A Blog by Althea Romeo-Mark

By: aromaproductions on 4:14 PM

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Nora’s Secret

Florence glanced at the clock on the wall as she dragged her plump, middle-aged body to the bathroom. It was 5:30 am. Still pitch-black. She patted her lips to stifle an escaping yawn. The yawn turned into a howl. When she closed her mouth, the howling continued. She shivered.

She pulled on her housecoat, opened the front door and looked around outside.  At first, she did not see anything but she smelled rum.  When her eyes adjusted to the dark, she walked down the steps into the yard and turned right to the corner from where Windy, their yard-dog, was howling and whining.  Windy, wagging her tail nervously, looked up and sensing a strange presence, let out another long yowl.

“Wha’s wrong, you scrawny dog?” asked Florence looking around only to see the shadow of a banana tree in the corner. Near it lay Nora, one of three tenants, who rented rooms in their house. She was covered in blood so profuse, it had dyed her yellow dress orange.

Florence drew closer in disbelief.  A jagged rum bottle lay next to Nora’s right hand.

  Florence's calm crumbled.  "Rupert, Rupert," she screeched, "come quick-quick.  I think Nora dead.  Lawd, look at trouble."  She lifted her hands in the air, wailing.

            Rupert her husband, sleeping in the bedroom between Nora’s and the second tenant’s, woke in a fright. His lanky, brown arms reached for his trousers and hurriedly pulled them on.

.            “Coming, Florence, coming," he shouted as he dashed out the door which she had left open.  

         

                  "Where you….?" he called out.

     

                 "In de yard, Rupert. Come quick.  Oh God, Oh Lawd, Jesus have mercy, I tink’ Nora dead."

                 "Nora dead! Nora dead? Stay right there, Florence." Rupert sprinted back up the steps into the house to call the ambulance.

             Soon paramedics, in a wailing ambulance, and the police arrived.  The neighbors had

already begun to gather around the wall surrounding the home. One claimed to see a spirit near the banana tree in the yard.  

       “See it dey,” she shouted. Eyes followed her pointing finger.

Although Nora was slender and was faintly breathing, her body was a heavy boulder when lifting it onto a stretcher.  The paramedics staggered as they carried her to the ambulance.

               The driver struggled for some time to start the engine before driving away, siren blaring.

             Two policemen, former colleagues of Rupert, busied themselves in the yard. Rupert approached the men and shook hands.

    

         

             “Rupert. Sorry to meet up under dese circumstances,” Sergeant Hodge, a tall, thin,

 knock-kneed man with narrow shoulders, said.

             "She cut ‘er throat. Sad, eh, and a nice-looking woman at dat," sergeant Phillips, the other

policeman, said. His stomach hung over his belt and trembled when he walked. He turned to Rupert.

            “ How long you know de woman?" sergeant Phillips asked.

             "About a year,” said Rupert.  “She rent a room in our house"

            "Wha's her name?”

             "Nora Henderson."

             " Tell me ‘bout her.”

              “She come from Tortola and work in Pandora Gift Shop in town.  Never seen her

Family,” Rupert replied. “Nora is a quiet girl.  Keep to sheself.  Mind you, I never see her

drunk or in bad company."

             "So, she doan drink, never had a boyfriend?" enquired weedy sergeant Phillips.

             "She brought a white, freckle-faced fellow to the house to meet us, once. Carl Briggs,"

Rupert said.

             "How long ago was that? " asked sergeant Phillips

  

             "`Bout three months," answered Rupert

            "Where can I find de fella?"

            "Seaside Hotel," answered Florence, inserting herself in the interview.

             "Seaside Hotel! Oh! me brother wuk there,” sergeant Hodge cut in. “Small island eh?

Show us de young woman's room."

   

Rupert and Florence dashed up the steps followed by the policemen.  In the house,

Rupert inserted the key and grappled with Nora’s room door.  It would not budge. It felt as

though someone was pushing against it from the inside. When he and Florence rammed

the door, it suddenly gave way. Stumbling forward, they entered the room, the policemen close

behind them. Rupert switched on the light.  As the policemen looked around, he searched the

closet. It was empty.  The room smelled of perfume, smoke and burned matches. Florence

pushed open the window to let the stale, thick air out. 

" Wha’s with all dese black candles?” quired sergeant Hodge. The dressing table was covered with them.

   Florence opened a drawer, then another.  "More black candles!" exclaimed Florence.

            "You tink de girl believe in obeah?" asked Rupert, looking at Florence.

             "Me? I doan know what to tink.  I'm just. . . . Oh God, I doan know. I feel like somebody drop a rock on me head."  

            Embarrassed by the untidy room, Florence gathered up dresses from the bed.  Beneath the dresses lay an envelope.  Inside it, she found a small snake-shaped gold ring, a gold chain with a large snake-shaped charm and a letter. Florence picked it up and examined it. People who wore them were associated with obeah.  

“Sergeant Hodge, Sergeant Phillips, she called, “look here,” drawing their attention to the

contents of the envelope.

 Sergeant Phillips examined the jewelry while Sergeant Hodge read the letter aloud.

Florences’ face wrinkled and her eyes narrowed.  "Jesus, oh Jesus, poor Nora," she

mourned.

           

            " That Briggs got a stone for a heart, WHAT! Rupert shouted.

             "I think that Briggs fella find out dat she mixed up in obeah business." said, Sergeant

Phillips.

              "No, no," explained Sergeant Hodge, " people who dabble in them tings don't tell

every Tom, Dick and Harry."

              "But you mean to tell me”, said Sergeant Phillips, “that all de black candles she burn,

and God knows what else she doing, didn't help her to keep Briggs. You know too many island

woman busy plotting to catch us men.  You know, they put things in soup and rice dishes?  They

cook a big pot and give it to dey man-friend.  Once de men finish it, dey goose cook.  So maybe

this one backfire.  Maybe she try too hard.   The letter say, he going to America because life on

this island too confining.  The obeah backfire for true."

              "So you talking from experience, Phillip?"  asked Florence.  Her face was stern. "So Nora was burning candles for Briggs?  You men too wicked."

               "Then wha's all this for?” asked Sergeant Phillips pointed at the candles. “Tell me.  Maybe she wuking Obeah on you, too."

             "Don't talk like that," said Rupert loudly.  “You talking ‘bout devil worship going on in me house."

             Rupert stood scowling.

 "Oh God, Nora, why you kill youself?” cried Florence.  “Not for a damn man.  Briggs make you do this?"

              "Florence, hold your mouth,” said Rupert. “She not dead yet.  We don't know nothing.   The island too small . . . too small-minded.  Briggs say, he doan wan’ to spend he whole life on this rock.  If you ask me, Nora’s why he lef’ her.  She too quiet, too secretive. When she come from work, she go in dat room and we don't see ‘er again 'til she going out.  I never see her in the kitchen cooking or chatting with other tenants.”

            

  "I tell you, he's to blame,” Florence countered.  “That Briggs. Tink about those blue eyes.  Cold, cold, like he would kill somebody and wouldn't even wince."

            "Florence, since when you looking in Briggs's eyes? Besides, the devil has brown.... eh....

red eyes."

       "So you see the devil's eyes, eh Rupert?  You been out at midnight at the crossroads to see the devil's eyes?"

    

      "O.K. hold it, you two, watch your blood pressure," said Sargent Phillips. "I think you should go to the hospital and see how the young woman’s doing.  Sergeant Hodge and I goin’ to the headquarters to write our report.” He extended his hand to Rupert.  "We'll keep you updated, Rupert."

        "Later den."  Rupert walked them to the front door, unlatched it and let them out.

        While they dressed to go to the hospital, Florence felt uneasy, her thoughts ran helter-

skelter.   Did Nora really do all of this to win Brigg's love?  Did he fin’ out what she was doin’, and lef’ her? 

Was she part of dis darkness before she meet him?  Her racing thoughts were interrupted by a cock's

crow and the dog’s howling.  She shivered.  Cocks don't crow in the middle of the day.  Windy

was now growling.  They hurried out the front door and locked it.

    

    Thirty minutes later, they plodded into the hospital and enquired about Nora’s status and was told she was being operated on. They sat down near the entrance of the waiting-

 room. Rupert rested his hat on his knee.

             

 "Something strange going on in de house," murmured Florence.

            

       " Is true. Somethin’ try to stop us opening Nora’s room,” Rupert added. “Something

 evil.” Fear wrapped them in silence.

              Half an hour later a doctor approached them. "Mr. and Mrs. Matthews? I'm afraid we

couldn't save her. She lost too much blood.  I'm sorry.  We'll inform the police."

              A scream leaped from Florence's mouth, shattering the peaceful atmosphere of the

Hospital. She fell forward.  Rupert leaned over her, fanning her face with his hat. 

            “I all right,” Florence said, sitting up. We have to call Father O’Connor.  Nora kill sheself,

she burning candles, wearing charms.  And cock crowing at Midday, dog howlin’. Her spirit

going haunt de house.”

“Then come,” Rupert said, grabbing Florence’s hand, “we have to reach Father

O’Connor before it get’ dark.”   He rushed down the hospital steps and scouted for a taxi.

 Father O’ Connor struggled to keep a straight face as Rupert and Florence explained the need for a blessing ritual.  He had regularly performed them on new houses on the island. Not wanting to disappoint, he agreed to accompany Rupert and Florence to their house.

 In the room, he brought out the holy water and sprinkled it in every possible place at the urging of the Mathews. Then he began the prayers which he and they loudly repeated. 

“O heavenly Father, Almighty God,… bless and sanctify this house and all who dwell therein and everything else in it, and do…. fill it with all good things; …… May the angels of Thy light, dwelling within the walk of this house, protect it and those who dwell therein. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

           

Florence fell on her knees, tears flowing down her face. “I see it, Father, I see it” An angry shadow rushed pass them out the window. And Rupert, too, fell on his knees crying in relief and holding onto Father’s frock. “Thank you, dear God,” he repeated over and over.

            Father had seen the shadow fleeing, too. He tore his frock from Rupert’s grip and continued to make the sign of the cross, backing out the room, out of the house, down the stairs. Then he fled.

            The telephone rang, startling them. Rupert grabbed the phone.

     

“Sergeant Hodge here. We brought Briggs in for questioning.  He tell us how Nora had

change.’ Prayin’ an’ burnin’ candles day an’ night, talkin’ ‘bout everlasting riches. Whatever it was,

it was overpowering.  She kill sheself alright. It was she only escape.”

           

“Thank you, sergeant.” Rupert hung up the phone. “So de ting looking for she soul. it not

going res.’

Florence and Rupert slept at their daughter’s that night. Never returned. Sightings of Nora in the “Jumbi House,” abound. Children passing by the house never walk; they run.

           

© Althea Romeo-Mark 

Althea Romeo Mark Brief Biography

Born in Antigua, West Indies, Althea Romeo Mark is an educator and writer who grew up in St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands. She has lived and taught in the Virgin Islands, USA, Liberia, England, and Switzerland since 1991. She writes poetry and short stories and has been published. in the Virgin Islands, Puerto Rico, Antigua and Barbuda, The Bahamas, Barbados, USA, England, Germany, Norway, Portugal, Colombia, India, U.K., Kenya, Liberia, Romania and Switzerland. Her last poetry collection, The Nakedness of New, was published in 2018. She has participated in International Poetry Festivals in Romania, Kenya and in Colombia.