Under a heavy, humid sky that clung like thick molasses, young Ella wandered the shadowed paths of Daufuskie Island. The veil of Spanish moss draped from the ancient oak trees whispering its secrets.
Ella had lived on the island her whole life, but tonight seemed different. Strange sounds echoed through the marshlands, and shadows flitted between the gnarled roots of cypress trees. Lantern in hand, she ventured deeper into the heart of the island, pulled by an ancestral call she could not name.
Her grandmother had recounted the tale of the Duppy of Daufuskie—an eerie legend spoken of in hushed tones. "Beware the duppy," she had warned, her voice cracking with millennia-old fear. "From the swamps it comes, bringing along the lost souls. However, it does not wander alone. The duppy is guarded by Anansi, who takes the shape of the great alligator. Anansi’s eyes reflect the dead light of the moon."
Ella walked until she reached a clearing, the lantern's glow casting long, eerie shadows. The mossy curtains shifted, and for a fleeting moment Ella thought she saw movement in the trees. Her heart pounded louder than her footfalls. The island seemed to breathe, aware of her presence.
Suddenly, the ground reverberated with slow, thunderous footfalls. The water in a nearby marsh rippled as the steps grew closer. Emerging from the thick, dark water was Anansi, now in the form of an immense alligator. Its scales were reflective like obsidian, its eyes voids that swallowed all light and hope.
Ella froze, the lantern trembling in her grasp. She remembered her grandmother’s words. "Anansi guards the duppy," she murmured, her voice carrying her fear.
In that instant, nestled among the Spanish moss hanging from the ancient oak, a spectral figure materialized. It was a gaunt spirit, the Duppy of Daufuskie, with eyes that glittered like black diamonds and a grin sharp enough to cut the night.
"Who intrudes upon my domain?" The duppy’s voice crept through the moss like the rustling of dead leaves. Its gaze locked onto Ella, heavy and inescapable.
"My name is Ella," she replied, her throat dry as dust. "I didn't mean to intrude."
Anansi slithered closer, his breath a foul mist that choked the swamp air. The duppy’s smile stretched wide, unnaturally so. "They never mean to, but all are drawn here for a reason. You, child, have responded to the island’s call."
Ella's instincts screamed for her to flee, but her legs felt like sinking in quicksand. She tightened her grip on the lantern, praying for courage.
"Please," she whispered, tears pricking her eyes. "Let me go!"
The duppy’s laughter echoed, a haunting corus that seemed to come from the very trees around them. "Release you?" it mused, amused. "A chance, perhaps. Answer my riddle correctly, and you shall leave. Fail, and Anansi will feast on your soul."
Ella had no choice but to comply. "Listen closely," the duppy intoned, its voice melding with the whispers of the moss. "I speak to you—without eyes, I see; without ears, I hear your plea. I spin threads of joy and despair alike. What am I?"
Ella's mind raced, the world around her blurring as she searched for the answer. Without eyes yet sees, without ears yet hears—it was a puzzle meant to ensnare.
"Anansi," she said aloud, her voice a shaky whisper. Her grandmother had sufficiently warned her of Anansi, the trickster.
The duppy’s smile withdrew. Its eyes blazed with recognition. "You are clever, child," it hissed. "Anansi...the weaver of tales and the one who guards this place. Very well, you have earned your freedom—this time."
Both the duppy and Anansi began to dissolve into the shadowed moss, their forms blending into the eerie landscape like ghosts retreating to the underworld. Although the air grew less oppressive, and the swamp less threatening, Ella could still feel an unsettling presence.
Trembling and breathless, Ella turned and ran towards home. She didn't stop until she reached her porch, where she finally looked back. The island was silent, its dark secrets held tight within the hanging moss.
Ella entered her house, her mind spinning with the reality of her encounter. She listened carefully in the dark silence of her room, but only the cicadas answered, their song promising a fragile peace. Yet somewhere not too far off, carried by the wind, she could still hear the faint whispers of the island’s Spanish moss. And as she lay in bed studying the whispers, the cicadas outside sang their somber lullaby, a melody that lulled her into an uneasy sleep.
© Odd Voyage