“Why Dada never give one of ‘im own pickney di land, even yuh father, ‘im owna son? Why ‘im give a grandpickney; one ‘im hardly know?”
“Well,” I gave the usual answer, “Dada said that you were all fighting over the land and he wanted to give someone that was not involved.”
“What yuh alone doing in a five bedroom house. Yuh can manage it?”
“Yes Aunt Mavis.”
“Well beware, last time Lucy duppy roam, trouble boil.”
I nodded mutely, and she took off downhill with the banana on her head and a machete swinging in her hand.
I was now having even more doubts about coming back to live in Manchester. My mother and father were in St. James; they too had warned me not to come and live here, but I wanted the country life. Furthermore, at the age of twenty-one, it was quite an accomplishment to have my own house.
The night came all too soon, it was a hectic day filled with tidying up the various rooms in the house. I wanted to search for a job in Mandeville but I realized that I would have to attack the tidying up project first, so that I could feel settled.
I turned on all the lights and went into the room I slept in. I took a deep breath and went deep under the sheets. It was not long before I fell asleep.
“Carlene,” was the whispered voice that woke me up.
I looked from under the sheet, sure that I was dreaming.
“Carlene,” I heard again, this time the house was well lit and I felt a bit more confident.
The voice was strange and feminine. “Carlene,” came the whisper again. I trembled and listened, “go back where you are coming from Carlene.”
I then heard a high-pitched scream and a thud like a drum.
I jumped up trembling in fear; cold sweat was streaming in rivulets down my face.
I did not hear the voice again that night, but once again I was gripped with fear and awaiting the arrival of dawn with anticipation.
In the day, I jumped at everything - the floorboards, the bark of a dog; the sound of the willow tree had me trembling like a leaf.
Peter was conspicuously absent and I had no one to talk to but my parents who urged me to come home. The next night, I was trembling before I even got in bed. I sat wide-eyed in the bed, unable to sleep.
In the wee hours, approximately 1:00 clock, I heard the thump- thump sound of a drum. When I could not take it any longer, I decided to face my fears and see what was going on outside, so I peeped through my window.
What I saw drove fear in me, there were people dressed in white floating around on the front lawn. “Carlene go home,” they whispered and danced. They seemed almost transparent. Then wonder of wonders, they disappeared and once again it was pitch black, like only rural Jamaica can get.
I went under my bed in a cocoon of sheets; I had nowhere else to go. The least croaking that the old house made was torture to my ears. I felt as if I was on the verge of a serious breakdown.
That is how Peter found me, I think. I do not remember the morning after very clearly, but I remember him dragging me from under the bed; my body felt stiff, cold and old.
“What is the matter with you?” He asked concerned.
“You did not return my phone calls,” I whispered brokenly.
“I left to go to Kingston on business and left the phone,” he said staring at me strangely.
“Why were you under the bed? I was about to call the police, I thought that they killed you.”
“Who?” I asked.
I felt as if my tongue was heavy and that his voice was coming from a distance.
“The family,” he said, sardonically, “these people would do anything for a piece of land.”
“I am going to stay here tonight,” he said.
I felt heavy, I could not lift my body and the day sailed by with me staring at the ceiling.
“If you do not get better I am carrying you to a doctor,” Peter said, standing over me, after unsuccessfully trying to get me to eat.
I watched through my window as the shadows of evening descended on the house. I dozed off, not being able to keep my eyes opened any longer.
When I woke up, it was the dead of night, I felt vaguely uncomfortable. When I looked up through the window it was opened wider than I had left it and there were eyes staring at me, evil eyes. I screamed and screamed until my throat was raw.
Peter came rushing to my bedroom; he turned on the light and looked at my prostrate body on the bed. He later told me that I was babbling like an idiot, I had no sense of self at that time.
He looked around the house and then came back and hugged me to him.
“Carlene,” he whispered, “the house is not haunted.”
“Of course it is, I am leaving tomorrow,” I trembled.
“No, the family are trying to scare you, I recognized Aunt Edith’s silhouette running down the hill.”
“Why would they do this? I have done them no wrong.”
“Well we’ll fix them.” Peter mumbled and scratched his beard.
“How, please tell me how?” I eagerly asked.
“We are going to scare them, we are going to give them a dose of their own medicine.”
“We will plan it tomorrow get some sleep, the only duppy around here is the one they will see tomorrow night.”
I slept peacefully, taking comfort from Peter’s presence in the next room.
In the morning, Peter and I discussed ‘the haunting’ around the dining room table.
“You said there were many of them dancing and then they disappeared?” he asked, disbelievingly shaking his head.
“Mmmm…” I murmured.
“Well it must be the cousins Jiggs and Mitzie, they are in a dancing group at school. They must have shone flashlights on the white clothes and this must have given the iridescent effect.”
I stared at him in wonder, “don’t they sleep at night Peter? Why would they leave their warm beds to come to this cold place in the middle of the night?”
“Greed,” he theorized scratching his head, “this house is said to have money buried in some rooms. They could not find Grandma’s money after she died. Served them right she hid it.”
“What about the voice calling in the night, who could that be?”
“The voice calling in the night could belong to anybody. It seems as if they are all in this together. If I were here, I would probably have gotten wind of the plans. Anyway, here is what we’ll do…”
We planned all day and for the first time since moving into the house I anticipated the night.
Peter and I dressed all in black and hovered in the banana grove near my bedroom window.
The night was chilly and I was happy for the thick black sweater that I had on. I turned the night-light to see my watch; it was 12:30, about the time of the ‘hauntings’.
“Switch that off,” Peter whispered close to my ear and put his hand over my watch face. “Where are the radio and the sheets?” It was in the duffel bag at my feet; I realized that in the dark he could not see.
“Duffel bag,” I whispered.
He seemed to hear because he settled at the root of the tree. He pulled on the white skull mask that we were both supposed to wear and put his finger over his fearful looking lips.
I began to grow impatient, no one was coming and I began to think that probably there was really a duppy, and here we were in the thick darkness ripe for a scare.
Just when I was about to panic, we heard whisperings near my bedroom window.
I could faintly make out the shape of two bodies. One was Aunt Edith and the other was Cousin Murphy who would usually just stare at me mutely.
I hurriedly donned my facial mask and crouched beside Peter.
“Gwaan roun a front guh dance.” I heard Aunt Edith whisper to someone.
“Murphy weh di drum deh?”
“Right here suh.” Murphy mumbled.
“Kitara,” I heard my aunt call softly to my cousin; who was always coming over to the house and trying on my dresses, �
��guh closer to the room window, so that this time when shi look out, unnu eye can meck four. Mi hear seh shi could a hardly talk di las’ time wi scare har. Dis time wi want dem fi come tek har out pon stretcher. Mad house wi a put har.”
I shuddered at the venom that I heard in her voice. Peter, who was also listening intently, was silently laughing beside me; I could feel his body going into convulsions.
“Alright, everybody ready?” Aunt Edith asked.
They must have given their assent because a high keening pitched scream could be heard from the area around my front window. I jumped and clutched Peter in the darkness and then the drum started, thump- thump- thump.
“Carleeeeene, Carleeene,” Aunt Edith intoned, her voice sounded scratchy.
The cousins were dancing and I could see them swaying in the darkness; their white dresses offset by the flashlight that was shining through the transparent material.
It was really an eerie sight.
“Ready as planned,” Peter whispered.
I removed the white sheet from the duffel bag and tied it between two willow trees. Peter trained the flashlight on the sheet while I stood between them, creating a distorted image.
Peter pressed the play button on the radio and the maniacal laugh that we had refined during the day came over the radio’s speakerphones with a definite roar. The squeaking door and the footsteps, we had recorded from a Halloween video was used for added effects.
All drum knocking and dancing stopped.
“Why do you want Carlene?” Came my distorted voice over the recording.
I moved my hand so that my silhouette could look eerie.
“I…I...” Aunt Edith stammered.
“Now!!” Peter whispered.
I moved behind the sheet and the thick blackness enveloped me, except for the white skull of my head costume. I saw Peter heading toward the dancing girls in the faint light and I headed toward Aunt Edith, this time I was laughing a maniacal laugh all on my own.
“Woi! Duppy! Duppy!” the girls ran down the hill leaving their equipment behind. I heard thud- thud as if someone had fallen and then a ‘hmmpf’. I hoped it wasn’t Peter that had fallen in his enthusiasm.
Aunt Edith seemed frozen. “Do you know me?” asked the voice over the recording.
I advanced toward Aunt Edith
“Aiyee, Aiyeee, Lord help me Jesus!” she screamed and then took off down the hill.
I was right behind her running for all I was worth, while she screamed.
I screamed behind her and when we reached the bottom of the hill I shouted “and don’t come back,” in my best witch screech.
Peter was sitting at the side of the banking on a stone, his face was alight with laughter and he was trying to get up.
I breathed hard; the run was exhilarating but tiring.
We walked back up the hill in the night, white cloths, flashlights and a drum could be seen abandoned at the side of the road.
“Should I leave those there or carry it to them in the morning?” I asked Peter, pointing to the evidence of my Aunt’s scaring attempts.
“Leave them,” Peter mumbled, “they will collect it in the morning.”
In the weeks to come, I learnt that Aunt Edith was laid up in bed with heart problems. She was so traumatized that they had to carry her to the hospital on a stretcher, she kept mumbling about skulls with bodies, running in the night.
The dancing girls, Jiggs and Mitzie, had some deep cuts on their bodies; the district attributed this to the duppies that roamed in the night, hurting innocent children.
Marcus became really ‘dumb’; he jumps at the slightest sound and when he sees me his eyes rolls over in his head. The doctor said that the shock would wear off.
Katrina never returned to the house, no matter how many invitations I offered or how many new clothes I told her she just had to try.
One morning, as I sat on my veranda, watching the sunrise, my Aunt Mavis came up the hill, her wrinkled face glistening with sweat.
“Howdy gal.”
“Morning Aunt Mavis.”
“Yuh sleep well?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Di whole family concerned bout yuh. Dem send mi fi tell yuh sorry bout di house and land business. If yuh ever want help don’t hesitate fi call; we is yuh own flesh and blood and wi teck care a wi own.”
“Yes Aunt Mavis.”
“Just don’t call inna di night, nobody inna dem right mind, would come up here in the night. Yuh must be a real brave gal.”
I nodded my head, as she tramped down the hill; she stopped and looked at me in admiration.
I just waved and smiled. It was going to be peaceful around here for the next couple of years.
Author's Notes
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Here Is A Peek At New Beginnings
“My husband was a pig,” Pamela shouted to the startled lawyer. “He was a pig when he was alive and he is a pig in death. He’s punishing me.” She sat in the swivel chair across from her lawyer and wept bitterly.
The lawyer had never seen the dignified and snobbish Mrs. Walters cry, but he was enjoying the sorry display of misery. He wanted to be the one to deliver the bad news and he fought hard for it. They actually held a raffle to see who would get the privilege to tell the cold, unfeeling Mrs. Walters that her late husband had another child, a child that he had left half his fortune to.
She stopped sobbing long enough to delicately blow her nose. Her mascara ran in long streaks along her heavily made-up face, and he found himself trying not to laugh at her appearance.
“Tell me about this…this… bastard child,” she raged. “Tell me why in the twenty- five years that I was married to the man, I did not know about this child.”
“Well, Mrs. Walters,” the lawyer said, putting on his most serious expression. “Her name is Geneva. She’s twenty years old.”
Pamela was shuffling her feet under the desk, a murderous expression on her face.
“Run that by me again.”
“Her name is Geneva…”
“No, the twenty years of age. Are you sitting there and telling me that Stanley not only cheated on me while we were married, but he has a child the same age as our child, Melody.”
“Yes, Mrs. Walters,” the lawyer responded and nodded.
She rested her head on the back of the chair. “Where does this girl live?”
“She lives in an inner-city community with her boyfriend, who is said to be the don of the area.”
“What?” Pamela widened her bloodshot eyes and stared at the lawyer in consternation. “Stanley was rotten rich, supposing that he was really her father. He had investments in Cayman, hotels scattered over the island. How can this girl be living in the ghetto?”
“He did not know about her until two years ago. When her mother was dying from cancer she contacted him. He did all the necessary tests and found out that she was really his. That’s when he instructed us to change his will, leaving his estate to his two children Geneva and Melody.”
“Oh, I get it,” Pamela said nastily. “He was playing downtown and it came back to haunt him. So why tell me about my husband’s little indiscretion? How will it affect me? The man had so much money that giving half of it to a cat would not affect my lifestyle.”
“There is a stipulation, Mrs. Walters.” The lawyer had been waiting for this moment.
“What stipulation?” Pamela answered, looking at him fiercely as if he was the one who made the stipulation.
“Geneva and Melody should live together for a year to forge sisterly bonds, since they are siblings. He added that he wanted to see this in his lifetime but his illness and subsequent death had thwarted his plans.”
“Not over my dead body,” screeched Pamela. “Never. I will never allow my daughter, who is the epitome of class, to mix with a member of the underclass.”
The lawyer waited for her to stop ranting before he delivered the blow. “If they do not live together for a year, their inheritance will go to his aunt Ida in St. Mary.”
“Mad Ida? Was he crazy? I will contest it. He must have been crazy.”
“Can’t be contested,” said the lawyer. “There is a note here for you.”
“Read it,” Pamela demanded, as she stood up.
“To my wife Pamela, I am neither crazy nor hallucinating, neither am I a member of the animal kingdom. I want to foster a relationship between my children. Please do not stick your nose in affairs that don’t concern you. And he signed it.”
Pamela sat down hard in her chair. “And who is going to monitor this phenomenon?”
“The lawyers of our firm will file a report every month, which means we’ll drop by unannounced to see if your husband’s requests are being carried out.”
Pamela grabbed the phone and started punching numbers. “Melody, where the hell are you?” she shouted into the telephone receiver.
“Preparing for the beauty pageant, Mom. Remember?” The clear cultured tones of Melody’s voice could be heard over the telephone.
“Come home now. It’s urgent.” With that, Pamela slammed down the phone and stared at the lawyer, a bitter expression on her face. “When will this girl come here?”
“We thought tomorrow was as good a time as any, since it’s the beginning of the New Year and easier to monitor that way.”
Pamela nodded and the pencil in her hand snapped.
Di Taxi Ride and Other Stories Page 10
