Do Not Talk to Strangers
She was neither stupid nor naive. She was enjoying a holiday in Shangri-La, yet she should have been attentive to the parental rule, “Don’t talk to strangers.”
Black Magic whiffed.
Tantalising sandy beaches caressed her feet. Crystalline waters lovingly beckoned her to swim. From transparent to deeper ceruleans, the sea inked to Persian blue on the horizon. Yet Bloody Bay hid a macabre history of gore.
An evil reawakened.
With lungs full of salt air and jerk chicken, she sunbathed on gritty sand. A conga line of vendors sold miscellaneous goods from bracelets to exotic fruits while Rastafarian musicians sang Bob Marley.
A Voodoo Doctor awoke. Large, threatening and malignant with an aura of “bad juju.” He preyed on the innocent, the foolish, the weak. He wanted a victim. He wanted a Voodoo Queen to strengthen his powers of imbibing his “dolls” with evil spirits.
Looking for souvenirs, she strolled along numerous tarp covered stalls. English and patois rang about her, “Boss Lady…Pickney…Big up, respect….Irie…Ya Mon…. Wah gwaan…Ginnal!” Passing towels sporting the tri-coloured flag, colourful sarongs, beach bags, and island shaped engravings, she munched on guineps. Her eyes were magnetically attracted to an intricately carved exotic fish. After talking, laughing, gossiping and haggling, the burly carver sold her the wooden fish at an unbelievably low price. His janis smile followed her as she returned to the resort.
Bad juju.
She tossed and turned at night unaware the wooden fish glowed sickly.
An evil eye opened, large and malignant. Behind a fire, the Voodoo Doctor cried out.
Mysteriously, the next day, she was drawn towards the woodcarver. He threatened and bullied her to visit the deep woods where the fire would mesmerise her like a helpless moth to the flame. The cursed wooden fish inched her forwards.
The Voodoo Doctor leered out from the wood carver. He wanted a Voodoo Queen to enhance his magic.
Alarm bells sounded in her; this was no Halloween nightmare. She bolted, knocking a topsy turvy doll from a table and tramping it underfoot. Adrenaline and commonsense encouraged her to escape.
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I loved it! Your words bring to life the perfect Caribbean holiday. I particularly enjoyed your description of the market, the colours and the patois thrown for a great effect!
And yes, we shouldn’t consort with strangers because, as you say, it’s bad juju! ?
Terrible juju, indeed! Thank you, for reading, your rich praise and for pinpointing what you really liked. It was a cleansing to write this story; I was the foolish female who talked too familiarly and was too trusting. The carver being a “ginnal” a conman demanded money. Even though a trade off of new lady’s shoes and Bath and Beyond toiletries had been agreed. He threatened me with the police and I… Read more »
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To Leave Comments - Please SignIn with GoogleSo spooky. This phrase makes me shiver, “Don’t talk to strangers.” I trembled even more when talking about Black magic and the cursed. I personally experienced it. But evil will not triumph over good. Well done, Margarida.
My gratitude for reading my flash fiction, Lotchie, and for your valuable feedback. Hope any horrible memories that my story unintentionally woke in you, will be replaced by sweetness and happiness. In Walt Disney’s words, “The important thing is to teach a child that good can always triumph over evil.”
Thank you, Margarida.
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