The Flute Man
The flute man claimed the city’s 12th homicide victim. Her name was Damia Renee Shaw. She was walking home from cheerleading practice when she heard the infamous flute playing. Like a sheep to the slaughter, she followed the melodic sounds into the mist. She was grabbed from behind never to be seen again. A week later, they found her floating face down in Robinson’s pond. Her eyeballs were gouged out and her entrails were missing. The last time I spoke to Damia we argued because she blabbed all over town concerning Bubbaloo and my rape. I told her that I didn’t trust her and I didn’t want to be friends with her anymore. I returned all of the clothing and jewelry she had lent me. I changed my beeper number and told her to never visit my house again. I felt so terrible about the whole situation because my last memory of Damia was one of rejection. 1992 was a terrible year for the children of Cartersville. Officer Daddy was in and out of therapy because of post-traumatic stress and the gory scenes he repeatedly witnessed. The police didn’t even have a profile on the flute man because no one has ever seen him and lived to tell their story. The flute man was an urban legend, a myth, and an old wives tale. He was kind of like the character “Candy man” from the hit movie. The myth goes as follows: It was 1962, and there was a young flutist named Roland, Rollie for short. Rollie brought joy to all the neighborhood women in the travail of childbirth. Midwives would call him in their hour of need. He’d rush over to their homes and play music for them just as they were giving birth. The music was very therapeutic and somehow eased the pain of childbirth. This was a necessary anesthetic because in those days, there weren’t any fancy methods for having babies. There was only pain and more pain. One evening, in the fall of 1969, the unexpected occurred. Rollie was lured to his death by a crazed, egotistical, and jealous husband. The husband feared that Rollie had seduced his wife through the sounds of music. He also accused him of attempting to steal his firstborn son as a sacrifice to the gods of melodic darkness in order to enhance his powers over music. What’s more absurd than those speculations are the facts that the false accuser was able to rally a lynch mob to help him carry out his heinous plot. They hunted through the night until they located Rollie’s dilapidated two-bedroom shack that stood in the lonely outskirts of Temriel, Connecticut. They surrounded the shack and doused it with gasoline. They demanded Rollie to come out before they set it on fire. Rollie appeared in his pajamas with a confused look on his face. He’d seen all these faces before. They were the faces of all the husbands to all the women he helped through childbirth. He believed in his heart of hearts that he’d brought joy to all of them. He didn’t want to accept the level of betrayal that lay before him. Rollie contemplated his decision to beg their pardon. All he had was his dignity and artistic abilities and he wouldn’t allow them to take either away. First, they bound his limbs and body to an oak tree. Next, his eyes were gouged out like Damia’s. Then, his flute was taken away from him and filled to its tip with gunpowder. Someone placed the flute in his mouth and stuck a match in it and struck it. No one bothered to look twice to count the body parts that flew everywhere. Out of spite, his shack was set on fire in a blaze of glory. No one dared to rescue Rollie’s ailing mother from the burning inferno. To this day, Rollie’s restless spirit haunts Cartersville, murdering the firstborn of each family. I am the firstborn, and I dreamt that I would be next. My senior year came and went without a hitch. My grades were excellent. I was awarded a scholarship in elementary education. I had multiple options of what to do with my life after high school. I could work at a dead-end job, go to any state accredited college, or join the military. Only God knew what I would do next. Momma’s health wavered for a while. She grew her hair back, regained her strength and went back to work. I took a part time job in the cosmetics department at Walgreens to keep myself occupied during my summer vacation. One July evening, I called momma and asked her if she would kindly pick me up when my shift ended at 11:00 pm. Momma responded, “What do you think I am, a gypsy cab or something?” You don’t pay for maintenance, gasoline or car taxes. Your fat behind needs to walk anyways!” I said” Momma all I asked for was a ride since you forbid me to get my driver’s license.” She hung up. I was surprised and hurt that momma had very little concern about my safety and wellbeing. I had given up my sanity and my whole childhood to care for Dondria. The least I could get was a ride. I felt that her hostility towards me was because I enlisted into the United States Air Force. I couldn’t live in Cartersville anymore. Bubbaloo, the rapist was running rampant and so was the flute man. I didn’t know who was worst and I didn’t want to find out. I decided to take a shortcut through a cul –de- sac of abandoned houses. My co-workers watched me walk through the streetlights until I finally disappeared. I jumped over the backyard gate of one of the houses and fought through some thorny rose bushes. I came upon an open field and was on my way to momma’s house. I thought it was safe enough to put on my headphones. I was listening to the new joint by Mary J. Blige called “Real Love”. The glare of the full moon glistened off of the blades of grass. I was so consumed and into my own musical world that I didn’t hear the sounds of a flute playing from afar. At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. I thought maybe the soft melody was a part of Mary’s song that I hadn’t heard before. I went against my better judgment and took off my headphones to investigate. Once I took my headphones off, I was immediately mesmerized by the most beautiful heavenly sounds. It was like the music had hands and they were pulling at my body in every direction. Momma’s house was a straight shot, but I found myself taking a detour towards Robinson’s pond. The pond had been condemned for decades. No one was allowed to relax there, take pictures, feed ducks or fish. I kept walking towards it like a robot. The music started getting louder as I moved closer. I was ten yards away from the pond and then someone called out to me. I heard a voice say “Zhara, don’t come any closer, It’s a trap!” I turned around and saw a faint apparition. I rubbed my eyes and the image focused on a figure of a girl. It was Damia! She was beautiful and glowing. She seemed to finally be at peace with herself. She continued “I miss you girl, but we can’t be together right now. You must run and go home and never come here again….NOW RUN! BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!” Adrenalin kicked into my brain in maximum overdrive, and I took off like Flo Jo. I dropped my walkman but I didn’t care. I burned skid marks in the grass. I quit Walgreens the very next day.
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