Short Story - A day ghost

Andrew Blake, Contributor

I was about 12 years old when daddy packed us into his Land Rover. He said we were going "back to roots" for the weekend. I was happy as a lark to get away from the hustle and bustle of Kingston life.

Those days, there was no Highway2000, so the trip from Kingston to St Elizabeth took about five hours. In a few hours, we were cruising through the cool hills of Malvern and down into the valleys of Leeds District. The place was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop, even in the forrest.

Dad's Hillbilly Rover creeped over a heavily wooded area for almost an hour. Finally, in the middle of nowhere, a gem of a house appeared. A very palatial two-storey house, with all the modern amenities, perched on a hill in Leeds. That was Grandpa's house.

I dashed out of the van and hurriedly sprang onto Grandpa, whose arms were always welcoming. He kissed me as if it was the first time he was seeing me. I enjoyed every bit of it. I really loved that man.

Grandpa made his fortune from bees and livestock farming. We lacked nothing while we were there.

We got settled in really quickly and had a thoroughly enjoyable weekend. When it was time to leave, they had to pull me out with a tractor. I made a vow to build my house in Leeds, right next to Grandpa's.

Twenty years passed and I was now a grown man with children of my own. Being 'country' at heart, I went to view a bungalow in Rosemont, north Clarendon. The house was nice, but the yard was amazing. It was filled with fruit trees of all description. "I'll take it", I told the real-estate lady.

"Ok, sar," she responded.

I decided that I would first lease the property before I bought it. That was an excellent decision, I later realised. Early one Sunday morning, I picked up my dreadlocks brethren, Max, in Portmore and took the highway down to Clarendon.

I wanted his opinion on the property. As soon as we reached, Max dissolved into the vineyard. Shortly afterwards, he emerged with all manner of fruits - mangoes, sweetsop, naseberry ... you name it.

He dove back in again, like an idle teenager, and was really having fun.

I pretended to be the mature one and walked lazily around the property. Like an overseer. Eh, eh!

I parted some shrubs and darted towards what seemed like a large rock, near the back of the property. When I drew close to the rock, I realised, to my displeasure that it was indeed a grave.

"Christ, a grave on the property?" I questioned. I called out to Max who was busy stripping an ackee tree. He slid down the tree and came running towards me in the bushes.

"A wha, mi dan?" he enquired. I pointed him to the grave.

"A noh nutten dat man, a soh country people set things," he muttered. I was disappointed in his response. Being a "town man", I was not used to graves in my yard, so I was not amused.

"Yuh think mi shudda tek di place still?" I asked Max, before even consulting my wife.

His response was in the affirmative, so I called the realtors right away. Lease to purchase was the agreement.

I was a bit nervous about the grave, so I interviewed my nearest neighbour-to-be. A cockeyed old woman who bore a striking resemblance to a tired goat. She informed me that the grave was that of an old woman, who once lived in the house. A young lady was hired to care for the wheelchair-bound woman. One day, while pushing the wheelchair, the young lady keeled over and died immediately. It was a mystery and there was talk in the town that "duppy bax har dung". She said, shortly after that, the old woman died too.

The more I listened, the more I got scared. But Max took the whole scenario for a big joke. He didn't believe in ghosts. Max said he hoped it was a lady ghost. He would probably invite her on a date. I laughed at his antics.

We bid 'Goaty' farewell and headed back into Kingston. I was deep in thought for most of the trip.

The following Sunday, Max and I went back to the property, to measure the doors and windows for insect nets. I didn't want breeze to blow on my two beautiful daughters, hence the insect nets.

We took sulphur candles to help rid the house of insects. Before we lit the candle, we noticed that a large black bat flew into the living room. We ignored it as we were sure the candle would kill it. We lit the candle, locked up the place and went outside. After about an hour outside, we went back in and put out the sulphur candle. To our surprise, the bat was still on the wall. Totally unaffected. We stared at each other.

"A duppy dat," we mused.

Anyway, we opened up the place and let air in. About half an hour later, we went back in to start measuring. The grille and front door were securely closed.

I held the tape measure on one side and Max was walking over to the other side of the living room. It was then that we heard footsteps on the verandah. We froze and listened attentively. I bid Max to "shhh". We knew the locks were on the verandah grille, so who could this person be. Unless they had a key.

The footsteps came right up to the living-room door. The door knob turned and the door flew open.

The 'person', on seeing us in the living room, tried to hurry back out. We could hear slippers scurrying on the living-room floor. Like someone rushing back out. It sounded to me like the movements of a young woman.

Hard-believing Max dropped the tape measure and leapt onto me like Scooby Doo.

"Duppy inna di house, man!" he exclaimed. "Down, boy," I scolded him.

I ran to the open door and looked outside.

All the locks on the verandah grille were intact. I went to the verandah and looked.

There was no one in sight. I felt a lump form immediately in my throat. Could a ghost be so barefaced?

I went back to the living room to see Max awash with cold sweat. Almost unable to speak.

The hilly terrain appeared flat as we sped out of the yard. What the hell was that?

"A day ghost," Max croaked.