Caribbean Ghost Stories From The Files of Dahlia Rose
So a few months back, I did a guest blog spot where I wrote about Caribbean Ghost stories. Most of you know I am from the island of Barbados and moved around alot before settling in North Carolina. But I always missed my home and even though I haven't visited in awhile..It holds a special place in my heart. We are planning to take an extended trip there for a year or two. So my kids can reconnect with the place where mom was born and see how simple and fun it was to grow up there. Plus it gives Robert a chance to live on an island and fish, and relax. There is nothing better let me tell you that :) Yes I even know how to surf, scuba and free dive...Thought I probably wouldn't do it now..LOL
But anyway, back to the ghost stories. Halloween is such a great time. My birthday is next week and anyone can tell you I love this HOLIDAY!! The house is decorated and our costumes are all ready for the Halloween parties and trick or treating :) needless to say I plan to have fun fun fun!!
From every part of the world they are stories that mystify us as children. We can sit, listen with wide eyes even as we grow into adult hood and still be captivated. Ghosts, spectral visions, voodoo, demons, all terrified us but yet we wanted to hear more. Well I'm from the island in the Caribbean Sea and I will give you a private tour into the ghost stories of our island. Things that seem unbelievable but have been seen by me and many of the islanders. From a race of tiny evil demons meant to terrorize, to a spirit who cannot rest. I will tell you all. Plus my favorite story of the island that has taken a special place in one of my upcoming books :) Join me in a journey to the parts of the island no one ever gets to see. If you dare!..
Demons Collecting Debts?
On an island ever resource is used to help make money. Some people are better off than others and for that reason "coolie men" came to be formed. The rich and the middle class could afford to go into town and buy what they needed. While the poor had to find other means to take care of their household and family. Coolie men were men who drove cars; they were able to ship their wares from overseas. From clothes to towels, shoes to pots and pans they had it all and they sold it out of the back of their cars. But for people who couldn't afford it they had a weekly payment plan. You could get what you need and pay small installments until the debt was gone. Call it an older version of a credit card payment except you didn't get bad credit if you didn't pay. You got something much worse. Demons
If you bought from them you dared not pay your debt because every one knew that the Coolie men dealt in the black arts. And those who did paid with terror and fright for the entire family. You would know if someone in your neighborhood didn't cover their debits. A group of men dressed in black would come to where the street begins that leads to where you live. There they would perform a ritual and etch symbols into the ground. No one dared stop them, but everyone one knew what was to come. From the time the sun set and the streets got dark. The sugar canes would seem to go silent from the wind passing through them. Nothing could be heard everything was deathly quiet. Mothers would give their children a night snack quickly and as you sat you could see the fear in her eyes and she worried the hem of her apron. Everyone would go to bed early and wait for the sounds to start.
Chains rattling, the sounds of howls like devil dogs that sent chills down you body. Sisters would huddle together in bed and say prayers that nothing could get inside the house. Brothers even though they pretended to be brave would not hesitate to let a younger sibling climb into bed just to be secure. You could hear your mother and father in their room whispering in hushed urgent tones and even their voices were scared. The wiring to the lights would burn out and the smell of burnt wire would fill the house even though the lights still blinked an eerie red. This was just as the demons passed by, Imagine what the family who incurred the debt had to go through. Houses were built close together and you would know soon enough. Scream of terror would fill the night air, and voices begging for mercy or help would be heard. But no one dared step outside to aide them they were on their own until morning. The sun would rise and the day would start again. Children would get ready for school and head out walking past the ones who had demons befall them. Outside the coolie men would be standing on the steps and money would be exchanging hands. The next night everyone would breathe a sign of relief because the neighborhood was safe once more. Children could go outside and chase fireflies whole parents sat on steps and talk to their friends and neighbors. No one would speak of the night before where terror kept them frozen in their beds.
Murder+ Cover Up= Restless Spirits
The morning was broken by a horror that no one could ever imagine. It couldn't possibly be happening here! These things only happen overseas. Overseas is what islander usually called America or the UK. But it was happening and it left the entire island frozen in fear. A girl dead in the cane fields killed on her way to work. She had left early in the morning when the sun was on its way to brighten the sky. On her way pass the rows and rows of fields that held the islands biggest resource she was attacked. Brutalized in the worst possible way by more than one man then her throat was cut. They left her for dead but she was not. Bleeding profusely she tired to crawl out from the middle of the tall stalks of sugar canes hoping a passing car could give her help. But her attackers came back and finished the job.
They found her because some one passing saw the blood trail she left from the road. They once sleepy neighbor hood was now filled with constables and news reporters from the local television station. The police knew who it was who did the deed but because they had no evidence they could do nothing. One of the men was a man of stature in the community and that alone held him unaccountable. So this poor girl was buried without justice or so everyone thought. A mother's grief fueled by anger, hate and loss is a powerful thing. While she cried over her daughter's body she whispered words that would cause a stir for years to come. Words that kept her daughter's soul from resting in peace.
The first time her ghost walked out from the cane fields the man that saw her ran all the way home screaming her name in terror. She comes out from between the fields and stands there still dressed in the clothes she died in, her throat cut and blood soaked. When the lights of an oncoming car hit hers, she darts back into the tall sugar canes while the driver tires to regain control of his vehicle and his racing heart. If you see her in person she reached out in a plea for help. I saw her once when I was growing up and the sight has been etched in my memory forever. A group of friends and I decided to walk to the beach late one night. The water is warm and to sit there and watch the cruise boats circle and listen to the music was something to be enjoyed. We left home not expecting to see anything except the pristine white beaches under a full moon. We never got to the beach. As we passed the beginning of the fields I saw a flash of white and my heart lurched. Laughing it off as rabbits playing we continued on, until we were frozen in out steps. She stepped out fro the place she died and stood in the middle of the road staring at us. Eyes wide and scared she looked around as if trapped in the same nightmare. Her eyes fell on us again and she held out her hands to us in a silent entreaty for help. We stood and watched in fascination or was it horror as she stepped towards us? I can honestly say I wanted to see what would happen next. Would her touch be cold? Would I be able to see her death through her eyes or would she pass though me and I would feel her presence as if it was mine. Her neck was the most horrific as she stepped closer with arms outstretched begging for help we could see her wound. The gash was harsh and torn like of she was cut by an unsharpened piece of metal. The light of a car could be seen around the bend coming closer. When the lights hit her she darted back from us and dashed back into the cane fields' once more. By the time the car past we could still see her peeking out between the sugar canes. We ran then and as I ran I felt the fear take over my fascination and I picked up speed racing a head of my friends. We never went back down that road at night again. But the story does not end there.
After that four men died, all in strange circumstances. Before they all died they each spoke of a woman's ghost that would not let them rest. This included the man who had high standing the community. He was alone when he died, ashamed and left even by his family. The sugar canes fields were cut down and uprooted, they made way for new homes and neighborhoods. But they still say that she is still seen there. Instead of coming out of cane fields she darts between the houses, confused about where she is and stuck in the endless cycle. Even though her attackers are gone why does she still stay? Shouldn't vengeance be the thing that lets her cross over into peace? Or is it because her mother never retracted the words that kept her from the afterlife? Do those words keep her here in this world and unable to find rest?
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These were stories that were passed told to us as children growing up. The one I did sometimes I wonder if it was a hallucination. Did we all see what we saw because of the tales told to us? Or did we really see a ghost? I know they are things in this world that are unexplained. I think that is why my books tend to go towards the paranormal and unexplained. There is one more story that I have that will intrigue you but I shall hold on to it for a little longer. I won't spoil the secret but you can read bout it in my novel coming soon from Sugar and Spice Press. (www.sugarandspicepress.net). There the story of the pirate Samuel Lord will be revealed and it is twisted in with the story I have weaved around it. "The Song of Calypso" has more of the Caribbean between its pages.
Thank you for reading my blog. I hope I have left you with the urge to share your own paranormal tales.
Hugs and Cheesecake!
Dahlia
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