Society for Paranormals

by Vered Ehsani

  So that was what the little hairy dwarf was: a Tokolosh.

  “Why would I want to do any of that?” I asked, beginning to feel quite cross, for I knew first hand the importance of discretion.

  “Never,” Jonas repeated, ignoring my question. “Tokolosh don’t like being seen. But there are worse things.”

  “Such as?” I asked, breathless with excitement.

  Jonas snorted at my enthusiasm. “Such as the Popobawa. It has returned. Or so I hear.”

  I leaned back on my heels, marveling at Jonas. I’d never thought to ask him about the paranormal fauna of the area. In hindsight I wonder why I didn’t, for he could’ve assisted me greatly in my first few weeks. Perhaps he had fooled even me with his impersonation of the unschooled servant.

  But I shouldn’t be surprised, for hadn’t I glimpsed his keen intellect when no one else was watching? And that time we all went for a picnic in the forest: we’d been standing at the edge of the snake nest into which Lilly had fallen and Jonas had obligingly informed us that giant snakes could imitate human speech to trap their victims.

  Yes, I really should’ve known better.

  “The Popo what?” I asked, determined to rectify my mistake.

  “Popobawa,” he repeated solemnly. “The Bat Winged One. A shape-shifting demon that snatches up the ignorant while they sleep, and they are never seen again.”

  I clutched the pad to me. I was quite certain my heart was preparing to pop out of my chest with excitement.

  “A winged creature, here!” I breathed. “Brilliant.”

  Jonas shook his head with a derisive snort. “It’s not so brilliant when it finds you. And you won’t know until it is too late. By day, a man. By night, a giant bat with long talons and large, pointed ears.”

  I feverishly sketched out a bat and indicated with an impatient hand gesture for him to continue.

  Leaning toward me and lowering his voice, Jonas obliged my request. “When it terrorizes a village, all the families sleep together while the men take shifts to stay awake, on guard. They smear pig's fat over their skin to repel it. I have some lard if you wish to use it.”

  “That’s quite all right, Jonas,” I replied to his generosity. “What else?”

  Jonas scratched his head before continuing. “They say the first Popobawa was created by an enraged sheikh who released a djinni to exact vengeance on his neighbors. But the chieftain lost control of the spirit, which took on a demonic form and has been hunting for the chieftain ever since.”

  “Marvelous,” I announced. “Where can I find one?”

  Jonas jerked back as if I’d removed a poisonous viper from my pocket.

  “Find one?” he repeated, his face wrinkled up in an incredulous expression.

  “Yes, of course,” I said. “You don’t expect me to rely on my imagination. I need to see one in person to complete my report.”

  Jonas frowned at my determination to track down a bat-shaped demon. “I don’t know where they live. No one does.”

  “Surely someone must,” I persisted.

  The man shook his head. “Little lady has the eye,” and he nodded at me. “But that doesn’t mean you know all.”

  That he knew about my powers unnerved me. Without thinking, I said in as firm a tone as possible, “Yes, indeed, the little lady has two eyes and can see quite well, thank you. That will be all, Jonas.”

  Inwardly I flinched at the last sentence. So dismissive, so condescending, so like the tone and words used by Mrs. Steward and Lilly. The words of a coward or a colonialist. Or both.

  But as much as I might regret them, those words floated between us, my only shield to defend myself, to keep at bay a panic that polite society would soon learn the truth: I still saw unbelievable creatures.

  Jonas remained in his warrior pose, his eyes too bright for my comfort, even though a small, liberated part of me cheered him on.

  “You won’t… tell anyone, will you?” I asked in a more subdued voice.

  His posture deflated somewhat. “No,” he said and smiled dryly, glancing meaningfully at the notebook. “And neither will you.”

  Chapter 10

  It was Sunday afternoon, and I was determined not to spend it in the house. If the Stewards had gone out, I may have been tempted to enjoy the stillness of the garden, but as they were loitering about, I felt doubly encouraged to absent myself.

  Cilla being away, camping with Mr. Timmons along the flamingo-littered shores of Lake Nakuru, I set my feet toward the forest. Despite the presence therein of an African Rock Python of impressive proportions, I believed I’d be safer amongst the trees than amongst the Stewards. Mrs. Steward was determined to involve me in her needlework project and I was as equally determined not to join.

  Armed with my walking stick and a sachet of cinnamon, I hiked up the hill and was embraced in a shadowy coolness that delighted my sun-prickled skin. Assured of privacy, I pressed one of the knobs embedded in the stick. A gear turned, clicked and revealed a small compartment containing my spectacles.

  “Let’s discover,” I said and fitted the wire hoops of the contraption behind my ears. A weight settled on my nose and I blinked a few times to adjust to the distortion created by the glass.

  Like any spectacles, this pair amplified my vision but not of the ordinary sort. Rather, its various layered lenses strengthened my ability to read into the depths of a creature’s energy field and I didn’t have to squint at all. Mrs. Steward would’ve approved; she was always warning me against squinting and frowning, lest I be burdened with premature wrinkling in addition to a deceased husband and widow-induced dependency.

  I wandered along the narrow path created by impalas and other deer-like creatures, and relished the sparkling, benign energy of the trees and plants. It was most refreshing to be amongst living forms that couldn’t move, bite, claw, hit or in any other way inflict purposeful damage.

  Alas, such peaceful conditions were not to last.

  Another energy form flitted across the path ahead of me. I could tell instantly this wasn’t a type of creature you’d find in a zoology textbook, unless that book was published by the Society for Paranormals & Curious Animals. It had the distinct glow of a paranormal and I was sure it was the same one that had spied on our picnic, the same creature I’d later detected on a previous walk: a Tokolosh.

  Glad for my no-nonsense boots, I pulled my skirt up a bit to free my ankles, and hurried after the little beast. It had taken a smaller path branching off the main one. While a more emotional portion of my mind screamed, ‘Danger,’ the rest of me pushed forward, confident in my abilities to handle one small creature.

  That self-assurance lasted to the point at which I heard a heart-quickening shriek.

  I couldn’t see past the thick undergrowth to the scene of such wretched anguish. Had the little thing been snatched by something of greater size and ferocity? Perhaps now was an opportune time to retreat?

  As I remained fixed to the spot with indecision, the racket subsided into pitiful meowing. I couldn’t hear a second creature.

  Stooping low, I slid my boots over the ground, pausing in between steps to check for crackling twigs and leaves. The path curved about and into a small opening.

  The Tokolosh — for indeed that’s what it was — dangled above the path, an ankle caught up in a wire noose. The little beast reminded me of a small ape, reaching no higher than just above my knees, but heavily muscled and hairy. Its legs were disproportionately short for its squat body, as if it suffered a form of dwarfism. Large, bat-type ears twitched at the sides of its head.

  I spun a gear on the side of my spectacles so that a second set of glass pieces lowered themselves over the first. At that setting, I could see greater details of the Tokolosh’s paranormalness: it had the power of invisibility (although that didn’t work with me) and some telekinesis.

  As I studied it, the creature was attempting to remove the trap with its stubby fingers. But the wire had sunk into its flesh and its strugg
les only tightened the noose further, eliciting whimpers of distress. It spun, upside down, and at one point, its narrow, beady eyes alighted on me.

  Its energy flared and pebbles from the ground flew at my legs. Even through the heavy cotton skirt, I felt them.

  “Do stop that nonsense,” I said, attempting to gentle my voice, for the poor beast was after all in discomfort and quite possibly assumed I was the cause.

  Making shushing noises in what I hoped was a soothing tone, I pushed the index and middle fingernails of the metal fist atop my walking stick, and a short blade sprung out the bottom.

  The Tokolosh, perhaps believing that it was about to be skewered, took up its shrieking and added a few toothy hisses at me.

  “Really, such a commotion,” I said while taking a few strides toward it. I swung my stick, and the blade neatly sliced through the wire in one strike.

  With a howl, the Tokolosh collapsed to the ground, its wrinkled nose scrunching up further, its eyes narrow slits of hostility with more intelligence and malevolence than could be found in a mere animal.

  I squatted down, pulling my sketchpad and pencil out of my leather satchel. The creature reminded me very much of the baboons which boldly stole fruit off the banana and mango trees in the back of the house, right before Jonas’ infuriated gaze. But its face was flatter, longer and wider, the eyes solid black and the brown hair had a film of green. Its teeth were small and jagged, and I could see a small river stone in its mouth when it hissed at me.

  “You are so welcome,” I said as I made a few notes on my drawing. “But that trap was set by someone else, so maintain a more grateful attitude, if you please.”

  The Tokolosh tilted its head on its nearly non-existent neck, and scratched at one of its large, bat-like ears.

  “And if we don’t remove that loop,” I continued, pointing to the band of wire still cutting into its ankle, “you’ll have a nasty time of it, to be sure.”

  It followed the direction of my finger, slumped down onto its backside and tapped at the wire, whining mournfully.

  “If you’ll keep your teeth and dirty nails to yourself, I’ll see to your ankle,” I said, closing my sketchpad and inching closer.

  I studied its energy: the hostility colors had subsided and a grey layer of pain and fear obscured the field. I removed my spectacles, as they caused me to look frighteningly alien, and slid closer.

  Murmuring reassuring words, I again pressed the two fingernails of the metal fist, and the blade retracted. I reached halfway down my walking stick and turned a brass cog. As I did so, the metal fist on top of the stick opened up so that the palm was flat. I pressed the center of the palm and out popped a small toolbox.

  Removing a wickedly sharp, miniature scythe, I eased the curved blade under the wire. The Tokolosh remained so still it could have been confused for a statue and a rather ugly one at that. With a practiced flick of my wrist, I cut through the wire.

  The Tokolosh leapt to its short legs, the deep cut forgotten. Before me, the injury was already showing indications of repair.

  “Accelerated healing,” I said. “Now that ability would come in handy.”

  I eased myself up, gripping my stick, the bronze fist reformed and fully prepared for action if so required. But the Tokolosh showed no indication of aggression. Instead it flapped its arms against its sides.

  “Br-r-r,” it said, the closest to a coherent word I’d heard from it.

  “Burr?” I said. “Your name?”

  “Br-r-r.”

  “I suppose it must be,” I mused, “since nothing could possibly be cold around here.” It seemed the creature had a more feminine aspect to it, or rather to her.

  “Br-r-r-r,” she said, pounded her chest and jumped up and down, her lips pulled back in what I hoped was the species’ version of a smile, albeit an angry looking one.

  I patted my own chest with a bit more delicacy. “Mrs. Knight.”

  Burr’s mouth moved without making a sound.

  “Hm,” I said. “Let’s try something else. Bee.”

  “Be-e-e-e-e-e-e,” Burr said, baring her teeth. With another chest-pounding session, she vanished into the foliage.

  While I was fully ignorant of Tokolosh protocol, I was fairly confident that Burr had provided me with the nearest to a Thank You as that species was capable of.

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  Chapter 11

  “Oh, Bee, isn’t it just thrilling?” Lilly’s voice trilled as she spun about her small room. “Who would believe that I would find my future here in this desolate place?”

  “Who indeed?” I asked, picking up her shawl as she flung it in one direction over her chair; the hat flew away in the other direction.

  “But of course, I never gave up hope,” Lilly said. She admired herself in the mirror. “We must never give up hope, not even you, Bee. I wonder when he shall propose? Oh, I suppose he must ask Papa first, but he wouldn’t dare to disapprove.”

  “Indeed not,” I said.

  “He’s a dashing fellow, though,” Lilly said and she flung herself backwards onto the bed. “And I’m sure there’ll be no question regarding his suitability, despite his background. His current connections more than compensates for it.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, sitting by her and plumping up a pillow to lean against.

  “Well, he has an exotic history,” Lilly said. “But I think it only adds to his charm and mystique.”

  I frowned. Surely she wasn’t talking about Mr. Elkhart, whom we had only just met? Then again, I’d known of other matches made with equal rashness. And who else could inspire such praise?

  “And does this dashing, charming fellow have a name?” I asked, just to clarify the matter.

  She let out a love-tinged sigh. “Oh yes, a most melodic name: Tiberius Elkhart.”

  I snorted, wondering if the sun had already addled the man’s brain. “And when in the ride to their house, or during the tea, did he develop any affection for you? Or indeed express it?”

  Lilly giggled. “When you went with Lord Hardinge to the Hall of Arms to see the sword collection, Mr. Elkhart escorted me around the gardens. Alone. Well, Mama and Lady Hardinge were behind us of course, but nonetheless.”

  She sighed before continuing. “Then yesterday, while you were hiking about that dreadful jungle,” and she shuddered at the thought, “Mama and I went to the Bazaar to buy fruits, and who should we meet but Mr. Elkhart and Lady Hardinge? And of course they kindly invited us to join them for refreshments.”

  I ceased listening to the recitation, for I’d frozen as surely as water in winter, but much faster, a pillow clutched to my bosom. My response to this recital of infatuation surprised me. What did I care if Mr. Elkhart clearly had an interest in Lilly, as demonstrated by the attention he had bestowed on her?

  But I stunned myself with the realization that I did indeed care. The situation only highlighted my reality, for what chance did I, an impoverished, dependent widow, have against a young, beautiful girl of good family and at least some wealth, meager as it was?

  “In such a short space of time?” I asked, somehow maintaining a disinterested tone and posture, even as I wilted within.

  “Of course, and how much more natural a choice is it?” she asked, blind to my discomfort. “Papa might struggle somewhat with his status, although Lady Hardinge did mention he stands to inherit his father’s estate, which would provide a tidy allowance. In any case, I’m quite confident he’ll soon see past that, given Mr. Elkhart’s connections and charm.”

  I didn’t bother to argue the point with her, for I was certain that Mr. Elkhart could convince anyone of anything, regardless of his impossibly tanned skin or background; like Mr. Timmons, he had that magnetic skill. I tossed the pillow to the head of the bed and exited the room in haste. Lilly was too absorbed in her romantic triumph to note the abruptness of my departure.

  I fled to the kitchen, the one room I was assured some privacy: Jonas, who I could re
ly on for a caustic comment to snap me out of anything, was away at the market; the Stewards hardly entered the kitchen, having no part in the business of cooking. Gideon of course was lost to me, although what comfort he would have provided me in this case was questionable.

  I sunk in the chair by the stove and only then realized how alone I truly was. Cilla, the only one I could confide in freely, was away.

  And I realized with dismay that this had the unmistakable aspect of the heart. Curse that wretched, weak-willed thing. That I could cut it out and lock it away somewhere, or…

  “Bee,” Lilly’s voice cut through my inner remonstrations. “Bee, please ask Jonas to prepare tea.”

  I wiped away tears that I hadn’t been aware of. They weren’t there because of Mr. Elkhart, I decided, for we’d hardly spent any time together for him to have had such an effect. No, this was the result of… of something else, to be sure.

  “A pox on men,” I muttered and set out to lose myself in preparing tea, as Jonas was nowhere around.

  Maybe Lilly is mistaken.

  The evil hope insinuated itself between my teapot and the kettle, hot water pouring from one into the other. I dashed it away but still it lingered, even though I had no hope of attracting the eye of the dashing Mr. Elkhart.

  “What were you expecting?” I chastised myself. “Hadn’t Lilly all but told him you were a dependent and a widow?”

  Of course that changed my prospects. No one was completely immune to the social pressures and expectations, even here in this backwater colony.

  “I might as well just set all such hopes aside,” I told myself with a firmness I didn’t truly feel.

  By the time this sequence of thoughts squirmed through my mind, hot water flowed out of the pot, washed over the counter and scalded my hip where I leaned against the wooden countertop.

  “Curses,” I said, my resolve dribbling away with the water. In its place, I had a vision of Mr. Timmons smirking at me.

  “Despicable man,” I muttered just as Jonas entered. Before he could do more than widen his eyes, I thrust the tea tray at him and marched outside.