Ghetto Dances: Walking with the dead: Spooky side of the night

Behind us, Rasta suddenly tripped and fell headlong, his head hitting the ground first. He moaned as he tried to get up.

I don’t like keeping late hours but Baba VaTata had seemed adamant.

“Let’s go, it’s getting late,” I said.

“The party has just started, there is still plenty of time,” he said.

Big Number, one of our friends  was having a birthday party at his home in Section C. Beer kept flowing  steadily to our table. Even Rasta who always had an insatiable thirst for beer suddenly realised halfway through the party that there was more than met the eye. There was more beer than water.

At last, I managed to persuade the pair to leave for home and they both grabbed several pints of beer to imbibe along the way. Rasta  even had some beer bottles under his  armpits.

By then, the sun had disappeared under the pale horizon and for once the street lights shone brightly and attracted several species of flies like moths and beetles which gathered around the light bulbs which confused and disoriented them.

On our way home, we decided to make a shortcut through the cemetery. We often used the shortcut several times but it was always during the day. Only the previous week, we had buried Derek here, who lived near the stadium  after he succumbed to meningitis.

Taking a short cut through the cemetery was a wrong turn and the moment we entered the cemetery, all the stories I had heard about strange phenomena occurrences at the graveyard flooded my memory.

Sometimes , it is easy to hear all sorts of stories and forget about them. It is quite different altogether when you experience first hand things you could never imagine can happen in real life.

It was all dark in the cemetery, dark, eerie and foreboding, a stygian night. I didn’t really know whether the street lights did not just reach the graveyard or that some dark forces kept the lights at bay or whatever that which lurked in the graveyard was an enemy of light.

I remember leading the way, walking jauntily, followed by Baba VaTata as Rasta dragged his feet at the rear. Rasta was having trouble catching up with us. I realised later that he was carrying  several  pints of beer and his pockets had a bulge.

The moment we entered  the graveyard , we all became quiet. I became suddenly  sober. There was a sudden chill and a heavy silence of the dead. In all earnest, I wanted to turn back the way we had come but by then we were almost halfway through the graveyard. It was too late.  The silence was frightening.

Behind us, Rasta suddenly tripped and fell headlong, his head hitting the ground first. He moaned as he tried to get up.

“Sssh,” hissed Baba VaTata.

“Did you hear that,” he said. I shook my head from side to side in the dark. I did not hear anything. Fear can make you hear and imagine all sort of things.

We all crowded together, trying to draw courage from each other as we moved hastily.

I was not sure, all sorts of sounds seemed to reach my ears. Was it my imagination? Was it real? My hair stood on end. My legs felt numb and heavy. I tried to look at the others in the dark, but they all seemed to be struggling. We seemed to be walking to no end. After some time , I felt that we had walked for several hours. At some point I felt that we were not alone. Some phantom was there amidst us, an evil force tormenting us. Above us , there was the flapping of wings but I could not see anything, maybe some phantom creatures transmitting evil in the terrestrial night.

Suddenly, the first signs of dawn broke in the eastern horizon. It was then I felt the heaviness leave me and when I looked at the others, they all looked a sorry sight, like survivors of a devastating earthquake.

“Where are we?” Said Rasta. We were halfway through the graveyard. We had spent the whole night traversing in the graveyard like some puppets under the control of some evil forces. I felt sick by the time we had left the cemetery behind.  A ten minute journey through the cemetery had taken us hours to accomplish. I did not know what to think nor what had actually happened. It was unimaginable and difficult to explain. It was a macabre night, full of horrors.

  • Onie Ndoro Onie@90396982

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