THE HUNTER AND THE GHOST

THE HUNTER AND THE GHOST

In the African Congo, ghosts are living skeletons. They live in caves or abandoned houses.  Most grow the thumbnail on their right hand into a long, sharp knife. It comes in handy when they get hungry.  People think ghosts don’t eat, but African ghosts have a very healthy appetite. They sink their few remaining teeth into anything they can skewer with their thumbnail.   Bon appetit!

 The hunter was tired.  He’d been on his feet all day, chasing prey through the forest.  He was dying to get home to his children, but it was getting dark. Soon it would be too dangerous to be prowling around the forest.  Already he could hear hyenas braying.   They were up and looking for dinner.

     Besides, the antelope slung on his shoulder was getting heavier by the minute.  ‘We’ll have to spend the night in a shelter somewhere,’ the hunter said to his dogs.

     The dogs barked and wagged their tail furiously.   They recognised the world ‘shelter’.  It meant warmth and rest and, best of all, food.

     Up ahead, the hunter could see the outline of a small hut.  No smoke was billowing out of the chimney, no sound came out of its dark, open doorway.  It had to be deserted.

     The dogs followed him up the path and he pushed the door open with his foot. A strong smell of mildew made him screw up his nose. ‘Look like no one’s in,’ he joked to the dogs.

     He hung the dead antelope on a beam. It was a big one! There would be enough meat for his family for at least a week.  The dogs watched as he cut off a front leg, skinned it and put it on a makeshift spit over the fire.

     Soon the three of them were feasting.  Slowly, the fire died down.  The hunter spread his cloak in a corner of the hut and the dogs snuggled up to him.  It had been a hot day but now that the sun had set, the hut was getting cold.  When the fire died out, it would be freezing.

     The hunter was snoring when the door to the hut creaked open.  A sliver of moonlight winked across the dirt floor and a bony hand reached in.  It was followed by a skull, its eye sockets burning ember red.

     The hunter had stumbled across a ghost’s lair.  The skeleton glared at the sleeping form on the floor.  ‘How dare he invade my home?’ he thought.

     A smell of roasting meat still hung in the air and ghost’s thoughts turned to food. He was hungry.   Perhaps he would have his visitor for dinner.   The hunter looked quite plump around the middle. There was enough meat on him to last a week.

     The ghost moved to the dying fire and held his long sharp thumbnail in the glowing embers.  When it was hot enough, he would use it a skewer.

     The hunter turned over in his sleep. ‘Which part of him shall I have first?’ wondered the ghost.   ‘Should I carve off the leg, the thigh or the belly?  It looks so juicy….’

     His gaze wandered to two shapeless forms huddled against the sleeping hunter.  What were they?  Sacks of fodder?  Antelopes he'd killed during the hunt? ’

     Smoke stung the ghost’s eyes.   Something was burning.  He looked down to see his thumbnail on fire.  He’d left it in the embers too long.  The ghost panicked. The smell of burning might wake the hunter up and he didn’t want to be discovered before he’d had his dinner. He had to get out of the hut!

    In his panic the ghost stubbed his toe against one of the dogs.  She yelped and opened her eyes, her fur standing on end the moment she smelt him.  The noise woke up the second dog.   The ghost was not afraid of humans but dogs were another matter. They were a ghost's worst enemy. He backed towards the door, holding his pointing his smoking thumbnail towards the animals....

     The hunter woke up to the sound of growling.  ‘What’s the matter, girls.  ‘Is anybody out there?’

     The dogs did not reply.  They were too busy licking bones…