by Terry Holland
“Good morning, you have reached Asus customer support, my name is Jacques, can you give an exact description of the issue you are having for me please?”
“Hi Jack…”
“Jacques.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s Jacques. With Q – U – E – S.”
“Jacques? What kind of name is that?”
“Well, it’s a name like Jack. But spelled the French way. Also, if you say it like you did, you could trigger a security protocol.”
“Whatever. Listen up, Jaques the French way – I think I’ve been cursed by an evil voodoo spirit that came out of my laptop.”
“Oh! Really. Ehm, wow. That’s, ehm… unusual. You have the platinum extra extended warranty?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Great. I’ll have to check whether that actually covers third-party acts associated with African diasporic religions and/or ritual folk magic. I’ll get back to you on that. But first, please do tell me what happened.”
“So earlier this morning I opened up my laptop in the coffee shop…”
“Ah, sorry to interrupt, I see you’re one of our registered users in the Netherlands…”
“Not that kind of coffee shop. I was having a latte macchiato and a chocolate croissant.”
“Oh, nice! You’re not one of those weird people who has cinnamon on a latte are you?”
“I’m sorry? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Never mind. Please, do carry on.”
“Yeah, so, I opened up the laptop and straight away this great cloud of like, I dunno, dust or smoke or something wafts up at me – like this huge, thick green cloud…”
“Are you backing up regularly with the Asus Premium Bonus Cloud Service?”
“Ehm, yeah…”
“Great, just noting that. Please, carry on.”
“So this weird cloud is like wafting around, enveloping me…”
“Are you sure it came out of the laptop?”
“Yeah I’m sure! It just came right up at me, the moment I opened it.”
“It couldn’t have come from somewhere else? Like, steam off the latte or something?”
“No! Jeez, what’s wrong with you? There was, like, literally nowhere else it could have come from. And anyway, then I heard the voice.”
“Do you often hear voices?”
“No! Not like this. It was coming right out of the laptop speakers.”
“You weren’t wearing Bluetooth headphones?”
“I hadn’t put them on yet. I’d only just got there.”
“Okay. So this voice, what did it say?”
“It said, ‘You have released an ancient voodoo spirit! My name is Lady Marie Lavo. The…’”
“It’s Laveaux. With E – A – U – X. Like the French spelling?”
“What is it with you and this French shit? Plain English not good enough for you?”
“I’m sorry sir, do carry on, please.”
“Yeah. So this voice, it says: ‘My name is Lady Marie Laveaux, the Louisiana Voodoo Queen! You have unlocked an ancient voodoo curse and are now possessed by the spirit of Zombi the Snake God! If you do not follow Zombi’s commands, great misfortune will befall you and your family for generations to come! Heed Zombi’s commands, and all will be well! You will gain riches beyond your wildest dreams!’”
“Aaaah. Just hold for a few moments for me please. I’ll be right back.”
[hold music plays: Dr John, Walk on Gilded Splinters]
“Hello, are you still there sir?”
“Just about. What did you do, go all the way to goddamn France or something?”
“No, luckily that wasn’t necessary. I think I’ve identified your problem. It’s a particularly nasty hybrid polymorphic semi-resident syncretic trojan horse virus. Well, I’ve got good news and bad. The good news is, your warranty may cover it.”
“I should think so. That’s what it’s for, right? What’s the bad news?”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to bring the laptop in to us in person.”
“What the?! In person? Are you insane? Why can’t I just mail it in, or drop it off at a store?”
“That won’t work with this particular virus I’m afraid. You have to come in in person.”
“Jesus Christ! I want to talk to your manager. Or should I say manageur or some shit?”
“Manager is fine. I am the manager here, sir.”
“You are? Oh for… Where are you?”
“We’re at 66 St. Ann Street, French Quarter, New Orleans.”
“What?!”
“Before you arrive, you must purchase a blessing from Father Christophe at Reverend Zombie’s Voodoo Shack at 723, St. Peter Street. You must then strip naked and smear yourself and the laptop with the blood of a freshly slaughtered Brahma chicken. You must stick the longest feathers from the chicken in your… hair will do, and hang its feet from a silken cord around your neck. There is a narrow alley leading down the side of our building. You must walk up this alley backwards with your head bowed. Do NOT tread on the cracks in the paving slabs. When you reach the door, you must bow three times, scratch a cross in the dirt with the chicken’s claw, turn around, and drop the laptop in the wicker basket provided. Then run like the wind.”
“What the hell?! You’re kidding me…”
“Not at all sir. I’m deadly serious.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You heard The Lady…”
Terry Holland grew up in darkest Essex, England, before studying in London and Berlin. He has dabbled in the theatre, music, journalism, translation and the occult and currently lives in the Netherlands. He writes flash and short stories and will never, ever write a novel. You might find his words in publications including the Bath Flash Fiction Anthology, Stukah! magazine, Full House Literary, Free Flash Fiction, Stereo Stories, Daily Drunk, Voidspace, Ellipsis Zine, Pure Slush, Seaside Gothic, Loft Books and punk noir. Find him on Bluesky, @terryholland.bsky.social.
As someone who hates PCs and loves New Orleans lore, I thoroughly enjoyed this tale. Magnifique!