The Song of Sweet Jezebel
Ethan Tamlin-Marsyla
Based on the song “Sweet Jezebel” By Mean Mary
I was driving down a dark road in Louisiana in the dead of night. I was probably going 60 or 70 on this 40mph road. At the time, my mind wasn’t on driving, but on yet another failed dream, and another unfaithful lover. Suddenly a deer took the light of my one working headlight. I jerked the wheel to the left and slammed on the brakes, and missed the deer, but ran into a wall of oak trees on the side of the road. I shook my head out of a daze and looked up into my shattered windshield and saw a fire starting to blossom in the engine through the split hood. In a panic I pulled myself out of the shattered window and scraped my knees on the broken glass and tumbled into the tall wet grass. I looked around the forest and saw a light of a house in the distance. I looked down at my ripped muddy jeans and back at my ruined car, and turned and ran as fast as I could towards the house that I hoped would be my savior as a warm summer rain began to fall on the forest around me.
As I got closer to the house, I began to see just how old and neglected the house was. I slowed my run and looked around and found no other houses nearby. As I walked closer to the house I smelled the scent of smoke that came from the tall old chimney of the house. The house was no more than two stories high, all the windows were dark from smoke stains and only the ground floor was lit. I walked up the porch stairs to the door and stared at the antique door knocker. The rain began to fall harder and the wind began to blow fiercely as I reached up to the old knocker. Suddenly the old door opened with a creak as it was opened by a woman from the other side. She looked at me with what I can only describe as dark pleasure, but I could not tell in the dim light of the doorway. She smiled wide and asked, “Are you just goin’ to stand there? Or are you goin’ to ask to come in?”
I quickly recovered my speech and explained, “I crashed my car just down the road and I don’t have any way to call for help. Do you have a phone I can use?”
She looked at me up and down slowly before smiling again. “Come on in, I got one in the kitchen,” she said and led me into the house.
As I entered the house, I felt an unnatural chill wash over me and I began to shiver uncontrollably. She led me into the kitchen which was lit by a single oil lantern. The kitchen looked old fashioned, in the sense of a kitchen from the 1920’s, it had a large gas stove and an even larger freezer box, stuff I had only seen in museums. The phone she handed me was old too, an old rotary phone that was plugged in to the wall. It’s weight was so great that I had to take it with both hands while she handled it with only one. I called a tow truck company from a phone book that she had which was surprisingly recent despite the aged appearance of everything else. When I had finished my call I turned to thank the woman and found her standing with a blanket held out to me. “Thanks,” I said as I took the blanket. On closer look at the blanket, I saw it was made of what looked like raccoon fur. I wrapped myself in the blanket and followed her into what looked like the living room.
The living room was not as old, but not modern either. It was lit only by the fire from the large fireplace, and all the furniture I saw was two recliner chairs covered in fur and a relatively large end table between the two. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” the woman said as she set a plate of devil's food cake and a glass of water on the end table. I got my first good look at her since I met her then. The flames from the fire glinted off of two dark eyes as black as coal, and as cold as a shark’s despite the warmness her ageless face radiated. She walked over and sat down in her own respective chair and I followed suit. The way she looked in that chair, her legs crossed and her leaning onto the left arm towards me reminded me uneasily of a lioness in her lair, where her prey had nowhere left to run. I looked away towards the fire and said, "Thanks for your hospitality, and I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble.”
“Oh, not trouble at all, ya see, I rarely have any visitors,” she replied with a purr.
“It’s just that, I feel a little uneasy about being in a stranger’s house,” I said uneasily.
“Oh, I can fix that,” she said as she lifted up a red guitar from the other side of her chair. “Would you like to hear me play?” she asked quite sweetly.
“Um, sure,” I replied.
She strummed the silver strings of the beautiful guitar and sang in English, “This is my story, my life, and my glory. Oh this is my sweet Jezebel.” She then began to sing in a language I could not understand, possibly Latin. Although I could not understand the words, the meaning of them and the feel of the music I could understand perfectly. She sang of how she had come to possess the guitar and of every minute that followed. She sang of the murder and lies, of the deceit and disguise she and others had gone through to possess this magical instrument, made by the Devil himself. She sang of how the very soul of the user bonds itself with her. I felt as if each note and chord she played called me to her.
As she sang, I watched her fingers glide effortlessly up and down the neck of Jezebel and her hand seemingly stroke the silver strings suspended above the sound hole. The ebony neck of the guitar was inlaid with pearl and jade beads and she had an ebony trim around the edge of the scarlet wooden body. At her head, there were seven tuning knobs, three silver ones each side as on any traditional guitar, but with one gold one in the middle. For the first time I noticed the single gold string that the woman never even touched in the midst of the six silver ones.
I know not how long I listened to her play, but as the morning sunrise pierced the smokey window, I realized the power of the song I had listened to, the power of the music. I looked out the window and felt as if it came from another world, one not of my own.
I looked back to the woman as I heard her song cease. As she looked at me, I saw her look uncertain for the first time. That uncertainty turned to fear as I stood up, shedding the warmed fur blanket back on to the chair behind me. She stood up quickly and started towards me as if to stop me from leaving. Her dark eyes widened in surprise as I crossed towards her and ripped Jezebel from her grasp. She screamed and tried to pull her back out of my hands, she was strong, but I was stronger. I shoved her back and she fell into the large fireplace. I watched as the large hungry flames reached out to embrace her, and watched as she screamed as her soul burned away from her body and into the deepest part of Hell. I watched as the smokey blackness left her eyes as she looked at me pleadingly as she screamed the unholiest of screams I had ever heard. It didn’t matter to me. None of it mattered. Not know that I had her. My sweet Jezebel.
I stared lovingly down at the enchanting instrument. She had claimed yet another soul, another life taken in a quest to claim her. I knew that one day she would claim my soul and I would have to face my sins, but none of it mattered. Sweet Jezebel was mine. I stroked her ebony, gem embedded neck as I played the single golden string that called out my name. I felt my soul latch on to her and felt her vibrations resonate throughout my body. I stilled the strings and began to play as the greasy black smoke from her previous owner washed over me, Jezebel, and the house.
As I got closer to the house, I began to see just how old and neglected the house was. I slowed my run and looked around and found no other houses nearby. As I walked closer to the house I smelled the scent of smoke that came from the tall old chimney of the house. The house was no more than two stories high, all the windows were dark from smoke stains and only the ground floor was lit. I walked up the porch stairs to the door and stared at the antique door knocker. The rain began to fall harder and the wind began to blow fiercely as I reached up to the old knocker. Suddenly the old door opened with a creak as it was opened by a woman from the other side. She looked at me with what I can only describe as dark pleasure, but I could not tell in the dim light of the doorway. She smiled wide and asked, “Are you just goin’ to stand there? Or are you goin’ to ask to come in?”
I quickly recovered my speech and explained, “I crashed my car just down the road and I don’t have any way to call for help. Do you have a phone I can use?”
She looked at me up and down slowly before smiling again. “Come on in, I got one in the kitchen,” she said and led me into the house.
As I entered the house, I felt an unnatural chill wash over me and I began to shiver uncontrollably. She led me into the kitchen which was lit by a single oil lantern. The kitchen looked old fashioned, in the sense of a kitchen from the 1920’s, it had a large gas stove and an even larger freezer box, stuff I had only seen in museums. The phone she handed me was old too, an old rotary phone that was plugged in to the wall. It’s weight was so great that I had to take it with both hands while she handled it with only one. I called a tow truck company from a phone book that she had which was surprisingly recent despite the aged appearance of everything else. When I had finished my call I turned to thank the woman and found her standing with a blanket held out to me. “Thanks,” I said as I took the blanket. On closer look at the blanket, I saw it was made of what looked like raccoon fur. I wrapped myself in the blanket and followed her into what looked like the living room.
The living room was not as old, but not modern either. It was lit only by the fire from the large fireplace, and all the furniture I saw was two recliner chairs covered in fur and a relatively large end table between the two. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” the woman said as she set a plate of devil's food cake and a glass of water on the end table. I got my first good look at her since I met her then. The flames from the fire glinted off of two dark eyes as black as coal, and as cold as a shark’s despite the warmness her ageless face radiated. She walked over and sat down in her own respective chair and I followed suit. The way she looked in that chair, her legs crossed and her leaning onto the left arm towards me reminded me uneasily of a lioness in her lair, where her prey had nowhere left to run. I looked away towards the fire and said, "Thanks for your hospitality, and I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble.”
“Oh, not trouble at all, ya see, I rarely have any visitors,” she replied with a purr.
“It’s just that, I feel a little uneasy about being in a stranger’s house,” I said uneasily.
“Oh, I can fix that,” she said as she lifted up a red guitar from the other side of her chair. “Would you like to hear me play?” she asked quite sweetly.
“Um, sure,” I replied.
She strummed the silver strings of the beautiful guitar and sang in English, “This is my story, my life, and my glory. Oh this is my sweet Jezebel.” She then began to sing in a language I could not understand, possibly Latin. Although I could not understand the words, the meaning of them and the feel of the music I could understand perfectly. She sang of how she had come to possess the guitar and of every minute that followed. She sang of the murder and lies, of the deceit and disguise she and others had gone through to possess this magical instrument, made by the Devil himself. She sang of how the very soul of the user bonds itself with her. I felt as if each note and chord she played called me to her.
As she sang, I watched her fingers glide effortlessly up and down the neck of Jezebel and her hand seemingly stroke the silver strings suspended above the sound hole. The ebony neck of the guitar was inlaid with pearl and jade beads and she had an ebony trim around the edge of the scarlet wooden body. At her head, there were seven tuning knobs, three silver ones each side as on any traditional guitar, but with one gold one in the middle. For the first time I noticed the single gold string that the woman never even touched in the midst of the six silver ones.
I know not how long I listened to her play, but as the morning sunrise pierced the smokey window, I realized the power of the song I had listened to, the power of the music. I looked out the window and felt as if it came from another world, one not of my own.
I looked back to the woman as I heard her song cease. As she looked at me, I saw her look uncertain for the first time. That uncertainty turned to fear as I stood up, shedding the warmed fur blanket back on to the chair behind me. She stood up quickly and started towards me as if to stop me from leaving. Her dark eyes widened in surprise as I crossed towards her and ripped Jezebel from her grasp. She screamed and tried to pull her back out of my hands, she was strong, but I was stronger. I shoved her back and she fell into the large fireplace. I watched as the large hungry flames reached out to embrace her, and watched as she screamed as her soul burned away from her body and into the deepest part of Hell. I watched as the smokey blackness left her eyes as she looked at me pleadingly as she screamed the unholiest of screams I had ever heard. It didn’t matter to me. None of it mattered. Not know that I had her. My sweet Jezebel.
I stared lovingly down at the enchanting instrument. She had claimed yet another soul, another life taken in a quest to claim her. I knew that one day she would claim my soul and I would have to face my sins, but none of it mattered. Sweet Jezebel was mine. I stroked her ebony, gem embedded neck as I played the single golden string that called out my name. I felt my soul latch on to her and felt her vibrations resonate throughout my body. I stilled the strings and began to play as the greasy black smoke from her previous owner washed over me, Jezebel, and the house.
One Year Later
I sat by the fire and played Jezebel while I stared into the flames. It was raining hard outside, and it reminded vaguely of my first night here, that long year ago. Nothing had changed during my time here, all stayed the same for me and Jezebel. We needed nothing but each other. Nothing else had mattered.
My musing was interrupted by the sound of feet on my front porch. I set Jezebel down next to my chair gently and started towards the door. It would be nice to have company, after all, I rarely had many visitors here. I opened the door just as a woman was reaching for the door’s knocker. She was young, wearing a torn red dress and muddy silk pantyhoes with holes in the toes, and of course, she was soaked to the bone from the rain. I looked at her and smiled with pleasure as I opened the door and said, “Come in out of the rain.”
My musing was interrupted by the sound of feet on my front porch. I set Jezebel down next to my chair gently and started towards the door. It would be nice to have company, after all, I rarely had many visitors here. I opened the door just as a woman was reaching for the door’s knocker. She was young, wearing a torn red dress and muddy silk pantyhoes with holes in the toes, and of course, she was soaked to the bone from the rain. I looked at her and smiled with pleasure as I opened the door and said, “Come in out of the rain.”