Night comes quickly in Trinidad, like someone’s kicked the sun to the other side of the world and dropped the moon into its place.
Aunty Jess and Mommy were washing up. The television was on. A man lay bound in bandages like a mummy, trying to speak. Granny loved soap operas. She knew all the characters just from their voices.
“Tell them where you hid the money,” Granny said loudly.
Shayla was used to Granny talking to the television, but Michael looked alarmed.
The bandaged man opened his eyes. Moved his lips. Then…
Darkness. Silence.
Shayla’s heart thumped.
A mosquito buzzed near her ear. She could hear Michael breathing.
“It’s just a power cut,” Granny said. “There are plenty of candles.”
Mommy rattled around in the kitchen drawers and soon the room filled with flickering light.
Aunty Jess giggled. “This used to happen all the time when we were little.”
Mommy agreed. “And those stories Granny would tell us. They were terrifying! Especially the one about Uncle William. I’ll never forget that.”
“What happened?” Shayla asked.
“I’m no good at telling stories,” said Mommy.
“Can you tell it, Granny?” asked Michael.
“Well…” Granny said. “Uncle William was coming home late one night, when he heard a baby crying.
“No, he thought. It must be my imagination.
“He went to bed and lay down. But still he could hear it.
“He opened the window to look, but the night was as dark as the inside of a box. He couldn’t see anything, so he went out to the back yard.
“He shone his torch behind the chicken house, frightening the rooster who gave a loud crow…”
“Cocker doodle-doo!” Shayla yelled, grabbing her cousin’s shoulder.
“Shush,” Michael said, in a shaky voice.
“He searched everywhere,” Granny continued. “There was nothing. But, as he went back to the house, it came again. A whimper.
“Uncle William shone his torch towards the road. And there it was.”
“What?” the children spoke together.
Shadows fluttered across Granny’s face. “A baby, just sitting there. It was wearing a wide, cone-shaped hat so Uncle couldn’t see its face. And then he noticed the feet, which were turned inwards.
“Uncle started to shake. Now he knew what it was – a douenne – a restless ghost child looking for a playmate. Old people often told tales about them. Mothers were warned that if a douenne calls your child’s name they may be lost for ever.
“‘Why are you here?’ Uncle asked. ‘I’m lost,’ said the douenne in a baby-like voice. ‘Please take me back to the woods.’
“Uncle was terrified. But if he ignored the douenne, it might lure a sleepy child into danger.
“‘Carry me,’ the douenne ordered.
“Uncle lifted the strange baby and headed towards the woods. And as Uncle walked, the douenne became heavier and heavier, until it felt like he was carrying a fully grown man.”
“Ghosts shouldn’t weigh anything,” Michael said.
“Douennes do. At last, Uncle staggered to a stop by the woods. The douenne turned towards him. Uncle saw no eyes, no nose. No mouth.
“In a voice deeper than Uncle William’s own, the douenne said, ‘You can leave me here.’
“Then Uncle dropped the douenne and ran home as fast as he could!”
The children and their mothers clapped.
“Go on, Michael,” Aunty Jess said. “Tell us a good London ghost story!”
Michael looked thoughtful. “OK. But I need to get a snack first.”
He returned with a paper bag.
“Ready?” He dipped his hand in and pulled out a tamarind ball.
Shayla waited for him to share.
He didn’t.
“The graveyard near my school is more than 300 years old. It is Halloween. Du Shayne dares us to play a game of hide-and-seek there.
“We climb over the locked gates. It gets dark early in winter and the graveyard’s full of mist and lots of old statues and tombs covered in ivy.
“I’m first to do the seeking. I count to 100 while everyone runs off.”
Munch went another tamarind ball.
Was Michael eating them all? Shayla wondered.
“I open my eyes. There’s Du Shayne, crouched beside a crooked headstone. He has his back to me. So I creep up behind him and yell ‘boo!’.”
Michael passed the snack bag to Shayla. Happily, she put her hand inside as she listened to her cousin.
“Du Shayne stands up and turns towards me. He pushes back his hood. His face is a skull and his bony fingers reach out.”
Shayla couldn’t feel any tamarind balls. But what was this? Something round, and wet, and slimy…
“He drops something into my hand.”
Shayla squeezed the objects.
“It’s…”
Squeeze.
“His eyeballs!”
“Aaaagghhhhhh!” Shayla threw the wet, squidgy thing onto the floor.
Click! The lights came back on.
Shayla looked down. Peeled chennets! Sticky, juicy peeled chennets.
Mommy wiped away tears of laughter. Even Granny was smiling. “Well done, Michael,” she said. “You tell stories like a real Trinidadian.”
Michael grinned back triumphantly. “Thank you, Granny!”