The pickup careened around the 3235 just south of Leeville Louisiana. Bill handed a flask over to the black man, who snatched it from his fingers.
“Gimme that, ehn? Befo’ you go an’ spill a perfectly good mouthful of my moonshine!”
“Best in the Bayou, Zeke,” giggled the 20-something Billy, “Hey Harry. Where we goin’?”
“Near Devil’s Island,”
“What?! Isn’t that ..?”
“Witch’s valley!” Zeke groaned.
“Are you effin’ crazy, Harry?” this from Billy’s brother Jack, “I’ve heard the stories from Ol’Man Lafleur; the place is evil,”
“I told Harry so, Jacky-boy!” from Zeke.
“What does that old croney know anyhow? He spins a good tale, but there’s no Witches there!” Harry assured.
“He was a cop, Harry. The leading investigator of the Lafayette murders. IT all ended in Witch’s Valley. They say the wind don’t blow!”
“Those that worked the case say they’ll only speak in whispers of her name?” Billy agreed with his brother.
“And what name is that?” Harry scoffed.
“Lady Evil,” Zeke spoke, a hint of doom in his timbered voice.