In May Pen, when a man named Pera died, tradition followed as death always demanded. His casket was built in the yard of the house where he once lived. At night, neighbors gathered to watch the work and drink white rum. The carpenter, loosened by alcohol, filled the darkness with duppy stories each one darker than the last.

A young woman obsessed with duppy stories convinced her neighbor’s daughter, Pauline, to come with her. Before leaving, someone warned them:

“When unu ready fi leave di dead yard, nuh seh it out loud. Di duppy will follow unu home.”

They agreed to tap each other instead of speaking.

At the yard, the stories were intoxicating. Pauline tapped her friend’s arm. Nothing. She tapped again. Still nothing. Finally, fear overtook patience.

“Mi ready fi leave.”

The air changed instantly.

They left quickly, hearts racing. Halfway up a dark hill, they saw a figure sitting on a large rock, head bowed, face hidden. Curiosity won. They approached.

When the figure lifted its head, there was no face.

They ran.

They barely made it into Pauline’s house before stones began raining on the zinc roof. Pauline’s mother knew immediately. She ran outside, cursing Pera’s spirit, throwing stones back into the darkness.

Later she said quietly, “Is a good thing you never go home alone tonight.”

No one slept.