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

friend!" Bena responded in kind, kissing Silas on both cheeks. "How are

here doing my job," Silas gritted his teeth behind his cheesy smile. "What brings you all the

have to forgive de little ones, dey just got out of school." Bena pointed all around at the

"Oh, is that

when you and your film crew will come and visit de church. We

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

the

is!" Bena happily tossed up his hands.

his crew waited until Bena was out of earshot before Silas dropped his fake smile and said, "Those Protestants never give up. Hopefully we'll be done with this shoot before Sunday, and then we

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

can't be serious!" Silas shouted at the sky. "You're supposed to be an almighty being! Don't you have a sense of

way off the beach while just a few yards back, seated comfortably inside a dusty brown pickup truck

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

the unfortunate documentary crew that was

drove down the muddy, rural road, past numerous fleeing villagers

carried on past all of them until he made it to a main road that led down a rain-slicked highway in the afternoon, after

underneath their tents selling food or whatever else they saw fit to peddle. But by then, running from one place

person wasn't accustomed to the conditions, then they were just as well to up and leave

his truck off the main road and down an alley before stopping behind the store. He then honked the horn and waited for at least ten seconds before a young, scraggly looking black man came bolting out the backdoor

Livingston's side and knocked on the glass. Appearing annoyed, Livingston rolled down

around to the other side of the truck and

careening down yet another alley and parking. The rain pelted the truck so hard that it felt as if the old

dashed out his cigar before turning to the

watched, the man asked, "Where have

got back from Lincolnshire two days ago." Livingston replied. "But don't

about six days ago." He presented his Polaroid's. "Dis one was taken down

Livingston only twisted his lips and rolled his

two have been taking pictures and

filming some kind of movie out

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

thought for a moment or two while glaring hard

or

nose. "You bloody fool, I need an

Dey are young; dey come and dey

them. I thought all that political

man then handed Livingston another photo. "Who

The Kabal say dat she is a server dere. She also

have to

"She's

perturbed, Livingston ranted, "Why are you