Saturday, 15 October 2016

Call the Dead and They’ll be There

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.

No comments:

Post a Comment