As it turned out, ours wasn’t the only fascinating story of the supernatural entering into the folklore consciousness of the island and as I knew only too well there was more truth to these stories than anyone would care to know.
There were many beings that possessed varying degrees of mysticism and mischief, but few the rare combination of power and human disregard most of my kind owned.
I, of course, had heard the stories of the old man with hooves for feet and leaves growing from his beard that lived in the forest. That he appeared in different forms, sometimes a deer other times an old man in tattered clothes warning hunters and others to be kind to the land and animals sometimes with quite dire consequences. These whispers were not just from campers and drunken hunters but from other soucouyants as well.
I was on a long walk, alone, into the lush forest along the northern range of the country when I had my first encounter with the old man of the forest. That he felt comfortable enough to present himself to me in his natural form put me at ease. I wish I could say that I heard hooved approach, but that would be a lie. I did sense his presence though and when he revealed himself I simply stood and studied him for a long time.
“You are different from the others.” He said with a smile that made me feel welcome in his presence. “I have studied you from afar for some time.”
“And I have heard much about you.” I said smiling myself.
“You are sad.” He said growing serious. “You have lost much, suffered much. I can help you. Your life, your efforts are valuable.” He paused and smiled again and now there was compassion in his eyes. “Come, walk with me Nicholas. We have much to discuss.”
“What should I call you?” I asked walking towards him.
“Call me Papa.” He said as he turned and I followed him into the dark forest.
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