in a placating gesture.

Sit, sit, my boy, he said. I know all about your new god on the block.

Jose fell back in frustration. He gulped down the rest of his beer.

Jacob pushed up his sleeve. Do you see this? He pointed to the tattoo on his arm.

Jose leaned closer and stared at the curious numbers. Yes, what does it mean?

Jacob fell silent. When he began again, his voice was heavy with emotion. It is from the time Goldie and I were in the camp.

Jose was confused. You and your wife got tattooed on vacation? he asked.

Jacob stared at Jose in surprise, then smiled. He shook his head. No, Jose, it was a prison camp. We were tattooed for identification. Like cattle. We were sent to the camp to die. Jacob paused to recover his composure. He took a sip of beer. Have you ever noticed the photograph in the lobby, Jose? The one in the frame? It’s behind the desk.

Jose nodded, remembering the old photo of the gringos. They had funny haircuts and wore strange clothes, but they all looked like Jacob, so Jose thought it must be a photo of the Tannenbaum family from long ago.

My family! said Jacob proudly. Then his voice broke. They’re all gone now. Goldie and I, and our daughter are the only ones left. We came here, Jacob said indicating the hotel with his hand, to begin a new life, just like you and Maria. Other camp survivors came as well. This country has been kind to us. The people here leave us in peace.

Jacob’s words stirred memories in Jose, memories he’d tried to erase until now. Jose began to absently trace the wet, ring patterns made by his beer glass. For a time neither man spoke, then Jose broke the silence.

During the fighting here, during the revolution, my brother fought against the government, Jose began. He stared down at the wet patterns as he spoke. One day the soldiers came to our home. They looked for my brother. My mother said he had gone away, but they forced their way inside. They went to the bedroom and lifted the bed. My brother was under it. Jose paused. Tears danced behind his eyes. Jacob put his wrinkled hand on Jose’s arm to lend him courage. In a barely audible voice, Jose continued.

They dragged him out to the living room. They were going to shoot him. My brother saw these soldiers were very young. Not old enough to know why they were fighting. He told them they did not know him. He asked why they wanted to kill him. Do you know what they answered? Jacob shook his head.

The soldiers said it was because they had been paid to kill him. They said they had been hungry and without work. The man from the army found them. He gave them food and a place to live. He gave them fancy uniforms and guns. In exchange, they were supposed to shoot people. So they shot my brother. A fly circled the platter of appetizers and came to rest on a chicken wing. Neither man noticed. Jose clenched his hands on the beer glass.

Then they looked at us, he said. At my mother. And my father. And my baby sister and brother. They would have shot us, too, but we ran. We pushed past them and got into the yard. Planes were overhead, shooting down at us, and we tried to run in different directions across the yard. It was all open, no bushes or trees. My mother was screaming and the bullets were all around us. Jose shot a glance at Jacob. The old man sat with his head bowed, listening, waiting for Jose to continue.

My family ran into the city, but there was no place to hide. There were soldiers everywhere. Many people were killed. Then we thought to climb down into the sewer. We ran along inside until we reached the other end of town. A few weeks later, the fighting stopped and it was safe to come out again. Jose turned to Jacob and smiled. We were not the only ones to think of the sewers, Jose said. Many people escaped that way. So, next time you go to the city, look at the sewers. The government put on big cement caps so no one can ever escape that way again!"

Jacob smiled wryly. We have each had our share of trouble. Jose nodded wisely.

So, Jacob sighed, you will understand when I tell you about my daughter. Eva was six, with long, golden hair. The image of her mother. Jacob smiled at the memory. She came home from school and went to play next door. She had a little friend, you see. Goldie was about to put our supper on the table. I was going to the door to call Eva, when the door burst open in my face.

Jacob’s eyes filled with tears. The soldiers shoved their way into the room, in their black uniforms and boots. They turned the table over. All of Goldie’s good cooking! And our wedding china broken. Crystal smashed. All over the carpet. We were dragged to the center of town. Trucks were waiting for us. We were to be taken to the camp. Jacob turned and Jose saw the agony on his friend’s face. Jacob continued.

And all the time I was glad. Glad because Eva was safe! At a classmate's house. The soldiers did not know where she was. But little Eva heard the commotion. She came running to the square. The soldiers had just finished putting the men and women into separate trucks when my Eva showed up.

Jose nibbled nervously on a chicken wing while waiting for Jacob to continue.

"Eva was so bold. She would have climbed right into the trucks after us. So, I motioned to Goldie and we both crouched down. We hid our faces so our child could not find us. The trucks began to move out. Eva was crying out to us, but she could not see us. Then the classmate’s mother ran over and grabbed Eva. This woman picked our daughter up and took her away. I stood up so my neighbor could see me. She hugged Eva to let me know my daughter would be protected.

But later, when we were in the camps, I heard people were starving in the cities. Then I worried that my neighbor would allow Eva to wither so she could save her own daughter.

It is a terrible thing to break a family, Jose murmured. And always being hungry is terrible, too. How long before you saw Eva again?

"Not until the end of the war. Goldie and I survived the camp. As soon as