 scrapers, and man walking on the moon. Obia is my superstitious nonsense, or so they may think. But to a man of my kind, it exists. The line that separates the imagination from reality is very thin. Sometimes we see, feel, and smell things that are extra-ordinary, or a pair extra-ordinary to us. I'm sure you have experienced things yourself, things that appear or seem to be unusual to you. Between midnight and dawn, on your way home after a late-night movie, or a party, is John Scrooge, a Trinidadian by birth, one years old and on from Port of Spain. Now, you may ask yourself that how it is a young man like myself came into contact with a mother with relate-go stories to me about larger bliss, and sequoia, and phantoms, and dwinds, and many others. She would tell me that these tales came from African slaves themselves, and many believed it to be true. But when I reached my late teens, I remember those stories, so I began my research, questioning other old folks in Port of Spain. And they would tell me of other African tales and African religions that use storytelling in their practices. My uncle's neighbour, Mary, was part of a religion that was heavily influenced by African spirituality and storytelling. So I asked if she would allow me to attend to her. But, Mary, I don't know. I invited you. You should move out of that house. So it does exist. I'm also intrigued that the village of Lago Rubau confirmed that all the other people, that evil, existed, and I rushed home to do some more research. I had to prove that it was real, would be the first to actually document the evil from an academic perspective. The next day, I was making some soup in the evening when I heard someone calling at the door. I'd like to share some of my soup with you. It's almost finished. Aren't you afraid of traveling alone in the forest? You know, of snakes and other creatures of the forest? No. Why would you say that? It makes me feel kind of old. John, you're really devil because I all live foolishness, you're both. Well, you see, this is old. Well, you see, I didn't travel. And while growing up, I believed I had a gift. Ania, what are you talking about? Take a moment to go. I didn't mean to open you. And if I did, I'm sorry. There is a proof that these extrasensory perceptions or ESP to be wrong because it lacks an evidence means. John, think. And there's something bad. Let go of the bagel. And this gift is said to have been born with them. And these extrasensory perceptions, how did you become so conscious of it? Feeling, John. And it's nothing. Just something I remember as a little boy. So how far are you hiking to? Sweaty River. And do you sleep in the bush? Yes. Now, if everything you want to, you can stay here. What? If you wish. You can stay here. You can sleep on the bunk. And I will stay on the chair. That isn't necessary. No, but, but, but please. You're my guest. We chatted for a while about her life in Tibet. And every time I touched on the subject of spirituality and the supernatural, she kept changing the topic. Now, something told me that Anjia knew something about this and I wondered why she did not want to edify me. But anyway, I decided to stay clear of the subject before she became annoying. I remember telling her what a beautiful girl she is. And then, and then I dropped off to sleep. Dear John, I'm sorry I had to leave this way without telling myself. But something came up and I had to leave. I'll see you, sign, and... After reading the note, I went to the river to find her, but, but I didn't. I took a bath and headed for the village market, which was three miles away. Now, the exercise was good. As I walked along, thoughts of Anjia mused my mind. They want off me some highway, but I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Farley. In my way out of the market and back to the shack, the encounter between Mother Garuba and Mrs. Farley puzzled me. They didn't even know each other. Upon entering the shack, I almost haunted me, Anjia. Sean. People would think I'm a fool if I don't. You sound in like Garuba. But Anjia, you know how much I've sacrificed for everything, Anjia. Well, not bad. Still trying to get rid of that problem for you. Excuse me, I'm coming on you, sir. Just a minute, please. Let me get rid of you. Let me drink to that. Even though a part of me was heavily questioning if all this study was worth it, and after all that I've been through, I still wanted to, I needed to continue my research. Anyway. Sean, who we are? Have we either helped? First time knowledge here. Can't understand through. Sean, you don't need to rush this. Why are you against me at my work? I am getting closer and closer to the answer. But, Sean, maybe I can help you. And he even proved your supernatural exists. Well, well, come in, have a seat. Please, sir, I'll be a boy. Well, why thank you. It's quite cozy. But who else are you talking to just now? Just a lady friend. A lady friend? Yes, you didn't see a leaf? Over there? Yes. Would you like something to drink? Whiskey and water. My research. Who? I remember Trinidad and a small island. This is a small village, so don't stress about it. But I greatly appreciate it if you could share some information with me. A lot of bless. Oh, yes, of course, the devil woman. I know one. But that is a myth. Hey, I tell you, I know one. Well, all right, well, show me. Where could I find her? Will I have money? How much? 3500. 2500? Okay, take it, buddy. Wait, wait, wait, wait, look, look. I'm stuck for the next two months, but I can get a little work in my house, and... I'll take it. But show me. Where could I find her? It. She's outside, and it's going to hurt her. Harry, you must take me for a food. Hey, Eta, and one thing that stood out the most was the music. This unity and coming together, you know, there are some people who can't even sing, sing that well. So how was the process to put all the music together? I said, you know, I think we could do it some more music just to make it a little more folk, a little more Caribbean, a little more Trinante-Bago, something that resonates with us because we tell stories through music, through Calypso, our former story telling, our initial former story telling.