Jamoon Cove was a dirty replica of its four neighbouring villages. They all had old collapsing buildings made of small trees with woven troolie roofs. Bush and dense vegetation had made brazen advances into the small village making it seem even smaller than It really was. 

The tiny rural village consisted of a small church house, a school house and about twenty structures that served as homes. It was a quiet and peaceful place. The only excitement available was when the men had their weekend drinks. When this happened things often got hilarious.
Old man Rodrigues was a Portuguese with a belly that would easily rival Santa’s. He drank rapidly and belched loudly then after a while he fell asleep and snored like a turbine engine. Lakeram was tall, gangly and very ugly. He drank steadily then seemed to go unconscious. He would open his eyes a little later and seemed unaware that he had been out of it for a while. He would resume his consumption with gusto. Ken and Robin were professional sponges. They were always drinking until they were drunk but had never once bought a round of liquor.
Harold was retired and well off. He was the reliable source of most of the drinks bought. He had a pension much bigger than most of his friends salaries. He had recently retired from the Sugar Estate. Some said that he had been forced to retire because of his drinking. Rumour had it that one day he was expected to conduct a meeting with staff from his department. Unfortunately his brother-in-law was visiting from the UK and they had partied into the wee hours of the morning. When he got to work he had a monstrous hangover. Only one cure for that. He opened a safe in the back of his office and took out a large vodka. By the time he stumbled into the meeting he was as drunk as Captain Haddock in the Adventures of Tintin. At the head table glaring at him was his boss the CEO. Shortly after that incident Harold proceeded on pre-retirement leave. Now he was able to drink with abandon.
Alvin was middle aged with a bald head that shone like a mirror’s reflection in the noonday sunlight. No sensible human being would spend too much time looking at his head; that is if they valued their eyesight. His drinking buddies gave him a good sturdy hat as a temporary solution.
There was one special feature about this small dirty community. Most of the folks who resided there were highly superstitious. If you happened to visit any home, there you would see an assortment of odd articles. A glass of water was placed over each door and window. Strangely coloured candles along with incense burned every day. They seemed to be prepared for any strange occurrence. The village was situated close to the ocean and the water flowing into and out of the community was regulated by a koker. This device had to be activated according to the movement of the tide.
That Saturday afternoon the crew sat drinking at Doris Rum Shop. This was a very popular spot because the patron was an excellent cook and provided mouth-watering dishes for a nominal fee. The small business thrived. As the drinks were consumed the usual chit chat was on.
“Yo hear Hazel pregnant again?”
“Wat! Dis is she eight pickney.”
“Ninth. Rememba de twins.”
“Right. An de woman ain’t even wukking.”
“She don’t have to.”
“Wat yo mean?”
“All dem children is fo different fathers so she must be collecting nuff money.”
“Oh yeah! Well why she always sending fo beg me wife fo lil sugar, some rice and things like dat?”
“She want nuturing. Dat would solve everything”
“Yo gon still find strays turning up mating season.”
They all roared with laughter. The mood was suddenly changed due to an unscheduled interruption.
“Uncle Harold come see dis ting down by de koker.”
The young messenger sprinted off to spread the news. Now besides drinking and being superstitious, most villagers were insanely inquisitive,(fast). They loved delving into each other’s business and took pleasure in spreading village gossip. In the blink of an eye the table was deserted and drunk, wobbly legs hastened to the koker to witness the strange thing down there.
By the time they arrived a small crowd had gathered and people were pointing in awe at the water. The men pushed their way to the front and gazed upon a most unusual sight. The koker was open because the tide was falling. Water from the village was gushing out and on its merry way to the ocean. In the midst of all this a large log could be seen steadily making its way against the surging tide and towards the open koker that led into the village. One time it lay flat in the water another time it stood tall.
“Is a Jumbie!”
“Me mother tell me it does bring bad luck.”
“De ting coming straight fo de Koker like it want fo come in we village.”
This last remark caused a stir of fear.
“Close de koker!”
Many hands joined in this task but to no avail. The device which usually operated smoothly, refused to budge. It was then that fear really hit the crowd.
“De spirit block de koker so it could come in.”
Some who were weak of heart headed hastily for home. Others stood around talking and lamenting. It was while all this was happening that Alvin sprang into action. Stripping off his clothes he grabbed a piece of rope from Travis’s donkey cart and plunged overboard. He was soon joined by Lakeram and they both swam towards the menacing log. The spectators were sure they were both drunk due to their unpredictable action. When they reached it they tied the rope securely to the log and swimming to the bank made fast the next end to a mangrove tree.
They then exited and put on their clothes. Feeling smug with satisfaction they returned triumphantly to the empty table. The crowd dwindled then eventually dried up. As the drinks started pouring down eager gullets another rude interruption occurred.
“Uncle Harold! Oh Gawd! Come see dis ting down by de koker!”
The table suffered its second abandonment. This time the scene was even more eerie. The log was still tugging valiantly against the restraining bonds but something terrible was now happening. From one end of the log flowed a dark liquid that changed the colour of the surrounding water red: Blood?
The strange log was bleeding. The crowd reappeared as if by magic. There was open panic now and some voices revealed their fear.
“God help we!”
“Dis is very bad.”
“We got fo do something.”
“Lea we cut de rope an lef it.”
There was a chorus of assent and two men moved towards the tree where the rope was tied. They did not get too far.
“NO WAY!”
It was Alvin and he was in a near combat mode. The men stopped. They all knew and feared him. He was a notorious brawler and his bald head had rendered many a pugilist unconscious. They retreated with their tails between their legs.
“But Alvin that might be de best ting!”
“A SAY NO! Any man want fo clash wid me touch dat rope.!”
There were no takers. Suddenly a nerve jarring wail was heard. Everyone looked around wildly trying to pinpoint the location of the latest drama. They did not have to look far. Horror and shock engulfed the crowd and clung to them. The bizarre wailing was coming from the log. Some people began to cry in fear. Others tried persuading Alvin to change his mind.
“We have to feed de wata to calm de spirit.”
“Yes dat is true.”
“We have to put some White Rum, fruits an sacrifice a black fowl. We got fo cut it neck an let de blood fall in de water.”
“Right. But fus we have to cut de rope an set de spirit free.”
“Allyo could put rum, whiskey or anything yo like but touch dat rope an is me Jumbie in allyo backside!”
Everyone went home in a rage. Alvin went back to his bottle.
That night was the worse in the history of the village. Every household had terrifying nightmares. In the visions they were warned and threatened to let the log go. When they woke up the next morning all the chickens in the village had been beheaded. Terror was now living among them.
Alvin was in his usual half drunken sleep when the irate villagers descended on his collapsing, ramshackle house. When he stumbled outside rubbing his eyes, he was greeted by the villagers en masse. But they were on a mission of their own. Armed with cutlasses, sticks, bricks and other weapons, they attacked the hapless man and gave him a good trashing.
Sobriety brought wisdom and Alvin quickly withdrew to the safety of his dwelling nursing multiple bumps and bruises that ached like crazy. His famous bald head had undergone a makeover. No longer was it a smooth shine. It now featured mountains, hills and ravines.
The villagers released the log and fed the water. Things returned to the usual calm of the quiet seaside village. Alvin returned to his drinking. Now he refuses to wear a hat.

(By Neil Primus)