The Duppy

Long ago, in a village nestled between the great green hills and the whispering sea, there lived a boy named Micah. He was a lively child, known for his quick feet and quicker tongue, always eager to chase after adventure. But Micah was also stubborn, and he scoffed at the warnings of the village elders, who spoke in hushed tones about the spirits of the night—the Duppies.

"Duppies are just stories to frighten children," he would say, laughing as he ran past the old cotton tree where spirits were said to linger.

One evening, as the sun melted into the horizon and the sky burned crimson, Micah ventured out beyond the village, past the yam fields and into the shadowed woods. He had heard of an abandoned house, crumbling with age, where no villager dared to go. They said it was cursed, that the spirit of a wicked man who had wronged too many still roamed within. But Micah, driven by bravado, wanted to prove he was not afraid.

As he stepped into the broken doorway, the air inside was thick with the scent of damp earth and something bitter, something old. The wooden floor creaked beneath his weight. A wind, though the air outside was still, whispered through the ruined walls.

Then, he heard it—a voice, soft as silk, but twisted with something unnatural.

"You shouldn’t have come."

Micah spun around, his heart a drum in his chest. In the dim light, a figure moved in the corner of the room. It was a man—or what had once been a man. His skin was pale as moonlight, his eyes hollow, his grin too wide, too sharp.

"You do not believe in Duppies," the thing said, stepping forward. "But we believe in you."

Micah stumbled back, his breath caught in his throat. He turned and ran, his feet pounding against the wooden planks, through the overgrown path, and into the safety of the village. But even as he reached home, gasping for breath, he knew something was wrong. The air was cold, though the night was warm. Shadows stretched where none should be. And in the silence, he could still hear that voice—low, amused, waiting.

The next morning, Micah awoke to find footprints in the dirt outside his window. They were not his own. And from that day forth, though he never spoke of what had happened in the house beyond the yam fields, Micah was never the same. His laughter dulled, his eyes always searching the dark.

For he knew, once a Duppy had found you, it never truly let you go.