Jamaican Duppy Story book

The last mango landed with a soft plop in the grass just as Leila Morgan tied the final bundle to the side of the family cart.

“Got it!” she called.

The evening air smelled of warm earth, ripe fruit, and the ginger tea Auntie May had packed in a small bottle. Crickets sang beneath the bushes. Beyond the yard, the mango gate stood open between two old stone posts. Its wooden boards were painted blue, though the paint had faded in the sun.

Leila’s little brother, Jonah, tucked a blanket under one arm. Auntie May checked the basket of breadfruit and saltfish. Mama lifted the baby’s bag and settled it on her shoulder.

“We should leave before the light goes,” Mama said. “The road is easier to see while the sky is still pink.”

Leila looked toward the gate. She had heard stories about that place. People said a duppy sometimes walked near the mango tree after sunset. A duppy was a spirit from old Jamaican stories, and grown-ups had different ideas about what it wanted.

Leila did not know what to believe. She only knew that the gate made a strange little squeak whenever the breeze moved it.

“Leila,” Mama called, “please bring the lantern.”

Leila picked up the lantern from the porch. Its glass was warm from the last bit of sunlight. She held it close and followed her family across the yard.

Then she heard it.

Step.

Step.

Step.

The sound came from the other side of the gate.

Leila stopped. Jonah bumped into her back.

“Why did you stop?” he asked.

“I thought I heard someone.”

Mama turned. “Someone on the road?”

Leila listened. The crickets went on singing. A bird gave one sleepy chirp. Then the sound came again.

Step.

Step.

Step.

It was not loud. It sounded like bare feet touching the dusty road.

Auntie May looked at the mango tree. Its leaves trembled, though the air around Leila felt still.

“Maybe it is a goat,” Auntie May said.

“There are no goats by the gate,” Jonah replied.

Mama gave him a gentle look. “Then perhaps it is a loose branch.”

Leila lifted the lantern. Yellow light spilled over the gate, the roots of the mango tree, and the road beyond. Nothing moved.

“We can go around the back,” Leila said.

The back path led through the garden and over a narrow plank beside the stream. It was not dangerous, but the cart would not fit, and Mama would have to carry the baby across. The family needed to reach Grandma’s house before dark.

“We cannot take the cart that way,” Mama said. “The food would have to stay behind.”

Leila looked at the bundles. The breadfruit was for Grandma, who had been feeling tired. The blanket was for the baby. The lantern was their only light.

The footsteps came again.

Step.

Step.

Step.

This time, the sound was closer.

Jonah reached for Leila’s hand. His fingers felt cool.

“Maybe we should wait until morning,” he whispered.

Mama knelt beside him. “We are together, and the house is right behind us. No one is in trouble.”

Leila liked the sound of Mama’s calm voice. She took a slow breath through her nose and let it out gently, just as Mama had taught her when she felt upset.

In. Out.

The lantern flame wobbled, then stood straight.

“Let us look carefully,” Leila said. “Not run. Just look.”

Auntie May nodded. “That is a wise plan.”

Leila stepped toward the gate. The ground felt soft beneath her sandals. She shone the lantern along the fence. A long vine had fallen across one board. The breeze moved its leaves, making them tap against the wood.

“There!” Jonah said. “The vine is making the squeak.”

Leila smiled. “And maybe the footsteps are a branch.”

She moved the lantern toward the mango tree. One dry branch rested on the road. When the wind pushed it, the branch scraped forward a little.

Scrape.

Step.

Scrape.

“It sounds almost like feet,” Leila said.

Mama helped Auntie May lift the branch from the road. They placed it beside the fence. The squeaking stopped.

For a moment, the yard was quiet except for the crickets.

Jonah let go of Leila’s hand. “So the duppy was only a branch?”

Leila wanted to say yes. She wanted the answer to be simple.

Then a soft voice came from behind the gate.

“Leila.”

The lantern flame bent sideways.

Leila froze.

The voice had not sounded like the wind. It had said her name clearly, as if someone stood just beyond the mango tree.

Mama moved close to her. “Leila, stay with us.”

Leila swallowed. Her knees felt wobbly, but the gate was still only a gate. The road was still only a road. Mama’s hand rested warmly on her shoulder.

“Did you hear it?” Leila asked.

Auntie May’s face was serious, but kind. “Yes, child.”

Jonah pressed against Mama’s skirt. “Was it the duppy?”

No one answered at once.

The voice came again, softer this time.

“Leila.”

Leila closed her eyes for one breath.

In. Out.

She remembered something Auntie May had told her when she was small: “If a place feels strange, do not answer with anger. Listen first. A spirit may be lonely, confused, or trying to be heard.”

Leila opened her eyes....