The Douen

Brian Sankarsingh continues to weave Trinidadian folkloric tales

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Folklore has long served as a powerful tool for social instruction, particularly in the upbringing and discipline of children. Across cultures, elders have passed down cautionary tales, mythical creatures, and moral legends designed to instill obedience, respect, and caution in young minds. These stories often featured supernatural beings or dire consequences as a way to deter undesirable behavior such as disobedience, wandering too far from home, or telling lies. The fear elicited by these tales was not merely for entertainment, but a deliberate method to teach lessons and encourage adherence to cultural norms and parental authority.

For example, in many European traditions, figures like the bogeyman, Baba Yaga, or Krampus were invoked to scare children into good behavior. In the Caribbean, folklore characters like La Diablesse or Soucouyant served similar functions, warning children against staying out after dark or talking to strangers. These stories were deeply embedded in community life and often tailored to reflect specific social values, gender roles, and family expectations. By blending storytelling with moral instruction, folklore became an essential disciplinary tool, shaping children's behavior through fear, imagination, and cultural continuity.

In the small village of Tamana, nestled at the edge of a brooding rainforest in Trinidad, a boy named Jiwan lived with his parents in a modest wooden house. Jiwan was a clever, curious, and willfully defiant twelve-year-old. He loved to challenge his parents, especially when they told him to do, or not do something. “Why?”, he would ask. “Because I said so,” his father would retort. However, no matter how often his parents warned him not to stray near the forest's edge, or how sternly they spoke of the spirits that dwelled in the shadowed trees, Jiwan laughed it all off as old people’s nonsense. “There are no monsters in the woods,” he would say, brushing aside their concern like a mosquito from his arm. But his parent knew better. They knew the forest whispered. There were many stories about children disappearing in that forest. Children lost forever.

But Jiwan was a precocious boy. He believed what he could see and thought these tales of monsters were told to keep wayward children in line.

“Jiwan, Douen is real boy,” his father said.

“You ever see one pa?” asked Jiwan.

“Boy if anybody see one, it too late for them. De gone already” his father replied. “Plus Douen does disappear when adults around.”

Jiwan could not help a giggle.

“You laughing, but Jiwan listen to me son, don’t go in the forest, especially in the evening. Douen does take children away from dey parents and boy I don’t know what I go do, if that happen to you.”

It was just after sundown when it happened. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and hibiscus, and the sounds of frogs and cicadas filled the air in a cacophony of evening sounds. Jiwan, bored and bitter over being denied more time outside, slipped away while his parents prepared dinner. He crept toward the thick tree line behind their home, drawn by a strange, lulling voice. His mother’s voice, he thought. It was soft and urgent.

“Jiwan... Jiwan, come quick… I need your help.”

He blinked. Her voice echoed, but she was still inside, wasn’t she?

The path she never let him take stretched before him, barely visible between the trees like a wound in the forest. Compelled by the voice, so familiar and so soothing, he stepped beyond the first tree leaving a solitary footprint in the soft mud. Inside, the forest was alive with a deafening silence. Not the absence of sound, but the thick, suffocating stillness of something holding its breath. In the back of his mind Jiwan wondered when the cicadas had stopped chirping. He walked slowly, confusion replacing confidence. The air grew cold and stifling. Leaves brushed his arms like skeletal fingers trying to grab his arm. Shadows shifted around him, deeper than night should be.

Then, he saw it.

A small figure, child-like in size, stood just off the trail beneath a giant silk cotton tree. Its body was thin and wiry, naked except for a drooping straw hat that covered its entire head. Jiwan could see no face—just the mouth, small and pale, peeking from beneath the hat. What he did not notice at the time were the child’s feet. If he had taken the time to look down, he would have seen that they were twisted backward, so the toes faced where the heels should be. The figure stood motionless, as if waiting.

“Jiwan,” it said, in his father’s voice now. “Come boy. You’re safe.”

That voice. Wrong. Too flat, too cold.

“Who are you?” Jiwan asked, instinctively backing away.

The creature tilted its head, and a wet, raspy laugh bubbled from its throat. Then it stepped forward, silent and slow, like mist creeping over water. Jiwan turned to run, but the forest had changed. The trail was gone. The trees twisted unnaturally close together, their branches clawing at him. Panic clawed back. He shouted for his parents, screamed until his voice cracked, but the only answer was that same voice, his own voice now, calling out and echoing eerily from every direction.

“I’m here! Jiwan! This way!”

Something cold touched his shoulder.

He whirled around—and stared directly into the shadow beneath the hat.

There was no face. Only darkness.

And then he was gone.

The search lasted days. The villagers scoured the forest. They found one small footprint entering the foreboding forest. As they followed the trail, calling out his name, the came upon dozens more footprints going in all different direction. Were these Jiwan’s footprints? If it were, it seemed like he was running around in circles. They found no signs of struggle. There was no clear trail to follow.

His parents never recovered. His mother stopped speaking. His father, once proud and loud, grew thin and silent.

Now, when the sun dips low and the forest breathes heavy, the villagers tell their children Jiwan’s story in hushed tones. Children are warned: never follow the voices in the trees and never mock the old tales.

For the Douen still walks.

And somewhere, in the deep thicket where the light doesn’t reach, another child now wears a straw hat. Another child walks on backward feet.

And he whispers with Jiwan’s voice.

Whispers in the Forest
a poem for Jiwan, lost in the woods

In Tamana’s dusk, where shadows creep
Where secrets lie and parents weep
Jiwan ignores the warning that were given
Depending on his own volition

His mother said, “Stay near the light
The forest breathes darker in the night
There live the ones with backward tread
The Douen, spirits of the dead”

But Jiwan laughed and sought his fun
Beneath the trees, beyond the sun
He heard her voice call soft and low
From where no child should ever go

"Jiwan," it sang, "come help me, please"
A whisper floating through the trees
But when he looked, no mother stood
Only silence in the woods

Then a shape, so small and still
A straw hat bent with ghostly will
Its feet, they pointed not ahead
But back toward where the child had fled

It spoke again in his father’s tone
Though every word seemed carved in stone
“Come, Jiwan, don’t be afraid,”
It hissed beneath the leaves' cascade

He tried to run, he even screamed
But paths dissolved like broken dreams
And all around him rose the sound
Of his own voice, echoing down

No face to see, no eyes to find
Just whispers tearing through his mind
The Douen smiled, though none could see
And now Jiwan walked eternally

Now in the dusk, when breezes moan
And children stray too far from home
They say his voice still calls them near
A lost boy’s cry of luring fear

So heed the tale, and tread with care
For Jiwan walks the forest air
And those who wander where he fell
May walk with their feet backwards as well

Bio: BRIAN SANKARSINGH is a two-time award-winning poet and author. He is a Trinidadian-born Canadian immigrant who has published several books of poetry on a wide range of social and historical themes including racism, colonialism, and enslavement. Sankarsingh artfully blends prose and poetry into his storytelling creating an eclectic mix with both genres. This unique approach is sure to provide something for everyone.

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