Horror movies are a weak reflection of reality.  They end and their scenes, as haunting as they can be, pale in comparison to any of the scary things the real world has to offer. I’m older than you can imagine. Yet, the scent of fish and the sight of my grandmother, naked, except for her long hair covering her breasts and fish around her lower extremities, still haunt.

I was in a bar once, when a man’s stomach was ripped open by his drunken friend. The man stood for a minute or so with his intestines dying to touch the floor. Then, he turned around to ask, quite nonchalantly, whether or not his horse was winning a particular race. Almost everyone in the bar stared at him in disbelief and horror. It took him a while to die.  And, I’m sure this image in that bar, so many years ago, still haunt those who saw it.

No computer generated ghoul or monster is ever equal to the real thing that goes “bump” in the night. You would think seeing my grandmother naked with red stained teeth and smelling of fish would have made me hate those creatures. But, I actually have an obscene affection for fish- grilled, fried, steamed…raw….  Now, isn’t that something a logical horror storyline could never proffer?

Hollywood has its ghosts, vampires, werewolves and just plain madmen.  The islanders here in Antigua- they have their own versions of these. They have their jumbies- their ghosts. They have their soucouyants- women who turn into balls of fire and search for blood.  They have their jablesse (diablesse)- female demons with one foot human and the other a hoof. And, all of these, like their Hollywood counterparts, enjoy coming out at night- because supposedly that’s when things that go bump, do indeed go bump- nighttime.

As soon as the man was gone, Davey- my fisherman- motioned towards him with his bottom lip and spat out: “If it’s one thing I can’t stand... is dangerous people!” By dangerous, he didn’t mean drug lords who’d string a man up for trying to cross him or for just glancing at his woman.  Nor did he mean serial killers who killed “just because”. He meant ordinary people- men and women- who’d “skin teeth” (grin) at you but would happily stab you in the back if they got the chance.

The “dangerous person” is a popular topic among Antiguans. They seem to scorn, fear and hate the “dangerous person” as much as the Jamaicans claim to hate their homosexuals.  I remember, back when my companies were still mewling babies, a particular manager, who didn’t know any better, was keen on giving me weekly updates on just who the “dangerous people” in my employ were.  He’d tell me that a particular manager thought I was going about handling a particular project all wrong.  He'd warn me not to trust the smiles and adoration of another manager whose love for me went no further than his monthly paycheck.

I remember even my landlady, in those earlier days, was keen to warn me about “dangerous people” who wouldn’t want to see me- an outsider- succeed in my business ventures. She’d touch my arm lightly as she worried that I needed to surround myself with the right mixture of people. She’d strengthen her grasp on my arm as she shared the story of other businessmen and women who were done in by dangerous people.  “Don’t have any friends in business,” she would lecture me unnecessarily, as her hand moved further up my arm.  And, I’d smiled politely and thank her, while reminding myself never to let this woman find me in some dark alley. For, she seemed so thoroughly…dangerous.

*Name has been changed.

 (V).Damien