The Voice From the Dead

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On Sundays I would go out with the preacher and read the Bible as he preached to small gatherings.  I began to feel I was like John the Baptist preaching to the people of the village and my christian beliefs became stronger to the extent I thought I would grow up to be a preacher myself.

One night while I was asleep at the preachers house, it was about 4.am when I heard a powerful voice calling out to me, ‘Henry, get up and go home’, At first I ignored the voice and went back to sleep, but the voice came again. ’Henry get up and go home,’ this time the voice was stronger and more demanding and I recognised the voice as that of my great-uncle I was afraid but I felt I had to do as I was told.  Not wanting to wake the preacher I immediately got up collected all my belongings and quietly left the house.

The moon was shining brightly, the cock was crowing to signal the dawn of a new day, when in the stillness of the morning, I started my journey.

Now and then the leaves of the trees swayed in the breeze forming shadows, in my young mind I was afraid, remembering the stories I had been told of the shadowy ghosts, the rolling calves and the duppies that roamed the night while everyone was asleep.

These beliefs of duppies and ghosts were handed down through generations so in my young mind I was afraid, but this fear did not stop me and I continued my journey.  I did not know where to go or the route I should take but I carried on walking.  There were no signposts anywhere, neither were there any main roads, only secondary roads and tracks, the houses were scattered throughout my journey, but it seemed as if I was being guided by an invisible hand showing me the way that I should travel.

Sometimes I came across large houses, but most of the smaller houses were wooden shacks made out of wattle and daub for the walls and thatched roofs. As the sun rose and the day became clearer I became less fearful and my journey became less stressful.