The Curse of the Thing in the Jungle

Together John Woodard and me

followed a winding path sodden

with past rains. At either side dead

or dying flowers towered over our

innocent heads. Hearts accelerating

steadily as we pressed on. Flowers 

 

gave way to giant shrubs bare from

past winters but thick enough to

block the light behind them. Ahead

a high wall of dense vegetation.

Pushing against soft damp leaves

we broke through to clear sky.

There it was, a shocking apparition.

 

A high sentinel black against grey.

Hanging from its crossbar on a

single strand the half-circle silhouette

motionless in the cold humid air.

Fear paralysing us as we gasped

at the terrible spectacle before

flight instinct sent us screaming

back along the jungle pathway.

Stopping only when we reached   

the safe house. We looked around

 

happy nothing had chased us.

Suddenly our fear evaporated.

We were brave again. Retracing

our footsteps we crept forward

until again we reached the wall

of vegetation, pushing past the

broken leaves it was still there

the black outline less threatening

 

this time. Running back along the

path squealing and giggling faking

terror, rolling on the terrace of

the safe house laughing in fear’s
face. A third time we confronted

our imagined nemesis. Our fleeing

screams and giggles less intense.

Danger passed, the game was over.

 

In the warmth of the safe house

comforted by smiles and cocoa

John Woodard’s mum feigned

astonishment as we told of our
adventure. She never explained

about the old coconut shell

hanging from the pagoda down

at the bottom of the garden.

Maybe she thought our five-year

old minds wouldn’t comprehend.