The Contract

Lystra left the river behind her, walking with her basket of clean clothes on her head, wishing for the hundredth time that she could find a way to move out of this dreary existence and get a washing machine. Above all else, she wanted a washing machine.

Washing clothes in a tub or a large bucket on the riverbank, with the aid of a scrubbing board, is backbreaking and tedious. Not to mention frustrating and tiring.

Not paying attention to where she was stepping, she stumbled upon a backpack that did not belong on the track from the river to the top of the hill, least of all in this part of the country. Only the desolate and destitute lived here, way up in the mountains of north Trinidad. Along with the outcasts and disinherited who needed to hide away from so-called decent folks. Granted, it was the way of life in that part of the island, where civilization had not yet caught up with them, but she couldn't bear much more of it. The backpack was lying on a concrete slab that was familiar to all of them.

She left it in its place and continued on her way, but lost in her thoughts, she tripped on the root of a tree in the track close to the main road and the basket of clothes emptied in the dirt. She promptly sat on her haunches and cried. And cried. Then she prayed. And prayed again. She gathered the clothes together, not bothering to wash them over again, because the river was way down the hill and she was too tired to manage that. So, she continued on her way, promising to shake out the dirt before hanging them on the lines.

She stood atop the hill watching her five children playing with the abandonment of childhood, not a care in the world. They were happy. She tried her best to keep a smile on their faces. They couldn’t miss what they never had. But she knew what was lacking in their lives. She'd been to the city lots of times but didn't take them along for fear they'd see stuff she couldn't afford. Not yet anyway.

In time she said to herself again. For the hundredth time.

It wasn't so bad when her husband was alive. Goodness knows, he was the best husband and father anyone could hope for. He was good and kind, loving and considerate, and did see the best in all things. And the stories he told them every night had them all rolling with laughter. Even those about the night creatures that were meant to put a good scare in them did no harm. They never even flinched. They were a sturdy lot with nerves of steel.

Lystra dried her tears on the sleeve of her worn out five-year-old dress, putting on the cheeriest smile she could muster, then continued on down the other side of the hill to her house. The wooden house with its thatched roof that was so comfortable up to a year ago was now worse than a prison. It was hell. Her children all came to greet her and help her with the clothes. They even hung them out on the lines to dry. Her heart wrung in her chest when she realized just how good and kind they were. Just like their father. It was heart wrenching to not be able to give them something other than a balloon on Christmas morning or their birthday.

After a lunch of sancoche prepared with figs, dasheen and yams from their garden, she laid down for a much-needed nap. Forcing smiles and laughter that you don't feel is hard work. She was exhausted. Just in case rain should fall while she slept, she rose to close the window. There was her eight-year-old son crying long tears and hanging on to his kite trying to get it up. The kite simply refused to fly. Maybe it was the lack of wind or maybe it wasn't built right. But the sight of those tears did something to Lystra. Her heart seemed to be making harsh somersaults within her chest, and inside her head something must have exploded because it felt like it was swelling, and her sight was doubling up. She somehow managed to get hold of the bottle of Limacol that was always within reach and splashed some of it on her head and face. The cooling sensation worked like magic. She was again hale and hearty.

She prepared a snack for the children and told them to behave themselves while she went out for a walk. Choosing her special place down the hill to the ravine where at that time of the day there'd be nobody about, she made a beeline for a specific tree because of the darkness provided by the low branches. Her dark clothes would be an added advantage, making her privacy uninterrupted should anyone pass by.

The thoughts of her inadequacy to provide nice things for her children came flooding back and so did the tears. She decided to return to the bag she had seen on the slab earlier in the day that was out of place. Feeling some trepidation mixed with a bit of bravado, she unzipped it and inspected the contents. Inside were stacks of dollar bills neatly arranged under some old dirty clothes and underwear. With shock and dismay at her unexpected good fortune, she gently rubbed the bills. She thought nothing of the sweet pungent smell coming from it all. Desperate as she was, she still had the presence of mind to bury the clothes and, turning the bag inside out, she refilled it with the dollar bills. Realizing the scent would stay with her, she plucked some leaves from a nearby immortelle tree and, using the juice, rubbed herself to disguise the it.

She quietly moved from that spot, trying her best not to squash any dry leaves that would make a sound. In this land every sound told a tale that even the smallest child could understand and detect whether it was made by a lizard, agouti, or something else. Successful in her maneuverings and satisfied with the job, she started back on her trek towards her home, sure of a better and more fulfilling life for her offspring.

“Hello Lystra. How you sprightly so today? Like you win the lottery?”  Her friend Zana brought her back to reality.

“Zana. I didn’t see you. I didn’t hear you. My mind was far girl. I was thinking how to make them children happy.”

“Don’t worry yourself. Dey go get big just now. You go see. And dey go be better off dan you.”

Lystra breathed a sigh of relief after Zana left, believing that she had distracted her. There was that spring in her step from her happy thoughts. Her husband did tell her he always knew when she was happy by that spring that developed in her step. She’d have to be careful in the future.

Her son Zack bounded up to her. “Mom, Uncle Mark will be telling stories tonight. One will be about that place under the concrete slab. Can we go?”

“Of course we can. We never miss his story night,” she answered with a smile.

“With Dad gone, Uncle Mark’s stories are all we have now.” Zack continued with a wry expression just like his father when he didn’t like the food she’d prepared.

“I know sweetheart. But we’re getting along fine aren’t we?” Lystra remarked with a smile and a nod of the head.

“Yes. But I miss him so much.” He was close to tears.

“Don’t worry. We’re handling it. And he is watching over us.” That made him feel better and he rushed off to something that caught his attention. Children found it so easy to move from one emotion to another. If only they all retained that ability into their adulthood.

In preparation for the story time, Lystra packed some foodstuff along with coffee for the grown-ups and fruits for the children. The parents had their part to play so everyone was comfortable. Zana provided the special bush for burning to keep the mosquitoes away. The storytelling was usually held at the clearing late on an evening by torchlight to give it that eerie look and feel.

They joined the circle that was already forming in the middle of the savannah. The same location where the midyear parties as well as sports, harvests, and fiestas were held. The road to the left led to the river where they went to do their laundry. At the spring nearby is where all mothers got water to which they added a lot of sugar and just called it sugar water to enhance their spiritual powers whatever that may be. They said that everyone had a different power that grew with the person.

Amidst the chatting and laughter in anticipation of the story that would be told, everyone was on a high.

As usual, Uncle Mark was on time and greeted them all with his booming voice.

“A very good night to everyone. Your belly full?” he asked.

A loud chorus of yeses ensued whereby Uncle Mark slapped his legs and laughed.

“That’s good. Because you’ll need your energy after hearing this story about what is under that concrete slab.”

He opened his eyes so wide that the children moved closer to their parents. Maybe this story would be scarier than the others. The teenagers on the other side were sniggering and taunting them. They’d already heard so many of these stories and nothing ever came out of them. They were just words meant to scare you for a while and keep you in line. But they were past that stage. Uncle Mark cast his glance behind them and said in a low voice. “I see you’ve come to listen too. Okay, take a seat.”

The teens made a mad scramble falling over each other in their haste to get away from the unseen visitor being welcomed by Uncle Mark.

A burst of roaring laughter told the teens they’d been had.

“Yes, so about this concrete slab. I know that there since I small. My grandfather met it there. And so did his grandfather. We were all told to stay away from there. You see, that slab is covering something so dreadful that those special trees were planted to keep it safe and imprisoned as it were. It is something ancient and from out of this world.”

“Is it a devil?” one of the children decided to pose a question.

“No silly,” answered another.

“Devils don’t have to be locked up. It is a demon. They have to be locked up,” Zack answered with such authority all heads turned towards him. Lystra was in shock. She turned to face him with her mouth open and face frozen.

“Zack where did you get that?” Lystra asked her son.

“From Dad. He said so. And Dad was the smartest person who ever lived,” Zack said with as much confidence as he could muster.

“Yes,” Uncle Mark continued. “You’re right Zack. Your Dad was the smartest person who ever lived. And it is a demon that’s locked up under there. But he can’t be seen or felt. Can’t be heard either. He is in all the jars filled with gold coins. He was paid to leave the people alone. So for generations there’s never been any crime or anything untoward happening here. We always respect his privacy and never ever walk on that concrete slab or even pluck the leaves from those trees.”.

“Uncle, Hazel’s son now say there was a stranger in the vicinity of the immortelle tree last week. He had a duffel bag.”

Lystra opened her eyes in shock and covered her mouth. The bag was seen and recognized. That now posed a problem. But it would be solved. She had to solve it. Her children’s wellbeing was at stake. Not to mention her mental health. The rest of the evening was a blur as she dwelt on this new development.

Lystra had a restless night turning and tossing. She didn’t fall asleep until daybreak. She hustled their breakfast then dropped them off at Zana’s, saying she’d be back in a day or two.

“Take your time Lystra, they’ll be fine,” Zana said as she waved Lystra off.

Lystra went to the restroom at the only fast-food restaurant and removed the bills from under her clothes where they were hidden. Then she went to the bank and deposited them all. The rest at home would be deposited another day.

The crowd gathered at the junction told her something untoward had happened. Spotting Zana, she made a beeline for her, but Zana blurted out the events before she could ask a question.

“Lystra girl there’s a thief in our midst. And everybody is scared because nobody knows what the demon will do about it. Remember the duffel bag Hazel’s son mentioned?”

Lystra visibly trembled at the thought that she had been seen and they knew what she had done.

“Well, it was a thief who had it and he did rest himself on the concrete slab because he was tired. He not from here so he did not know the rules. But not knowing is no reason for disrespect.” Zana ended and Lystra stopped shaking realizing that it was not about her.

“So that is why everybody looking like their house burn down?” Lystra interjected.

“No. The thief was found this morning with his head in the river and dead.”

“You making joke.” Lystra covered her mouth, but her eyes flew open.

“Right now, they are all worried about calling in the police. Some of us, though we did not break any laws, do not want to be found. Look at me. I ran away from my parents’ house because they didn’t want me with Marcus. They are quite wealthy. They’ll hurt Marcus in more ways than one. I am happy in this god forsaken place with him. A lot of us here are like that. So, you understand now?”

“I think so. And what about the money that was stolen?” Lystra asked while scanning the faces of the crowd gathered.

“That’s another matter. It can’t be found. Not yet anyway. But they know about where it was. They did get a certain scent and Ronald, you know Ronald? He use to be a kinda bad boy, though he never broke any laws. Well, he knew when people didn’t want to be found they’d disguise whatever with a certain bush that smells so sweet you’d never know there was something in the mortar besides the pestle. So, this is where we are now.”

“What will they to do with the money when they find it?” Lystra wanted to know.

“They’ll have to put it in the middle of the concrete slab as payment. And hope things get back to normal because things change already. You see the marigold flowers already fall off and the place hot with no wind blowing?  Lystra, bad things happening already.”

Zana noticed from the outset that Lystra was getting jittery, so she explained the matter as best she could, hoping that if she was right, Lystra would do her part and fix it. So said, so done. Lystra disappeared for another two days and, after she returned, there was talk around the community that the duffel bag with some money was seen in the middle of the concrete slab. Then it was gone. Zana signed herself, thanking God that her friend was now free along with everyone else.

While Lystra was dusting out the mat at the side of the house, she saw her son Zack playing under the mango tree with some dollar notes and singing the phrase “finders keepers, losers weepers.”

Suddenly, she dropped the mat.

Soter Lucio is a great grandmother who does ironing for a living and writes horror stories at night. She lives alone and her hobbies are reading and writing. She's been published by Sirens Call, Weird Mask, Dark Chapter Press and Migla Press. She can be found on X @JanSoter and on Facebook at Soter Lucio.