Adon Caddo at the Black Gardenia

Prologue

It stood there, beyond legend. No one has ever known when it was built, nor by whom, or how, or even why for that matter. It was just ... there, a dilapidated shack of a structure totally out of sorts with the huts of the surrounding native inhabitants. It was overgrown with aromatic jasmine, moon vine, ivy, and other exotic vines that defied every horticultural description. Anything that went to seed in its vicinity grew, most beyond the norm for their species or genus.

On the outside it was shielded from the light of day by massive, ancient, moss-laden oaks made red by their proximity to the water, a mystery unto itself. Their size made it extremely difficult for sunlight to penetrate (though the light of a full moon never had a problem and always seemed to infiltrate the dense canopy). Weathered and distressed shutters that had certainly witnessed their share of violent tempests shielded the inside. It had one visible entrance, an ancient, weathered door that lacked knob or hinges. It was reached via a wood-planked walkway pier, supported by rickety wooden poles that skimmed the surface of the swamp's reddish water. Vegetation grew thick upon the water's surface, most notably wild water lilies and pungent swamp lotus.

On those nights that were not blessed by a full moon, illumination was provided by millions of zealous lightening bugs that somehow knew that it was their sacred duty to light the walkway. If they did not, the chance visitor might never be assured of finding that strange entrance.

The shack was surrounded by a nearly impenetrable, flowering hedge of glistening black, aromatic blossoms that towered over the roofline. The fragrance that exuded from these blossoms could cause one to loose the ability to retain the deep, dark secrets hidden within the farthest reaches of their soul.

The most peculiar feature of shack, however, was that it was larger on the inside than on the out. Many individuals would discover this unique feature over the ages as they were influenced by the power, and the wonder, of The Black Gardenia, as it was so named for as long as anyone could remember.

The structure bore no trace of nail, peg, glue, or any other means that bound its multiple parts together. The only bonding agent, if you could call it that, was a kind of incandescent red light. As a result, it's slats and beams were able to breathe with the atmospheric variations.

Was it forbidding? Perhaps, to those unprepared to delve into explorations that plummeted the depths of their psyche.

Even though The Black Gardenia rested amongst the lush foliage of the swamp, it did so in a silence quite profound. Even the cacophony produced by the native wildlife was reverently hushed in its presence. It should be noted, though, that once in a while there would be the shriek of a common loon that pierced through the pungent atmosphere. That sound announced the emergence of an individual from The Black Gardenia, though the emergence was rarely back to this time and location.

As forbidding as The Black Gardenia could be, it was a place that called to individuals regardless of their status, or location, in life. It harbored no biased agenda, nor did it segregate individual from individual, or species from species. It was an equal opportunity domain: and ... it was alive! Even more peculiar, at times a blood red light glowed from deep within that transformed the swamp into something quite extraordinary. Why, or how, no one dared venture a guess. It just did, and that's all there was to it.