The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

Negril, Jamaica

The Rainy Season

"Walk with me, if you will. Here, beyond this beach aptly named Bloody Bay, lies an uncanny, if not deadly revelation that has rocked the people of Negril.

What lies behind me, deep within this bamboo forest is a horror the likes you have never witnessed before.

As we venture deep into the crevices of the quiet glade we can hear almost nothing. No kinds of wildlife to be seen or heard. Only quiet...eerie, deep quiet.

The deeper we delve, the more the human imagination begins to develop a sense of fear and trepidation, until...we find the unthinkable.

Right here, in this massive ditch, once was the resting place of exactly eighty-six men, women, boys and girls. All of which were torn to pieces by some wild animal just three months earlier.

Who discovered and buried the people is still a mystery. What kind of vicious beast could have wrought so much havoc is still baffling.

Local authorities are hesitant to say just what kind of animal could have murdered all of those people, but villagers in and around here say that this entire area was at one time, and still is cursed. Some even call this area 'The curse of Satan.'

The soil that I have in my hands is all but infertile. As I mentioned earlier, the sounds of animals is all but non-existent. It's as though they are aware that this entire forest is a nightmare.

I, your host, Silas MacDougal, even have reservations on remaining here. Even as I stand here I feel a deep presence lurking about; something sinister following me.

It's said by some of the neighboring villagers that voices can be heard coming from this very forest both night and day. There have been stories of giant animals once stalking people in this very village over fifty years ago. Creatures that have plagued this once peaceful Oceanside crest that was at one time called home, have now turned it into a wasteland, with nothing to show for it but memories.

What sort of animal could have wiped out an entire village? Who was it that buried all the bodies? How could such evil have been overlooked for so long? What the hell are the kids doing running around our set?" Silas angrily shouted in his Scottish vernacular. "Cut, cut, cut!"

All around Silas, his young camera operator Rebecca and her younger brother and microphone man William were little Jamaican children running, frolicking and acting as if the entire forest were their private playground.

All Silas could do was take off his ball cap, toss it to the ground and look on in utter disbelief. "Where the hell did they come from all of the sudden?" He fussed.

"They're from the other village," Rebecca, who also spoke in a Scottish dialect, said as she turned her camera off.

Spinning around and around, trying to catch all of the racing children in a single eyeshot, Silas remarked, "This is crazy! I'm filming a documentary here, not an episode of Sesame Street!"

Impishly grinning, Rebecca said, "They're just kids playing."

"Let them play somewhere else!" Silas ranted as he began for the foot of the forest. "I wanna at least get the introduction complete before it rains again for the tenth time today, for God's sake!"

No sooner had Silas and his assistants exited the forest, a short, bald, old Jamaican man dressed in a white buttoned down shirt and slacks began approaching him.

"Now what," Silas rolled his eyes.

"You know what he wants." William moaned.

Wiping his sweaty face with his dingy undershirt, Silas promptly pasted on the shiniest, phony smile he could assemble.

Pastor Bena!" Silas warmly greeted with open

"Hello, my friend!" Bena responded in kind, kissing Silas on both cheeks.

his cheesy smile. "What brings

forgive de little ones, dey just got out of school."

"Oh, is that it?" Silas strained to

will come and visit de church. We have a very special service just in store for de three

to show up this Sunday, Pastor." Rebecca cut in with

the rain,

happily tossed up his hands. "God be with

Bena was out of earshot before Silas dropped his fake smile and said, "Those Protestants never

another word, the clouds in the sky darkened within a matter of seconds before the rain came pouring

"You're supposed

children and pastor all clamored along their way off the beach while just a few yards back, seated comfortably inside a dusty brown pickup truck was

of a mid-forty year old. He wore a lazy, five o' clock shadow, as well as a dirty white ball cap. His khaki pants and muddy boots would have suggested that he had been working all day long non-stop, while his unspoiled white t-shirt looked as if he had just pulled it straight out of a washing machine

He sucked on his newly lit Cuban cigar all the while glaring an amused smirk at the unfortunate documentary crew that was scrambling like frightened mice to get

road, past numerous fleeing villagers who were trying to escape the weather's conditions. There were men,

of them until he made it to a main road that led

people on both sides of the road walking or remaining underneath their tents selling food or whatever else they saw fit to peddle. But by then, running from one place to another was all but useless, it was going to rain and everyone

if a person wasn't accustomed to the conditions,

a rundown hardware store. Without slowing down for a yellow light, the man took his truck off the main road and down an alley before

the glass. Appearing annoyed, Livingston rolled down the window and growled in

around to the other side of the truck and climbed inside. Gawking and gazing all

drove down the alleyway and through a block before careening down yet another alley and parking. The rain pelted the truck so hard that it felt as if the old vehicle would shatter to pieces

the truck in park, Livingston dashed out his cigar before turning

satchel and glancing behind him as though he were being watched, the man asked, "Where have you been all dis

days ago." Livingston replied. "But don't worry about that. What do you have for

Taking out a collection of photos, the man said, "I took dese about six days ago." He presented his Polaroid's. "Dis

Livingston only twisted his lips and

other two have been taking pictures and filming." The

of movie out in the woods. He's a Scottish

the man pulled out another. "Dis one is part of the JLP, but he and his followers

for a moment or two while

ten or so,"

up his nose. "You bloody

to tell. Dey are young; dey

an eye on them. I thought all that political rubbish would have been over

Livingston another photo. "Who

at The Kabal say dat she is a server

she have to

"She's

perturbed, Livingston ranted, "Why are you taking pictures