A scary story for Nan with horny demons and broom sticks.

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My bee-ooootiful friend Nan wants us folks who read her blog to write some scary stories, preferably with ghosts. Ooooo, OOOOOO. I don't have a story with ghosts; will horny demons be ok, Nan?

Back in 1999 I worked ''down south'' in Trinidad. Every evening, I would take a taxi to Chaguanas, my home town, and call home for someone to come pick me up. This was before everybody and their toddler had cell phones, so a line at the sole working pay phone was inevitable.

Sidenote: A working pay phone in Trinidad is a rare thing, at least most of the times that I have ever needed it. Like that time Dominique and I shut down just outside the most notorious ghetto (Beetham / Laventille) at 5 am (which incidentally is a scary story by itself). We walked all over town trying to find a phone after being robbed, never found one, begged the manager at KFC to no avail, and were eventually pitied by a KFC customer who had a cell. But that's another story.

So I was walking to the snaking pay phone line, cigarette in hand after the no-smoking taxi ride and minding my own biz. At the end of the line, there is a tall, dark man with a white tam (that's the small hat often worn by muslim men). He starts looking around, agitated. Then he zeros in on me.

''You should be smoking Broadway, not DuMaurier'' he offers.

Out loud ''Um, yeah, ok'', smile. Mentally ''Whatever dude'', roll eyes and make this face :-S

''Broadway is a spiritual cigarette and you are a spiritual person''.

Raise eyebrow ''OK'', and start looking around to avoid further conversation and wish for own car to avoid the weirdos associated with public transport and public phones.

Another sidenote: If it wasn't for this particular weirdo, I would have nothing to write for Nan. So thanks dude, and thank you Universe for making not rich enough to have my own car and cell phone in 1999.

Back to the Man in the Tam. ''Your lucky colour is blue, and your business day is Wednesday. You should wear blue on Wednesdays when you have meetings or anything important at work.''

Sigh, I guess this beats standing in a long line staring at my toes. ''Yeah? What else?''

From here on, my memory gets a bit blurry. There were a bunch of things he told me, but I don't remember them all. So where's the scary part, right? It's coming, it's coming.

''You have bruises on your thighs. You get headaches and back pains. You have a vaginal infection.''

BLINK BLINK.

''There is a demon having intercourse with you on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. That's why you wake up feeling so tired on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays.''

Honestly, I thought the Saturday crap feeling was just a hangover. The other days, were probably because I went to sleep too late. Couldn't explain the bruises, pains and itchies though. As for how the hell he KNEW???

''It was from a woman, through a man. She is jealous of you. Your light is growing dim and you need to do something about it.''

I think I asked him what I needed to do, or something else at that point. I remember he told me how to get to where he lived because he could help me; he was a Spiritual Baptist leader, also known as an Obeah Man (Voodoo Doctor is another name).

''But you will do something when the time is right for you.''

By this time, we are at the front of the line. He makes his call; I, with shaking knees make mine.

We continued talking; I guess about my demons. I don't really remember.

A few days later, I was liming (that's trini-speak for hanging out) with my usual crew, at the usual place: The Sheppard's house. Nan, being married to a Sheppard, was also there. Of course I told my story. Nan offered to take me to see a friend of hers, a yogi.

Sometime later (a few weeks, or maybe even months I think) we went.

Deep into the Paramin hills of Trinidad's Northern Range.

It looked like something out of a movie; maybe like a hobbit village in Lord of the Rings.

A house built into the mountain. Small huts around. White painted stones. Meandering paths. Huge trees that grew where they wanted, and have lived longer than my grandparents.

The yogi had long whitish-blonde hair. She had that open warmth about her. The kind where you know the person is real. She hugged like that too. An open full hug. ''We were sisters in a past life'' she told me.

Yes, it's another sidenote. She also told me that I will be a writer. And that I should write when I can. It has only taken me nearly 10 years to start doing it.

I told her about the man, the demons, how much I prayed that night, and many nights after, and that the symptoms had gone.

She took me, with my friend Rachel to one of the wooden huts. Nan was pregnant at the time, and decided to stay back at the main house. There was a straw mat on the ground, big open windows; a little bird was flitting around inside.

''You can lie down there'' she said warmly, pointing at the mat, and picking up 2 cocoyea brooms.

Sidenote of actual importance: Cocoyea is the spine of coconut tree leaves. The leaves are stripped, and the spines can then be tied together in big bunches to make brooms. They are great for sweeping the yard, and also, apparently for getting rid of horny demons.

''Ohm Kali, Ohm Kali, Ohm Kali, Ohm Kali, Ohm Kali'' she chanted, circling me, sweeping the spindly brooms over my body, inches from my skin. ''Ohm Kali, Ohm Kali, Ohm Kali, Ohm Kali'' louder and louder, picking up the pace.

''Get out! You are not welcome here. Leave her alone. Go away.'' Sweeping, circling, chanting.

''Ohm Kali, Ohm Kali, Ohm Kali, Ohm Kali''. Her chants began to get calmer, softer. And then she stopped.

''You must be a very strong person to have kept him off for so long. But he is gone now.''