So I got an invitation in the mail promising wealth and fame and some other stuff that probably wasn’t true if I show up at some secret party. Well, times have been hard, so I figured I had no choice but to show up. I rode my bicycle to the address, and I got a bad feelin’. They put 4 of us in a room and some mook in a hood watched us. Then they tried to get us down a secret passage underground. Well, I wasn’t havin much of that, but they had me at wealth and money. I went down last, and saw a bunch of hooded folk. Now, hooded folk make a black man nervous, doubly so when it’s a secret meetin’. Their leader fair oozed charisma, like a snake-oil salesman. He asked us to retrieve an item from the old clarkson plantation to prove we were worthy of joinin’ his crew. Now, this made me extra nervous, because that place ain right. I took the three other unlucky schmucks to my house and made a gris-gris to the rada loas just in case, and I explained the situation. Turns out one of them is a wealthy doctor, and he paid up for a boat to take us out to the plantation. We saw some unlucky mooks been shot up in a boat, which didn’t bode well for the rest of the night. Took some dynamite and a tommy gun from the wreckage. When we landed at the plantation, we met some strange hillbillies, and turns out they have an infernal pact with the new residents of the plantation, some evil diggers. Abominations that the rada loas abhor. Well, we had ta go in, so I fixed up the e-lectricity (turns out they had the same connection problems my store has) and we went inside. I summoned up some rats to warn us if the diggers came, and we grabbed some silverware and tried to bolt, but some of them suckers headed us off. So I shot some voodoo at em, but it didn’t phase ‘em much. So I summoned a spirit and turned cheval to be safe, because one of the suckers hit me square in the chest. We turned and ran out, tryin to cut-and-run, and the hilbillies stuck up for us, tryin’ to get them to leave off us. I summoned up some birds to distract them, bless their little hearts, but the reporter popped off his dynamite and blew ‘em all to kingdom come. I won’t forget their brave sacrifice, and I’ll leave an offering for their spirits. We got back and the doc tried to patch us up, but it didn’t work none too well. Anyway, We gave over the silverware, but turns out our one womanly member of the group found out that the leader of this kit is a crossroads demon. Aww, shoot, the spirits must be crazy, because they didn’t warn me about this
botttle of coke falling from the sky devilish trap we just stuck our feet in. Spirits preserve us, we are dealin with the devil.