Hairouna - Land of the Blessed

 The Bell 407 cut through the blood-tinged horizon, its long blades chopping through the air. The acrid smell of fuel mixed with sweat made my stomach churn. I glanced down at the forest below – breadfruit, coconut, grugru, and mango trees swaying in the wind, thick and teeming with life. A pulse of refreshment shot down my spine. Lights blinked on the control board as the pilot muttered something, his voice swallowed by the sudden turbulence. The helicopter rocked but steadied. We cut east, then north, toward La Soufriere. Children spilled out of houses waving up at us, the beach below scattered with colorful umbrellas and towels. Offshore, dinghies skimmed the water like scavengers. As the chopper touched down atop the volcano, Soufriere, dormant for so long, rumbled beneath us, a giant beginning to stir.

The team split into pairs and scattered across the northern flank. Dr. Robinson and I quickly got to work setting up the last seismic station. Today was meant to be short, just a few finishing touches before heading home. I’d promised Beth I’d be back early. Most of the heavy work had been done earlier in the week, so I hoped we’d be done soon.

I secured the solar panels, tightening the last bolt as Robinson’s voice crackled through the comms. “You finished?” He motioned at the panels, barely looking up.

“Yeah, just about.”

He turned, muttered into his talkie, then waved me on. “Alright, lets regroup with the others and get those gas samples from the crater.”

The sun bore down on my back, each step towards the crater a whip of heat. My head spun, the skipped lunch catching up to me fast. I slowed, paused to catch my breath. Robinson looked over his shoulder, surprised. I waved him on. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

I dug into my pack, pulling out a Zess Cola and a Nature Valley bar. Not much, but enough to settle the gnawing hunger. I sat on a nearby rock, taking a minute to rest. As I stood up, something caught my eye. The rock I’d been sitting on had strange carvings – faded, but one symbol stood out, a long line that looked like the letter ‘A’. My pulse quickened. A petroglyph? Here? That didn’t make sense. No one had ever mentioned anything like this on Soufriere. The talkie cracked and I pressed onward, shoving that thought to the back for now. The others had already set about collecting samples when I arrived and I was eager to join.

“Adey!” Robinson’s shout through the thick air, louder with every step. “Adey, you’ve got calls! Come grab your phone!”

I snapped out of my daze, secured the flask, and jogged back toward the landing site. Robinson shoved my phone into my hand, his face tight with concern. Six missed calls. Same unknown number.

Before I could say a word, the phone vibrated again. I answered, already bracing myself.

“Hello, is this Azzizi Alexander – Adeyemi?” The voice was steady but carried an undertone of urgency. My stomach dropped.

“Yes, this is him.”

“Sir, I’m calling from the Milton Cato Memorial Hospital. It’s about your grandmother – she’s suffered a heart attack”.

Everything froze. The world faded like I’d been pulled under dark icy water. My breath hitched, the words slow to sink in.

“Sir? Are you there?” The voice jolted me back.

“How… how is she? Is she alright?” I stammered, my mind a whirlwind of panic.

“She’s stable for now but you need to come quickly. She’s in the ICU, room 6.”

Two hours later, I was sitting in the sterile waiting room of Milton Cato Memorial, a magazine I wasn’t reading clenched in my hands. The air felt thick, and my clothes clung to my damp skin. My mind spun, unable to focus on anything except the clock ticking too slowly.

The doctor appeared, clipboard in hand, stethoscope draped around his neck. His face was calm, almost too calm for this kind of place.

“Mr. Adeyemi?” He called my name as he scanned the room, his eyes landing on me.

“Here,” I croaked, rising to my feet. My body felt heavy, every step toward him felt like wading through quicksand.

“Follow me, please,” he said leading me down the hall toward room 6. Just before we reached the door, he stopped and turned to me. His eyes softened behind the glasses as he took them off, a small but significant gesture.

“I need to tell you something before you go in.” He hesitated, his voice low and steady. “She had another heart attack before you arrived. We did everything we could… but we couldn’t establish a pulse.”

I froze, his words like a punch to the gut.

“I’m so sorry. We lost her.”

“But… you said she was stable…” My voice cracked as my knees buckled, the cold numbness washing over me like a flood. The world collapsed around me, drowning in the grief I had buried for years.

I managed to get back to my feet, just as Beth and Emmy, were being brought in by a nurse. Beth and I stepped into the room, leaving Emmy and the nurse in the hall. I took a long, trembling breath as I looked down at Mama. She lay there, still and small, her face so peaceful it was hard to reconcile with the storm of emotions raging inside me. The woman who had raised me, given me everything, was gone – and I hadn’t even been there for her final moments.

Beth squeezed my hand gently, as if she could read the guilt in my mind. Her presence kept me anchored, but it didn’t lessen the ache. We stepped out of the room. In the hallway, Emmy was sparkling, chatting away with the nurse about some anime. Her eyes lit up when she saw us, and she came running blissfully unaware of the weight crushing my heart.

As we made our way toward the exit, a voice stopped me.

“Sir, I don’t know if you remember my voice – I’m the nurse who called you earlier.”

I nodded, still dazed. “Yes, I remember. Thank you.”

“I’m so sorry about your grandmother.” Her eyes softened with sympathy. She hesitated, then added, “I think… I think she wanted to tell you something before she passed.”

My chest tightened. “What did she say?” My voice was barely a whisper, the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

“She kept repeating one thing… ‘the truth in the attic.’” The nurse paused, glancing at me as if expecting the words to mean something. “I don’t know what it means to you, but I thought you should know. Condolences to you all.”

I nodded, my throat tight, words failing me. “Thank you.”

As she walked away, the phrase echoed in my head, heavy and strange – the truth in the attic. It clung to me, a haunting refrain, gnawing at the corners of my grief.

That night, the dreams came. Strange, vivid, as though I had slipped into another world. The sky blazed with streaks of light, burning through the dark like birds of prey. I found myself standing on the doorstep of a decrepit cottage, its walls swallowed by mountains and shadowy woods. A shiver ran down my spine, the air thick with the feeling of being watched. Cold eyes, unseen, digging into me like claws.

A soft hoot, hoot echoed through the trees. I froze. The sound of crackling leaves followed, and I glimpsed shadows moving – small figures, kids in tattered clothes, their heads hidden beneath oversized sombreros. But their feet… they were wrong. Inverted.

Up high in a tree, something glowed. A bird-like creature with giant scarlet eyes – Jumbee beads in the night – perched on a branch, its massive form too large, too unsettling for an owl. It stared down at me, hooting again, a sound that reverberated in my chest like a warning. Just then, one of the blazing streaks flew close overhead, shedding light on the encroaching woods for a split second. My heart lurched, hiding in the maze of my intestines for cover. I was surrounded by a horde. I rush to the cottage, but it’s locked. Pounding the door furiously BANG! BANG!, I yelled “HELP! HELP! LET ME EEN! LET ME EEN! OPEN UP!”.

I heard their footsteps as they drew closer. A heavy growl started from the horde. Goosebumps swelled up on my skin. I started kicking and thumping the door now, ready to break it down. I charged for a hard one. Then the door swung open, I almost fell on my face from the force, stopping myself at the last second. A wiry voice spoke, placing a hand over my shoulder, "Ahh hah, we meet at last. Azzizi, last son of Adeyemi". I looked up into the face of a giant spider, a menacingly wide grin bent across it. As a blaring shriek forced its way out of my throat, I heard him shout “Seek me out, young Bois!”

I leapt from the nightmare, drenched in sweat. Beth was by my side. She'd apparently been trying to wake me for a while after she noticed I was dousing the bed. "Is what happen, darling? Look how you sweating! I forced a chuckle and shook my head. "Just a really weird dream doux-doux, nothing to worry bout." Later that evening, I called the office, told them I'd be taking a short leave to handle some personal issues. My mind was cluttered. That dream. What did it mean, I don't ever dream much to begin with. I was gazing into my cereal when Emmy came running down the hall. She’s an early riser, this morning I beat her to it. I stooped down and she leapt into my arms, hugging tight.

My grandmother: Sharol Adeyemi, lived in Fancy, the village at the very head of the island. A good distance away from us in Richland Park. I drove the girls into Kingstown. Beth's sister Abby and her husband lived in the city. I grabbed a few snacks for the long trip, then I was on my way. On my way out of town I realized that the place was thick with people. There were long winding lines from supermarkets; Massy Stores, Coreas, and C.K Greaves. And banks too, tens of people stood waiting, their faces purple with impatience. Children straggling behind their parents laden with heavy shopping bags. Drivers and conductors heckling passengers into minivans and taxis. I could guess what was happening. I switched the radio to Hot 97.1 FM, “AM Mayhem” was in full blast, a steamy debate as usual. But this time the topic was explosive. The La Soufriere volcano. 2KoolKris, Jagger Ranks, and Skywalker went full dive into the issue:

"So, Kris, you heard about the volcano", Skywalker chuckled a bit.

"We have a volcano. That even alive”, Kris murmured.

"Yes, people saying that it's going to erupt".

"Erupt!", Kris looked out the window, "I ain't see nothing, no ashes nothing, mek alyo lie so!". "Prime Minister, excuse me, Mr. Prime Minister, why you ain't tell we the volcano going to erupt" Kris shouted into the microphone.

"Kris, people are the ones speculating, no one is sure if its facts as yet", Skywalker snickered.

"Well, I want the Prime Minister to make a statement or better yet come on our station and answer some of our questions”.

"But Kris, I think it's best if the lead scientist comes".

"Hmmm, Jagger, what you think, you are over there a little quiet like you working with the Prime Minister or what." The studio broke out in laughter.

Skywalker broke through the laughter. "No but seriously, can someone who knows the facts come on and tell the people what's going on with our volcano.”

"Well, is best we look for a superhero, cause at least they go be more truthful". The studio broke out in laughter once again.

I arrived at midday. Ma's house exuded warmth and coziness. It was a bungalow. The house itself was surrounded by a gorgeous garden, fruits, vegetables, and a plethora of beautiful flowers. It had been in the family for quite some time. Originally it was built with oak wood. My parents had renovated it, using blocks instead. I walked up through the garden; childhood memories washed over me for a bit. Inside, I drew the curtains, letting a flood of light in. I went to Ma's room. It was as pristine as ever. Ma Sharol was the definition of order. She'd go red-hot with fury whenever I forgot to put her things back where I got them. Everything had its place, from perfectly aligned picture frames on the dresser, to the myriad of perfumes, lotions, and oils all grouped accordingly, and neatly arranged books on the nightstand. I reached into the small cabinet and gathered all the files. I'd sort them when I got home, I thought. The girls were expecting me to pick them up a few hours from now, and the drive was nothing to scoff at. I'd reached the door when I heard a clatter, from the attic. Then, I remembered what the nurse had told me at the hospital yesterday. 'The truth in the attic'. Ma had never let me go up there. I'd hardly seen her go up there either. Only at Christmas time, to clean. I'd managed to sneak a peek once, and she hit me. It was one of the few times she ever did. I never bothered about it after that.

I yanked the ladder down, the old wood groaning in protest as it unfolded. The attic was just as I remembered it – dark, dank, and suffocating with dust. My flashlight beam cut through the shadows, catching glimpses of old faded boxes, the scribbled labels barely legible. Spiderwebs clung to the rafters like ghosts of forgotten years. I made my way past rickety furniture, each creak magnified in the heavy silence. Old Christmas decorations, rolled-up rugs, and garbage bags filled with clothes littered the space. The air smelled stale, like time itself had grown musty.

Then I heard it – a scamper something moving just out of sight. Too big to be a rat.

I gripped the broken leg of an old chair, heart pounding, and edged toward the shadow. “Come out!” I called, not expecting a response.

But I got one.

“Milk… please… milk.”

The voice was hoarse, broken, a rasp that sent chills up my spine. Something moved in the corner., its hands stretching towards me.

I stepped back, raising the chair leg. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”

“Please… milk…” It crawled closer moving on all fours like some twisted version of a person.

I was ready to strike, but then I saw it. In its bony hands, it clutched a picture – of Mama.

My breath caught. “Why do you have that? What… what are you?”

The creature’s red eyes locked onto mine, hollow and ancient. “Milk… I… answer.”

So, despite all inclinations, I turned by back to the feral-looking creature and headed to the kitchen. I expected it to pounce but it just looked on as I left and returned. I put the glass of milk on the floor in front of the creature, it grabbed it up and drank it in one gulp.

Baki; as I later came to call him, looked at me, his hollow red eyes locking onto mine. “Master… no. You… last son. You… must see… Anansi.”

“Anansi?” My heart raced, the name pulling at buried memories of stories my Mama Ayo used to tell. “What does Anansi have to do with this?”

Baki crawled closer, his voice a low rasp. “Anansi… speaks. From mirror. Anansi… sees all. The spider… knows.”

I stared at him, the pieces slowly falling into place. This creature, this Baccoo, wasn’t just some impish figure from folklore. He was tied to something much bigger – something my family had been part of for generations.

You must meet him… in mirror.” Baki whispered, his tongue flicking out to catch the last droplets of milk. “He… knows truth. Truth of Adeyemi. Anansi… calls you, last son.”

The room seemed to tilt as the weight of the revelation sank in. This wasn’t about wishes or riches. This was something deeper. Something ancient. My grandmother had protected this secret all her life, and now it was mine to bear. The truth wasn’t in any book – it was in the mirror dimension, with Anansi. The weight of responsibility came down on me all at once. I was in no shape for a long drive. So, I phoned Beth to told her I’d be spending the night instead.

I let myself fall into the soft embrace of the coach, my head cocked to the ceiling. Baki retreated into the shadows, leaving me alone with a mind buzzing with questions. I lay awake that night, my thoughts circling back to the name he’d spoken – Anansi. The spider from my childhood stories, now woven into the very fabric of my life.

When I finally fell asleep, the dreams came again.

I found myself in the same dark world as before – the forest, the mountain, the cottage. But this time, it felt different. More vivid. The air was heavy with the scent off damp earth, and a cold wind swirled around me. I followed the path to the familiar cottage, where the door swung open on its own. Steam poured out and I felt all eight of Anansi’s eyes watching me from the darkness inside.

“You’ve come far, Young Bois,” Anansi’s voice echoed, though his form remained hidden. “But there is much you do not understand.”

I stepped inside, the air thick with smoke from his pipe. He exhaled slowly, and as the smoke curled around me, visions overtook my senses. Suddenly I was in a cave. It was oozing mystic vibes. In the center was a circular slab of glowing rock. It reminded me of Yooperlite, or the insides of Geode rocks, beguiling. Spectural figures danced around it, chanting in languages I didn’t understand. Their bodies were marked with ancient symbols, their hands raised toward the seal. I recognized one of the symbols from the petroglyph I’d seen a few days ago. My ancestors. I saw myself standing among them, watching as they strengthened the barrier between our world and the mirror realm.

Anansi’s voice returned, heavier now. “The Adeyemis… keepers of the gate. The last son… must carry the burden. But be warned, boy…”

The scene shifted, the figures of my ancestors flickering like candle flames. “In the past, they were many. The ritual was shared, the burden divided. But you…” Anansi’s voice seemed to somber. “You are alone now.”

I felt a sharp pang in my chest as I watched the ritual unfold. “Strengthening the seal requires balance and power... but you have yet to awaken your own.”

I frowned. “My own power?”

“The bloodline runs through you, but your abilities lie dormant. You are not ready to wield them. You lack the experience your ancestors had... the knowledge of how to control the forces at play.”

The seal in the vision shuddered, cracks forming along its surface. “If you attempt the reseal now, without understanding your power, you risk doing more harm than good. The seal is fragile... and without control, you may weaken it even further.”

Anansi’s eyes gleamed as the vision flickered. “The last son... must learn his strength. But time is running short.”

I tried to speak, but the vision faded, leaving only the sound of Anansi’s voice echoing in the dark. The last son... must decide what price he is willing to pay.

I jolted awake, gasping for air. Anansi had shown me everything – the sacred ritual, the seal, the danger that threatened to spill into my world.

Baki, watching from the corner of the room, crept closer. You saw it. The crack. The barrier can break. You must go… now.”

I nodded. There was no turning back. “Take me to the sacred ground, Baki. We need to reseal the barrier.”

Baki told me about a passageway underneath the volcano that led to the sacred alter. We would take a short cut, a tunnel near the family land, build centuries ago by maroons to rescue enslaved brethren. Rebuilt by my great grandparents, it now leads to the forests around Soufriere. The entrance hidden under the old tool shed out in the backyard. I scurried along the passageway, one hand trailing the dirt wall while tree roots tugged at my feet, almost tripping me. The smell of rot, sweat and dirt was thick around us. Rats, roaches, centipedes, and all manner of critters scampering in terror as we invaded their sanctum. I must’ve eaten half a dozen spider webs before we made it out.

Birds and insects were hard at work, humming, chirping, and buzzing, it was all music to my ears. Tall trees reached out of the earth to brush the sky, their sun-dappled leaves casting flickering shadows on the ground. We started onwards following the path ahead, according to Baki, it was supposed to lead straight to a cave entrance at the foot of the La Soufriere. As for him, he kept eating from the moment we left the house, truly a bottomless pit. By the time we got to the cave entrance, Baki had almost eaten half-way through his rations. From a distance, it looked like no more than a crack. But the inside was vast. Along the bumpy cave walls, tree roots fingerlings protruded, and from time to time, the wind too would whistle through. As we went deeper in the cave, I noticed painting on the walls; hieroglyphs, like the ones I’d seen weeks ago in the field. I leaned closer, running my palm over the drawing set down by my ancestors. It all made sense to me. Now I understood what they meant. Powerful strokes depicting chosen ones fighting to maintain the sacred barrier between the two worlds. My great grandfather stood here; Mama Ayo stood here. Maybe even my father stood here, I could feel it.

We arrived at the sacred ground – the ancient altar where the seal between the two worlds stood. The air was charged with energy, thick with the same hum from my dreams. I approached the altar cautiously. At the center, the faint shimmer of the barrier was visible, just as I had seen in the vision.

Anansi’s voice echoed softly, though his form remained hidden. “Young Bois... you are close to the truth, but you are not ready. The barrier is fragile, and strengthening it alone is dangerous.”

The weight of his words pressed down on me. “I have to try,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “The seal is weakening. I can feel it.”

Anansi finally appeared before me, his many eyes watching, but his expression was solemn. “The ritual was never meant for one alone. You bear the weight of many. Your ancestors understood this... but you are untrained. You do not yet know your power.”

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. “But if I don’t do something, the barrier will fail. I have to try.”

Anansi's eyes softened. “Then proceed, but be warned—your actions may bring unforeseen consequences. The seal is delicate... and you are not prepared to bear it alone.”

My heart raced, but I stepped forward, raising my hand toward the seal. The shimmering barrier pulsed beneath my touch, resisting. I began to focus, channeling what little I understood of the rituals I had seen in my dreams. My ancestors’ chants echoed faintly in my mind, but they felt incomplete—like a puzzle missing its final piece.

The barrier trembled beneath my hand, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of hope. I could feel the energy of the seal responding to me, but something was off. The hum was too strong, too unstable.

Anansi’s voice whispered urgently, “Careful... you do not yet know the balance. Stop before you...”

But before I could react, the barrier shuddered violently. The shimmering light flickered, and the crack I had seen in the vision began to widen, its energy surging out of control.

“No!” I tried to pull back, but it was too late. The more I pushed, the weaker the seal became. I had opened the door wider, not strengthened it.

From the crack in the barrier, something dark and twisted forced its way through.

I stumbled back, my heart pounding as a figure emerged—tall, broad, and monstrous, yet disturbingly familiar. My breath caught in my throat.

It wasn’t just a spirit. It was... him.

The face of Papa Bois... no, my father—stood before me. The man who had vanished years ago in a drug deal gone wrong. But now, he was something else. His eyes gleamed with a sinister hunger, his grin twisted beyond recognition.

“You’ve weakened the seal, boy,” the figure growled, his voice like stone grinding against stone. “And now... I’m free.”

I froze, shock paralyzing me. My father—or whatever he had become—grinned. And before I could process what was happening, he lunged.

In an instant, I felt myself being yanked toward the crack in the barrier.

“No!” I screamed, trying to pull back, but it was too late. The seal snapped shut behind me as I was sucked into the mirror realm.

I hit the ground hard, the world around me distorted and unfamiliar.

On the other side of the barrier, I saw my father—his twisted form stepping into my world, his eyes gleaming with a dark purpose.

I was trapped. Alone in the mirror realm, while the real world was left to face whatever my father had become.

Anansi’s voice echoed softly in my mind one last time: “I warned you, Young Bois... the seal was not yours to bear alone.”