"Lafitte Coin"

She looked at the antiquarian with a raised eyebrow. “What do you mean it’s cursed?”

He looked at her and removed his reading glasses. He took a gaze downward at the gold coin on the black velvet cloth before looking into her dark blue eyes. “Are you acquainted with the name Jean Lafitte?”

“The French pirate that helped Andrew Jackson during the Battle of New Orleans,” she answered quickly.

He nodded. “No one is sure of where he died. It’s widely thought that he died while attacking Spanish ships near the Yucatan in Mexico. However, there are legends that say he died in Illinois, near St. Louis, while trying to bring food and some gold to an aged couple he had befriended.

“In this legend, agents of the Spanish government finally found him and removed him from his wagon. Some of the men began to strike the old privateer with the butts of their guns and with their fists. He fell to the ground, bleeding profusely. The leader of this band, a man whose name has been lost to time, told the others to remove all gold coins and divide it amongst themselves.

“Lafitte struggled to get to his feet, but he had lost a good amount of blood and fell back to the ground. He called to the men, tried to get them to leave the gold, since it was for a family in need. Deaf ears and contempt were the answer to his pleas. The leader raised his gun and with a single shot to the head ended the life of the once proud buccaneer.”

She had been enthralled with his story, her breath held so she could hear him without interruption. However, the ending left something out; she was missing something. “That’s a good story, but that doesn’t explain how this coin is cursed.”

He smiled at her. “I did leave out the curse, didn’t I? It’s said that before the Spanish agent shot, Lafitte cursed the gold, saying that anyone that possesses it for their own greed and needs, would never have peace, until the gold is given to someone less fortunate.”

She closed her mouth and sat back in her seat, shaking her head. “That’s a good bedtime story, I’ll admit, but to say Lafitte cursed this is laughable.”

“It’s not a story, it’s the truth.”

“You admitted that it’s just a legend.”

He closed his eyes before speaking. “Yes, it’s a legend, but I believe it as fact. I’ve heard from other antiquarians and coin dealers that have dealt with Lafitte gold and they’ve all heard stories from those that possessed coins. They needed to sell them quickly and for whatever price. They were scared to own them.”

She suppressed a chuckle. “I see what you’re getting at. You’re trying to scare me into accepting a lower price.” She removed the coin from his desk and put it in her purse. She stood and put her hand out. “Thank you, Mister Nicholas, for your help, but I think I’ll go somewhere else.”

He didn’t attempt to stop her from leaving, just wished her a good day.

*****

She looked up from the book she was reading. She sensed something was wrong. It was quiet for a summer’s night, no crickets calling, and no distant sounds of vehicles on the interstate, nothing was coming through her opened window.

Her bedroom went cold, though it had been a warm and muggy night. She felt a presence outside the door again. Nina Harrington heard it again, the ghostly voice that’s invaded her life for the past month. The voice had first appeared in nightmares immediately after seeing the antiquarian, first as a background sound amongst many ghosts, but now had occupied her reality.

“C'est pour les pauvres. Donner aux pauvres.” She had it translated: “It is for the poor. Give to the poor.” It spoken just outside of her bedroom, by someone she knows cannot be there. No one can enter her locked apartment.

The lack of sleep she’s been suffering has caused her physical harm. She’s been unable to eat. Her hair has been slowly turning gray. Friends had been barely able to recognize her.

The emotional toll had been equal. Her boyfriend left her, telling her that he’s unable to deal with someone that’s losing her mind. Financially, she’s a mess, losing her job because of her inability to focus.

Nina didn’t want to admit that the old man was right, that there’s a curse on the coin. She tried to sell it to other dealers in the city, but all refused to take it as well, most using the excuse that they can’t legally purchase old coins. She even left the state, but to no avail. No one wanted the piece of gold.

“C'est pour les pauvres. Donner aux pauvres.”

“Go away,” she screamed from under the covers. “I don’t know what to do.”

“C'est pour les pauvres. Donner aux pauvres.”

“I told you, I don’t know what to do.”

“C'est pour les pauvres. Donner aux pauvres.”

It was louder, as if it were in her room. Harrington threw the covers over her head and shuddered in fear. She heard the door open. She heard someone stepping inside.

She wanted to look, to see this intruder but her fear stopped it.

“C'est pour les pauvres. Donner aux pauvres.”

It was closer. The voice seemed to reverberate off her left ear. She felt someone’s, something’s, breath through the covers. She trembled with terror. She couldn’t take it any longer. She called out, “In the morning, I’ll put it in Our Lady of the Assumption’s poor box.”

Her room warmed. The crickets chirped. She heard the sound of a coin dropping on her bedroom floor.