Moongazer Road

You see when blackout descended on No. 5 Village? When the whole world went quiet and the only light came from a kerosene lamp? that's when my grandmother would tell stories that made our skin crawl and our hearts race.

The house would be still, save for the creaking boards under us and the mosquito coil burning slow on a saucer nearby. She always had a way of speaking. Like she was pulling the story from the night itself.

One story that stuck with me most, was her retelling of the first- and last- time she and her little sister snuck out to a 'bottom house' party.

She was around fifteen at the time. Grandma, acknowledged as the extroverted sibling, was young, flouncing and curious. With just enough boldness to do something she had no business doing.

It was a full moon, with the night as bright as day and the bushes bathed in a silvery glow. The drums and guitar strings had started up three houses away. “Sweet music calling we soul,” she used to say, her eyes lighting up at the memory.

The temptation was too much, and so they slipped out—barefoot and giggling—promising themselves they’d be back before cock crow.

The party was full of life. Beneath the stilted house, lanterns swung with the breeze. They cast yellow glows on people's faces. Men tapped their feet on wooden crates. Women twirled in their Sunday skirts. And the smell of fried banga mary and sweet mauby floated through the air.

Granny said they danced like the night would never end. They caught the eyes of many in the dance. Boys they recognized from school, who had also snuck out. Grown men, who ought to have known better than to look at them like that. The sisters ignored them all and danced.

But time plays tricks on you when you're having fun. And as the music wound down, the crowd gradually dispersed.

When they left, there wasn't a cloud in sight. The wind had dropped, but the air still felt cold and heavy. Even the frogs seemed to have disappeared. Gone was their croaks. In their place a hush—the kind that raises the hairs on the back of your neck—hung over everything.

As they made their way home, they took the shortcut through the back path near the rice fields. For some reason Granny felt an uncontrollable urge to cry. Doing her best to avoid looking sideways into the cane fields, Granny said they walked as fast as they could. Whispering to each other.

That's when they saw it.

A figure standing at the edge of the road.

It was tall... taller than any man she had ever seen. Too tall to be human. Bent backward at the neck, what looked like its face was pointed straight up at the moon. Its arms hung low like vines.

Grandma's eyes bulged as she stared at the figure. At its chest. Looking for tell tale signs of life.

She saw none.

It didn’t shift. Didn’t breathe.

Sweat poured down Granny's neck and soaked her collar, as she grabbed her sister’s arm.

“Look,” she whispered.


Her sister squinted. “Wha’s dah deh?”


“Don’t look too long, just turn around," Granny hissed, her eyes twitching as she looked at the thing in case it came to life. "That’s a Moon Gazer.”

Everyone in Berbice grew up hearing about the Moon Gazer—a spirit or a jumbie, depending on who was telling it. Some said it was a fallen angel turned demon, cursed to search the sky for paradise lost. Others believed it was once a man, punished for watching the moon when he should’ve been watching over his dead family.

All Granny knew was this. You never walk under it.

That’s how people go missing.

The Moon Gazer didn’t notice them. Or maybe it did—but didn’t care.

Still, they weren’t taking any chances.

They turned back, slipping off the path and into the bushes. The only other way home was through the back dam—a longer trail, half overgrown. It was saturated with puddles of water that soaked their skirts and thick black mosquitoes with bites as hot as a pot on the stove.

With every step, there was a squelch as the mud sucked in their feet. Banana leaves brushed their shoulders. And somewhere behind them, the shortcut they should’ve taken still had that tall, motionless silhouette staring at the moon.

Granny said they didn’t speak again until they reached the village road.

When they reached their yard, the sky had just started to lighten. Birds were waking. The cocks were stretching their necks. And there, sitting at the top step of the house like she’d been waiting all night, was their mother.

Arms folded. Belt on her lap. Eyes sharper than cutlass.

“So y’all big woman now, eh?” she said, her voice low. “Come inside.”

Granny always laughed at that part—but it was a nervous laugh. At her age, she still remembered how those lashes came raining down like fire and brimstone.

“She beat the fear of God into we backside,” she’d say. “But the licks was nothing compared to what could have happen to we out deh on dat road.”

From that night, they never snuck out again.

And every time she ended the story, Granny would look up at the ceiling like she could still see that silver bathed night, clear as day.

“Moon Gazer don’t chase yuh,” Granny would say quietly. “It does just wait… and hope yuh mek the mistake of passing under it."