Bayou's Lament: A Labyrinth of Souls Novel by Cheryl Owen-Wilson ➱ Book Tour with Giveaway

Bayou's Lament

A Labyrinth of Souls Novella #9

by Cheryl Owen-Wilson

Genre: Dark Fantasy, Horror

Veya Marie St. James has vowed to never again set foot on the Island of her birth—a strip of land buried deep in the swamps of southern Louisiana. Her childhood memories are rampant with ancient superstitions and the bizarre rituals of her estranged mother. Veya long ago rejected that life and those beliefs, but when a mysterious illness threatens her daughter's life, it all leads to the Island. Veya swore she would never go back, but the Island calls to her, and now it's calling with her daughter's voice.

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Bayou's Lament Excerpt #1

She sat slumped on cold, metal stairs struggling for breath. With each labored inhale an old familiar scent filled her senses, the stagnant stench of decay. She sat between the fourth and fifth floors of her office building in a stairwell she’d traversed hundreds of times. Yet, she could not shake the feeling she’d been transported through a time warp back to her childhood and the nightmares it held.
Invisible rubber bands tightened and pulsed across her chest. Panic attacks had always walked hand in hand with her childhood memories. Memories she—Veya Marie St. James—had eradicated within the first year of leaving the place where they’d originated. The Island, the home of her birth, hidden deep within southern Louisiana’s swamplands. A land fed by layer upon layer of decomposing foliage and dead animals resulting in the odor now assaulting her senses.
Veya had been eighteen when she left the Island. She was now a thirty-nine-year-old woman with a nineteen-year-old daughter.
The sensation of having no control over her own body diminished with each breath, until she could sit upright without the fear of her chest being crushed by an unseen vice.
A panic attack after so many years. Why?
She searched the stairwell for the kid who’d just scared the hell out of her. It was a kid, wasn’t it? She’d been fumbling in her purse for her phone thinking she should call to check on her daughter, Triste. When she’d looked up, he’d been standing in her way, a four-foot tall black goblin with pointy ears, a tail, and red glowing slits for eyes. It’s the end of August, not October, she’d thought right before her phone fell from her hand, and her body began its well-tuned dance with the all-consuming panic. An affliction it had taken her months in therapy to overcome.
She called out, “Where the hell are you, you little cretin?” When no answer came, she wearily climbed the steps out of the stairwell, careful to avoid looking in its dark corners.
Costumes these days are too realistic.

Bayou's Lament Excerpt #2

“Mom, Mom, wake up. I’m scared, Mamma. Help me. Please help me.” Triste stood at the foot of Veya’s bed dressed in an ankle length white cotton nightgown. Along its neckline were the tiny pink roses Veya had spent hours embroidering. Triste’s knee-length auburn hair whipped around her face like a wind was trying to steal each strand from her head.
“Baby, baby what’s the matter? Why are you here in the middle of the night? What scared you?” Veya attempted to clear her mind from its sleep-filled stupor. She tried to lift up from her prone position in bed and reach for her daughter, but found she couldn’t move more than her neck to see the end of her bed.
Her arms would not lift to throw the covers from her body.
Her legs would not move themselves over the side of the bed.
I’m paralyzed!
For the second time that day panic clawed at her chest. She strained her neck looking helpless to where Triste stood. A wind she could not feel tore at her daughter, twisting the gown tightly around her rail thin body.
This is a bad dream. A nightmare.
“Mamma where am I? Please help me.”
“I’m trying sweetie, I’m trying.” Wake up Veya. Wake up!
Behind Triste there should’ve been a wall filled with every picture she’d ever drawn for her mother. Instead there was a trunk of a leafless tree silhouetted against the night sky. The bare limbs reached out toward Triste.
It’s a dream, just a dream.
A distinct odor settled around Veya as the realization of where Triste could be came to her. The swamp—stagnant water filled with the heated muck of its underbelly—the very smell she’d labored through in the stairwell of her office building that morning. The stench melded with the overwhelming panic she’d always felt when attempting to retrieve childhood memories.
Triste was on—the Island!
Veya tried in vain, once again, to reach for her daughter, but her body remained paralyzed. She watched unable to move as the branches of the tree reached Triste, pulling and yanking her back. One minute Triste stood at the edge of her bed, the next moment she disappeared into the dark void of a night sky filled with silhouettes of

What inspired you to write this book?

Several factors inspired this novel:

The otherworldly beings in Bayou’s Lament had already made an appearance in one of my many short stories featuring mother/daughter relationships. They say write what you know. I have seven daughters so I might know a bit about those dynamics. Writer’s also say the characters in our novels write themselves if we, the writer, will listen and get out of the way. Well, that’s exactly what happened—while toying with the idea of said beings making an appearance in Bayou’s Lament—they began to tell me their origin story. Like magic they turned from slightly amorphous beings to a full-fledged species. Their story inspired me and it certainly helped when their evolution fit like the proverbial glove with Veya’s own journey.

Second would be the fact that Southern culture is a plethora of inspiration waiting to be mined from my memories. I grew up from age two to eighteen in Southern Louisiana where my mother and sisters still reside. Thus, I go back home frequently. The rich culture of my upbringing appears in many of my short stories set on illusive islands buried deep in gator-filled swamplands.

What did you enjoy most about writing this book?

I am what’s known as a pantser writer—a writer who does not plot out the novel before beginning. This type of writing is fine for short stories, but I soon learned the ups and downs of writing a longer story without a detailed plot. I very much enjoyed the plunges and high-wire acts. My characters took me on quite an adventurous ride.

Tell us about your main characters- what makes them tick?

Veya is all about controlling her environment, because as a child she felt oppressively controlled by not only her mother, but the Island itself.

How did you come up with the title of your novel?

I wanted readers to know the setting of the book: Bayou

Lament is both a key character in the book, as well as being a part of my own personal journey. Its duel definitions resonate throughout the novel:
Noun: A passionate expression of grief or sorrow.
Verb: to mourn.

What can we expect from you in the future?

More stories set in the south, featuring mothers/daughter relationships, family, voodoo, swamps, gators, etc.

The writing bug first snagged Cheryl Owen-Wilson through the penning of a personal essay, for which she received an award and publication. Today what drives her writing life is Southern Gothic fiction. Since her biological roots are buried not only in Oregon, but also deep in the bayous of Southern Louisiana the genre is a natural fit.

When not writing she can be found at an easel covered in oil paint. “When I write I usually have painting in mind to go with the story. The same holds true when a painting forms, a story generally follows.” In that vein one of her paintings is featured on the ShadowSpinners: A Collection of Dark Tales, book jacket. You can find her short story: Swamp Symphony, in the book’s collection. This is Cheryl’s first published novella.

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