A Louisiana Legend

 

A Louisiana Legend: The Rougarou

a short story

By Rita Monette

 

    Pierre and Jean-Luke Hebert sat in their small wooden pirogue at the edge of Flat Lake. The glow of the full moon gave the boys enough light to run their lines and remove their catch. It was rumored that after dark was the best time to catch catfish. It was also said that when the moon was full, the swamp creature, known as the Rougarou, roamed the swamps for its own catch.

 

    The eleven-year-old cousins had grown up near the big lake in Morgan City, and the swamp known as the Atchafalaya Basin that bordered it. They’d been fishing on their own since they were eight and had found their own secret spot just at the edge of the swamp, which offered up plenty of the whiskered fish. And they certainly weren’t afraid of any old wives’ tale about a monster.

 

     But on this clear evening, things seemed eerily different. Quieter. Then the strange noise sent chills up their spines and raised goosebumps on their skins.

 

    The unfamiliar low groan came from somewhere within the thick moss-covered cypress trees.  They stared at each other with raised brows. The boys were familiar with the swamps and bayous and were quite used to its normal sounds. And this wasn’t one of them.

 

    “What was that?” Jean-Luke, who was the younger by six months, whispered. 

 

    Pierre shrugged and let his line drop back into the water and then peered out through the dark swamp for signs of whatever made the growl. He squinted, but saw only the blackness of trees and shadows, except for the occasional glint of the moon off the murky water.

 

    Jean-Luke held up a lantern. The pale light reflected off the thick cypress standing silently in the night. Spanish moss swayed from the limbs like gray ghosts.

 

    The boys agreed that in their three years fishing the edge of the swamp, they’d never heard anything like it. They knew the grunt of a gator, and the croak of a bullfrog, but this was different…more like a mad dog waiting to pounce. 

 

    “Maybe we should get out of here,” Jean-Luke said in a low voice. 

 

    “Yeah,” Pierre whispered.  

 

    But neither boy moved an inch. It was as if they were paralyzed. The flopping of a catfish lying in the floor of the boat broke the creepy stillness. Even the constant whirring of the cicadas had stopped.  

 

    The mysterious sound came again. This time more of like an evil snarl. 

 

    “Rougarou.” The word spewed out of Pierre’s mouth, as if it was planted there by years of warnings, and only now took shape. 

 

    The tale of the Rougarou, a werewolf said to inhabit the swamps of Louisiana, has been repeated many times in bayou country. Some have even claimed to have seen it with their own eyes. But these Hebert boys were too logical to believe in such legendary creatures. But what else could make such a noise…scary enough to hush the other creatures?

 

    As they sat motionless, and now soundless, listening for whatever it might be to make a move, a loud crack echoed through the swamp.

 

    Pierre broke his trance and reached for his paddle.

 

    “T-there.’ Jean-Luke choked on his word. Something moved near a rotting stump. He pointed to a huge rat-like creature sliding into the water.

 

    “Just a nutria,” Pierre said. But his hands were trembling against the wooden paddle. He knew the sound of the large swamp rat, which was more like a baby’s cry. Nothing like what they’d just heard.

 

    Just as Pierre dipped his paddle into the water, an enormous, dark image moved from behind a tree. The creature, covered in wild black hair turned toward them, its snout curled up into a grimace showing huge yellow fangs. Its gaping mouth dripping with saliva. But the eyes were the most terrifying.

 

    Jean-Luke scurried to grab the other paddle, but it slipped into the gumbo-colored water with a splash.

 

    The creature lurched closer to the edge of the swamp with one leap.

 

    As Jean-Luke reached into the water for his oar, the slimy fish in the bottom of the boat caused him to slip and fall against the edge. Pierre stood up and caught hold of his cousin’s shirt, but lost his grip, tipping the boat. Both boys fell into the lake, flapping their arms trying to grab the edge of the pirogue.

 

    Pierre looked up for a second to see the glowing red eyes staring back at him. His stomach tightened and his heart pounded wildly as he tried to regain control of his arms and get back into the boat. But could he make it before the creature got to them? He looked around for Jean-Luke. He’d gone under. Both of them were good swimmers, but with fear taking over, he wondered if they had the strength to get back into the boat. As Pierre searched the water for his cousin, he saw the creature stepping around the cypress stumps and into the water.

 

    The monster was coming for them…and fast.

 

    Jean-Luke popped up like a bobber and took hold of Pierre’s arm. Both boys mustered enough strength to get back to the boat. Pierre climbed in first and pulled Jean-Luke over the edge. With one paddle, Pierre quickly moved the boat out into the lake.

 

    It was rumored that the Rougarou wouldn’t venture into deep water. Perhaps it couldn’t swim. But there was no doubt it wanted them.

 

    The creature let out one last roar that seemed to last for five minutes, as the boys moved their tiny boat out farther into the lake. They only looked back after they had gotten far from the swamp’s edge. The creature had disappeared back into its moss-covered lair.

 

    Jean-Luke and Pierre never spoke of the incident to anyone. But they found themselves a new fishing spot on the other side of the lake. 

 

    Was the creature they saw actually the Rougarou, or was it some other animal that had morphed into the swamp monster by their fear?

 

    There are those believers that say beware. 

    And now Jean-Luke and Pierre Hebert are among them.

Interview with Nikki Landry, of the Swamp Legend Series

Nikki Landry is the ten-year-old main character of the Nikki Landry Swamp Legend Series, by Rita Monette

Following is an interview with Nikki by Musa Publishing

-So Nikki, what is your biggest fear?

My biggest fear is what might be in that swampy place Papa calls Ghost Dog Island. Does it really have a creature out there that steals dogs? Will it come after my best buddy, Snooper?

-What is your best or worst childhood memory?

Well, that can’t be too long ago, since I’m only ten. But when that gator got after my little brother and my dog tried to save him. That was pretty memorable.

-What would you say is your biggest strength? Weakness?

My biggest strength is that I am a good riddle solver. Just ask anyone.  My biggest weakness is that I get myself in trouble sometimes by not telling the truth.

-What is your biggest pet peeve?

What’s a pet peeve? Is it something like a possum? I’ve never had one of those. I hear they are mean.

-Is honesty always the best policy?

I guess it is, since my Papa gets awful upset with me when I’m not. But sometimes I forget.

-If you were stranded on an island and could only have 3 things (items or people), what would you choose to have and why?

Island? I don’t want to be stranded on no island. I went out there to Ghost Dog Island with my friend, Spikes, and I wouldn’t want to be out there by myself, what with gators, snakes, and mosquitoes. But if I did get stranded, I’d want a flashlight for sure, and my dog, Snooper. A boat wouldn’t be a bad idea either.

To learn more about The Legend of Ghost Dog Island, Nikki, and her friends, go to http://ritamonette.com or http://ritamonette.blogspot.com

The Haunting Near Battlefield Ridge

by Rita Monette

"Dear Diary. I never believed in ghosts...then I met Oggie."

In Nikki Landry's fifth adventure, she learns of a legendary haunting at an old graveyard.  If it's true, then Nikki surely wants to investigate.  Of course, she doesn't believe in ghosts, but she is determined to learn the truth behind the legend.

But, when Oggie, a very confused ten-year-old ghost from the Civil War era turns up in her room, she has to face the truth. 

Nikki and her sleuthing friends need to find out what he wants, and why is he haunting the old grave site. 

An Excerpt:

I sat at the breakfast table barely eating my oatmeal.  My bratty brother sat next to me making his usual mess.

"Nikki, did you take my baw?" Jesse still struggled with saying his L sounds.

It's a ball, Jesse." I stuck my tongue out between my teeth." and no I didn't take it. I found one outside on the ground. I don't think it's yours, though. It's more like an ugly marble."

It is!" he said. "Give it to me."

Not until you tell me the truth about where you got it."

I told you, he whined. "Oggie gave it to me." he held out his chubby hand.

"Tell me some more about this Oggie person. Then I'll give it to you." 

"He's a boy," he said. "He's ten years old."

"How do you know how old his is?

"He told me."

I shook my head. "So where did you meet him?"

He looked down at the floor. "In your clubhouse."

"Aha. I knew that was you messing around up there."

He got off his chair and stood next to me with his hand out.

I reached in my pocket, but the ball wasn't there. I must have left in in my overalls. "I'll get it later."

Jesse started crying. I knew I was going to get in trouble for making my brother cry. "Okay then. I'll go find it."

I went into my room and dug around in my other pockets. I didn't find it. Maybe Mama took it out when she washed it. I turned to leave the room, when I spotted it sitting on my dresser next to my diary and the old knife.

I picked up the whitish round object and held it in my hand.

"Hi Nikki," a strange, hollow-sounding voice came from somewhere behind me.

I turned and saw a young boy dressed in a blue uniform standing at the foot of my bed. I dropped the ball and fell against my dresser, knocking over my kerosene lamp. 

"W-who are you?"

He fit the description of the ghost we were looking for. Only now, I wasn't too excited to see him. My knees were shaking.

"My name is Oggie."

The Nikki Landry Swamp Legend Series

 Behind Every Legend Lies the Truth

Written and illustrated by Rita Monette

Published by Mirror World Publishing

Set in the 1950s, and steeped in South Louisiana Cajun culture, Nikki Landry draws you into her world of gators, moss-covered cypress, and gumbo gurgling on a kerosene stove in her raggedy old houseboat.

But bayou country is also bathed in mysterious tales of swamp creatures and strange happenings that might make you wanna sleep with the light on. 

papa says there's always truth behind a legend. And Nikki is determined to get to the bottom of the age-old beliefs that sometimes terrify the folks living in her small town.

Each episode finds Nikki, along with her quirky pals and her loyal but lazy beagle, Snooper, on a new and spooky trail to uncover the truth. And nothing is going to stop her.

If you liked the Nancy Drew Mysteries, you'll love the Nikki Landry Swamp Legends.

The Legend of Ghost Dog Island

The Curse at Pirates Cove

The Secret in Mossy Swamp

The Mystery on Lost Lagoon

The Haunting near Battlefield Ridge

Groundhog Day - The Truth Behind the Legend

Ever wonder why on earth we look to a groundhog to tell us what the weather is going to be?  And why February 2?  As with all legends, there's always a truth that starts it all.  And here's the truth behind this Groundhogs Day legend:

Here's a little history I found in the Farmer's Almanac, a most trusted source for Farmers since 1792.  That's a long time!

It turns out February 2 marks the midpoint between the winter solstice and spring equinox, also known as "Candlemas." Around this time, farmers needed to determine when to plant their crops, so they tried to forecast whether there would be an early spring or a lingering winter.

Sunshine on Candlemas was said to indicate the return of winter.  It was not a good omen if the day itself was bright and sunny, for that was said to bring snow and frost for six more weeks, or until the hiring of the laborers on Lady Day.

If the day was cloudy and dark, warmth and rain would come soon to thaw out the fields, which would then be ready for planting.

Today, our celebrated Groundhog Day is a remote survivor of that belief.  According to the legend, if a groundhog sees its shadow on this day, there will be six more weeks of winter. If it doesn't, then spring is right around the corner.

For centuries, farmers in France and England looked to the bear. In Germany, they kept their eye on the badger.

In the 1800s, German immigrants to Pennsylvania brought the tradition with them.  Finding no Badgers there, they adopted the groundhog to fit the lore.  Pennsylvania's Punxsutawney Phil has announced spring's arrival since 1887.

Other groundhogs also have carried on the tradition, including Ontario's Wiarton Willie.

Although we recognize that animal behavior isn't the only way to judge planting dates, the tradition continues, often with a wink and a smile.

For more legends and the truth behind them, check out Nikki Landry and the Swamp Legend Series.  at Mirror World Publishing.  or my website.

The Importance of Voice in Writing Fiction, by Rita Monette

What is Voice?

by Rita Monette

You may have heard the term voice in writing. However, there are two types of voice in writing fiction. 

One is the voice of the author: How you write and express yourself, tell their stories. That usually comes natural and develops over time.

Another important voice is that of the characters in your story.  Everyone has a unique way of speaking, and giving a strong voice to your characters helps bring them to life. 

To some, character voice comes easy, yet others may struggle with it. Here are a few things to remember when deciding on a voice for your character.

1. Where are they from? Most regions have a certain dialect. Listen to someone speak from that area and try to mimic their speech pattern.

2. How old is your character? It’s pretty obvious that someone that is ten years old will have a different way of speaking than say a fifty-year-old.

3. When does your story take place? Look up words and phrases used during that period.

4. What is their world view? Does your character have some background issues that fill him or her with sarcasm? Are they optimistic about everything, overly religious, or just plain grumpy/annoying?

5. Still having problems? Trying interviewing your character and let them tell you about themselves.

And in all of the above, use in moderation. You don’t want to overdo dialects to the point where the reader gets frustrated trying to read it. 

Point of View in Using Voice.

An important rule is to know when you should use your character’s voice or your author’s voice.

If you are writing in first person, every word should be in the narrating character’s voice, except those that are in the dialog of a different character. 

In limited third person narration, the point of view character will usually carry the voice. 

In omniscient point of view, the author’s voice will narrate the story except during dialog. 

The Character Voice in my Series.

In my middle-grade series, The Nikki Landry Swamp Legends, writing in first person, the main character, Nikki, is a young girl growing up in the bayous of Louisiana in the fifties. She lives a simple life, doesn’t care much for school, and would rather be fishing with her Cajun French-speaking papa, or looking for clues to some swamp legend. Proper English is not her strong point. Taking all these things into consideration, I found my way into Nikki’s head.

Her friends, on the other hand, needed to have unique voices of their own. We can’t have them all speaking the same way. Patti is always prim and proper, and tries hopelessly to keep Nikki on the right track, while Spikes uses language typical of fifties’ teens. Together they are the legend busters and each contributes their own “voice” to every conversation.

Here is an excerpt from the Mystery on Lost Lagoon, which includes examples of their voices:

The August air was steamier than a pot of boiled crawfish. Tiny bugs danced like fairies on the gumbo-colored bayou. Cypress trees on a nearby swamp island dipped their moss-draped branches into the still water, trying to stay cool. 

I had been sitting in my new tree house for days trying to catch a cool breeze, and pondering on how to turn a plain old fort into an official club house, when I decided what it needed most of all was furniture. My friend Spikes had come over to help me build some. He was pretty good with tools.

“I saw that strange bird again.” Spikes stood beside me with a hammer in his hand.

“What bird?” I asked, busy with trying to arrange some old boards in the shape of a table, just before they collapsed into a heap. “Drats!” I folded my arms in front of me.

 “You have to lay them on the floor, Tomboy,” he said. “We need to nail them together first.”

“So you have to build it upside down?” I wiped the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand.

Spikes’ real name was Spencer Sikes, but I’d never heard nobody call him that ’cept for his grandpa. He was twelve years old, a whole year and a half older than me. I couldn’t imagine being almost a teenager. Me and him argued a lot, but we always stayed friends. He told me once he only liked me ’cause I wasn’t like other girls, and could climb trees and didn’t mind getting dirty. He sometimes called me Tomboy instead of my real name, Nikki.

He grinned, showing his broken front tooth. “Yeah.”

“We need some nails.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of bent nails. “I was over at my grandpa’s yesterday. We took a boat ride out to Flat Lake, and I saw it flying around Pelican Pass, see.”

“Saw what?”

“The bird.” He sounded annoyed. “You know, the one that makes that screeching sound. The same one we saw over in Mossy Swamp.” He sat on the floor and began straightening the nails by laying ’em on their sides and tapping with his hammer.

First Pages in Writing, by Rita Monette

First Pages 

in Writing

by  Rita Monette

How important are the opening pages of your novel? VERY important. 

First of all, you must keep in mind that busy agents and publishers will usually judge your writing and your book by the first few pages, and oftentimes by page one! 

Also, readers, who might be grabbed by your title, tagline, and your cover blurb, still will judge whether they want to continue to read on by the first chapter, or even the first page. So you’d better work really hard at getting it right.

How do you do that? you might ask. Well here are some well-worn tips to accomplish that.

Prologue or no prologue…that’s a good question.

Although there are quite a few great books on the market that use prologues to introduce their novel, many experts agree, that a good rule of thumb is to leave it off. 

Instead of telling the reader your character’s background and motivations, use your writing skills to weave that information in, letting your reader figure it out. 

I’ve been told most readers don’t bother to read prologues anyway. I know I don’t like them. I usually want to jump right into reading the story. So just jump right in writing it. But where DO we start?

Tension is the key.

Every movie-goer knows that the first scene of a film usually begins with a huge car crash, guns blazing, or a murder... then jumps back to why on earth all this went on. Many books begin this way also. But wild action isn’t always the key. Most times it’s tension.

On page one, feed the reader some intriguing questions they will surely want the answers to. What is your character doing, saying, observing, or thinking that makes the reader want to know what’s going to happen next, or what the character plans to do about the situation at hand?

The Character.

The reader will want to know something about your main character. What is he about? What does he want? Is he relatable or liked enough for them to want to know more and to invest the next few hours of their time in. What is he doing in that first scene that tells us something about his personality, his ambitions, his goals? First impressions count. 

The Setting.

Give the reader an idea of the setting on that first page also. Where is your character? Is the time period important? What is the season? Is it hot, cold? Don’t let the reader have to figure that out as he reads along.

The Hook.

This seems like a lot to cram into a first page, but you want to draw the reader in from the very start. It’s called the “hook.”

Sometimes it takes many re-writes to get those elements in effectively. 

Feedback. 

Get an honest opinion from a person or persons…typically not your mother or spouse. Join a critique group or a group like Critique Circle. 

Whirlpools, Wormholes, and Time Travel, by Rita Monette

WHIRLPOOLS, WORMHOLES, AND TIME TRAVEL

by Rita Monette

What do wormholes, whirlpools, and time travel have in common? In reality, probably nothing. But in Nikki Landry’s historical, yet fictitious world, legend has it that if you go into Lost Lagoon, you may never return, but just might enter into a land where strange creatures live. 

A FICTITIOUS WHIRLPOOL

When a mad scientist arrives in Nikki Landry’s hometown and hears the legend of the mysterious Lost Lagoon, he decides to build a machine that can traverse a whirlpool—which he calculates just might be a wormhole to a prehistoric time. 

Nikki has been warned to stay off Flat Lake due to the frequent whirlpools and strange disappearances. But snooping around Mr. Beekers’ camp boat gets her and her friends kidnapped and taken to a hidden inlet in a swamp off of the large lake. Soon they learn what’s behind the mystery on Lost Lagoon.

A REAL WHIRLPOOL

In reality, in the South Louisiana bayous, there are many, many salt caverns beneath the ground. There are also oil companies drilling for oil. Those two can spell disaster, especially if those caverns are under a lake. 

One such disaster occurred in November of 1980, when an oil drilling rig and a salt mine created a whirlpool that became large enough to engulf the rig, eleven barges, and a tugboat, sucking water in from the Gulf of Mexico, and changing the landscape—as well as a once shallow fresh water lake—forever. 

While drilling for oil off Lake Peigneur, near New Iberia, Louisiana, a drilling rig owned by Texaco, drilled too far and punctured into an active salt mine. Fishermen on the lake that day saw the whirlpool that began pulling their boat toward it. Luckily they got away before it sucked them into the abyss. Beneath, fifty-five miners, seeing the water rushing in, managed to escape via an elevator. Amazingly, no one lost their life, but it cost Texaco millions of dollars.

Read the story of Lake Peigneur here.  https://www.damninteresting.com/lake-peigneur-the-swirling-vortex-of-doom/

AN EXCERPT:

Spikes stuffed the papers into his shirt. “I need to finish reading this.”

The three of us dashed for the door. But a shadow covered the opening, and Mr. Beekers stepped into it, blocking our way out.

He looked at the broken door and then glanced around his home. “What have y’all done to my house?” he scowled.

“We didn’t do it,” I said. “Honest we didn’t.”

“Don’t lie to me. You kids have been nosing around here before. What do you want here?” 

“Just let us go,” Tim said. “We promise not to come back.”

“No, you’re not going anywhere until I see what you’ve taken...or destroyed.” He stepped in and closed the crooked door behind him. “Now all of you sit.”

Spikes found a chair. Tim and I pushed some newspapers to the side and sat on a tiny sofa with springs poking out. 

“Now, which one of you broke my door in?” 

“It was some men,” Tim said. “I think they were detectives or something. They had on suits and ties, and drove an official looking car.”

Mr. Beekers looked around, then ran to the window. “Where did they go?” 

“They’re from Ohio,” I said. “I think they’re coming back. So you better let us go before they get here. Whatever you did, they might get you for kidnapping us too.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said. “I’m not letting you go. You brought them here, didn’t you?” His eyes were wild and his mouth turned into a snarl. His whole face turned really evil looking. “I know what they want, and they won’t get it.” He grabbed up some rope and began to tie Spikes to the chair. 

The Mystery on Lost Lagoon: A Preview, by Rita Monette

Here's a short preview of Book #4 in the Nikki Landry Swamp Legend Series, by Rita Monette:

The Mystery on Lost Lagoon

A Nikki Landry Swamp Legend

Brought to you by Mirror World Publishing

(Available November 17, 2017)

Legend has it… if you go onto Lost Lagoon, you never return.

Nikki Landry and her friends are off on a quest to track down a prehistoric-looking bird that’s been flying around a nearby swamp island. 

However, their plans get sidetracked when they meet a stranger in their small town who apparently has some secrets to hide.

The sleuthing group soon learns of a legend about a hidden lagoon. Is it all connected? Before they can find out, they are kidnapped by a mysterious scientist who is on a mission of his own. 

Is there any truth to the legend that says if you go onto Lost Lagoon, you will never return?  Is the eerie whirlpool that sits waiting to suck you in really a wormhole to another world? Who are the Men in Black...and what do they want with Mr. Beekers?

Join Nikki and her friends, and one neurotic parrot, as they discover the truth behind the Mystery on Lost Lagoon. 

Want more? Here's an excerpt:

“What can you tell me about this man,” one of the men asked Mr. Lopez, while laying a picture on the counter.

Mr. Lopez picked up the picture and squinted at it. “What do you want him for?” 

He wasn’t about to give out any information without knowing what the consequences might be. Folks in a small town might gossip, but they weren’t too trusting of men in black suits and sunglasses asking about their neighbors, even if those neighbors were a bit on the strange side.

“We just have a few questions for him,” one of the men said. “His name is Leroy Baker.”

“Can’t say as I recognize him,” Mr. Lopez answered.

“Well, if you do see him, call us.” The man slid a card toward him.

Mr. Lopez tried to give him the picture back.

“No, you keep that...just in case it jars your memory.” They both walked back out the door. They stood just outside talking and wiping the sweat off their foreheads with white handkerchiefs. 

I walked up to the counter and looked at the picture. Mr. Lopez picked it up and threw it in the wastebasket. 

“But that looks like Mr. Beekers,” I said. “Except his hair is shorter and combed.”

“Don’t look like him at all.” He turned around and went back to straightening stuff on his shelf. 

Spikes and I stood looking out the door at the men walking toward their fancy black car. One of ’em tripped over my bike, which had no doubt slid off the sign. He cursed and kicked it.

“Hey,” I pushed the door open. “That’s my bike.”

It wasn’t the prettiest bike around, especially after me and my friends painted it several different colors trying to cover the rusty parts, but it was mine.

“Well, you shouldn’t leave it laying on the ground,” he growled. “It skinned my shoe.”

I glanced down at his shoes. They were pointy-toed and real shiny, except for the scratch.

“Sorry,” I said. “I had it propped up. It must have fell.”

He made a face, then turned toward his car.

Spikes walked up behind me and whispered, “I wonder who they are.”

“Hey, what do you want with that man?” I asked.

Spikes poked me in the side.

“Why? Do you know him?” one of ’em asked.

“Can’t say as I do or I don’t,” I said. “But in case I do, I’d like to know what you aim to do when you find him.” I took another drink of my Coke. 

“Smart little lady, aren’t you?” the one that kicked my bike said.

“I guess I am. You just don’t look like you’re from around these parts, so I figure it must be important for you to come way out here to find him.”

“Well, I’ll tell you this,” the one that was standing by the driver’s side of the car said, “He’s a criminal, and he’s wanted by the state of Ohio. So if you know something and you don’t tell me, you might get in real trouble for aiding and abetting.” 

I pursed my lips wondering if that meant I’d have to go to jail just for knowing something.

The one standing next to me handed me one of his cards also. Then they both got in the shiny car and drove away. 

I stared at the card. It had gold letters printed on a white background. I read it out loud.

“Jeremiah J. Jenkins, Ph D, Department of Geology, Ohio State University.” 

Spikes took it from my hand. “Well, they ain’t cops.”