The Obeahman's Dagger

By Neil Daniel

Set in the Caribbean island republic of Trinidad and Tobago, this is the story of David Chelmsford, a young journalist drawn unwillingly into an occult adventure in the realms of West African Vodun and its Trinidadian equivalent, Obeah. David is unhappy with the corruption, crime and drug abuse in his country. He is upset with the degradation of the annual Carnival and the loss of the beauty of the old traditions. He wants to write something better than the drivel that is inflicted on the public year after year during the Carnival season. When his photographer colleague stumbles on a police record that documents the existence of an active serial killer, operating in the confusion of Carnival, he is excited by the story and suggests to his editor that the paper report on the disappearances of young women every Carnival, as suggested by the file his friend unearthed.
His editor rejects the proposal insisting instead that his Carnival assignment is a story that will document the experiences and impressions of an American tourist who is in Trinidad for the annual Carnival. David accepts the assignment while remaining determined to follow the story about the serial disappearances on his own.
Both assignments collide violently when his designated tourist becomes the present target of the serial killer and David must go toe to toe with a powerful and ruthless opponent, one skilled in the arcane magic of Vodun and Obeah.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Neil Daniel
• Release date: Jun 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463081051

Neil Daniel

Neil Daniel is a self-taught fiction writer from Trinidad and Tobago with one published book, The Obeahman’s Dagger. At seventy, writing is the fulfillment of a lifelong dream and The Obeahman’s Dagger is the first in a long list of books that Neil intends to write, health and life permitting. He currently lives in North Tonawanda, New York, a small town between the Niagara River and Tonawanda Creek where he enjoys biking, jogging and walking the many trails that have been built along the old rail lines and Erie Canal paths. He can be found on his WordPress blog, Flying Solo.

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The Obeahman's Dagger

Copyright 2019 Neil Daniel

Smashwords Edition

David

David Chelmsford was a twenty-two year old Trinidadian who thought he knew his place in an unhappy world. He had chosen a career in Journalism for the chance to do something about all the crime, ignorance and injustice in the country. His father, Police Inspector Franklin Chelmsford, was not happy with this choice, disappointed that his son had not followed him into the Police Service.

At his paper, 'The Independent', David wanted to write something new and different and the annual Carnival celebration was the challenge. Every year the biggest thing in Trinidad and Tobago seemed to inspire an ever-worsening crop of trite, boring junk on the pages of his paper. Carnival was dying, twisted into a show for the tourists who brought dollars into the local economy. And his paper was going along with this degradation of the national culture.

So he had been intrigued by the contents of the folder George Harris, his friend and colleague at the paper, had dropped on his desk. It contained copies of several articles from 'The Independent' that appeared to have been culled from the archives. Covering a number of years, the articles had all been published under the name of E. H. Watson, a byline he didn't recognize. Together they alleged that a serial criminal had been kidnapping young women for many years, always during Carnival, while the police steadfastly denied that anything unusual was happening. It was just the thing he had been hoping for, so he wasted no time taking the idea to his editor.

John Wells' door was always open to his reporters so David was able to walk right in with his idea but the editor was not enthused after he listened to David's pitch.

Sorry David, but that's an old story with no future. Dead in the water. Watson gave it up before he retired so don't waste your time with that. Besides, I've something you can really get your teeth into. Much better I think.

Why'd he stop? The last story was two years ago and you said he gave up and retired, so there's a chicken and egg puzzle here. Can’t you see it? Two years ago he's writing about another in a string of disappearances and right after that story is published, he gives up and quits the paper. Doesn't that seem funny to you? Did he just get old and quit? After all this? He shook the folder in frustration and set it down heavily on the editor's desk.

Don't know, and really don't care, replied Wells. The police investigated and found nothing. You can ask your father if you like, but I'm telling you that Watson followed that thing for years before he gave up on it. Waste of time. Like I said, I've got something for you that's much better. I’m telling you, you're going to love to get your teeth into this one.

Okay, you’re the boss but I'm still curious about why Watson quit his story.

He's retired. You can look him up and ask him yourself, but make sure it's on your time, not the paper's. Your assignment is to do an in-depth series on the real impact of Carnival on the tourists who come here every year to play mas'. Take your friend George with you and bring me back some good interviews with pictures. Like I said, bite deep and find some good stuff.

The paper ready to be just a little bit critical then?

Wells looked up then, a cynical half-smile in his eyes. Critical huh? You know the deal David. Go write me some good stories. The focus is on the tourists, not the Trinis.

David left the office feeling satisfied and encouraged that things were looking up. Back at his desk he put a call through to George at police headquarters where he worked a day job as a police photographer. He wanted to thank him for the lead and to fill him in on the current project.

His friend didn't answer his desk phone, but David reached him on his cell with no trouble.

Hey man, said David, thanks for the lead. How'd you find that anyway?

I dunno, it was the weirdest thing. I was going through the files, looking for something the Inspector wanted, nothing special; the old man was looking for old PR pics of some award ceremony and that folder fell out, you know, as I pulled out the one I wanted. It opened up when it hit the floor and that's when I saw these articles from the paper, so I got curious. I thought of you right away but it was weird how it happened, you know?

Yeah, thanks but Wells thinks it's a dead end. He gave me something interesting though. Let's get together this evening and I'll tell you all about it.

A job for me in it?

Yeah, he wants lots of good pictures.

Okay then, name the time and place.

So just come by the house when you get off and we'll take it from there.

You got me there man; I love your mother's cooking. Any chance of some dinner?

Man you know her. Always dinner in her kitchen. See you then?

Yeah, sure.

Inspector Chelmsford was not encouraging when he heard the story. David had walked into the kitchen to find his parents chatting while his mother prepared dinner. The Inspector had been making conversation as he read the paper, commenting on the funny and interesting bits he thought might amuse his wife, so they were both curious when David suggested that he had an old story that might be interesting.

Every year, and always on Carnival Sunday night, a young female, usually about twenty three or four years old, disappears without a trace, he said dramatically.

Mr Chelmsford looked up from his paper. What'd you mean, every year?

Okay, I might be exaggerating a little there. I don't know yet how far back this goes, or if it's literally every year. Maybe it's some years, I'm going on this story that George found. He handed his father the folder that George had given him; the Inspector read the contents in silence.

Well, come on Franklin, said Elaine Chelmsford from the stove. What's it about?

Mr Chelmsford raised his eyes to look intently at David as he spoke. It's about the supposed mysterious disappearance of a young woman during the Carnival festivities.

David jumped to his own defense. Come on Dad, he said, you're not being fair. That's not the whole story. It's not about one event; this thing has been going on for years. I could understand if it happened one time but after the third or fourth? Come on, there's got to be something going on out of the ordinary.

Here Elaine, here's the clipping. You read it and then tell me about the whole story. Mr Chelmsford rose as he spoke to offer the document to his wife.

"Just read it for me Franklin. I'm cooking and you want dinner tonight, right?

Look here, David chimed in, it might just be a string of coincidences. I'll admit that. But you've gotta admit that there could be a lot more to it than that. The thing is, nobody ever investigated it. Look, it says it right here. He read aloud from the document; 'the police do not suspect foul play'. Sounds to me like they're just trying to keep the scandal out of the papers. Why won't they investigate? You know what I think? I think maybe somebody is worried about scaring away the tourists. Too much money to lose if that happens."

David, there's nothing there to investigate, said his father. These things happen all the time, especially at Carnival. Listen to the word. Carni-val. The festival of the flesh, the lusty side of mankind. You old enough to understand what that means, no? This is a time when people get passionate. They fall in love and do things they wouldn't normally do. You think the police could afford to investigate every so-called disappearance of a young woman? Do you understand how many of these young women run away from their parents and husbands around Carnival time?

I get that but you don't realize what you're saying, do you. The police assume that a missing young woman ran away with her boyfriend. No wonder most rapes don't get reported. I get it Dad, but that won't do, not for me. I'm going to take a look at this thing. I'm going to talk to the man who wrote these stories and I'm going to do my best to follow it. There's too much here to be explained by Carnival and coincidence.

And stupid young women, said Elaine. Her bitterness surprised David. He jerked his head around to catch her eye but she hadn’t looked up. She stood quietly at the stove, running the spatula around the edges of the roti she was cooking.

The doorbell rang before the chastened Inspector could respond.

Ohhh, I forgot Ma, that must be George. I told him he could come over for dinner. We've got an assignment tonight and I asked him to meet me here.

That's alright darlin', said Elaine. You know there's always room for one more at dinner. And George is always welcome. Why don't you get the door while I set the table. Come on Franklin, she said to her husband, 'give me a hand here."

By the time David got back to the table with George, Elaine and her husband had laid out the food and the room was suffused with the spicy aromas of curried chicken and strong fresh greens.

Hello George, good to see you, said the Inspector.

Yes George, now just sit right down and help yourself, added Elaine.

Don't get too comfortable man, said David. We've got work to do tonight.

As they ate, David explained the assignment.

Wells wants us to collaborate on a series of articles about Carnival, about what tourists actually experience and what they take away after their visit.

So we going for both sides of the thing now? That's new, said George.

Yeah, that would be something, wouldn't it? I asked him, straight up, when he told me what he wanted but he gave me a kind of nothing answer, replied David.

To be expected. So what's the first move?

I thought we could go out to one of the popular hotels tonight, try to find a subject willing to go along with the plan. We could get consent, line up some interviews, do the preliminary work, you know.

Sounds like a plan to me. Nice quiet stuff for a change; a break from the crime scene thing, right Mr Chelmsford?

I suppose, replied the Inspector with a wry smile, but I much prefer the reality of the crime scene. Don't think I'd have much stomach for investigating how much of a good time some tourists feel they've had jumpin' up to the latest wine-down Soca music and playin' mas'.

David shook his head in disgust and got up from the table. Sorry you feel that way about what I do. Come on George, let's get our show on the road. We've got some hot tourists to interview.

George rose slowly, trying to stuff as much food into his mouth as he could. Okay, okay, coming, coming, he said between swallows.

Why don't you let me fix you a plate to go, said Elaine. Don't worry about David. He'll not leave without you.

If I were you I'd just sit and finish my dinner, said Mr. Chelmsford.

George looked blankly from one to the other and made no response. Elaine rose and deftly fixed a bowl of rice and curried chicken for him as David waited impatiently at the door. She stuck a fork in it before she handed it to him.

Run along now, she said, and enjoy your evening.

Thanks, Miss Elaine. This one looks like a lot of fun. He gave David a hard look.

The early evening cool was rushing in from the sea, smelling of salty hemp and fish, and David took a minute before getting into his Toyota to draw it into his lungs. George watched him until the moment passed.

David, he said.

What?

You know what. Your father, he scowled. Man, you gotta, he searched for better words but David cut him off.

No, not a word. I don't want to hear it, okay?

Bois Mistress

David and George had gone to the hotel that night with no clear idea of what they were looking for but from their stools at the bar, they had at once been of the same mind when they saw Belle.

There she is, said David.

Yeah, she's perfect. Black American girl, young, pretty, and very photogenic. Except... George paused and his brows twitched a millimeter closer together.

Except nothing. She looks perfect from here. If she'll agree to do it, she's the one.

Yeah, prob'ly. But that red hair. It's not going to render true in the paper. The print shop still can't do red hair. Comes out looking like shit.

Not my problem. Work it out with Wells when the time comes. Come on, let's go have a talk with the lady.

They had both gone over to her table in the dining room and David had been direct with her, giving her his business card and laying his editor's proposal on the table at once.

Hello Miss, I'm David Chelmsford and this is my colleague George Fonclaire. We're journalists with a local paper and we're doing an in-depth series of articles that would give our readers a fair impression of what Carnival is like for a tourist. My editor is very interested in finding out what kind of impression tourists are taking away from their experiences here.

Belle looked up at them, giving then both a slow scrutiny. At a hair over six feet, David was the taller of the two, and his friend seemed to fit the description he offered, with an expensive looking camera hanging around his neck. She had noticed them the moment they had entered the lounge; they were dressed for work, complete with neckties, and she had wondered then whether they were hotel security.

Really. And you assume that I'm a tourist, here for the big carnival thingy, she said.

George shook his head. What'd I tell you man, this lady's here on business. Probably been here many time before. Right? he addressed his question to Belle.

Actually no. This is my first time in Trinidad, and I'm not a business woman, but I am here on business.

So you're not here for Carnival, said David, sounding disappointed.

Oh but I am. Tell me some more about your plans. I'm interested, she said, looking seriously from one to the other.

David jumped at the opportunity to sell the idea. It's simple really, we want to follow you around for a few days, taking pictures, you know, and asking you for your thoughts on the things you see and do. We want to give Trinidadians a decent idea of what Carnival, and the country, looks like from the perspective of a visitor, a tourist, he said.

And you think that focusing on one individual is a valid way of doing that? answered Belle.

Yes. We're not trying to be scientific. We're trying to write an interesting story about a real person. Complete with photos, if you don't mind.

George nodded vigorously and put his camera down on the table. Professional work, he said.

Belle smiled at his enthusiasm. That's good to know, she said.

So tell me, which band are you registered with? asked George.

None. I didn't come here to join the parade. You see, I'm actually here as a writer myself, only I'm a little bit of a scientist. I'm kinda looking for a graduate thesis on the connections among the various cultures that influenced your Carnival.

Well well, you might want to check out the folk opera that's in rehearsal now for the Dimanche Gras this year, said George.

What's Dimanche Gras? Sounds French, said Belle, interested.

Yeah, it's French. Think it means something like 'Big Sunday'. It's the grand extravaganza that's held every Carnival Sunday night to include the finals of all the major competitions -- the King and Queen of Carnival are crowned, for the parade.

And the folk opera, where does that fit in? said Belle.

"Now that's a new thing. It's called 'The Last Calinda' and all I can tell you is that it's about village stickfighting, with some kind of romantic mess thrown in to make it interesting - young girls, love, obeah -- things like that.

People who know about these things tell me that it's connected with the way Carnival got started."

Obeah? said Belle, making the one word a question.

"Yeah, obeah, vodoun, magic, you know, that sort of thing.

Stickfighters in the old days used to mount their sticks with the spirit. Know what I mean?" said George.

No, I don't. said Belle. What do you mean?

Well the story is that some stickfighters would put a spirit on their stick, that's what 'mounting' a stick means. That would usually be done for them by the obeahman and involved some kind of ritual dance and trance business. And lots of rum. Rum-and-drum magic, said George, laughing.

Sounds like fun, said Belle.

And, said David in a conspiratorial whisper, "we can get

you tickets."

Get me backstage and you've got a deal, said Belle, unable to hide her excitement.

Deal, said David, extending his hand. Belle reached out and placed her hand on David's and George followed with his.

Deal, she said.

And me, said George.

So we meet here for breakfast tomorrow and we can get started, okay? said David.

Sounds like we've got a plan, replied Belle. Now where do you think I might find some entertainment right now?

Depends on what you're looking for, said George.

Stickfights. That's what I'm looking for, but wherever you guys go would be fine. This is the season right? Carnival and all that. So where are all the good carnival parties.

There's no more real stickfighting, said David. But there's a strong movement to bring it back; there's even a tournament to crown a national champion. I know there's a place in Arima called the Bwa Palace that's a kind of headquarters for the organization. I don't know what the schedule is there, but it's easy enough to find out. How about it George, think we could find anything like that now?

This is Friday night, the boys at the Bwa Palace probably got some kinda action goin' on. You're right about the competition; I don't know the exact schedule but we could take a ride over though, see what's up over there, said George. No promises, but it's worth a look at least.

Belle squinted playfully, smiling at them both as she spoke. So you're offering to include this trip tonight in our arrangement? With more to come?

But of course, said David. As long as we get the exclusive photos and story wherever we go.

Okay. Let me take care of my dinner bill and we can get going. Where is this place anyway? I mean, how far away is it?

It's in Arima, my hometown, and it's about a half-hour from here, with no traffic, said David.

From her vantage point at the bar, the elegantly dressed woman watched them leave. Look, she said to her swarthy companion. We should follow them. I think the master will like this one. She's young and powerful. She will provide the energy he needs for the last ritual."

The man slid smoothly