The First Soucouyant

For all nights to come

As Old Joseph sat in front of his hut watching the shadows lengthen, he wondered if his actions were representative of his courage or his stupidity. No, it had to be his stupidity, because he found himself starting at every rustle in the grass, at every shadow that moved across his line of vision. He was, he felt, simply too old for this shit.

Night fell and Old Joseph lit his little battered lantern. It sputtered and slowly came to life, creating a soft orange glow and giving Old Joseph a much needed sense of comfort. He listened to the children gently breathing in the hut at his back, and for just an instant seemed to forget the grim reason for his vigil.

It was a moonless night, with a sky full of dark clouds that obscured the stars. Old Joseph could hear the creatures of the night as they roamed, could hear the manicou rummaging through the undergrowth, could hear the chirp of the cricket and the croak of the frog. He heard the beasts of prey as they ranged, heard the sounds of things killing and being killed. He felt uncomfortably like prey himself, seated there in the darkness, outside of his protective circle.

Midnight came, and nothing happened. An hour passed and nothing continued to happen. Two hours. Old Joseph stood up and stretched himself. It looked like Ethel would  not show that night. Joseph found it difficult to feel regretful about this. He listened carefully and satisfied himself that he heard nothing. Turning around to cross the circle and enter his hut he froze suddenly.

His blood ran cold.

How could he have been so stupid? How could he not have noticed it?

He had heard THAT nothing before...

He cursed himself then. In his drowsiness he had not noticed when the crickets had stopped chirping. When frogs had stopped croaking. Even the wind itself had ceased. All was still.
All was much too still.

He thought back to that night when he and De Verteuil had sat in that same hut waiting for Death to approach. It had taken him most of the next day to clean up what Ethel had left of Massa. He would not have been missed. Everyone assumed he had perished in the fire. Old Joseph had used his magic to spirit himelf away.

There was no running away this time.
As he sat looking at the cane field that stretched out vast and dark before his hut it seemed to him that he could spot an orange glow among the stalks.
Closer it drew, and the silence came with it. Old Joseph had the sensation of having cotton stuffed into his ears. He snapped his finger next to them to ensure that he had not gone deaf. The sound of the click went into his ear and no further. The air, pregnant with evil, swallowed it up.
Still nearer the glow drew, unimpeded by the cane stalks, passing directly through the ones that were in its way. Old Joseph started to recite his prayers of protection, but halfway through saying them, forgot the words.
He could remember none of his charms, none of his tricks, it was all he could to to lean back, staring in unmitigated fear at the glow that approached him, taking its sweet time, knowing that he would not run, COULD not run.

Finally it hovered there in the clearing before his house, a man-sized ball of fire with a spectral figure visible in its midst. It hovered exactly in the way that flames do not, drawing slowly closer until it was only a few feet away from the old man cowering on the ground. The skinless figure in the midst of the flame, stared down at Joseph.
And smiled.

Old Joseph pissed himself then. He truly could not have helped it. The act of doing so seemed to bring him back to his senses.
"E-Ethel." He stammered.
"Just leave the children alone nah man."
He really didn't know what else to say.
The figure in the flames spoke, its voice like the voice of the dead woman that whispers into your ear.

"Dais the best you could do Jojo? Compère herbalist, compère obeahman? I thought is stop you come to stop me."
Old Joseph managed to draw himself to his feet.