Tokoloshe

Tokoloshe

Johan Botha

First published in December 2015: Ulterior Eye Publishing (PTY) Ltd

Second edition revised and published January 2021 Ulterior eye Publishing (PTY)Ltd

© Johan Botha, 2015 and Ulterior Eye Publishing. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior permission from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The right of Johan Botha to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

Tokoloshe

Ulterior Eye Publishing (Pty) Ltd Reg. nr: 2013/080086/07, South Africa

Cover design and photos: Kunsweb

Interior Graphics: Ansie Ehrke

FOREWORD

I believe that all myths need to have an origin.

The root of the myth usually has some truth in it from somewhere and might be from ages ago.

How many times have you started a story and after making its rounds in the neighbourhood coming full circle back to you – is it still 100% the same story?

Myths are the same. I grew up hard.

The Tokoloshe was a big part of daily talk when I was a young boy. Our cleaner stayed in a room on our property and her bed was on empty paint cans filled with sand.

Mom worked hard and when she got home at night she was tired and always stressed out about debt and putting food on the table.

One day our servant told Mom that she should see a Sangoma to send a Tokoloshe to my runaway father. Mom refused although she often said that she should have done it.

Then one day I heard a story from an old man. He seemed to be the same age as the mountains behind him.

As I said, all stories come full circle and this is what my imagination did with his telling.

Let me know what you think of my version of Africa’s feared Tokoloshe!

ENJOY!

Johan

Acknowledgements

I started writing Tokoloshe about 30 years ago. It took that long to go full circle and return in order for the pages to be filled.

Thank you to my support team without whom I could not do this.

Thank you to everyone’s encouragement. I am not going to name anyone as they know who they are.

To all my readers I cannot say thank you enough as your feedback and friendship over the past years is carried close to a jealous heart.

Thank you all. Johan

Follow me on:

Twitter @johanbothabooks Facebook:Johan Botha

Facebook My blog:Tokoloshe

My email: [email protected]

Forefathers and Stars!

They spoke in the days of old, to those of mind and bold,

Ancestors and stars both gave warning and foreboding, stars link us together forever and ever more,

our ancestor foretold of things to come, respected and revered in days of old

still today seen by those of mind and bold, they vibrate among us unseen or heard, sometimes a creeping felt in your beard, a tingling in your veins of warning and forebode, head this and it might save, ignore and be brave.

You have been warned

Ignore it and be scorned!

Johan Botha 2021

TOKOLOSHE

Johan Botha

Prologue

The air was crisp, yet warm. The summer sun had enough time to heat the soil throughout the day. The heat vibrated off the stones and the beetles zipped around in the air, trying to catch the last few rays of sun before they called it a day.

The sweet sound of water trickling from deep within the mountain’s belly brought calmness over the surroundings. Slowly the water seeped from the rocks, making vein like patterns in the soil, flowing over it and puddling together to form a bigger army of aqua.

The low growl of an African lion could be heard, making his manly quest known. Being the king of Africa, he owned the mountains he walked on. His growl can be heard up to 8 kilometres away.

The other animals bowed down to him. He was a majestic animal with mane as gold as the sun. This massive lion was crawling among the grass, trying to hide his presence. Now and then it’s tail swipes through the air.

Not too far in front of him, a Kudu was grazing; oblivious of the lion behind him.

As if controlled by a force, the lion moved forward, crouching low in the grass, ready to pounce at any second. He could already taste the sweet, tangy blood of the Kudu, the fear and adrenaline still pumping through his veins as the lion tore him to shreds.

One more step then a leap and he would be on his prey…

The Kudu lifted his head and smelled something in the air. His ears moved forward, listening to a sound that made him sense danger. His senses were alert and warning him to move!

There is was again, a feint sound, sounding like a drum in the distance…dumdumdum dum dum…

With the last dum of the drum like sound, the Kudu leaped forward and disappeared into the trees, leaving only a scent that just a few moments ago, a Kudu was grazing there.

The lion is nowhere to be seen. Only the footprints in the clammy soil show that a lion had walked on it.

The mountain is quiet, suddenly, as if something scared them away…

A breeze jumped through the Proteas growing along the rocks. All the flowers in the vicinity had strong veins to store water in as rain only fell a few times throughout the year.

Dumdum dummmmdumdum…

A few rocks rolled down a slope as a figure slumped over them. The figure was out of breath from running fast and had a strange and distinct rotten smell.

It was not the lion.

The figure sniffed the air and froze. It sniffed again.

Human flesh …. fresh, young, human flesh and not far off.

The figure continued to struggle over the sharp rocks, stopping continuously to sniff the air.

Sometimes a low menacing growl would escape from it …. a soft rumble, like grating rocks.

It crossed a stream once. Then again and what it saw made it stop. It’s eyes following the small stream.

The slow trickle of water had become a steady flowing river, zigzagging down the mountain into the village below.

Then it gazed down at its 2 paws in the shallow water. Its distorted reflection gazed back. The figure froze and touched its face with claw like fingers. It gave a step back in surprise.

The water made a ripple that spread out wider and wider in a circular pattern. It made his reflection even more grotesque that what it was.

A few seconds later, a mighty wind came from between the mountain peaks and swooped down onto the water, sending the reflection into a million pieces of mirror. Once again the creature staggered back as if in great shock.

It let out a massive long growl and moved on again.

As the wind died down, the reflection on the water was gone and so was the figure. It moved along the slope, touching the blades of grass along its path.

There, between two magnificent eucalyptuses, sat four young boys on the ground. In the middle of them a fire crackled merely and their laughter reached his sensitive ears.

One of the boys threw more wood on the fire and sparks flew up from the flames as it landed.

The figure stood behind a tree trunk, watching the boys. Its nostrils lifted up into the sky. Taking a deep breath, it sniffed the sweet young flesh nearby.

White foam formed around its lips as saliva dripped from the huge white fangs. It slowly walked back into the lush trees… soon… it would be satisfied. Hunting is a game of patience.

The campfire blazed a circle of warmth onto the friends sitting around it. The crickets sang their songs to anyone who would care to listen. Stars began to appear in the sky, making the African night light up with a significance of wonder.

Wonder, it seemed, that stemmed from the essence of the veld.

If the creatures of the veld could speak, it would tell stories of great leaders and dark forces walking over it, of dark red blood feeding the ever hungry soil and bloodlust of its inhabitants.

Africa, as always known, had many secrets hidden beneath the hardened rock… Stories told at

night to frighten children in case they go wandering around.

Danny Kravitz looked around at the faces in the dim light.

Tubby Diederiks, his best friend, was chewing on a piece of grass he had plucked from the bush beside him. His stomach looked like he had a watermelon growing inside.

Although he used the last bit of courage to walk the fifteen kilometres to their campsite, Tubby liked the idea of losing some weight by camping in far off places with his friends. His dad had died a few years earlier and Tubby had a hard time getting over it. He would sometimes sit and stare into space, his thoughts far away. He never really spoke of it, just that his father had an accident with a chainsaw.

Beside him sat Lucky Khumalo. He lived in the kraal near Danny’s house. Unlike Tubby, Lucky was slender and black with huge muscular legs. He had grown up with Danny and was always invited to join the escapades the gang planned.

As far as he was concerned, there was no difference between him and his friends at all. He loved hiking them and being out in the jungle.

They usually went to The Guardian Mountain. His father had always told him never to go near

The Guardian, but the rest of the guys didn’t seem to care. His dad said that great evil lurked inside the mountain and that Lucky was not ready to deal with spirits of his forefathers yet. He had to be initiated first.

Lucky never spoke of this to his friends, although he had a nagging feeling in the back of his head that going there was not right. The mountain grew nearer still.

Danny’s eyes wandered to David Ashton. David was a local at Hill Valley. With parents that didn’t really care what he got to, he was chilled and laid back, perhaps a little too much. David always had a fresh supply of dagga. Where he got it was still a mystery to Danny, but nonetheless, it was always welcome when they sat around the campfire, enjoying a good chat and fighting with their thoughts.

Man, you gotta try some of this, David handed the joint to Danny. This is some good shit!

Danny took a puff of the joint, tasting a strange sweet tar-like acid in his mouth. He took another deep puff.

A few seconds later, things seemed to look much better. Even the flames seemed to dance and crackle more pleasantly.

A Hadida was disturbed from its nest and the thrill ha-ha ha-ha could be heard in the distance. How ‘bout a story? Danny asked.

What story? Tubby seemed amused.

I dunno. Something that will keep you up at night, Danny loved joking around with Tubby’s

fear of the night.

Any of you know about the Tokoloshe? Lucky asked. He knew. He knew this story all too well. Yeah, I know that the people in your kraal are as scared as hell of it, whatever it is, Tubby sat a

little closer to the light that the fire cast across the dirt.

He threw more wood on the fire and watched the sparks rise up into the night. It reminded him of fireflies.

Let me tell you Tubby, what the Tokoloshe is, Lucky stood up and cleared his throat. The buzz of the joint made him enjoy the status of storyteller even more.

The legend of the Tokoloshe is one that is true. It is said that he lurks in kraals, causing havoc wherever he goes.

David chuckled and took another puff of the fresh joint he had rolled for them to share.

Shh! This is gonna be good! Danny said.

The Tokoloshe, Lucky continued, is a dwarf-like creature, an evil little being with warts all over its body and a penis that is so big it hangs over its shoulder.

You talking ‘bout yourself there man? David laughed and shook his head. This can’t possibly be true! David dismissed him thoughtfully.

Will you just shut up so I can tell the story? Lucky seemed frustrated that no one took him seriously.

The three boys sensed that Lucky was being serious and stopped laughing.

The Tokoloshe is used by the Sangoma’s of a village. The Sangoma creates this spirit creature by using special powders. He is then used to cause pain and devastation to whoever crosses him or the Sangoma that created him. My father once told me, when I was a small boy, that one of my forefathers was killed by a Tokoloshe, right here in Hill Valley.

Sometimes this spirit enters a human body and drives it mad. Lucky took a long puff of the joint that was handed to him before he spoke again with smoke bellowing out of his nostrils.

"The Sangoma of the village called the people together and announced that a terrible thing will happen in their midst. No one knew at the time what it would be, but everyone was cautious. A few days later, they found Ol’ S’melane, his skin peeled from his body and his intestines making funny shapes around what was left of him.

The people of the village were appalled and called for the Sangoma to chase the spirits away.

However, she just sat on her log, staring at S’melane, chanting an ancient song. Some say that it was she that caused the tragedy. Others say that she had created a Tokoloshe to help her with her witchcraft.

No one really knew. But from that day on, strange things began to happen. Young women were said to be raped by a small creature with warts all over its body. Bad spirits roamed the village and the Sangoma disappeared."

Lucky looked around at the serious faces watching him.

Whether she took her Tokoloshe with her, no one will ever know. My father says that the Tokoloshe still dwells here in Hill Valley and is still ruling this mountain, doing the evil bidding of the old Sangoma.

The silence was deafening and nothing moved in the bush…. except for a dark creature lurking from tree to tree in the shadows.

I can’t take any more of this. You seriously believe that an evil little baboon creature is lurking around here somewhere, waiting to spill our guts all over the floor?

Yes, I do, Lucky, said with a strange look in his eyes. "It’s here somewhere; I heard the

Sangoma in our kraal talk about it."

You heard her say that? Tubby was looking a bit scared.

As if Lucky was in a trance, he suddenly shook his head. As I said, I heard the Sangoma talk about it. I didn’t say what she said was true.

Yeah man, I saw her the other day while I was waiting for you. I don’t think you should believe everything she says. Danny joked.

How would you know? She communicates with our forefathers and talks to spirits. If anyone would know if something bad was about to happen, it would be her! Lucky was offended that his friends did not believe him.

Ho, Lucky, we believe you buddy! David sensed his anger.

You don’t have to. Just forget about it and let’s get some sleep. Lucky got up and walked to the tent.

He really believes that the Tokoloshe is around here. Tubby said, glancing nervously to the bushes nearby.

Yeah, Tubs, and it’s is waiting for you to go to bed, ready to slice you in half! David said through the buzz of his joint.

The got up and walked over to the tent. As Tubby stepped into the tent, he could have sworn that he had seen something moving in the ferns growing near the slope of the mountain.

Something lurking… something listening… something coming

Chapter 1

1544

Time didn’t matter in Africa. The continent was driven not by schedules and conformity; here they bask in the tropical darkness. They follow natural laws, seasons and honour mysterious things. Here was the birthplace of the world itself. This was the place where humans came from, from the beginning of time.

This was the inspiration for lore and song. Here are the victims of tragedy and myth.

The sun warmed the leafy growth and the swell of the crickets chirping grew as the heat of the day came on. Somewhere on the East Coast a huge galleon was almost hidden by the tropical growth around the natural harbour. It was nearly invisible until you were almost right next to it; a ghost of a ship.

There were no sails flapping in the wind and the anchor chain was stretched as it kept the ship in place. Furious currents pulled it to and fro.

The deck was busy with important work.

The Sea Queen was a beautiful ship and her finish was of such quality that those who saw her thought she must belong to a royal family. In reality it belonged to a flesh trader.

A trader of humans taking them to strange lands where they would work in captivity and under whip for rich land owners, till their end of days.

A scream filled the air and huge flocks of birds took to the sky. More rose as a crack, like a pistol shot, followed the scream.

On the deck a sturdy, half-naked sailor stood with a smile on his face.

In his hand was a bullwhip of about 6-ft long. He moved his muscular arm backwards and the whip followed him like a black and wicked snake. The point of the whip had a piece of rough lead tied to it. He called it The Yes Sir, because after just one strike his slave usually says, Yes Sir to anything else he is told. He smiled when he thought of it, he told that story many times in the pub back in the world. It was always good for a free pint.

Now, it slithered on the deck leaving a trail of blood as he pulled it back towards him. He eyed the other sailors on deck, as he got ready for the next strike. He lifted his wrist, pulling the slithering heavy leather back again.

He watched the captive, waiting for the right moment to snap the bullwhip at him like a Cobra. He especially loved that part; the anticipation. He knew how to drag the lead across the deck just so, he knew how to make sure the whip hit the rough edges of the last strike; he was a master at his art. To say he enjoyed his work was an understatement.

A huge black man was tied to the main mast and as the scraping on the deck stopped he tensed his body knowing