The Pure Light Possession - Baku Autu

Content warning- a fictionalization of legitimate religious beliefs to create a unique Samhain experience. I apologize to all Haitians and the entire Vodou/Voodoo/Hoodoo community for my many inaccuracies. No kittens were harmed in the production of this story.

"Leave me alone. I know you are following me." Shadows wrapped in shadows shifted subtly. "Witches got to die. I read it in a book."

The darkness around Emmanuel Jean-Baptiste moved gracefully and stealthily. 

Shadows in darkness could not exist without a hint of light. Moldy curtains and dusty cobwebs let in just a trickle of the full moon's Illumination—the glint reflected off the gold cross, the faintest glow.

"Be gone, evil spawn! Bedeviled beast, I cast thee out." Emmanuel shook a ceremonial rattle and repeated the phrase in Italian, Greek, and Creole. 

Emmanuel Jean-Baptiste was a priest of dualistic beliefs. Raised in the ways of Vodou, he got ordained as an evangelist to make ends meet. When faced with perceived evil, he turned to both weapons of warding. 

He fell silent after many minutes of ominous chanting. From the darkness came the response. "Meow?" Curiosity may have killed many felines; asking 'meow' posed as a question may have caused many curses.

Emmanuel lit a candle dispelling the darkness to cower in the corners. The hidden became revealed. What was there in the flickering light and what Emmanuel saw were two different things. Emmanuel was under the influence of alcohol, ghost peppers, and an herbal vision brew.

The Day Of The Dead was nearing, and he had been preparing for weeks. Through the window, flashes of heat lightening illuminated the cemetery on the hill. Mapou—The ancestors' tree cast a momentary shadow across his great-grandparents' graves. That would be where he would dance with the spirit world in just a few days. This house had been their house before he was brought to this country. They had been brought here in 1860 just in time to see slavery end.

The sparsely furnished room contained just a couch that doubled as a bed, boxes of books, and tall shelves with jars full of herbs—numerous spirit entities had dedicated racks. The back wall was the spirit tools of the Vodou high priest. The front wall remnants of Uncle Junior's Hoodoo and rootwork practice. The other wall was a mix of the New Orleans Voodoo trinkets (only the authentic ones, no dolls, and needles). Generations of family heirlooms from the new country and the old.

In the center of the room was a veve. A sacred symbol used to call down a spirit. The veve is the signature of the spirit and the priest or priestess. The center was the cross and the signature of the spirit the veve called. Surrounding the cross was the ancestral history of the practitioner who made the sacred mark. The Vodou/Voodoo community was extensive and spanned many countries. Emmanuel recognized the family history. Ancestors taken from Congo by slavers ended up in Haiti. Her great-grandfather was a leader after the Haitian revolution. This priestess’s roots ran deep to the most ancient ancestors. Emmanuel had trained since childhood to be a high priest. He could read the family history in any veve but was genuinely disturbed by one fact. He did not recognize the signature of the spirit it called.

Next to the veve was the body. Cowering beyond it was the cat.

A frightened yet still adorable kitten peered out from behind the sagging couch. The cat was black, as dark as midnight on a starless night. The candlelight glowed red in the tiny kitty's eyes.

Emmanuel recoiled in horror and stumbled over the witch's twisted body. "You monster! You demon! Begone, begone, begone. No! No! Leave me alone!" He scrambled towards the door and stopped when his hand touched a small leather bag on the shelving—Uncle Junior's shelf for healing.

"Meow." The beast roared. Through the eyes clouded by deliriant flowers, seeds, and herbs, he saw something other than a harmless kitten. He saw a witch's familiar, part cat the size of a lion, and part demonic reptilian dragon. 

"May god have mercy on whatever soul would dwell within such a foul beast!" Emmanuel flung open the weathered leather pouch, and a cloud of powder nudged by his heavy exhale drifted across the room, glowing red in the candlelight. 

Zombification powder. The Vodou healer's last chance to save a life. Deeper than any chemical-induced coma. Two firsts in one night. He had never slain a witch before. He had also never zombified a demon (or a kitten, for that matter).

A helpless kitten gasped, convulsed, and fell over undead in the corner—the cat's heartbeat suppressed to once every twenty minutes. Disconnected from the tiny lifeless body limply lying on the floor with its tongue hanging out. The demon Emmanuel saw in his vision only became enraged. 

The knife was still in her back. Emmanuel dove for it, and retreated towards the door.

Father Micheal had taken Emmanuel into his family following the hurricane that destroyed the Vodou priest's home and village. He fast-tracked Emmanuel's ordainment and taught him the ways of the fire and fury preaching common this far south. The good Father was well versed in what he called The Good Book.

Growing up in the Vodou tradition, the light vs. dark, angels vs. demons, he effortlessly wove into his belief system. When the good Father brought up the witches, he was instantly intrigued. "Dark magic, demonic possession, the blood of the innocent. Only the light can defeat the darkness. Witches. Evil temptresses. Witches are everywhere. Leviticus 20:27 'A man or woman who is a medium or spiritist among you must be put to death. You are to stone them; their blood will be on their own heads.'"  

Vodou: pure light. Possession was nothing more than welcoming in the spirit for a hug and a dance. The Vodou priest is a conduit of light in the darkness. This dark vision was terrifying.

At Noon, Father Micheal sent a text:

Emmanuel, I forgot to warn you. Halloween is tonight. All the little sinners will be out tonight. Carve a face in a pumpkin, stick a candle inside, and put it outside your door. The little witches will attack your windows if you don't put out a pumpkin to smash."

The orange glow flowed through the open door bathing the powdered pattern on the floor. The veve flickered ethereally.

The veve. The demon. The body of the witch. Emmanuel was shaking. It was all coming back to him in a flash. Outside, the lightning strobed rhythmically again above the graveyard, and the shadows ran and hid.

Emmanuel's phone buzzed. The screen glowed blue. With a tap, a text appeared.

Houngan Or Vodouwizan I am Manbo Jessebel your Vwasinaj, and a Vyen. I am with the Sosyete. Don't use the pyen, or you will see a Baka. I am afraid I made it way too strong. I don't know your level of Kreyòl use your Kwa-kwa rattle and nago if you feel Kriz Izwi. Perform a vire and zepo to honor Zanset-yo. Remember your Regleman. I let myself in and performed a seremonil A File Farin. The veve is my gift. Baku Autu. A very ancient and secret guardian. Wait for translation if needed.

Emmanuel understood it all except Baku Autu. He began a ritualistic dance shaking his rattle, honoring the directions, then wildly waving his shoulders rhythmically.

He performed the ritual three times before the phone would chime again.

Greetings, priest or initiate; I am High Priestess Jessebel, your neighbor and a vyen. They call us semi-mythical descendants of the original Tayino. I am not sure you could call me mythical if I live next door. I know what most secret societies know, though. Don't use the spirit water! I got the mix wrong. You will see a trickster demon. I hope you speak at least some Creole. Use your kwa-kwa, your sacred rattle. Do your ceremony. If you feel the onset of possession, perform; well, I hope you know your dances. Honor your ancestors. Remember your laws and traditions. (I hope you know them well) I welcomed myself into your temple, and I performed the act of drawing the sacred flour stringing. The veve calls forth the most ancient and secret spirit. Baku Autu. The Great-grandfather babysitter spirit. He is the children's guardian and the slayer of all under-the-bed monsters.

Emmanuel quickly texted back:

Honerable Manbo Jessebel. The Baka, it's still here. I did the rituals; I danced, I drank the pyen. I drank a lot of pyen. I think I killed a witch. Maybe Baku Autu killed the monster? One other thing. Uncle Junior died before he taught me how to revive the zombified. 

Three dots filled with suspense tip-toed across the bottom of the screen. The anticipation was interrupted by two things simultaneously—a knock on the door and a text from Father Micheal. 

I forgot to mention. Get some candy for those little monsters. 

Bloody pumpkin carving knife in hand, he carefully opened the door.

"Bitchin! Dead witches, and look at all this scary stuff. Trick or treat, and happy Halloween, you went all out, mister!" He thrust out a bag full of candy. 

Ding: his phone chimed again.

Witch? Killed? Who told you witches were evil? Find a Repozwa, a receptical. We need a temporary home for the Baka. How much pyen did you drink? Place the Repozwa on the veve. Recall Baku Autu. You need a child, a willing child who will dance with Baku and invite the dark spirit to join in within the receptacle.

The skeleton kid repeated, "Trick or treat, mister."

Unlike the Preist's witches, the ancestors' bones were sacred, not scary. "Little ancient one. Aren't you scared of dead witches? Want to see my pet demon?" 

An adolescent child removed his skull mask and wrinkled his nose. "No offense, mister, but your other pet over there looks dead."

Emmanuel laughed. "No offense taken. No, the witch is dead; the cat's only zombified. The demon is right there, you just can't see him yet."

"Bitchin! Count me in! I want to see a demon! Best Halloween ever."

Emmanuel placed the pumpkin carved in the likeness of Jean-Jacques Dessalines in the center of the veve. 

The youngster followed him to stand over the veve. "Bitchin dude! Spooky, spooky, freaky!" 

Emmanuel sprinkled a drop of pyen on the child's feet. "Now I will show you a special dance, do as I do. Take this rattle; follow my moves until the spirit takes over you. Let yourself go and welcome Baku Autu."

The kid looked excited. "Bitchin! Is that the demon dude?"

Emmanuel chuckled. "Baku is your guardian. Baka is the beast."

The kid huffed. "Whatevs. What's the dif, man? Bring it on; bring 'em both on. Bitchin haunted house, dude; I can't wait to see what you do next Halloween. Let's get this haunting started!"

"Possession, not haunting. It's way more fun to dance with the spirits and the dead. Are you ready and willing?" Emmanuel didn't wait for an answer; the ceremony had begun.

They danced in unison, every motion precise and deliberate—a sacred ceremonial dance. The child stumbled. His shoulders twisted, and his neck stretched. Every muscle was twisting like they were trying to break free.

"Don't resist him; embrace him, let him dance." Emmanuel hugged the boy/spirit in the thralls of the Kriz-Izwi, the spirit-body interface. "Welcome Baku Autu. Honored ancestor." They danced, wrapped in the rapture of pure light spirit. Ecstatic, free of their bodily entanglements.

From behind them, a shadow approached. "Hissss." It whispered menacingly. 

Baku, the most ancient spirit, bopped Baka on the head with his twisted spirit staff. "Home with you." It wasn't a command but an invitation.

Baka crouched low and crawled slowly toward the jack-o-lantern. He faded to smoke and shadow as he crossed the veve border. He flowed into the gourd's carved orifices. From within was heard a purr.

Baku Autu's knees buckled. The child stumbled forward, shaking his head. "Duuude. Freaking dude. Freaking bitchin, dude! Whoah!" 

"Son. Respect your ancestors. We have more to do if you are willing to go further." Emmanuel hugged the child fatherly, knowing he had an unexplainable experience in the spirit realm.

"I, I am sorry, sir. I had no other words. Yes. Yes. I touched something. I want to know more. But no offense meant. That was pretty badass." He stood still, holding on to Emmanuel. "Jeremiah Samson, sir. I live a few blocks away on Crescent Street." He trembled, and his eyes glistened. "That was my most loving connection, even to Baka. It's Baka. We promised him a home." A tear fell. "The Jack-o-lantern. Someone will crush it. They always do. Or it sits and rots within a week."

Emmanuel sprinkled a few herbs from several jars (on the Vodou, not the Hoodoo side of the room) in a glass of water and offered it to Jeremiah. "Smart one you are. Now taste the peace and wisdom." 

The lightning struck the iron cross embedded into the bedrock two centuries ago. Light blasted the cemetery in a blinding flash, followed nearly immediately by a chest-rumbling pounding thunder.

"Mapou, the sacred tree. There, that is where we need to go." Emmanuel led them to the Simitye, the graveyard. They carried the pumpkin reverently. Jeremiah was clueless about the relevance of the ornately carved face.

They left the pumpkin at the tree's roots after verifying that multiple seeds remained in the rind to take root. Again Emmanuel led them in a ceremony minus the spirit possession. 

"Here, under the ancestral tree, if the pumpkin is smashed, or rots away. The seeds will take root. Baka can bring mischievousness and dance to The Day of The Dead, for centuries to come." Emmanuel kissed the tree as Jerimiah poured a drop of pyen on each seed.

The phone dinged again twice. Emmanuel glanced at the first message and said. "Jeremiah. Son. Want to help in a zombie resurrection?"

Jeremiah jumped and danced. "Fu', I mean, hell, I mean yes, sir. Hell yes, hell yes, hell yes, but sorry, sir. But c'mon, how effin' cool is this? Happy Halloween!" His tears turned to delightful giggling.

The two walked back to the house just as a rattling truck skidded to a halt in the dirt. Head to toe dressed in purple, Priestess Jessebel emerged with superior confidence. 

"Mando!" Emmanuel greeted her with a warm embrace. "Baka is home and happy now, thanks to you."

"Never mind that. No harm done. The zombi? The one disconnected from the body? I brought the best rooter around." The other door opened, and a very tall man emerged one step out the door; he grew impossibly tall—a stiltwalker dressed in ceremonial straw. He withdrew a root as thick and long as an arm from the trunk. He silently and expertly climbed the stairs while ducking under the doorway. 

The group followed him through the door, where he straddled the body on the floor. He started to shuffle as the priestess drummed slowly.

Emmanuel interrupted the ceremony. "She's not the zombi. She's dead. The zombi is the kitten by the couch."

Jerimiah stumbled back, almost tumbling out the door. "She's dead? Really dead? Like dead dead? That's a real body, man?" The stiltwalker crouched down, knees high, and shuffled towards the kitten. Jeremiah composed himself. Baku Autu had possessed him and left him unharmed. Something like that can make anyone brave. "Let me help you." He said and stepped around the body, hugging the wall to lift the limp kitten tenderly.

The rumble of thunder preceded a knock on the door. Emmanuel knew that knock. "Father Micheal! You are just in time." He opened the door to see his mentor looming, both hands planted on the doorframe leaning in menacingly.

Mando Jessebel stepped in front of him, continuing to drum. "It was you, wasn't it? You told him divination and conjuring of spirits was evil. You made Emmanuel see witches as evil. You made Baku Autu see a child as a monster needing to be slain." She began to dance rhythmically, banging her drum louder.

"Leviticus 20:27 'A man or woman who is a medium or spiritist among you must be put to death. You are to stone them; their blood will be on their own heads.'" She could smell the wine on his breath. 

The Mando let loose the Vyen within. She became sacred. Defiant. Powerful. Her feet stomped. From a pouch around her waist, she cast stones upon the ground at his feet. "I give you divination. I see you have been married for a long time. Congrats. She knows your secrets now. It won't last long. Ah, you were stealing from those you promised you'd guide to enrich yourself. That's one way to go, I guess. Ah, but this," she bent to lift a round brown stone dimpled and misshapen. "You have more secrets than your wife knows. Children? Really? How can you claim to be pious? Behold the pure light of vodou!"

Behind her, Jeremiah squealed, "it's alive! It twitched. It's breathing!" 

"Meow?" The kitten asked the tall man, clawing at his wooden leg.

The rootworker/stiltwalker balanced on one stilt, lifting the kitten, barely clinging to the other. He grunted and, in a deep voice, mumbled, "no harm done." The masked man shuffled back towards the door as the kitten climbed higher, batting at the swinging straw skirt.

Jeremiah took Emmanuel's hand. "It felt dead, and then I felt it come alive. Best Halloween ever."

Emmanuel lifted his new friend. "I don't know much about this Halloween thing. Today was just any day in the realm of the spirit dancer. Come back in five days for the Day Of The Dead or All Saints Day. That day we have fun with the spirits."

“What about her?” Jeremiah waved towards the body.

"We will introduce her to my ancestors up there," he pointed through the door towards the graveyard, "and they will welcome her to the spirit world, and teach her to dance,” Emmanuel said with no malice or anger, just pure love.

"That's a pretty good trick." Jerimiah shuffled his foot thoughtfully. "Not a bad treat either."