Jumbie Night

 Monster Tales of the Caribbean

One night, a hurricane hit.

Our house was part wood and galvanized, so my grandfather thought it would be safer for us to stay in the small concrete shop built just below the house. The roof was solid—no galvanized sheets to tear off in the wind.

So, me, my cousin CJ, and Grandpa Elford packed up some blankets and headed down to the shop for the night. Grandma Marry stayed upstairs in the house. She wasn’t scared. Maybe she had her own reasons… or maybe she knew something we didn’t.

CJ and I were up playing until around 9 PM, our little games lit by flashlight and the flickering of a storm lamp. The wind howled, the rain hammered the roof, but inside the shop, it felt almost peaceful. Safe.

Eventually, we knocked out. Grandpa stayed up, keeping watch like he always did.

But around midnight, I woke up.

Not from thunder. Not from a sound. It was the cold. That strange, sudden chill that makes your bones feel hollow.

My eyes were still adjusting when I noticed the shop door was open. The wind whispered in, carrying the scent of rain and something else… something metallic.

And there was Grandpa. Sitting by the open door. Staring.

At first, I thought maybe he was just watching the storm. But then my eyes cleared up, and I saw what he was really looking at.

A figure.

Tall. Still. Just beyond the edge of the light.

A shadow that didn’t move, didn’t sway with the wind. And its eyes—red. Burning softly in the dark.

I wanted to scream, to shake CJ awake. But I was frozen. Because Grandpa wasn’t afraid. He just sat there. Watching it. Like he knew it. And that made it even worse.

Although I was scared, something pulled me closer to Grandpa.

I shuffled beside him, eyes locked on the figure in the distance.

"Grandpa," I whispered, pointing, "do you see that?"

He didn’t even flinch. Just nodded, a strange smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That’s a demon," he said, like he was talking about the weather. He chuckled softly, clearly amused by how shaken I was.

I stared at him, confused—why was he smiling?

Then he said something that made my heart skip: "Go closer. Don’t be afraid."

I blinked. Thought he was joking. But his eyes didn’t move from the figure, and his smile didn’t fade.

So I listened. I don't know why—maybe I trusted him too much. Maybe I was too scared to say no.

I stepped out of the shop, barefoot on the cold concrete, wind tugging at my shirt. One slow step at a time. Closer to the thing with the red eyes.

My breath felt like smoke in the air. My legs shook. But I kept moving.

I wanted to see it. I needed to.

And when I got close enough…

Halfway toward the figure, I couldn’t take it anymore—I looked back at the shop.

Grandpa was still sitting there, smiling. Not a word. Not a warning. Just… watching.

I turned back to face the demon.

But it was gone.

No figure. No shadow. Just the same eerie darkness—and a faint red glow in the distance. Like dying embers, flickering in a shape I couldn’t quite make out. It was still there, watching, but not there at all.

That’s when the fear finally caught up to me.

I bolted—ran back to the shop without looking back again.

Grandpa laughed. Not loud. More like a chuckle under his breath. Maybe he thought I was just being a kid. Maybe he thought I imagined it. Or maybe… he knew exactly what I saw.

That night did something to me.

I didn’t sleep. Not really.

And after that, I found myself drawn to those stories—the ones Grandpa used to tell, the ones Grandma whispered about under her breath. The tales of the Jumbie, the spirits, the demons hiding in plain sight.

I wasn’t just scared anymore. I was curious.

Maybe too curious.