Haint Walk
I was murdered by a mob when I was just 14.
Now I do the Haint Walk.
Nobody told me what I had did, even when I asked!
They told me animals don’t get an explanation
as the sea of cloaked arms and hoods pushed me towards the tree.
It’s still hard to shake that sensation of the rope around my neck;
The taut roughness of the twine, strangled and gasping before they even hung me up.
When you exist in-between heaven and earth for eternity, it’s hard to shake the last feelings you ever felt.
I didn’t find out until after I died
That they confused me for an older boy by the name of Jackson
The white folk had heard he made looks at a white woman.
They realized their mistake and hung him too
but from a different tree.
Me and Jackson, we’re friends now. I think he blames himself for me getting killed sometimes
but we both know that’s silly.
My family took down my body down nights after, hidden, and gave me a proper burial.
They hoped I would be allowed to move on, but I don’t really know how to.
It’s hard finding other haints who know how to move on when they can’t either.
It’s hard to see my family all the time
see them eating together, holding each other, sharing warmth, without me.
But being a haint ain’t all bad.
For starters, my family knows I’m around sort of
and they pray for me every night. Sometimes I leave little hints
folding my old shirts and leaving them on Momma’s bed,
cleaning up the home while everyone is at work.
My kid brother Charlie was only a baby when I was killed, but I think he understands me.
He is shy, but we talk sometimes and I’m grateful he can see me.
The other haints for the most part are nice folk, some of the white ones still keep away though.
It’s not a bad bunch to share conversation with forever
The ones who died older teach me things, like history and philosophy and theatre.
They interest me but I get sad knowing I’ll never be able to use these things.
I try to teach Charlie as much as I can when he listens,
the other haints tell me it’ll get harder for Charlie to see me as he grows.
I don’t just sit around and talk fancy things all day.
Other haints who were lynched like to mess with the ones responsible.
They haunt their dreams and leave messages with angry words on napkins and books.
There was a year after I died where it became popular to mess with white folks’ coffee.
A hot cup spills in someone’s lap, a pot explodes, spiders burst out of coffee beans by the dozens.
White folk here only drink tea now
we let them keep at least that, for now.
Me though, I’m a new haint.
I only died a few years ago, I think.
I’m not about all that complicated, symbolic haunting the older haints like to do.
Me, I just do the Haint Walk.
All haints here have to learn the Haint Walk.
Every time we see something conniving stirring among white folk,
plannings of lynchings, bragging about beating on a boy,
I just show myself and walk past
real slowly.
If I know they can’t see me, I stomp extra hard so they can hear.
The other haints taught me the Haint Walk and how to do it right.
They say the Haint Walk was the first ever haunting done to white folk in this town.
I look straight ahead as I march by, chest high and proud.
If you know they can see you, turning to them and looking them in the eyes and smiling,
grinning into their wicked souls,
and then disappearing round a corner
God that always gets ’em.
Almost makes being a haint worth it
knowing they can’t get you again.
I miss my family.
Really being with my family.
I miss being able to throw baseball with friends, the ones alive
and ones moved on.
I miss feeling and touching and dreaming and bleeding.
I wanted to be a theatre actor when I grew up,
write my own plays even though I had never seen one, only read about them.
I often wish I could just move on even if I don’t know if that would be much better.
But here I am, murdered at 14, left to haunt the earth for eternity.
Now, I just do the Haint Walk.
Mini-interview with Andreas Savvides
HFR: Can you share a moment that has shaped you as a writer (or continues to)?
AS: My undergraduate studies in English and being able to learn not only from my incredible professors, but my brilliant classmates as well.
HFR: What are you reading?
AS: All About Love by bell hooks and Necropolitics by Achille Mbembe.
HFR: Can you tell us what prompted “Haint Walk”?
AS: “Haint Walk” was heavily inspired by Tananarive Due’s The Reformatory, where the southern folklore version of a haint and their depictions are central to the narrative. Wonderful novel.
HFR: What’s next? What are you working on?
AS: More poetry! We’re figuring it out!
HFR: Take the floor. Be political. Be fanatical. Be anything. What do you want to share?
AS: Fund the humanities.
Originally from Westchester, New York, Andreas Savvides is a recent graduate from George Washington University with a degree in English. Currently residing in Bend, Oregon, he is rookie to the literary journal scene and is excited to explore himself further as a writer.
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