Jeff Luther Crawford
sat hunched in the car while his wife Diannie started the engine. Then a cold,
gusty wind whooped. A common vampire bat, tiny eyes scintillating in its
mouse-like face like a headlight, swooped down, flying in loops and making
straight for the car’s windshield. Diannie shrieked and threw her hands over
her face. The bat zoomed over the car, giving out loud, eerie cries and then
perched on a tree stump nearby, its mouth bared, showing sharp teeth in the red
cavity like the fangs of a cobra. Jeff moaned. Grandma Lucille sang louder and
harder from her rocking chair inside the house. Just then thunder growled,
lightning pealed and voices chattered like an animated discussion in a tavern.
Then Mr. Scoggins’s skeleton appeared, sliding towards them with jagged
movements.
“Where’s he, my
runaway slave!” The nasal twang sounded like an enraged dragon’s voice out of a
spooky fairy tale.
It all began
with Jeff, a former mechanic, who had just returned to the States from the Republic of Benin
in West Africa , one of the birthplaces of voodoo.
He had spent three years there learning to be initiated into the secrets of voodoo
practices.
One evening Jeff
announced gravely to the household made up of his mother-in-law, Grandma Lucille;
Diannie, a nurse; his sister-in-law Kate, an anthropology major; and his son Roy:
“I’m gonna call George Kelly Scoggins tonight, and ask that slavedriver why he’d
been so mean to the black families he overseered.”
Diannie burst
into laughter. “You’re gonna do what? Call a dead man?”
“Sure,” Jeff
said. “Africans do it all the time. I witnessed it myself several times in Benin .”
Grandma Lucille
stopped crocheting. “If you got that power,” she said in a sing-song manner,
“leave an evil man alone and better call Dan for me ‘cos I miss him so bad.”
All laughed. Dan
was her husband who died five years ago.
“I’m not joking
at all,” Jeff said. “You’ll see it tonight at the graveyard.”
“Dad, I’ll come
along,” Roy
said enthusiastically.
His mother gave
him a dark look. “A’int nobody accompanying Jeff to no goddamn graveyard,” she
said gravely. “The dead are dead.” She leaned in the cushion and pouted. “If
you’ve got voodoo powers, better use it to get us out of want instead of venturing
into a dangerous enterprise.”
Kate laid aside
the book on social anthropology she was reading for a term paper. “In primitive
cultures,” she said, “the dead are not really dead. They live as spirits around
the living and only the initiates can communicate with them.”
“Supposing it’s
real,” Grandma Lucille said seriously, “wouldn’t that sort of be risky, calling
a dead man?” She looked around the room over the top of her thick glasses. “I
remember the preacher reading one day from the old testament—don’t remember which
book—that we shouldn’t call the dead.”
“Which proves
that one can call the dead,” Jeff said triumphantly.
Diannie sighed
wearily. “What would it profit us to call an old slavedriver?”
“The past sheds
light on the present,” Jeff said, “And the present dictates the future. Knowing
the past can let us understand our present predicament and chart tomorow.”
“Working hard is
the only way to better tomorrow,” Diannie
said and smacked her lips together.
Kate picked up
her book again. “If the past wasn’t important who’ll study history?” she
argued.
“You’re damn
right, Kate,” Jeff agreed with her. “I’ll call that Scoggins tonight.”
Grandma Lucille
cleared her throat. “I hope you a’int gonna bring no apocalypse on this house,
would you?
At 11
p.m. Jeff locked himself up in his shrine in the attic and prepared himself
spiritually. Everybody stared at him thirty minutes later as he set out for the
Caffee Community
Cemetery , four miles north of their
home in West Blocton in the Bibb county
of Alabama . He entered the
cemetery on the left and slunk towards Mr. Scoggins’ grave, knelt in front of
it and occasionally flashed a torch on his watch to observe the time. The grass
caressed his knees as if little fingers
poked at them. The hush of the cemetery made him feel a bit uneasy although he
wasn’t afraid; the chilling fog made him shiver a little.
At exactly
midnight, he dug out a talisman and recited a charm, which he completed with: “George
Kelly Scoggins, I’ve come this night to call you. By the powers of Odzanoganon,
Dan, and Sakpata, and by the consecration of Daagbo Hunon, I command
you to hearken to me.”
Immediately
a gust of wind howled over the cemetery, shrilling eerily through the trees.
Someone yawned loudly as if waking reluctantly from a deep sleep. Dogs barked
in the distance, owls hooted and people cracked into peals of laughter like
drunks. A gate creaked open, loud and long, and then banged shut with a boom
which made Jeff jump. Then came echoes like rough voices talking in a deep
cavern. The owls hooted again.
“Why
have you waken me from my deep slumber?” a deep, rough voice growled from the
grave like thunder rolling in a cave.
The
air chilled further. Thunder pealed and lightning flashed. Cats meowed and dogs
growled as if locked in fight. Jeff began to tremble. “I...I...I,” he
stammered.
“Talk!”
the coarse voice snapped and the crazy laughter pealed again.
Jeff’s
eyelids flickered like a shutter. Weird creatures leaped all around him. “I’m
sorry for disturbing you,” he said and swallowed hard. “Please go back to your
eternal sleep.”
“You
cannot send me back just like that,” the voice growled. “I’ll need my runaway
slave to go back.”
“Runaway
slave?” Jeff murmured, “Which runaway slave?”
“Abraham
Dossou Crawford!”
Abraham
Dossou Crawford was Jeff’s great grandfather who had run away from slavery in
the 1800s. His independence of spirit made him keep his African middle name.
“But
he’s dead long ago,” Jeff stuttered.
“I
need him here now!” The voice sounded cross. “I need my runaway slave, do you
hear?”
“But
this’s the twenty-first century,” Jeff stammered. “There’re no slaves.”
“Where
is my slave!” the voice thundered, then the ground trembled like an earthquake.
The wind whistled like a hurricane and Jeff felt himself freezing. Booming noises,
like the ocean crashing on the shore, rose. Then Mr. Scoggins’ grave burst open;
a strong white light jabbed out and a
skeleton rose from the grave with rattling sounds. “My slave or yourself!” the
skeleton growled. “You said there’re no slaves in America , what are you?”
Jeff flinched
back. The skeleton’s eye sockets began to flash red as if fire burned in them,
its bared teeth chattered, and its metacarpals ending in long phalanges began
to curve into vices which reached out for Jeff’s neck to throttle him. Jeff
squealed and sprang back.
Ha!
Ha! Ha ! Ha ! the skeleton
rocked with laughter which resonated all over the quiet cemetery. “Come back
here, my slave! Two long centuries.” Ha! Ha! Ha!
“No-o-o-o!”
Jeff yelled as the skeleton advanced towards him, “Go back into your grave!”
“I’ll
go back with you!” More peals of laughter followed by a nasal cough came from
it.
Sliding
like a robot the skeleton still treaded towards Jeff, its outstretched bony
hands reaching out for him, the eye sockets now blazing as if a volcano spurted
in them.
Jeff
glared around him and then dashed off like a meteor. “There’s nowhere to hide,”
the skeleton shouted and its peals of laughter rang out after Jeff. A black dog
darted across Jeff’s path as he prepared to jump out of the cemetery and he
nearly tumbled over.
Jeff scurried
along the quiet streets, sighing like a panting dog. He must reach home quickly,
was all he thought. And when he got there he jumped onto the porch, yanked the
front door open, and burst into the house.
“Ghost! Ghost!
Ghost!” he raved.
Grandma Lucille,
sitting like a queen in her rocking chair, burst into a negro spiritual. Kate
watched from the kitchen door, batting her eyes. Roy rose from the couch and rubbed his
reddened eyes. Diannie shot up and rushed towards Jeff who stood in the middle
of the room trembling like a leaf in a storm.
“What the hell’s
the matter with you?” Diannie shouted, holding Jeff at arm’s length and shaking
him. “Are you gone nuts?”
“No,” Jeff
blurted out. “He’s ... he’s ... he’s after me.”
Diannie stared
over Jeff’s shoulder. “Who’s after you?” she asked with some irritation in her
voice. “I can’t see nobody.”
Jeff threw his
hands over his face. “Mr. Scoggins’ skeleton.”
“For Chrissake, Jeff,”
Diannie said with some more irritation. “A skeleton after you? What the hell are
you saying?”
Jeff gawked
around him while he spoke: “I called Mr. Scoggins and .. and ... and his
skeleton rose out of the grave and threatened me. God, I wish it doesn’t follow
me here.”
Diannie tut-tutted.
“Hallucinations is all you have, do you hear. Hallucinations!”
“It a’int no
hallucinations!” Jeff refuted her argument. “It’s real, like I’m seeing you.”
Then Kate came
over from the kitchen. “I know spirits exist, but skeletons, humph!”
“I swear it was
a skeleton.”
“I knew you were
gonna bring apocalypse on this house,” Grandma Lucille sang.
“If Mr. Scoggins’
skeleton is after you why don’t you go up to consult your deity which conjured
him?” Kate said. “It might have the antidote, you know.”
Jeff was too
dazed to do anything.
“Godammit with
all this voodoo thing,” Diannie muttered, shuffling towards her bedroom. “I
better drive this nut to the hospital. A psychiatric treatment, that’s what he
needs, if I know something.”
Jeff stood in
the middle of the living room shaking and gaping about like a fugitive. Roy stared from one
person to the other, not knowing what to make of the situation. Grandma Lucille
continued to sing.
In no time at
all Diannie was back with the car key and tugged Jeff towards the door.
“No-o-o!” Jeff
screamed and stood his ground.
“Yes,” Diannie
said firmly and led whimpering Jeff out the door like a child.
It was soon after that Diannie started the car and the skeleton appeared,
asking for Jeff.
“Lord
‘ave mercy, it’s true,” Diannie croaked, burst out of the car and dashed into
the house. Jeff sat mesmerized in the car and goggled at the approaching
skeleton. Soon the skeleton reached the car door and reached out for Jeff with
its bony fingers.
“No!
No! No!” Jeff screamed, sliding away towards the driver’s side. The skeleton’s
eyes flashed fire, the gaping mouth sighing with relish. “I’ve got you
cornered now,” it boomed. The skeleton
withdrew its white hands and walked around the car. Jeff threw the
door open to jump out. Then he saw the
skeleton behind the door. He banged it shut and jumped to the other side. The
skeleton let out a raucous laugh.
At
the other side Jeff finally summoned courage and banged the skeleton with the
door; it went sprawling onto the floor, and then Jeff scrambled out of the car.
He jumped to his feet and shot for the porch door. He burst through it, and
slammed it shut. Then he locked it, barricaded it with a sofa and dashed
upstairs. Everybody had disappeared from the hall.
“Damn!” Jeff swore
with feeling. He has angered Mr. Scoggins by waking him from the dead. Worse,
before going to the cemetery he had forgotten to ask the deity what would be
needed to send the dead back to his sleep. He remembered the story of a man in Benin who called
his grandfather. After consulting him, the grandfather asked for a sheep to be
slaughtered before he would go back. Unable to do so, the man panicked and ran,
and lost his mind. Would he go crazy too? Jeff wondered. But that did not worry
him as much as the skeleton he had brought home.
Soon, a
terrifying sound, like the whooshing of a hurricane, filled his ears. A
mournful sound of wind whistling through tree branches appeared outside Then hail
pelted the roof. The house began to rock as if a force strove to tear it from
its foundations and send it hurtling across the street. Just then the wind
began to rattle the windows. Soon a shutter tore loose and banged crazily
before going clattering across the yard. Then the lights flickered and went
out. Jeff groped for his black mechanic’s flashlight and in a bound he was
downstairs. He must find where the others were hiding to protect them.
Going downstairs
he had heard banging sounds like someone trying to tear down the porch door. Now
it opened with a whoosh and the skeleton burst in, accompanied by cats
meowing and dogs howling like a pack of
wolves. The illumination from its eyes etched bats gliding swiftly about the
room with their large wings like parachutes.
Jeff recalled
from his training in Benin
that Dan Vodun or the serpent was the god which warded off bad spirits
which haunt families and homes. He bounded up to his divination
room and began to beat a gong on the floor, reciting incantations to Dan
Vodun to chase off the spirits. Then Jeff heard bawling downstairs and he
prayed harder, trying to remember the powerful words Daagbo Hunon used. But his
mind was too cluttered for clear thought.
Then Roy shrieked downstairs
and a chill washed down Jeff’s spine. Has the skeleton reached him? He picked
up a powerful whisk and pattered downstairs. Roy shrieked louder from the kitchen. In a
bound Jeff was there.
He flashed the
light into the kitchen to see the skeleton grab Roy by the neck, its long phalanges sinking
into the boy’s neck. Roy
clutched the bony arms lamely. The bats, beating their wings rapidly to steady
themselves, guzzled the blood oozing out. With a leap Jeff struck the skeleton
with the whisk and its claws sprang off the boy’s neck. But too late. The
lifeless body tipped to the floor. Kate, huddled in a corner, eyes wide with
fear, sprang past Jeff and dashed upstairs.
Jeff heard the
bats swoop past him and the skeleton glided after them. Minutes later Grandma Lucille
was yelling in the dining corner. Jeff darted there to see the skeleton forcing
its bones into the poor old woman’s neck while the vampire bats sucked the spurting
blood with slurping sounds. He shook the whisk and the skeleton bumped off
Grandma’s limp body. The old lady toppled over and quivered on the floor. Then
the skeleton reached for Lucille. Lucille flung open a window and tried to leap
out. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! the skeleton
guffawed,
sailed to the window, drew her back into
the room and drove its bones into her neck. Lucille let out a piercing wail and
collapsed. The bats burst out into weird cries and zoomed in to gulp down the
blood.
Jeff bounded
back to the attic, plopped onto a stool in front of the god Sakpata and
beating a twelve-tongue gong on the floor, recited incantations madly. The
lights flashed back on. Kate, nearby, slid into a closet and drew it shut.
Suddenly, cold
dry bones grabbed Jeff by the neck and thrust piercing finger bones into it.
The gong went clanging onto the floor as the searing pain registered in his
brain and he let go of it. Then groggily he reached for the magic whisk. The
skeleton whisked it off with its bony foot. The bats, hungry eyes flashing like
bonfires, zoomed in to pump out his blood. Jeff sent his arms flying wildly to
ward them off. They fought him with their droopy wings, making killer sounds.
In desperation, Jeff reached out and slapped the god.
This was an
offence. At the same time it signified to the god that one was in serious danger
and its supernatural powers were needed. Asking for these extraordinary powers called
for expensive ceremonies afterwards to ward off the spell which the act
inexorably cast on the offender.
Immediately Jeff
felt a strange energy fill his body. He reached out his right hand and tore off
the skeleton’s. Then he gipped the wrist and snapped it.
“Oooch!” the
skeleton cried out and blaring something like a war cry shoved its left
phalanges into Nathaniel’s neck. Pain darted through Jeff but the bones failed
to puncture his skin. The skeleton tried harder and Jeff heard cracking sounds
as its fingers splintered. The bats continued to lash at him with their madly flapping
wings.
Strengthened, Jeff
sprang for the whisk and the iron gong. Holding the whisk in the left hand and
using the gong in the right, he thrashed wildly at the skeleton and the bats.
“You’re my
slave, you hear,” the skeleton laboured to say, “And I must take you away.” It
floated towards Jeff.
“Yes, you must,”
the bats chorused and zoomed in.
“There’re no
more slaves in America ,”
Jeff countered and fought back.
Feeling
overwhelmed, the skeleton retreated downstairs. Jeff followed it, banging at
its wrist bones and tearing the wing membranes of the bats with the gong. Jeff
attacked them right up to the front door and then he felt his powers waning. With
punctured wings, the bats now flew slowly and the skeleton, now without wrists,
came in with its arm bones. Jeff swung his gong but hit nothing. The bats whipped
him with their wings.
Jeff wondered
what had happened to the power of the whisk. He looked at his left hand to find
it without the whisk. When did it fall without his being aware of it? Jeff
retreated.
The bats
squawked wildly and followed him, jabbing at his back and neck. Arms flailing
wildly, Jeff tried to ward them off. The skeleton clutched his neck, but
without phalanges all it could do was smother him with the radius and the ulna
bones. Jeff rammed at them with the gong. Then he reached down and with all his
might whacked at the skeleton’s pubis. The skeleton doubled over. Jeff rushed
up the stairs. The bats followed him, honking like nuts. Jeff lashed at them,
but now wiser, they kept out of his range.
Jeff found the
whisk on one of the flights of stairs. A bat zoomed in and picked it up with
its sharp talons. Jeff sprang up and whisked it off. He turned to see the
skeleton on his heels, its arm bones stretched out for him. Its teeth chattered
wildly. He shook the whisk in its
direction and the skeleton slowed down. Jeff fought it with the fury of a cornered wild
animal. Then he bounded upstairs.
He crumpled
before the deity and prayed. “What should I do now, mighty god?” he lamented.
“Call Daagbo
Hunon in Benin ,”
the vibrations told him. Just then Kate opened the closet a crack and their
eyes met. “Pick up my cellular phone and call the shrine in Benin ,” he
ordered.
Then the
skeleton and the bats were on him. Jeff picked up the divinity made up of iron in
the form of an umbrella. He whispered to it to help him and to pardon him for
using it as a weapon. Then he lunged for the bats, whipping at their wings
until the membranes were reduced to tatters. They fell with a thud onto the
floor and lay there panting. Then he faced the skeleton.
From
the corner of his eyes, Jeff saw Kate search the mobile’s memory for the
diviner’s number in West Africa . Then she pressed
the phone to her ears. The skeleton continued to fight. But with more of its
bones broken, it couldn’t do much harm. And with a longer fighting object, Jeff
managed to keep it at bay.
“The
man appears not to speak English,” Kate shouted.
Jeff
clubbed at the skeleton’s cranium when his relaxed guard encouraged it to come
in. The skeleton staggered back and shook its skull.
“Ask
for Gedehusu,” Jeff shouted, his eyes on the skeleton which clutched its
cranium but still did not give up the fight. With a mighty effort, the skeleton
hurled itself on Jeff and grabbed him onto its bosom and tried to crash him.
“Quick,
Kate!” Jeff cried, struggling with the skeleton.
Soon
Kate told him the charm words and Jeff chanted: “You’re bones and to the grave
you must return.”
A
hush descended on the house. Then Jeff heard a sound, like a rocket hurtling
farther and farther away. With a plaintive cry, the skeleton rose into the air
and floated down the stairway. There came a whistling sound and the bodies of
the bats also vanished.
Jeff,
tired, collapsed onto the floor, resolving never to call the dead again.
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