The Coxville Curse Ch. 01

Yesterday, lightning again struck the oak tree in front of town hall exactly fifty years after striking the same tree in 1909 and one hundred years after the slave Prospero Black was hung there. Prospero, an escaped slave, recaptured in New Orleans using the name Zombi was returned to the Cox plantation, is said to have cursed the town before he was hung. According to legend, lightning struck and snapped the branch Prospero was hanging from just after he had died from asphyxiation. A weather expert in Coxburg has stated the multiple lightning strikes on the same object is not that unusual and the dates are probably just coincidence.

"But lightning striking the same tree every fifty years is an amazing coincidence," said Bobbie, sitting back in her chair and rereading the article. The thought that a fugitive slave was lynched on that tree didn't make her feel sorry that the tree had been destroyed last night anymore. And the idea of a curse placed on the town intrigued her. Bobbie was a skeptic of anything that didn't fit in with her faith and certainly didn't believe in curses. A smile suddenly spread across her lips. She'd had another project planned for years. Bobbie Sue wanted to write a book. She'd put it off for years and honestly had never had an idea worth pursuing, but a Coxville Curse was an intriguing idea. Mr. Grant just might need to wait on his story. Bobbie Sue continued her journey back in time skimming through the microfilm.

From 1929, STOCK MARKET CRASHES

From 1917, Negro boys continue to be born with deformities. Doctors baffled. Every negro boy born since 1909 has been born with a male phallus much longer then normal.

From December 1909, Two negro boys born with unusually large penises were taken by the parents to experts in Coxburg.

From September 1909, Lightning strikes Coxville Oak fifty years after the fugitive slave Prospero Black who called himself Zombi Damballah was hung on the same tree. 89 year old, Hettie Parker recalled the hanging. "They hung that evil slave for using black magic to corrupt old Col. Cox's beautiful young daughters, Samantha and Betty. The Col wanted to make an example of Prospero for the other slaves, but it was all a trick. Before they hung that devil, the Col ordered the townsfolk to fire on the watching slaves. Macduff, an uppity nigger if I ever saw one was the first to fall from a bullet fired by Betty's husband Caleb Summers. Lear and Puck fell next. By then the slaves were in the cornfields running and they kept running though many were hunted down the next few days. The bearded black devil watched in horror as his fellow slaves were gunned down before turning to look at us whites. He began chanting words in the language of hell and you could feel evil spewing forth from his vile mouth. Good Father Murphy held his cross up and began reciting the 23rd psalm as Summers smacked the horse the nigger was astride and that evil nigger began to hang. As he choked, that devil phallus of his hardened up and spewed it's evil on the ground before the tree. I swears it's all true. Satan hisself sent a storm to save his servant, lightning striking and breaking the branch holding Prospero's swinging body, but Satan's servant was already dead. We was running in fear by then, trying to get to our homes followed by a thick evil mist the devil had conjured up allowing his servants to escape. Betty and Samantha were taken into the convent to be saved by Jesus and the good sisters there. I'm glad that nigger devil hung."

Coincidentally, a thick mist rose up after last nights lightening strike also. The mist in 1859 allowed many of Cox's slaves to escape the massacre which killed at least two dozen, mostly male slaves. The survivors built a community on the island in Lake Cox and lived there for over three years until the Union army occupied the Cox mansion in 1864 where they returned to work for the Yankees. Remains of their settlement still exists on the island.

Bobbie Sue stared at the article in awe. Black magic, curses, slave massacres, strange mists and lightening strikes. This was the stuff of best sellers! It was getting late, but she wasn't about to stop researching. She stood up and left the basement archives heading back into the library. "We're gonna close early for the game Bobbie Sue," said the library director.

It's going to, not gonna, thought Bobbie Sue, biting her lip to keep from correcting her boss. "I'll shut the place down then, I'm doing some research in the archives."

"You're not going to the game?"

"No, I've discovered something pretty interesting," said Bobbie, flipping through the pages of the phone book. "I'm really focused right now and want to keep doing research."

"Anything you want to share?"

"Not yet," she replied. "I'll be right back, I need to make a call." Bobbie Sue left the library and walked back towards town hall. She stared at the remains of the old oak now being scooped up by a bulldozer. She flipped her cell phone open and made a call. A man was lynched on this spot, she thought. Slaves were gunned down all around me. She shivered as someone answered her phone.

"Sisters of Mercy convent."

"Hello, my name is Bobbie Sue Kindle..."

"Yes, Mrs. Kindle, the English teacher. How may I help you?"

"Yes, I'm researching a bit of history that involves the Sisters Of Mercy. Do you have a resident historian?"

"The mother superior knows more then anyone. She's with Sister Nancy tutoring the African American boys or should I say boy. Only one showed up today, but she should be done by now. I'll see if I can get her."

The good Sisters had helped the poor black residents of Coxville for over a century. In a town that opposed integration more then anywhere else in the South, the Sisters for many decades were the only ones willing to teach the county's blacks to read. "We are all god's children," was their motto. The mother superior got on the line a few minutes later. Bobbie Sue was delighted to hear that not only did the mother superior know of Father Murphy, but she seemed to think that his journal had been donated to the library. Bobbie Sue thanked her and hung up the phone more excited then ever.

Bobbie Sue walked back into the library and ran into the director. "I'm taking off now. You'll remember to lock up and shut the place down?" asked the director.

"Of course," she replied. "Can I get the keys to the rare book display? There's a journal that I want to check out. " Bobbie Sue waited while the director removed the key from her key ring. "Thanks," she said, palming the key.

"Just be sure to get it back to me and be careful. Some of those books are falling apart."

"No problem. Have fun at the game. Go Cocks!"

"Go Cocks," whispered the director. The women were using their library voices. "All the patrons have left except for Melvin."

Bobbie Sue nodded. She locked the door after the director and headed towards the rare book display. She spied Melvin at one of the computer terminals down an aisle. "We're closing up Melvin," she called to him.

He turned to look at her, pushing his glasses higher up his nose. "Aw man, I was just getting started. Can't I leave when you do?"

"Well I'm doing some research and might be here for hours. Don't you want to go to the game?"

"Naw, football bores me. I just don't see the fascination with moving balls around fields, diamonds, or courts. Can't I stay here... with you? He he he."

Bobbie Sue winced. She had a lot of respect for Melvin's mind, but his voice was high pitched and grating. He was the kind of person so annoying you just wanted to punch him and apparently Melvin did have some problems with bullies at school. "Alright, just let me know when you're ready to leave and I'll let you out."

"Thanks Mrs. Kindle. He he he," he giggled for no apparent reason.

Bobbie Sue's eye ticked. His laugh was worse then his voice. She nodded and headed towards the cabinet. Father Murphy's journal wasn't readily apparent. It was tucked in the back of the old books, covered in years of dust. The book was leather bound and had a gold cross on the cover. She blew the dust off the book and opened it. Something fell out of the book at her feet. Bobbie Sue reached down to pick it up and saw that it was an old tintype photograph. When she turned it over, she gasped in horror.

The picture showed the hanging.

The picture encompassed the entire oak tree and the dark form of Prospero Black was visible hanging from a rope. She could see the backs of onlookers heads. A priest she assumed was Murphy was staring at the hanging man's penis which was hard as a rock and though it wasn't clear in the picture, the man's penis appeared to be a monster. Two beautiful blonde women were crying behind the hanging man and appeared to be trying to reach the slave, but a powerfully built white man was holding them back. Bobbie Sue shivered. The slave's body wasn't straight, his legs were kicking. He wasn't dead yet!

Bobbie Sue gulped and felt a little ill. She headed for the reception desk, looking down the aisle at Melvin, suddenly glad another person was in the room with her even if it was a skinny wimp like Melvin. She sat down in a chair behind the desk and flipped open the book. Most of it was irrelevant to her story though she did find this passage interesting:

June 1855- Phineas Cox showed me around his plantation today while his two lovely daughters Betty and Samantha Cox prepared our dinner. What I saw disgusted me. His slaves were out in the fields working on the cotton crop and in several places, the male slaves had dropped their britches and were plowing the female slaves from behind like animals. The females appeared to be loving it and were thrusting back into the slaves thrusts with as much lust as the males were showing. I have always found slavery a deplorable thing, but seeing this sort of behavior reaffirmed my belief that Africans were subhumans, little better then animals. I crossed myself when the nearest male slave pulled his still spurting phallus from a woman and all I could think of was the black bulls back home in the fields of Derry. Col Cox laughed at my discomfort. He explained to me that the first Cox had come to settle this county in the mid-1600's and started a farm. To help him on the farm, he purchased several slaves and the males had phalluses about this big. Col Cox held his hands about seven inches apart. Then his son bought some more endowed slaves both female and male and mated them with the sons and daughters of the original group. Their children had phalluses about this big. Cox spread his hand an inch further apart and he kept spreading them another inch every several generations. And this is the end result, he held his hands out towards his slaves as another male pulled down his pants and a huge foot long penis began rising to attention. A buxom Negress took him in her mouth to speed him along. I informed Col. Cox that interfering with god's design would bring ill luck. He scoffed at me and told me that his most perfect creation had escaped him several years ago. A slave named Prospero, Cox having named all his slaves after Shakespearean characters, had escaped his plantation and Cox had a bounty out across the South for anyone who could bring Prospero back unharmed. Then Cox held his hands apart at a length impossible to believe to show me the length of Prospero's phallus. "Testicles as big as cannon balls too," Cox told me. "Big and heavy and full of more seed then a bull. He would have been my best breeder." I vowed to make a quick effort to leave this foul place as soon as possible after dinner while Cox stared at his slaves rutting like animals with a smug grin on his face.

Bobbie Sue blinked her eyes. She wouldn't have believed the story except for the tintype photo showing what looked like an arm sticking out between Prospero's legs. She recalled the newspaper articles about the large size of the black resident's penises. Could it possibly be true? She returned to the journal and moved ahead to get closer to the time of the hanging. She found an intriguing entry about Caleb Summers capturing Prospero.

**********

Sister Nancy's Faith Exchange

Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the crucifix in her hands. She prayed for forgiveness. She prayed for guidance. "Lord forgive this sinner," she muttered. She released the crucifix, letting it fall back to her habit, but keeping her hands together. "Forgive this sinner. Forgive this sinner," she muttered rocking as she prayed on her knees.

Sister Nancy O'Malley had sinned before god. She was a fornicating whore. Her body had betrayed her. Even as she prayed, her sinful body was sending pangs of arousal through her soul as her mind kept wandering to Linus Jefferson and the huge black phallus that had given her so much pleasure earlier that day. (See Sister Nancy of Coxville County by SirSinn and Sister Nancy of Coxville County 2 by Thickwil) The arousal turned to a trickle, slowly sliding down her inner thigh. Or was it just more of the black man's voluminous load of semen still leaking from her womb? Her mind filled with the image of his huge black male phallus... COCK! His big black cock!... It came in her mouth. It came in her womanhood... PUSSY! Her horny white pussy! The trickle of arousal turned to a stream. Her plain white panty was soaked now. He would return and her body would not resist him. Her body wanted him again. SHE wanted him again. She knew she had committed a horrible sin earlier that day, but her mind couldn't stop thinking about him. Linus Jefferson had taken possession of her body, her mind, and also, she feared, her soul. Her black student had mentioned introducing her to his friends and that thought excited her body even more. The stream of arousal turned to a flood. "Please lord," she begged, her knuckles turning even whiter as she clenched her hands together. The verses came into her head even as she prayed.

"Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." Nancy repeated Matthew 26:41 several times before adding, "And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." Matthew 6:13.

The peace and well being of god flooded her body as the answer came to her. She must remove herself from the temptation. She must leave the convent before Linus Jefferson returned and she sinned again. The young Coxville native had broken her vows to the holy church and the Sisters of Mercy. Nancy recited her vow of chastity once again, promising to be faithful to god and to the church. She prayed she wasn't pregnant already for Linus Jefferson had ejaculated what had felt like a liter of his evil seed into her womb. She needed to be punished for her sins. She needed to confess, but not here. Nancy would leave the convent and confess her sins far away from Coxville County.

Satisfied, Nancy opened her eyes and found herself staring up at Jesus. The statue of Jesus was carved from a single piece of oak, nearly life sized, and old. Real nails had been driven through the palms to hold him to the cross. The paint was flaking off, his white skin seemed to be chipping away making him appear darker. The statue was strange for a depiction of Jesus. The body was more muscular than most depictions of Christ. His nose was flat making him look vaguely Negroid as he cast his eyes heavenwards.

"Magnificent, isn't he?"

The voice startled Nancy and she nearly jumped out of her cassock. Nancy recognized the Mother Superior's voice and didn't turn around even as she continued to stare up at the old statue. "Yes, Mother Superior," she answered. "Though I've always felt it an unusual depiction for such an old statue."

"Yes, quite," said the older woman calmly. "Nearly 150 years old. It was carved by one of our Sisters from a branch that fell off the giant oak in front of city hall after a lightning strike."

Nancy rose off her knees and turned to face the Mother Superior. "Didn't I read in the Coxville Times today that the oak was destroyed by lightning last night?"

"Yes, quite the coincidence," smiled the older nun. "It's nice to see you feeling better Sister Nancy, but you should be resting. We want you feeling better by Monday for your English class."

"Yes, of course," said Nancy, following the Mother Superior out of the chapel. Nancy turned to look back at the statue of Jesus one last time. "Which sister carved the statue?" she asked out of curiosity.

The Mother Superior stopped in her tracks and turned to face the 24 year old Coxville native. "Sister Samantha Small," she answered. "A daughter of the Cox family. Both she and her sister Elizabeth were given to our care by their father. They had apparently committed some grievous sin." The two women started walking again, as the older nun continued. "Sister Elizabeth repented, but Sister Samantha was more... difficult. She atoned for her sins by spending years carving out that fine statue of our lord."

"How interesting," said Nancy, now wishing she had spent some time learning more about the history of the convent. "Still the appearance is unusual."

"Yes quite, but Sister Samantha claimed that her hand was guided by the lord as she carved. Who is to say that her vision of the savior is incorrect?"

"Thank you Reverend Mother," said Nancy stopping near the hallway to her quarters. "but I do need to rest and I don't think my stomach could handle supper."

"Good night, Sister Nancy. I'll tell the other Sisters you're still ill. I'll see you at morning prayers."

"Good night, Reverend Mother." Nancy turned and headed to her quarters. She listened to the footfalls of the Mother Superior walk away. She was a good woman and Nancy felt even more ashamed for breaking her vows to the holy church. She crossed herself as soon as she entered her room. This time Nancy looked up at the more traditional crucifix on her wall and recited her vow of chastity once again before it. She felt the courage of her convictions grow as she did so. The young nun smiled and straightened her back. She would keep her vows this time, provided she removed herself from the temptations of the flesh that were represented by the devilish black cock that rose rampant from between the legs of Linus Jefferson.

Nancy O'Malley had little possessions which meant she had little to pack. By little possessions, she meant nothing but her habit, her cross, and a small personal allowance of cash that totaled less the fifty dollars. By little to pack, she meant nothing, but shoving her money into her habit. Nancy turned and opened her door slightly, peeking out to make sure the hall was empty. At this time in the evening, the other Sisters would be in the refectory dining. She could hear an echo of the Reverend Mother saying grace before the evening's meal. Nancy frowned surprised she wasn't hungry, but then her belly was full of a black man's sperm and it had been a very satisfying meal. She scrunched her eyes closed, brow furrowed as she fought off another wave of desire for the black man. Nancy crossed herself again and proceeded on, more sure now then ever that she was on the correct path to forgiveness and redemption. She had to get out of the county before it was too late.

The keys were hanging in the foyer by the front door. She snatched them and quietly opened the front door, saying a prayer of thanks that the fog had dissipated. Stealing the convent's van was less a sin the breaking her vows and fornicating. Besides, she was only borrowing the van. She would leave it with the Archdiocese of New Orleans and seek shelter with one of the convents there. They could return the van to the Sisters of Mercy. In New Orleans, she would confess, repent, and ask for absolution. The punishment would be harsh, but she deserved it.

Nancy felt guilty again when she saw several bushels of apples and pumpkins waiting to be loaded on the van tomorrow and driven down to the Sister's produce stand. There were so many repercussions for her sins. Hopefully, they would have the van back within a few days. Nancy turned to look down upon the town of Coxville. Darkness had fallen and the town was lit up. Shining above all the other lights were the bright stadium lights at the high school. "Go COCKS!" she muttered, looking down the hill. And with those last words, Sister Nancy climbed into the driver's seat and drove down the long driveway down the hill.