Otherside

Otherside

Previous publications

Xlibris October 1st 2011 as Shadowman

Damnation Books September 1st 2012 as Shadowman

3rd Edition entitled Otherside

Copyright 2011 by Aaron Dennis

Published by StoriesbyDennis.com September 2016

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Introduction

Shadowman was conceived early in 2011 as a consequence of my dealings with the teachings of Don Juan as introduced by Carlos Castaneda. Through practicing inner silence, the recapitulation, dreaming, and stalking, I came to see the world from a different perspective. This novella, newly titled Otherside, provides my interpretation of a new cognitive order, yet retains originality, by which I mean that I did not plagiarize Castaneda’s works; this is a fictional novella set in New Orleans, and our reluctant hero, Adja, practices a fictitious version of Voodoo rather than Mexican Sorcery.

Nevertheless, it is my pleasure to provide the audience with the possibility of a new cognitive order, one in which plants have awareness, men can change into animals, and dreams are as real as the waking world. Open your mind to these premises, and your perception regarding the finality of the world of objects around you might vanish. Enjoy your journey into the dark right alongside Adja and his fellow Shadowmen.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Prologue

Fear, despair, rage, lust; these are base feelings, emotions, which run through the essence of man. It is odd to say that no one has sat back and questioned the value of these emotions, but it is even more odd to ask why no one has done so. Certainly, it can be agreed upon that people have questioned the purpose of life, but to what extent?

Is there more to life than money? More than sex? Whoever pursues a life without such great pleasures? Most men, normal men, crave the deep darkness of the Id, the passion, heat, and flame of the most immediate gratifications, yet in the end, everyone leads the same life, suffers the same pitfalls, repeats the same thoughts and conversations over and over again, and all while considering themselves unique.

Now, let me tell you that a Shadowman is never concerned with such trivialities. A Shadowman sneaks between the world of light and dark; as such, he cannot possibly fret over the mundane, for while he traipses through the world of men, his eyes are perennially on the prowl for something more abstract, something ephemeral, something incomprehensibly inhuman. Now, I’m going to tell you the story of my life, but not my life as a man in the world of men; the story of my life as a Shadowman.

Chapter 1 – The Shadows

J, a childhood friend, and I were celebrating his new business deal. The real estate market wasn’t exactly booming at the time, but a little luck, and the right connections, graced J’s pockets quite nicely. In turn, he had invited me to spend a few nights in New Orleans.

Once the sun drops below the horizon, a man can find just about anything, he said to me with a crooked smile.

It wasn’t even five minutes later that we sat in our room, gawking at the hired women. They writhed in pleasure from the mere touch of my hands. Soon, the voluptuous, young ladies polished off our alcohol. Inevitably, I produced something else for them to polish, but J was displeased with the dwindling amount of liquor.

Seriously, dude, I don’t want to see that, J grumbled with a shake of his dark, bald head.

He fumbled at the nightstand for his wallet while I zipped up. Heh, sorry, I chuckled. Didn’t mean to put you to shame, bro.

Yeah, whatever, he slurred, obviously at the limit of his tolerance.

I walked over to get my wallet instead.

Just go get more booze, he added, holding back a laugh.

I licked my lips before taking it upon myself to gallivant away from the promise of sex in order to purchase more spirits. As it was, I had just taken a bump and was reeling from the white powder. A walk down the street might clear my head. Truthfully, muddled minds were always a thing of beauty for me back then.

I had no shirt on and was only wearing a pair of old, blue jeans. My cowboy boots made me stumble; the weight of fine leather and thick heels was uncomfortable. After a wink at my woman, I stuck my wallet in my pocket, secured my belt, and clunked out of the room. A look back revealed the dilapidated old apartment building then doubling as a hotel.

Party-hearty, I mumbled and tried to focus on my new task.

The boots I wore caused a degree of pain without socks, but it was too late to turn back. After all, I had managed to get myself down two flights of stairs. Blistered ankles were the least of my concerns, but damn did the leather chafe something fierce.

As I continued staggering down the street, I noticed the sounds were intoxicating, or rather I was intoxicated, and the street sounds became a melody of lewdness, lasciviousness, eroticism, and debauchery. I laughed to myself, smiling all the while at the street women who threw eyes my way.

They were flabby, but wore revealing clothing; teeth were missing, and their hair was a tangled mess. Just finished up with a few Johns? Ah what the Hell do I care? I ignored my inane, mental ramblings. My stilted pace through the glow of orange streetlamps required what little focus I maintained.

My face was numb. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. For a second, I thought back to those voluptuous breasts waiting, beckoning, up in my room, but I turned a corner and found myself in the alley next to the motel. Blue dumpsters sat along the red, brick walls. I stopped for some unknown reason. For the first time in my life, it seemed I had no thoughts; my mind was a total blank, and I felt my lips droop as I stood there.

Hazily, I peered down the long corridor. Through a drunken blur, I saw a lone man. He stood there motionless, this tall, bald, black man. I squinted, trying to collect my thoughts, but only a cold chill crept into my bones. Something was about to happen. I didn’t know what, or how I knew what I knew, whatever it was that I knew, but I was rooted to my spot.

The man turned slightly to the right. Though he faced me, I was unable to see his eyes. They were ensconced by shadow. Suddenly, my ears were assaulted by loud sounds. My eyes caught flashes of light. The man at the end of the alley twitched wildly and staggered back before falling to the ground. He had been shot repeatedly. My heart pounded in my throat as my legs gave way. I fell to my knees. I then covered my mouth in horror.

My eyes were wide with fright. I was very aware of my face, which had been numb moments ago. It was as though my sinuses had opened up; something between the ears became connected, and still I had no thoughts whatsoever in my head, not even a single word came to me.

I crouched next to a dumpster, looking at the man on the ground. He was definitely dead. Finally, my mental faculties returned. Oh shit, oh shit. A murder? My head was swimming from more than just dope. Painstaking moments crept by.

Whoever had done the shooting had no interest in sticking around. I hadn’t seen the guy, and he, or she, or them, or whatever, didn’t come looking for me. I wondered what to do. My first thoughts were to run back to the motel, or maybe wait a minute and make it to the store to call the authorities. My mind spun out of control. I didn’t want to deal with this; it wasn’t my concern, and I wanted it all to go away.

I suddenly shuddered upon the realization that my eyes were closed. Slowly, I opened them and looked at the figure on the ground. He turned his head to the right. Is he still alive? He was looking at me, moving his mouth like he was speaking. I wasn’t able to make out what he was saying; it was almost like whispering in my head.

A strange darkness wafted from him, thin and wispy, like gossamer. Then, my vision tunneled. My stomach churned knots. My throat tightened, and I panicked. I gave in to vertigo then blackness. I think I smelled acacia.

****

I heard screaming, and was pulled awake. It was me doing the screaming. Before I had time to ponder the oddity, bright lights assaulted my eyes. My head pounded, my brain struggled to grasp the current situation; I didn’t know where the Hell I was or what was going on. The sudden speed and power with which I sat up brought sharp pains along my torso. The pain shocked me more than anything yet, so I looked down.

A glimpse revealed cloth bandages wrapped around my chest. There were several bloody spots. My eyes darted about the room, catching sight of small bags and sacks hanging from rafters. The sun was beaming through open windows. I was covered in sweat, and the cream colored plush sheets I was lying on were soaked in both blood and sweat...or urine. I heard footsteps on hardwood floors. The door creaked open then a foul-looking, old, Creole woman walked in.

‘Bout time you be wakin’. The Shadowman done come for you. Ain’t no time to be restin’. Lay back down, Adja. I clean them bandages now, she spoke with a thick, Creole accent.

With a grimace on my face, I stared, wide-eyed and confused. Her long, uneven, gray hair had twine, bones, sticks, and cloth woven into it. Her clothes were patchwork; pieces of sullied, red gowns, maybe a potato sack. She wore homemade sandals and smelled of rosemary. I noticed her teeth were all clean and accounted for.

Where am I? What happened to me? I gasped.

She took a small, bronze bowl from a table in the room. A brown liquid sloshed lightly inside. Slowly, she dipped a white, flannel cloth into it. When she sat next to me and reached to unwrap my bandages, I wanted to knock her off the bed and run, but insurmountable pain trumped fear at the moment.

Easy now, Adja. Them holes in you got to heal first. You safe here, understand? Some strange mojo go into you, into your heart.

Still in disbelief, I looked at my chest. As the bandages came off, I saw some holes in me like I had been shot, and the previous night came rushing back. The gunman must have found me and shot me, too, or so I assumed.

Shit, woman! Shouldn’t I be in a hospital, I asked with a crack in my voice.

She got the bandages all off then dabbed me with the flannel cloth. It felt like cold fire. The wounds itched then tingled and finally went numb. I looked at her with an arched eyebrow. Her arms were bare; the skin loose and dark, but the muscles beneath were powerful. Her grip, as she maneuvered my body, was like a steel vice. Her fingers were gnarled and bony, her hands, calloused.

Compared to her, I was just a man-child. It crossed my mind that, had I been of sound health to leave, I still might not have possessed the strength to do so. This woman was in charge. I felt it deep within my soul.

"This not the work of bullets. You don’t need a hospital, man. What you need is Hoodoo. I fix you up. Then, I tell you what you be doin’. Lay back, now. You here what I say then you make the choice. No one else can do this for you. Alright then.

Voodoo is the all-encompassing force of life. It extends from the natural, to the super natural, to the spiritual. You find it in the trees, in the ground, the water. Is in your blood now, she said, ominously.

She cleansed and redressed my wounds. Then, she left me sitting there, utterly bewildered. Before I gathered my thoughts, she returned with a ceramic cup. The scent of some sort of herbal tea wafted over me.

Drink, she ordered.

Before I even brought the bowl to my mouth, my body had relaxed. The pain and stiffness melted away. I sniffed the tea. It smelled familiar. Slowly, I sipped away.

So, what happened to me, um. I don’t know your name, Ma’am, I mumbled.

She looked deep into my eyes with such power, or ferocity, or some quality, which forced me to look away. Confused by own submission, I glanced down at the tea. I drank more. Something about it was overwhelmingly familiar.

"When the Africans were transported to the New World, they brought