A ghost story may not be memorable for its narrative, or its twist, but its emotion can linger for a long time. A ghost story strips away the comforts of the listener, mutating their usual security into something unrecognisable and temporarily replacing their warm reality with eerie cold. It was that same ghost story consciousness that Verity was experiencing when she finally rolled into Inhambane.
A strange little town, not very big, with dusty half-paved lanes snaking through run-down sandblasted estates. The town was built upon the sides of a valley, and its' roads ran down into the valley plain like rivers, all converging in the town centre, marked by a whitewashed, crooked church. Pulling up into this lonesome town was like entering a time slip and falling into the past.
It was late when Verity reached the town (which was extremely difficult to find). She saw only a few swarthy, perplexed faces as her car scratched its way towards the only B&B there was. She pulled to a stop and got out of her car, letting the warm night air kiss her softly; a little reward at the end of her journey. She made her way to the B&B.
Trail 3
The third trail ran across a ridge, and was interrupted in the middle by a steep ravine. The trek was mostly uphill and the little travelling crew complained abundantly about all their aching calves. Wesley and Nizhoni were advancing in front of the others, and there was an unspoken competition between them as to who could clear the ravine and reach the next camp spot first. Wesley would occasionally lag behind a bit so that Nizhoni would feel he was backing off, only to spring up beside her again (he was only falling behind so he could sneak a peek at Nizhoni's insouciant ass-swing).
Behind them was Cadence who hadn't spoken much since they had set off. She looked troubled, and was obviously still concerned about the disappearance of her best friend Jocelyn from camp that morning. Behind her was Amit, whose glasses caught and reflected the harsh sun giving him little flaming eyeballs. Trailing behind him was Brody, who looked anything but amused. He was thin, messy-haired and probably coming down (this was the first time in awhile that he hadn't been perpetually stoned).
Nizhoni had mostly shrugged off Wesley's flirty chat during the journey. She was entranced by the surrounding scenery. Though their trail was arguably the most difficult, when they ascended the ridge and rose out of the forest, the view was amazing. A sea of green, undulating slightly in the sporadic breeze, cut through by pewter towers of rock. It was a beautiful scene gilded by the sun and blurred by its heat, reminiscent of a water colour painting. The view may have meant more to Nizhoni, because it was a part of her heritage. Walking around Mayflower Way was like a little tour through her ancestry, through the half-told shadowy memories of her own past.
Her grandmothers voice came back to her, it sounded like pebbles crushed under shoes. She remembered vividly her grandmother's face half-lit by the flames of the cooking pit in their front garden. Her papery lips were small, and always had billows of smoke coming from them. Nizhoni experienced overwhelming nostalgia when thinking about those nights. After her family had finished cooking and eating their succotash and cornbread, her grandmother would straighten her back, tap on her wooden pipe and ceremoniously load it with tobacco and some mint leaves. Everyone in her family knew then that she was readying to tell a tale, and they'd all make themselves comfortable as her rasping voice sounded out over the quiet crackling of the fire, inviting them into a heady reverie….
Trail 4
Being a closet gay, Spencer had developed countless tricks and techniques to hide his own nature. He made sure to walk in the right way, to use words he otherwise probably wouldn't, to back-slap, occasionally wrestle, endlessly talk about pussy and appreciate jokes about shit. He made sure to stifle the desires that threatened to burn away every thread of the cloak he'd pull tight around himself, or at least he had done until Darius. This was his deep secret. If he could lie so expertly about his own being and deny his very own soul, then what did it matter to lie about more inconsequential things? And so Spencer often wondered what everyone else's secrets were, and he more than anyone believed that in this teenage life, no one was really who they said they were or what they wanted to be. And he wondered if they too struggled.
He wondered these things as he stared around at his adventuring group. They had chosen the trail that initially cut through the forest but eventually landed them out on a rocky prominence that continued to rise until it joined to the eastern side of Moon Hill, where the campsite they were all aiming for was. Ms Mentira had stated that this trail was the one that would involve rock-climbing, and although the steadily rising path was quite steep, there was no need to climb, yet.
Everyone was puffing and panting and so conversation was minimal. Spencer wiped some sweat from his brow and glanced around at everyone, wondering if they were thinking of their secrets. He surveyed Sunkanmi (everyone called him Sunks) for a few seconds. Sunkanmi was tall and had a leonine, proud face. In a group he was usually taciturn and aloof, but actually quite warm once engaged individually. He kept himself to himself in class as he had other friends in the year above and didn't seem bothered whether he fitted in with this class or not. Spencer envied his maturity at this age where everyone else's plastic personalities were melting and reforming all the time. Sunks understood that knowing where you fit in, can also mean knowing where you don't.
Spencer couldn't puzzle out what the composed Sunks' secret could be, and so he switched his gaze to Keeley. She had her chestnut brown eyes fixed to the rocky ground ahead, probably praying that every step would be the last of the trek. She hated sports and physical work but loved fashion, which was reflected in her highly stylised appearance. Spencer found her to be sweet, indolent and hedonistic. Hers was the tinkling laughter heard in the background of all the parties, the first pair of gyrating hips on the dance-floor and she was always the last one standing after one of their frantic bacchanals. He wondered what secrets this joyful nymph hid behind her salacious smile.
"Shit!"
Madison's scream stopped everyone in their steps, and shattered Spencer's ruminations, snapping him back to reality. He looked to where her trembling finger was pointing. There, just above their trail was a small fissure in the rock-wall, whose opening was half covered with vines. And peering from within it; was a face. A pale face, crowned with mottled dirty hair. On a small, squashed nose perched a pair of jam-jar glasses that made its owner's eyes difficult to see. This strange little face watched them eerily for a few moments, and then came forward out of the rock.
Trail 3
Wesley looked askance at Nizhoni. He was frustrated; he so wanted her to want him. Or just talk to him, reciprocate a bit, but she was off in her own world. Her pointed, coppery face scanned the scenery around him and she barely noticed Wesley's existence. He didn't take well to being ignored. He had always admired Nizhoni from afar but knew little about her. She had few friends but this didn't seem to bother her. He knew she was sporty and excelled in the athletics team, and she was fiercely proud of her Nakota heritage. She attracted some jealousy from a few girls in the class, probably because for a teenage girl she seemed so collected and unbothered, and for these reasons their jealousy never really amounted to anything.
Then suddenly Nizhoni turned to Wesley and her wide eyes stared straight into his own.
"You know," she said, "my grandmother used to tell me stories about this place."
"This place?"
"Yeah, this area…Mayflower, it's where my…tribe originated from."
"Really?" Wesley was curious now, "what kind of stories?"
"Well.." Nizhoni began, straightened her back and began retelling one of her Grandmother's tales…
A Long Time Ago
The Minisatonwanbi people were known to their neighbouring tribes as a powerful community. Their semi-nomadic clan was one of the largest and most sprawling, and occupied most of the vales and dells of Mayflower Way. Their name, 'Water People' was a reference to their symbiotic relationship with the white torrents that gushed through their homeland and their main camp - situated on the silt plains of the mighty Makawee river. There they grew their crops on her fertile soil, played and bathed in her swirling currents, ate the fish that swam her streams and rode her temperamental watercourse on their expertly crafted canoes.
Indeed the River was the life vein that ran straight through the heart of the Water People's community. One night of each week they offered up prayers to the river, chanting her name in their circle dance and carefully placing gifts into her flow. In charge of these rituals was Mapiya, the Chieftian's daughter. She was fifteen years old and was being groomed as the new Spiritual Leader of the tribe.
Koko, the old shaman who currently held the job had been ailing for awhile. Her weather-beaten face framed by her stringy grey hair, once plump and serene, was now thin and pained. She was dying of a nameless disease, and she knew it – but she was desperate to pass on her mystical teachings to Mapiya, who would succeed her. She was adamant that the traditions and culture of her people be protected, and passed on to the next generation before she died. What would her community be without its spirituality?
Mapiya was a delicate girl, but a sharp and eager learner. She quickly mastered the arts of prayer and dance, herbal alchemy, extispicy and storytelling. Through the purple smoke of the camp fire, her sleek body would twist and turn in the ritualistic water dance Koko had drilled into her. Her fingers would work quickly, tearing at leaves and preparing roots for the elephant sap salves used to treat the wounds of the tribes' hunters. Her words would echo out over the camp at night, lulling her people into a trance as she retold stories of a forgotten age. Koko was confident that she had found an appropriate replacement in Mapiya.
Mapiya was adored and celebrated by everyone in the tribe; she was their shining example of everything a woman should be. Her marriage to a respected young hunter, Powwaw, was quickly arranged on her fifteen birthday, and their engagement was a night of excited revelry. Mapiya danced with as much intensity as anyone at the party, her beautiful robes spinning, her bejewelled headdress glinting in the firelight. No one suspected that underneath her modest smile and humble elegance, lived a frightening desire to flee. Mapiya had not chosen to be a shaman and she had not chosen to be Powwaw's wife. But she had chosen Arrow.
Arrow was a sturdy warrior from the neighbouring Tokanbi tribe, previous enemies of the Water People. Recently the two tribes had negotiated an uneasy truce and occasionally would meet to trade furs or canoes, but mostly avoided each other and crossed not into the others' territory. Almost a year ago, Arrow had been out hunting deer. The chase had been long and tortuous, lasting for hours. Eventually the deer tired and Arrow was able to land a final killing shot from his bow. The deer staggered momentarily and then collapsed.
With its death, a weary Arrow immediately took light of his surroundings and realised that he had unknowingly crossed the border into Water People territory. The truce had recently been established but if a Tokanbi warrior was spotted wandering these woods, he would surely be attacked and the truce would come undone. He made quick to collect his dead prey and head back to his homeland, when he was chanced upon by a young girl - Mapiya.
Arrow and Mapiya stood at a fair distance for awhile, both surveying each other, both wary but curious. Mapiya's pretty face was somewhat blotchy, like she had been crying. They watched each other for a long time, and then Mapiya stepped forward, brazenly and unafraid.
"You look like you have been running for a long time," she said and took a buckskin flask from inside her tunic.
Arrow carefully took the flask, uncorked it, tested the water and then greedily drank the whole thing dry.
"Thank-you."
After their initial meeting, the two started a romance acted out only in the secret glades and obscure valleys on the border of the Tokanbi land. They knew their relationship would disgrace their respective tribes, but they were bound together by something neither could resist, and so their love flourished quietly in the still forest.
And on the night of Mapiya's engagement, Arrow was waiting patiently in their usual spot. They had long been planning running away together, taking to the wild and escaping the prejudices of their tribes. However Mapiya's looming marriage had forced them to put into action their plans, and for weeks they had been hoarding supplies, as well as a canoe, ready for their flight. As the engagement party waned, and the tired revellers all flopped to the floor around the campfire, Koko took to her seat as the tribes-people all called for her to tell a tale. As she began her story, Mapiya saw this as her only chance to flee. She feigned thirst and slipped back to her tent for a flagon of water. Then she easily slipped out of sight and made for the forest.
She ran as fast as she could but she hadn't planned this part, and her ceremonial garb made running difficult. Once she was under the cover of tree and bough she calmed down a bit, caught her breath and continued to follow the well trodden path she knew would take her to Arrow. When she came upon him, his handsome face highlighted by the white of the moon, she knew she had made the right choice. They came to each other and embraced. They were both somewhat nervous and began readying their supplies.
Powwaw had, however, not been so entranced by Koko's story. His mind was wandering and racing with thoughts of Mapiya. He had previously been out hunting with Puma, one of the other warriors. Puma had told him stories about a woman's body, of a girl he had taken in the woods once. He told of how good a feeling it was to be in a girl. Ever since, Powwaw was unable to concentrate, even his hunting had suffered. He would find himself staring at women and girls all over camp, imagining tearing off their shawls and feeling their warm flesh. He would find himself hardening and would have to go off into the forest a few times a day to relieve himself, spilling his seed on the leafy floor.
And so when he saw Mapiya creep from the back of her tent into the darkness of the forest, he followed her almost automatically. He wasn't quite sure what he expected would happen or what he would do when he caught up with her, but he knew what he wanted to happen. His mind wandered back to Mapiya dancing, how she thrust her body forwards, her back arching, her hips spinning as her smooth, buttery skin glowed in the firelight. He felt his cock growing again under his breechcloth, pulsating and begging for some kind of satiety. The night sky was overcast, but even without the moon's light, Mapiya left an obvious trail. Yet, on a few occasions Powwaw almost lost where he was going as he was so distracted. He never even wondered why Mapiya had taken off into the woods in the first place. Until he found her.
Mapiya was bent over, wrapping some salted meat in deer skin and handing it to a tall, well-muscled man who was loading it carefully into a canoe. The light was poor but he could tell by the man's height and wide nose, that he was of Tonkanbi origin. She was planning to run away! With a man from a different tribe no less! The whore! The heat in his loins now rose like lava into his chest, his jaws clenched so hard it sounded like stone grinding off stone, he was sure they would hear it. But Mapiya and her man paid no heed to Powwaw, hiding amongst the trees. He watched cautiously, to be certain of what was happening. When hunting you had to make sure you knew all about your quarry; where were they likely to run when startled, how could they defend themselves, were they alone? These things you needed to consider before you made your strike.
Mapiya leaned over and placed a tender, reassuring hand on the Tonkanbi man's tense, sinewy shoulder and the muscles around his back immediately relaxed. And that moment was too much for Powwaw. How could she touch another man with such tenderness on their engagement night? He suddenly leapt forward from his hiding spot, howling a water cry as he went. But at that moment he was not water, he was fire. His blood was bubbling oil, his eyes red, his skin flaming. He had not brought his infamous white-wood bow with him but he did have a small curved throwing dagger he always kept sheathed to his leg. With one fluid movement and a hunter's precision, the dagger skimmed through the air and found a soft little spot under the Tonkanbi man's chin.
In one breath, the great and beautiful man Arrow flopped to the floor like he was no more than a tree that had been felled. Rigid and motionless he lay there, like he had never known life at all, redness leaking from the hole in his neck. His eyes bulged, his face shocked. And above him Powwaw seemed to tower, his hands trembling, his chest pumping in and out. Mapiya was screeching like a girl-child, crying for help. And then her cries softened to a sob and then to a gasp when she saw the look in Powwaw's eyes. His face was terrible, steam was rising off him in the cold night air and his eyes were dark but blazing, like burning coals. And Mapiya was afraid. She spilled to the forest floor and spread out like water, trying to drain away…
Trail 4
The woman had slid down the steep slant of the rock-wall with an ease that suggested she'd been skipping around the rocks and woods of Mayflower Way ever since she was a baby. She was a strange creature, short and with a slightly hunched back, swathed and hooded in a tattered cloak. Her face was grimy, her hair was black with dirt, but may have been blonde. Her lips were small and pink with a thick, sticky line of saliva between them. Her legs were held apart, her stance readied and her body constantly rocking back and forth; like some kind of strange tick. She stood before them, surveying them, her head tilted slightly.
Spencer was immediately alarmed. The others in his group were silent, watching the weird woman carefully. It felt like they had accidentally come upon a feral animal, and they wanted to back away slowly and quietly. This woman smelled musty and her eyes were magnified by the huge lenses in her greasy glasses. She gave the impression she came from a backward and forgotten world which filled everyone with a disturbing terror.
Her breathing was audible; deep panting and wheeze coming from her open, slimy mouth. With one tiny booted foot, she took a step forward. Immediately the group jumped two steps back.
"Miss….are you...what do you want?" Spencer stuttered.
And suddenly the woman's head span round, and she fixed her distorted eyes on him. Then her head started bobbing up and down violently, her breathing quickened and started to sound choked.
Was that laughter? Was she laughing?
And as suddenly as she had landed amongst them, she took off again, tearing through them like a bullet. Sunks side-stepped quickly and Madison almost dived out of the way. Spencer turned and watched the weird woman speed down the rocky slope and disappear, her cloak billowing after her as she went.
The group sat stunned for a minute, then stared at each other wide eyed. Madison leaned in to her boyfriend Cole and gave him a hug, comforting herself as much as him. Keeley giggled hysterically, breaking the silence.
"Redneck freak!" Cole shouted after the woman, though he knew she couldn't hear him.
Spencer stared, shaken and perturbed by this strange encounter. Who the hell was she? He stared down the trail to where he had last seen her and wondered what other secrets Mayflower Way was hiding.
