Moonlight in Moruga: A Tale of La Diablesse
Brian Sankarsingh explores the myth of the 'Devil woman'
TO OUR LOYAL READERS: Hi everyone, it’s Brian here. Before we dive into today’s article, I’d like to ask for a small favour. This year, we're aiming to grow our community of readers. We're proud to be in the top 1% of Substack publishers for consistent content — which means you can count on us for a steady stream of engaging, thought-provoking articles, all completely free.
We don’t charge for subscriptions, but if you enjoy what you read here, please consider sharing our Substack with a friend or colleague. It’s a simple way to support our work and help us reach more curious minds.
Thanks so much! Now, here’s today’s article
In the moonlit hills of Trinidad, where the Northern Range casts long shadows over winding paths, the legend of La Diablesse endures. La Diablesse, most often pronounced “La Jabless,” is a figure rooted in Caribbean folklore, particularly in Trinidad and Tobago. She is depicted as a beautiful woman dressed in traditional West Indian attire, complete with a wide-brimmed hat and voluminous skirts. However, beneath this alluring facade lies her true nature: one of her feet ends in a cloven hoof, hidden beneath her flowing dress . Her face, often concealed by her hat, is said to resemble that of a corpse, with eyes like burning coals. La Diablesse is known to appear on deserted roads and forest paths, especially under the light of a full moon. She uses her beauty and charm to lure unsuspecting men into the forest, leading them astray until they become hopelessly lost. Once isolated, she vanishes, leaving her victims to wander aimlessly, often leading to their demise. The legend of La Diablesse serves as a cautionary tale, warning against the dangers of succumbing to temptation and the perils that can lie beneath a beautiful exterior. It reflects deeper cultural themes, including the complexities of female agency and the consequences of moral transgressions
They say you should never follow a strange woman at night in Trinidad, especially not through cane fields under a full moon. But love, or what a lonely man thinks is love, makes a man blind. And deaf. And, if he meets the wrong woman…dead!
His name was Daniel, a man of forty-three. He had been widowed going to four long years. He worked as a mechanic in Moruga, fixing old cars, cursing rusted bolts, and drinking Puncheon rum on ice, in the evenings with the same three friends who had nothing left to live for but pepper roti, rum and ghost stories.
One Friday night, after the bottle of Puncheon ran dry and the fireflies danced low in the grass, Daniel said goodbye to his friends and headed home. He was very drunk and so he decided to walk home through the bush trail behind the bar. Ordinarily he would avoid this trail, even in the daytime; but in his drunken state, he told him “It’s a shortcut, nothing going to happen!” The moon was a bright silver eye in the sky, and the forest was alive with the noise of cicadas and frogs.
That’s when he heard a sound behind him.
Tap… Tap… Tap…
He stood still, swaying in his drunkenness. What was that? Not the rustle of leaves or the chirp of frogs. No. A slow, measured tapping, like the strike of a stick, or a hoof, on stone.
Tap… Tap… Tap…
Even in his drunken state his curiosity got to the better of him. He turned.
She was standing by the bend in the trail, half in shadow. Tall. Regal. Dressed in flowing white and crimson, the kind of elegance you’d find in old paintings. Her hat, wide-brimmed and tilted just right, hid her face, but her smile glowed through the dark.
“Bonsoir, monsieur,” she said, voice like sweet molasses.
He blinked. “You lost?”
She chuckled. “Maybe. Maybe you’re the one who’s lost.”
And that was all it took. The scent of jasmine. The glint of moonlight on her skin. The promise of something more.
Daniel, turned and walked to her side.
“My name is Marielle,” she crooned.
“I is Daniel ma’am,” he replied.
It took Daniel a few minutes to realize that they were walking. Marielle told him she liked poetry and steelpan and men who didn’t ask too many questions. As they steps began to sync, Daniel glanced down. He noticed that Marielle moved oddly; graceful, yes, but careful. One foot never seemed to fully meet the ground.
Suddenly they came to the clearing by the old silk cotton tree. A place no one sane dared to tread after dusk. But lust…ah lust will take a man anywhere.
“Do you want to kiss me Daniel?” she asked innocently, lifting her face at last.
Her skin was pale; her eyes were deep black pools. Daniel began to swoon. Was it the rum? Or something else. Everything was swimming around him. He could not even remember what he was doing here.
“Daniel? Daniel, are you okay?”
Her voice was like the silky web of a spider, drawing him in.
“No ma’am,” he responded, “I feel a little strange.”
A gently wind caught her dress, he saw it. A hoof. Black and cloven. Nestled where her left foot should be.
Daniel stumbled back.
She laughed.
The forest seemed to roar with the sound of wind. Daniel heard a scream and quickly realized it was his screams. The branches of the silk cotton tree closed in like wizened fingers around him.
Two days later, they found his body. Naked, face twisted in fear, lips stained with blood. He had no marks of violence and there were no signs of a struggle. Just the faint smell of perfume and a single hoofprint pressed into the mud beside him.
Some nights, they say, you can still hear him calling in the woods.
“Marielle… Marielle…”
But be careful. Don’t follow that voice because you might see her waiting for you.
Hat tilted. Dressed in white.
Tap… Tap… Tap…
Waiting for someone else to fall in love.
The Smile Beneath Her Hat
In Moruga where the cane fields sway
A man once walked at close of the day
With heart grown cold from years alone
He followed whispers not his own
She stood beneath the silk cotton tree
In scarlet wrap and mystery
Her voice, a song, her skin moonlight
Her eyes were stars that burned too bright
She said, “Come close, I’ve lost my way”
Daniel smiled and chose to stay
He never saw the way she stepped
The hoof that ground where shadows crept
She danced between the tamarind
Her laughter soft, her scent a sin
And though the forest held its breath
He followed her through dream and death
“Do you love me?” came her call
As moonlight bathed the silk tree tall
He reached for her with trembling hand
Too late to heed the cursed land
Her face revealed a hollow flame
A corpse that wore a woman’s name
One kiss she gave then none remained
But Daniel’s soul forever chained
Now when the moon is wide and red
And lonely hearts ignore their dread
The breeze will carry La Diablesse’s tune
And death will dance beneath the moonBio: Brian Sankarsingh is a poetic firebrand, a sharp, thoughtful storyteller who walks the crossroads where Caribbean folklore, social justice, and the human condition collide. He is a truth-seeker who questions political tribes, challenges lazy platitudes, and writes with a deep pulse of empathy, always pushing for nuance whether you're exploring grief, cultural identity, or the monsters that haunt cane fields and hearts alike. He blends advocacy and art seamlessly. He is part historian, part philosopher, part bard, driven by a hunger to illuminate overlooked stories and empower marginalized voices.
Thanks for reading Seeking Veritas Blank Pages to Bold Voices. Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.