Chapter One

The Cursed

Michael Panckridge

Only you, Lewis, could possibly believe the story I’m about to tell. And it’s for you that I finally write it — before I disappear from this world completely. Of course you are closely woven into this world I am about to tell you about — I was pregnant with you as I stepped off the river boat into the village of Novo Téfe on that fateful day.

Three days earlier we had flown into Sao Paulo on the east coast of Brazil. Our plan was to join
a semi-official multidisciplinary expedition that was heading into a remote part of South America where the borders of Brazil, Colombia and Venezuela meet. From Sao Paulo we’d flown to Manaus and then taken a light plane to Boa Vista where several long river boats and local guides took us north-west up the Uraricoera tributary and into the Sierra Pacaraima mountains.

A month or so earlier, when Fraser had returned from one of his increasingly frequent trips to Boston, he was desperate for us to join Professor Asher’s expedition. Fraser, as you know, was a freelance journalist, publishing with some of the best magazines in New York and London. His essays were syndicated world-wide. He had combined degrees in history, science and journalism with a passion for research. He loved nothing better than to uncover a hidden document that would lead to a front-page story.

I’m not sure why, but for some reason I hesitated to join the expedition. Maybe I had a premonition. It was so out of character for Fraser to travel abroad. He really much preferred the libraries and coffee shops of the big cities, to roughing it in an uncharted wilderness.

The expedition was associated with one of the universities in Boston. Its primary objective was to search for new species of birds and plants. The area was particularly rich in orchids. That was Asher’s primary interest. Asher had also mentioned to Fraser that there was an outside chance of coming across a tribe of natives who’d never been seen by white people.

The expedition included a strange mix of people and, even though the group broke up after only three days, I remember them all so well. There was a couple from Germany and a group of three from New Zealand. We also had a local guide and of course Jonathan. I can remember being quite surprised by the German couple. They were so youthful and high-spirited, yet both were scientists of high renown.
We hiked non-stop for the first day barely pausing long enough to enjoy the extraordinary surroundings.

But as the terrain became steeper and wetter, our pace slowed so that we could admire better the plants and animal life of the forest. I won’t bore you with the details, though I should mention Jonathan.

Of course, you know Jonathan like a father now. We owe him so much. What struck me when I met him was that he was so polite and cultured in that very English sort of a way. He kept to himself, with his writings and his books. He was excited about the tribe, but in a completely different way to Fraser. His knowledge of the tribes and the fauna and flora of the area was astonishing. He had been to the area with Asher before and they seemed to know each other well, but there was some animosity between them. He wasn’t part of the university but described himself as a simple school teacher.

I have spoken to you many times about your father. He was a wonderful man; full of life and vigour. He was impulsive, daring, confident and fully assured of himself and the decisions he made. He had never liked being told what to do, but I thought that Fraser might be a little more conservative in a strange country. On the contrary. In fact, he was argumentative, fretful and insistent on doing things his way.

If only Fraser had listened to Jonathan.

Brilliant though he was, Fraser wasn’t a tolerant man, especially with those he perceived to be not his intellectual equal. But this was a location where

I thought Fraser might be a little more conservative — a little more willing to take on the advice of others. Others who, in this instance at least, knew more about the world we had entered than your father did. But no, that wasn’t to be the case. But then, I didn’t listen to Jonathan either, so who am I to accuse?

From the trip’s outset, there was something about Fraser that worried me. In his pack was a strange collection of books that he let no one near. They were old, weathered books. I thought they might have been about witchcraft or voodoo. He caught me looking through one once and got very angry. I never looked again. He was possessive, uncommunicative and, for most of the time, distracted.

As I said, the first day and night were uneventful. But on the second day we saw an extraordinary range of wildlife. The colours of the birds were the richest and purest colours I’d ever seen. Toucans, macaws, kingfishers – we saw so many.

Jonathan was able to identify the animals and birds by their strange cries. I won’t ever forget the eerie honk of the scarlet macaw. And, of course, the long-tailed spider monkeys chattering away in the treetops, darting about the roof of the rainforest, were a constant distraction and I’m sure stopped us seeing many more birds. 

Jonathan had his own map. I suspect that it was because of that map that we took some strange turnings that day, taking us away from the original track. At times there were no paths at all. The rainforest grew quieter as we went deeper and deeper into the rainforest.

Later that afternoon our guide became nervous when we stumbled across an old burial site. Jonathan was excited, and so, I recall, was Fraser. It was quite frightening. I remember the strange shape of the ground and the odd-looking stone pillars arranged about the place. In the middle was a shallow grave.

I got close enough to see the rotting flesh and exposed bones of a small body, lying on its side in the earth.

I remember noticing the arm bones covering its skull. Was the poor child fending off blows? Protecting his head? A young Wandering Spider slowly crawled out of the child’s rib cage.

‘O tribe invisível,’ our guide whispered in Portuguese, shaking.

Jonathan was suddenly very agitated, telling everyone to move back. Of course, Fraser did the opposite — striding into the clearing and heading straight for the grave.

‘Fraser!’ Jonathan called, anxiously.

But Fraser waved his arm dismissively and walked up to a wooden box sitting on top of one of the stone pillars. It was a casket, the size of a shoebox, and he strode to it without hesitation. He held it in his hands, then opened it dramatically; as if leading some religious ceremony.

I will never forget the look of anger and disappointment on his face.

Fraser stormed back to the group and refused to speak to anyone.

I wasn’t close enough to discern what was actually in the box and neither Fraser nor Jonathan would say. Perhaps there was nothing. Perhaps that was why he was so disappointed. But what on earth had he been expecting? I was too afraid to ask.

What we didn’t know during that strange series of events was that we were being watched. Maybe if Fraser hadn’t opened the box — maybe then we would have been left alone and Fraser would still be alive today.

Maybe.

Returning to our camp, we set about preparing a fire and some food for dinner, enjoying the distraction. No one spoke of the clearing.

After dinner Jonathan explained his thoughts on the mystical burial ground to us. ‘From what I can gather, this tribe lives and dies in shadow. They avoid the sun. They live and hunt at night. The height of the trees and the thickness of the canopy mean that no light ever penetrates the grave itself.’

‘Why not just bury the body in the ground?’ Freda, the young scientist from Germany asked.

‘No one’s sure,’ Jonathan replied. ‘There is so little known about the tribe.’

‘This isn’t the lost tribe we are looking for, is it?’ I asked, looking from Jonathan to the guide.

No one answered me.

We leaned in closer to the fire. Jonathan was like a school boy — not the teacher we knew. Hunched over, arms clasped around his knees, his eyes darted from one to the other of us, shining and alive in the reflection of the fire light.

‘We shouldn’t have entered the clearing,’ I said, looking at Fraser.

‘What?’ Fraser was angry. ‘I took nothing.’

‘Nothing?’ Jonathan asked, eying him suspiciously.

‘No!’ snapped Fraser.

‘Fraser?’ I gasped, exasperated.

He looked me in the eye. I held his gaze, but his face remained resolute. I knew Fraser. He could never lie without giving himself away. What I saw in his face was a lie.

That was the last time he spoke to me.

We had set up camp a few kilometres away from the burial ground.

‘We should keep watch,’ Fraser suggested.

Tamil, our guide, started to speak but was quickly interrupted by Jonathan. At the time it meant
nothing. But of course I realise now why Jonathan had interrupted before Asher could comment. What was the point in keeping watch? Watching out for something you couldn’t even see.

‘That’s a good idea,’ Jonathan nodded, glaring at Tamil.

I wasn’t awake when they arrived. Fraser was on watch. But suddenly I was alert, sitting upright in the tent. My senses were stretched to breaking point, listening for the slightest new sound against the constant background noise of the nocturnal crickets. Had I been dreaming or was that a muffled cry?
I peered out of the tent. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Fraser was being dragged across the clearing by some invisible force. I yelled, rushing outside. Suddenly Fraser flopped to the ground, as if he’d been dropped. There was a high-pitched whistling sound, almost like a scream. I turned as something, or someone came crashing through the undergrowth to my right.

Fraser was struggling to his feet. By now, both Asher and Jonathan had arrived, as well as two of the men. I rushed over to Fraser who looked terrified. Just as he reached out to me, I heard the wail again. It was terrifying. Then Fraser’s head jerked sideways like he’d been hit a terrible blow.

He looked at me dazed, then collapsed to the ground. I remember his shocked expression and the dirt and dust that clung to his open mouth.

Is this too harsh for you to hear?

I am so sorry, Lewis, but I am recalling everything I can remember and writing it down here for you as Jonathan suggested. I want you to know and to understand everything.

One of our group fired a shot. Suddenly the wailing and high-pitched screaming was coming from all around us.

‘Get into your tents!’ Jonathan shouted.

‘What about Fraser!’ I screamed, trying to be heard above the awful shrieking.

‘No!’ Jonathan yelled, hauling me away from Fraser. ‘Tamil, put the gun away!’ Jonathan dragged me back towards the tent.

Tamil stood by his tent, gun raised, his whole body shaking. Suddenly Fraser was moving again. He looked like a puppet. It was as if someone was hiding in the trees way above us, pulling on strings attached to different parts of his body.

He was lying in the air. In mid-air. On his own. The gun fired again, and Fraser’s left leg dropped suddenly, though he was still moving swiftly across the clearing and into the jungle to our left.

‘Fraser!’ I cried, trying to break free from Jonathan’s grasp. But he held me firmly. ‘For God’s sake, let go of me. We can’t just stand here!’

Suddenly the rainforest was silent again.

‘They will kill us all. We cannot interfere.’

We argued back and forth until daybreak. Jonathan explained all he knew about the tribe and their extraordinary ability to become invisible.

Of course they are secret. Of course they are unknown. Unless you’re an expert like Jonathan.

Asher had radioed through to his organiser and we were to be picked up later that morning. But I couldn’t leave without knowing your father’s fate, Lewis. I handed Fraser’s gear to Asher to keep our packs light.

By early morning I had convinced Jonathan that he had no control over my life — that I could never live with myself if I did not make some attempt to discover the fate of Fraser. Though his behaviour had changed so much, I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t make some sort of effort to find him.

Or his body.

‘Then I must go with you.’

The two of us set off before the sun had risen, following a trail of blood and branches broken by the natives marking their track. Asher had promised to engage the services of a private helicopter and return to the nearest landing area the next day. Jonathan fixed on a location. We had twenty-four hours to learn what we could.

We would need just one.

The rainforest was strangely quiet and heavy with humidity. After half an hour of walking, our clothes were drenched with sweat. I was about to speak, but Jonathan held up a hand. He had heard or sensed something.

‘They are here,’ he whispered, bending down on one knee.

‘What now?’ I breathed, crouching next to him.

Then suddenly, literally centimetres from my ear, came the horrible screaming sound of last night.

I jumped in the air, never more frightened in my life.

‘Don’t struggle! Don’t fight!’ I remember Jonathan calling.

Hands were wrapping themselves around me, lifting me off the ground. Strong vicelike grips locked my ankles together. But there was no one there! It was a horrible dream.

‘Jonathan!’ I called.

The squealing started up again. Branches slapped and beat at me as I was carried through the bush, bouncing and bobbing high above the ground.

‘Jonathan!’ I screamed again.

There was no reply. It took only a few minutes until I arrived at the burial site we’d discovered yesterday.

Roughly I was lowered to the ground, then forced onto my knees.

I was staring into the open pit where the child’s rotting flesh and bones had been. But they were gone.

And in their place was Fraser. I called his name once, but he didn’t respond. His eyes stared straight through me. He was dead.

I must have fainted.