Zulu Vampire

By Pat Stevens

In 2018 an explosive expose revealed that South African newspapers were disseminating fake news, this came as no surprise to police Captain Jake Smit, who had been the victim of false Sunday Siren allegations. Jake was an Afrikaner who’d been brought up amongst the Zulu, he spoke Zulu fluently and was recognized by police, as an authority on Zulu traditions. Along with Peter Khumalo his trusted Zulu Sergeant, Captain Jake Smit kept the peace in rural Umuzi, now he had to deal with an outbreak of killing that froze the district in fear.

Because the slaughter was reputed to be the work of the Impundulu, a legendary Lightning Bird that struck lightning off its talons, and fed off human blood. Compounding the problem was Sunday Siren editor Mondli Mampara, who was diverting attention from an illegal organ harvesting ring, by publishing ‘death squad’ stories about the investigating police captain. So Jake Smit approached journalist Marlin Madison, who discovered illegal organ harvesting by French transplant Doctor Silvio Sarkoy, covered up by the Sunday Siren.

Resulting in editor Mondli Mampara being dismissed, and an end to the fake news ‘Cato Manor death squad,’ hopefully this has taught the media a lesson. In 2023 Reporters sans Borders press index, rated South Africa freer than Britain or Australia, also most of Europe and America. Yet the International Bar Association and the International Association of Prosecutors, are beginning to wonder if the local system of media self-regulation and internal control, is truly fair comment or merely a pseudonym for media dictatorship and social control?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Dec 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9781035807246

Pat Stevens

Patrick John Stevens was born in Johannesburg in the same month Steve Biko was born, December of 1946 was also the month that Alan Paton completed his great novel, Cry, the Beloved Country, so some characters in the Greatest Game series of books are derived from both sources. Today the author lives and writes in England, but the river between Africa and Pat Stevens runs deep; his books are mostly set in Southern Africa. Back in the sixties, Pat met the famous author Alan Paton, whose son Jonathan was a Parkwood neighbour, so Pat had the honour of introducing Paton to Amnesty International. Founded back in 1961 by Peter Benenson, the early days were pretty rocky, because they infuriated the British government, with allegations of military torture of the IRA. Amnesty International needed the backing of a world-famous writer, and City Council apprentice Pat was working with a German exchange student who was a member of the organisation. This German also possessed a neat NATO Air Force jacket, so Pat agreed to introduce the student to Paton in exchange for his jacket. A meeting was arranged and peace-loving Amnesty International was introduced to peacenik Alan Paton for the price of one war-like jacket. Pat Stevens wore the jacket throughout Africa when he hit the construction trail, this afforded him the opportunity of observing the customs of the locals. Those are the qualifications of Pat Stevens for writing African novels, knowledge of the African people forged by a lifetime, of working and travelling throughout Africa.

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About the Author

Patrick John Stevens was born in Johannesburg in the same month Steve Biko was born, December of 1946 was also the month that Alan Paton completed his great novel, Cry, the Beloved Country, so some characters in the Greatest Game series of books are derived from both sources. Today the author lives and writes in England, but the river between Africa and Pat Stevens runs deep; his books are mostly set in Southern Africa.

Back in the sixties, Pat met the famous author Alan Paton, whose son Jonathan was a Parkwood neighbour, so Pat had the honour of introducing Paton to Amnesty International. Founded back in 1961 by Peter Benenson, the early days were pretty rocky, because they infuriated the British government, with allegations of military torture of the IRA. Amnesty International needed the backing of a world-famous writer, and City Council apprentice Pat was working with a German exchange student who was a member of the organisation.

This German also possessed a neat NATO Air Force jacket, so Pat agreed to introduce the student to Paton in exchange for his jacket. A meeting was arranged and peace-loving Amnesty International was introduced to peacenik Alan Paton for the price of one war-like jacket. Pat Stevens wore the jacket throughout Africa when he hit the construction trail, this afforded him the opportunity of observing the customs of the locals. Those are the qualifications of Pat Stevens for writing African novels, knowledge of the African people forged by a lifetime, of working and travelling throughout Africa.

Dedication

Copyright Information ©

Pat Stevens 2023

The right of Pat Stevens to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035806348 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035807246 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

My thanks to the Production team.

The Goat Thief

A goat thief was usual in Zululand where stock theft was rife but a thieving goat who robbed human beings was new to Captain Jake Smit, who could not recall any such figure in Zulu folklore. Jake Smit spoke Zulu fluently and was recognised by Zululand police as being something of an authority on Zulu traditions, for Jake was an Afrikaner who’d been brought up amongst the Zulu. Which was one of the reasons that in the new South Africa, a white Afrikaner captain remained commander of the police post in rural Umuzi; the other reason was his value to the Eagles rugby side.

Together with Sergeant Peter Khumalo, Captain Jake flanked the local rugby team, while keeping the peace in rural Umuzi. That was not easy when shape-shifting goats rob villagers, for the locals were a volatile people and though Captain Jake loved the Zulu, he hated the superstition and violence that permeated their society. As a police captain, he’d witnessed witchcraft murders and barbaric rituals that churned the stomach with their horror. Making matters worse was the lanky Texan, splashing sensational stories in her newspaper but it was difficult to stay angry when he looked into her beautiful eyes.

Marlin Madison was a talented journalist and also an entrancingly beautiful woman, her coverage of the Goat Thief garnered widespread interest but Captain Jake knew that it made the work of the police more difficult. He believed in free speech but he also believed in press responsibility, some news was best to tone down. The Zulu were superstitious and impressionable, stories of the supernatural induced a frenzy in them; back in the nineties, violence had spilled out of control and it had been truly horrific.

Marlin was new to Zululand and its people, so Jake hoped she’d listen to reason. She was very attractive, so he looked forward to convincing her. Jake put his foot down and the Mboza glass-fibre jeep skipped gamely along the smooth beach. Captain Jake had fitted the Mboza with a Straight 6 engine so it could go anywhere, it had the lightness of glass-fibre combined with a rugged Mitsubishi 4-wheel drive body.

Mboza Captech of Pinetown in Durban, specialised in replacing rusted truck bodies with top quality fiberglass. The Mboza jeep was a replica in lightweight fiberglass. Jake had bought the body and did the conversion himself, he was fond of his little Mboza because she was the ideal beach-fishing companion and so was Marlin Madison.

The Mboza skirted close to the sea to take advantage of the smoothness, occasionally it hit a patch of water and salt spray sheeted in a high arc but there was no faltering for the engine was a Perkins diesel. Captain Jake grinned as he spotted the road through the dunes ahead, he stopped the Mboza to change gears to low range then charged at the steep dune, the jeep pranced lightly up the side.

Then Jake stopped again to unlock the front wheels, he was on an open road so the front hubs could free-wheel. As he drove, he thought of the gabby Texan; Marlin Madison was undeniably very beautiful but she was a damn crashing nuisance who interfered with a man’s free-time fishing.

Captain Jake had left the beach and driven to a trading store to buy provisions, perhaps foolishly he also bought the Saturday newspaper, which caused him to pack camp and hot foot it out. The area he was driving through was beautiful, it was a plantation and eucalyptus trees lined the roadway, he could smell the scent of them through the open window. On warm days, the eucalyptus forests were shrouded in a mist of vaporised compounds; the Australian Blue Mountains take their name from the haze. KwaZulu was the name given by King Shaka, meaning ‘Place of the People of Heaven’, which is an apt name for such a beautiful land. Zululand is a place of luscious green hills, busy forests and broad grasslands, teeming with numerous eco-systems, so whether it be mammals or birds, visitors are never disappointed, with the abundance of wildlife. With multiple parks, farms and reserves tourists can be guided or wander to seek out wildlife and adventure. Yet the serene beauty of the landscape was lost on Captain Jake Smit, for the newspaper he bought at the trading store contained shocking news, and Captain Smit’s mind was engrossed with mulling over a newspaper article. As he read his neck reddened, and his mouth set in a grim line, as he wondered what his superiors would make of this. In volatile Zululand it was best not to stir trouble, with sensational stories, but the Zululand Witness had paid no heed to this.

Really, Marlin, Jake muttered under his breath.

Zululand Witness

Goat Accused of Robbery

The Umuzi police are holding a goat on suspicion of armed robbery, vigilantes captured the goat saying it was a robber, which had transformed itself into an animal in order to escape. Sergeant Peter Khumalo of the Umuzi police, has confirmed that the goat is in police custody but would make no comment where the goat was being held.

However, an inside source at the police station confirmed, that the goat was confined in a field at the back of the police station. This was resorted to after other prisoners objected to a goat being held in the cells, a twenty-four-hour watch has been put on the goat, it has been hoof-cuffed to a tree in case it transforms itself into a bird and flies away.

That was the type of thing Marlin specialised in, sensational stories eagerly devoured by her rapidly growing readership, her weekly column now featured in a major Durban newspaper. Yet there was also a deadly serious side to Marlin Madison, she wrote many articles raising Zulu rural concerns, the urgent need for clinics and classrooms. Yet it was her writing on the foibles of Zulu culture that her readers especially loved.

All this was in addition to the weekly editing of Zululand Witness, Marlin was actually not the official editor but the owner/editor was often too drunk to stand straight, let alone edit. Len Cohen had once been a legend but the new South Africa had broken him, printing and distribution of the Zululand Witness was done in Durban, the Umuzi staff only supplied content and they relied heavily on wire services.

Nevertheless, there were only a dozen staff members and it could get pretty hairy at times. The deputy editor doubled as the sales manager, the two reporters were also photographers, the page designer did copy editing and accounts handled classified ads. It was often touch and go, whether the weekly Zululand Witness would appear on Saturday, yet Marlin enjoyed the tight challenge.

Young Marlin Madison had arrived from Texas in 2000, entranced at 1994 democratic elections and determined to contribute. Marlin was a starry eyed twenty something Yankee with a do-good liberal heart who joined the liberal Sunday Siren where the then editor, Len Cohen, threw his heart into the great mission of liberalising the new South Africa. When he realised the country was not the best candidate for world liberal champion, broken Len Cohen turned to drink; the crunch came when the Sunday Siren ran a searing headline.

SA Governed by Liberal Intellectual Elite

This was a forthright admission that the African National Congress (ANC) may be the government but the fast-track liberalisation of the law was the ill-considered brainchild of a business/newspaper elite, the inexperienced and uncertain ANC government simply obeyed the orders of this liberal powerhouse.

Delighted criminals took advantage of the lax laws and crime mushroomed out of control, so the Sunday Siren editor Len Cohen began to devote his editorial to establishing whole life sentences for murder and child rape; which caused an outbreak of mutters, from both his limp wrist staff and the newspapers owners.

Len Cohen had always been a heavy drinker but as crime spiralled, so did his drinking because he knew that the liberal press was responsible for the ridiculous new liberal laws. Matters came to a head when Len Cohen gave a fiery speech at the South African National Editors Forum (SANEF), insisting that the death penalty be returned at once. Editor Len Cohen was forcibly retired and replaced with black liberal lackey named Mondli Mampara, who would sell his own mother for advancement. So Len Cohen purchased the weekly Zululand Witness and broken-spirited Marlin Madison joined him.

Captain Jake Smit crested the rise of the hill overlooking Umuzi. He paused for a moment to study the view, for the sun was setting and it was truly beautiful. The green hills flowed down to a long white beach, crested with rippling silver wavelets, which stretched out to an ocean-gilded gold by the setting sun. Jake would drive up the hill often to sit there studying the golden sunset; it reminded him of a story the Zulu told.

The sun was a big iron ball which was heated in the morning, you could clearly see the increasing glow in the East as the iron ball warmed, and streaks of light would glow in the sky from the great fire underneath the ball. It took the whole day to crane the glowing iron ball over the earth, then it was cooled in a great lake in the West, the wreaths of cloud circling the setting sun were actually tendrils of steam.

It was a lovely story the Zulu told but how did they get the iron ball from West to East in the night? This was achieved by rolling the iron ball along the long tunnel that bisected the earth. Jake chuckled as he stared at the setting sun, then his eye dropped to the damned Zululand Witness, the Captain cursed roundly.

A bloody thieving goat, that will amuse the Brigadier, Jake Smit muttered, for his boss the Brigadier had no sense of humour and an explosive Zulu temper.

The police had militarised ranks in 2010, the Director from Ulundi was now a Brigadier, and he didn’t take kindly to monkeyshines that regularly emanated from Umuzi. Thanks to Marlin Madison and the Zululand Witness, the Brigadier had a reliable source of information and Captain Jake Smit had often been the focus of the Brigadier’s wrath.

Jake thanked his lucky stars that the Brigadier was a rugby fanatic, who appreciated the sterling work Captain Smit and Sergeant Khumalo did for the Eagles rugby team, for Marlin Madison could on occasion be merciless. Her tenure on corrupt Johannesburg newspapers turned Marlin into a cynical thirty something, with a pen and tongue as lethal as the rifle she was named after. Her Texan father had been a shooter of note and prized his 1895 Marlin rifle.

Captain Jake Smit often found himself in her sights and the story of the thieving goat was the latest in a lengthy line, from the eagle-eyed ace journalist Marlin Madison. Impatient now to sort it out Captain Smit had the siren out as he charged down the hill to Umuzi; flinging the door open, he burst into the police station and demanded of his men.

Kindly inform me, what the hell is going on with the goats, Sergeant Khumalo, the Captain rasped at his second-in-command, who was struck speechless for a moment.

Sergeant Peter Khumalo was one of the cleanest men Jake had ever known, the sergeant glowed like a polished leather belt and indeed there was a faint smell of polish that exuded from him. His dusky Zulu skin positively glowed through the starched white shirt, the creases ran in orderly military procession down the blue trousers and the belt and shoes gleamed with a highly polished sheen. Sergeant Peter Khumalo was only twenty-two and he loved being a policeman, the remorseless violence had not yet demoralised the Zulu Sergeant but episodes like the goat really got his goat.

I had to arrest the goat, Captain Jake, the villagers insisted it was a thief, although it irritated him, Jake understood, they policed a rural community and must play the game, it was vital that the rural Zulu trusted the police.

But couldn’t you have kept that Yankee woman out of it, Captain Smit spat.

I had to give a statement, Captain; Marlin Madison is the press, Peter protested and once more the Captain understood.

Alright, let’s go see your famous goat who transforms into a robber, Captain Jake grinned and the Sergeant led him to the back door of the police station, it was really rather amusing provided it did not get out of hand, which it very shortly would.

I’ve hoof-cuffed it to that tree in the car park, Captain, Sergeant Khumalo grinned mischievously as they walked to the car park, then they paused in shock at what they saw.

What the hell is that, Jake muttered as they both drew their revolvers and dashed forward, for the goat was prostrate and kicking on the ground. The goat was squealing loudly now as a large bird crouched there and tore it apart. Captain Jake Smit knew he must deal with this one quickly before the rumours got out of hand, they bundled the dead goat into a tarpaulin, then slung it into the back of the police Land Rover.

Captain Jake didn’t care what the Sergeant did with the goat, so long as he got rid of it before Marlin Madison arrived; there were no informers in the Umuzi police but gossips abounded. The Zulu loved a bit of chitchat, it was part of their culture and nothing could be kept quiet, rumour mongering was a way of life among the Zulu in similar fashion to the gossipy press.

What really happened, Jake? Marlin grinned for this was serious, after all a robbery suspect had died in police custody, the story was becoming even more hilarious.

The goat died and the vultures got it, Captain Smit explained shortly. He was still a bit rattled, trying to rationalise what he’d seen—what the hell had really occurred?

It could have happened that way, perhaps it was not one large bird but a group of vultures, or maybe it was an unusually large vulture? Although they were not common, Jake had spotted the rare Bearded Vulture around Umuzi; they were Africa’s largest birds of prey with a wingspan of over three meters.

Was it just one bird? Marlin Madison persisted and Jake thought swiftly, then he said evasively, so as to not inflate the situation.

There must have been a few vultures; Sergeant Khumalo fired a shot and they scattered, I couldn’t see too well because a lightning bolt struck, the moment he said it the Captain cursed inwardly because Marlin’s lovely green eyes glinted, she was fast picking up on Zulu folklore and this was a gift.

Are you really sure it was not the Impundulu Bird? Marlin probed with just a hint of a smile and Jake’s heart sank; this is what he wished to avoid and it had tumbled out his foolish mouth. Lightning had struck the tree where the goat was tethered, it made an almighty crack startling Peter who fired his revolver; where the birds went was a mystery. Perhaps they flew into the copse of trees abutting the car park but Jake shouldn’t have mentioned lightning because talking about the Lightning Bird may invite it to visit your hut and you wouldn’t want that to happen!

Zulu folklore maintains there was a deadly creature called the Impundulu, which means Lightning Bird in English, this creature was widely feared and capable of inciting the Zulu into a panic. In 2005, a man was arrested for killing a two-year-old child, who he believed to be an Impundulu, so it was not wise to publicise the Lightning Bird. It was so named because it had the power to strike bolts of lightning from its talons, it’s a winged creature the size of a man and could indeed masquerade as human but usually it was a huge black bird of prey.

The Impundulu was known to be a confidant of witches and it was sometimes spotted riding on the back of a hyena because witches easily turn themselves into a hyena. The Lightning Bird is widely feared as a witch’s familiar, it’s considered evil for it does the bidding of witches; if a Witchdoctor dispatches an Impundulu, it can bring ill fortune or even death.

Most frightening was the legend that the Lightning Bird was a vampire which fed off blood, in human form it would feed off humans but in animal form it could feed off birds. In similar fashion to the Vampire Finch, which drew blood by pecking at the feather bases of sleeping sea birds but the Vampire Finch was confined to Galapagos Islands, many miles from Africa and this finch was actually a very tiny bird.

In Africa, there is the Red Bill Ox-Pecker. Captain Jake had witnessed these birds settling on cattle if they saw fresh blood, so there were other vampire birds but none as frightening or as large as the dreaded Impundulu. Because the creature has another scary similarity to vampires, the Zulu claim that the Lightning Bird is an immortal that outlives its masters. Legend recounts that the bird was passed down a witch’s family, from mother to daughter doing the bidding of its owner and you should hope the Lightning Bird doesn’t visit your hut!

The Impundulu has only one known weakness, it’s impervious to gunshots or stabbing and you cannot poison or drown it but it was said that the creature could be killed by fire. Marlin Madison made a meal of it, her quirky article Zulu Vampire appeared in several newspapers and was an internet hit; Captain Jake was at his wits end.

Because the bi-weekly Zulu language Ilanga newspaper ran the story, this newspaper had a readership of nearly a million and soon the Umuzi police were inundated with complaints about the Impundulu. Captain Jake needed leverage over the press and then came the incident at Greyville Racecourse, which Jake seized upon with delight because cheeky Marlin Madison now owed him a huge favour.

The Durban July Handicap had rolled around again; at Greyville Racecourse, thousands waited eagerly for the start and then they were off! From the stands the punters willed them on, the rhythm of racing steeds electrified the air, heightening into buzzing excitement that tingled the skin. It was this palpable sense of victory that kept punters flocking in, this addictive excitement pulsing alive in the air brought them back, not the actual winning, for only the bookmakers made a profit.

The Durban July Handicap race day is to South Africa what Ascot is to Britain, everybody who is anybody make sure they are there, the wonderful and weird clothes parade is a highpoint in the fashion calendar. The first Durban July was held back in 1897 at Greyville Racecourse. King George VI, Queen Elizabeth and Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret visited back in 1947. In 1995, Queen Elizabeth 11 and the Duke of Edinburgh attended.

Famous people watch the Durban July on Saturday,