Wednesday, October 06, 2004


That Voodoo You Do

Dr. Mgogo, the ME, knew that he had a voodoo doll on his hands. And no ordinary doll, either. This one was animated. Not completely, though. It mostly just twitched. Something had traumatized it severely. Whoever made this doll was in touch with a powerful Loa, indeed. It almost appeared as if it had been rubbed raw in places. Whatever clothing it was originally wearing had been almost completely abraded. Its little pink head looked like it had been used for an eraser.

He put down his magnifier. Someone really hated this one, Dr. Mgogo thought. I haven’t seen anything like this since I left Benin. Old lady Mamou had hexed the school headmaster with a doll like this. And this one looks a bit familiar. Maybe I’ve seen him on television, or in the papers. Was it something to do with that Greek temple complex they found in Washington state? No, that wasn’t it. The television was on in the lab. That idiot Bush was talking. God, Mgogo, wondered, what would an ME find inside that almost simian skull case? He shuddered slightly at the thought and looked at the television:

“So, do you believe that this Greek temple complex is genuine, Mr. President?” a reporter was asking. “There have been reports that godlike figures are roaming around them.”

“This is obviously not the work of God, because God doesn’t like temples, only churches. And anyway, they probably aren’t real.”

“What do you mean, Mr. President? We can see that they’re real. We’ve visited them. They’re as real as the White House.”

“The White House is more realer,” he replied, smirking. “And God put me in it.”

“What has happened to Mr. Rove? Is he all right? Ill, perhaps?” a reporter shouted out.

“Mr. Rove is just fine and will be back very soon. He’s on an important government missionary.”

Mgogo startled. Rove. Rove. Familiar. The doll. It was Rove! He took a long sharp probe out off of the stand by the autopsy table and poked the doll in stomach.

On television, the President suddenly doubled over, clutching his belly. Aides and Secret Service agents rushed to his side. He was carried off the podium and into a hallway. Reporters were speculating, worrying.

Mgogo chuckled softly and turned off the television. It was time to summon the mightiest Loas of them all: Baka, an evil spirit who takes the form of an animal; Ezili, the female spirit of love; Sango, the spirit of storms; and Baron Samedi, the guardian of the grave. This was going to be interesting, he thought, as he used a forceps to tweak the doll’s nose.

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