Brett McBean - Tales of Sin and Madness

But that wasn’t what the man went for.

Instead of going to the sink, he snatched up the lump of raw beef that was left over from the stew and rammed it into his mouth.

“Good grief,” the Reverend gasped.

The man tore into the meat like a voracious animal. Blood trickled down his face and chest.

Sickened at what he was witnessing, the Reverend rushed up to the man and grabbed the meat off him.

“Stop that,” he ordered.

The man, his face smeared with orange gore, lowered his eyes.

He suddenly seemed ashamed of his behavior. The Reverend threw the chewed bit of meat into the bin and washed his hands in the sink. He then took the man into the bathroom and washed his face and hands with soap.

Afterwards he set him in his bedroom and closed the door.

He figured the man could do with a good rest.

The night was beginning to cool. The Reverend was sitting by the open fire, reading the man’s diary. The heat from the fire had dried its soggy pages, though a lot of the diary was unreadable.

The dampness had smudged some of the writing. Finding the diary had come as quite a surprise to the Reverend since it meant the stranger wasn’t mentally handicapped, like he’d initially thought. He had read most of the contents, those that were still readable, and had found nothing much of interest.

He turned one of its crinkled pages and found it barely readable.

So he turned again.

May 18, 19 –

This is my second nite abord the “Coup L’Aire.” The rest of the fellas, which numbers around 35 seem quit nice. The captain is bit rough, but arn’t they all?

My boss, French they call him, is a alright guy. I don’ know why they call him French, since he don’t have a accent.

This is gonna be a short entry tonite, as I am dog tired. Tomorow we stop at Hati (I think thats how its spelt) to colect boxes of suger. That should be fun, as I hear from the guys that there are always a lot of naked woman running around and that they are into spells and vodoo and stuff.

I spent the entire day fixin machines and checkin the ropes. It aint glamorus work, but it pays alright.

The Reverend smiled. He would have to teach the man spelling and grammar in the coming days.

He turned the page.

May 20, 19 –

Boy, what a day and nite we all had! There is alot to tell so I’ll try and be as quick about it. I don’t wanna spend all day writing. I’ll likley to be fired if I did that.

So yesterday we arived at Hati. We all hopped off at a placed called Port-au-Prince and were told where to go to get the boxes of suger. Well, we spend all day carting boxes and boxes of suger onto the ship — and let me say that suger is damn heavy — until they were all on bord. Well, right off the bat I thought this place spooky. All these black folk walking around wearing strange clothes, speaking this funny languige. I’m no racist or anything, but that was the way I felt.

So afterwards, the captain tells us that we are going to be staying overnight here. He says we all needed the rest. I agreed with him!

A group of the boys told me they were getting a lift over to a place called Mariani (spelt correctly?) where it was thought to have vodoo priests and real life zombies (yeah right!).

I laughed and told them I was going to stay in the city with the others (there werent many — most of them went to that Mariani place). I was so dog tired, you see.

Anyway, at around two in the morning the fellas came back, all ecsited and smelling of booze. They woke some of us up and told us what happened.

They said they had been drinking for a while and all decided it was about time to see some real life zombies. They all took a walk through the small town and found themselfes in forests. They came across a large field, they rekon where some of the suger we’d been hauling was grown, and saw some strange things. They said they hid and watched some weird ceremony involving singing and dancing. They also rekon they saw some real life zombies, but I have my douts. In any event, this is where it gets even more scary.

After the ritual was finished and all the people were inside the houses, the fellas snuck into the field and started messin around with the suger canes.

They started acting all silly and pretending they were zombies and performing the ritual. Soon an old woman came out of the house and saw them.

She started yelling and throwing beads around. Well, the fellas got out of there quick smart.

When they told me that I laughed. Afraid of an old woman! But that’s there story. I better go, because I wrote enough. ‘Sides, Swampy is sick and I have to tend to the fella. I think a couple of the others have catched his flu, because there complaining of feeling sick too. I say they just want to get out of work!

That’s where the diary ended. The Reverend sighed.

That’s some story , he thought. I’ll have to ask him some time about … A wretched cry permeated the small cottage. The Reverend jerked in his seat. He threw down the diary and struggled out of the soft chair.

“What on earth…?” he mumbled as the cries continued.

He bounded through the cottage, at a speed his age would barely allow, and arrived at his bedroom. Panting hard, the Reverend shoved open the door and turned on the light. The man was writhing on the bed, his face a horrible contortion of agony. He was grabbing at his head and moaning. Some of the bandages had been pulled loose and blood had begun to seep from the wounds. The Reverend quickened over to the man and tried to take hold of his arms.

“Take it easy. Hey, come on now.”

“It huuurts,” the man bellowed.

The Reverend, astonished at the man talking, momentarily lost his hold, and the man struck the side of his head with his flailing arms. The Reverend grunted and fell to the floor.

“HURTS… COMING… STOP,” the man cried.

The Reverend rubbed his temple and stood up with wobbly legs. He looked down at the man and frowned. What was wrong with him? Why was he talking now? It was almost as if he had been in a trance and was only now coming out of it.

“C…calm down,” the Reverend breathed. He grabbed the man’s arms and pinned them down. “It’s okay. Are you in great pain?”

“Coming,” he forced out. “Get away…it huuuurts,” he sobbed.

“What?” the Reverend said. “Coming, who’s coming?”

Without warning the man sat up, breaking the Reverend’s hold.

Breathing rapidly, the man, whose complexion had grown even more pallid, opened his mouth.

The Reverend stood back and watched intently, waiting for whatever it was he was going to say. Instead, the man made a gurgling sound and blood started to flow from his mouth.

The Reverend rushed to the man. “Oh please, God. Help this man.”

Thick, mucus-filled blood poured from the man’s mouth and his eyes began streaming with tears.

“I’ll call the ambulance,” the Reverend told him. “Don’t you worry.”

But the man grabbed the Reverend’s forearm with a ferocious hold. “Let go,” the Reverend choked. “I have to call you an ambulance.” He tried to pry the fingers off, but there was no give. “Stop!” the Reverend shrieked.

But the man tightened his grasp so much that the Reverend expected to hear his bones crunch at any moment.

He clawed at the man’s hand, and just as he was about to give up, the man stopped squeezing. The blood that spewed from his mouth turned black and his eyes bulged large and fearful.

With one last cough, the man fell back to the bed. The hand that had been holding onto the Reverend dangled towards the floor.

The Reverend remained still for a moment, stunned.

Then reaching cautiously over the body, he placed his trembling hand to the man’s neck and using two fingers, checked for a pulse.