Chapter 7: The Weight of Silence
Peterson had barely slept.
For the fourth night in a row, the whispers returned. Faint. Relentless. Crawling into his ears like mist under a door. They came from no single direction—from under the bed, behind the walls, from the ceiling. Yet when he turned on the light or opened the window to see if the wind was playing tricks, everything fell quiet.
He hadn't told his mother. She already had too much to worry about. And the last thing she needed was to think her son was losing his mind after getting suspended.
So he kept it to himself.
But it was getting harder.
Three days into suspension
By now, Peterson had settled into a routine: wake up late, help his mom with produce sorting, sweep the yard, wash clothes, walk to the corner store for water, and come back to pretend everything was normal.
But it wasn't.
The medallion remained hidden in the shoebox under his bed, yet every night he could feel its weight in his dreams—like it was still wrapped around his neck.
And the whispers? They were growing clearer.
Still not words. But… closer.
That afternoon, Jean-Daniel knocked on Peterson's door, sweaty and shirtless under the brutal sun.
"Yo, P."
"Yo."
"You good?"
Peterson nodded, but his eyes were tired.
Jean-Daniel leaned against the doorway. "You look like hell, bro. You fasting or something?"
"Sleep and I aren't talking right now."
"You sure? Or you just up late texting Naëlle, trying to write poetry?"
Peterson cracked a smile. "She wouldn't even read it. She'd probably correct my grammar."
Jean-Daniel laughed. "That's accurate."
Peterson motioned for him to come inside.
"Need to show you something."
Jean-Daniel raised an eyebrow. "You found a million dollars in your mom's avocado basket?"
"I wish. It's serious."
Peterson led him into his room, pulled the shoebox from under his bed, and opened it.
Inside: the medallion.
Even wrapped in cloth, it seemed to emit a pulse. Jean-Daniel leaned closer, his joking tone disappearing.
"What is that?"
Peterson unwrapped it slowly. The snakes. The three skulls. The faint green glow.
"I found it the night after the fight. In a puddle. Ever since then…" He hesitated. "I've been hearing things."
Jean-Daniel straightened. "Like what?"
"Whispers. Every night. Louder. Closer. I can't sleep. It's like it's calling me."
Jean-Daniel stared at him, then the medallion.
"I ain't gonna lie… that's creepy as hell."
"I didn't imagine it."
"I believe you," Jean-Daniel said. "You think I'd come all this way just to tell you you're crazy? Nah. You my boy."
They sat on the edge of the bed in silence for a moment.
"Still," Jean-Daniel muttered, "if that thing ever starts levitating, I'm out."
Peterson chuckled. "I'll let you know in advance."
"So what now?" Jean-Daniel asked. "You planning to wear it and start summoning zombies?"
"No. But I need answers."
Jean-Daniel nodded slowly. "Okay. Then let's figure this out."
The fifth night
The whisper came louder.
Peterson had just drifted off when it pierced his dreams like a scream submerged in water.
"Koute mwen…"
This time it was Creole. Real words. A voice—hoarse and layered, like it echoed from centuries past.
"Ou gen chwa… men pa gen chape…"
He shot up in bed, panting.
Sweat soaked his sheets.
His fingers reached under the pillow on instinct.
The medallion wasn't there.
But he hadn't moved it.
Panicking, he scrambled from bed and found the shoebox.
Empty.
A cold rush flooded his spine.
Suddenly, the whispers filled the room—spiraling around him, invisible yet everywhere.
He turned in every direction.
The room darkened. The window shuttered itself.
The medallion was on the floor, glowing brighter than ever.
He crouched to pick it up—
And it burned his skin.
He yelped and dropped it.
But the pain wasn't just physical. It was inside his chest now—an ache he couldn't name. His heart throbbed, not just with fear… but recognition.
This thing didn't just find him.
It belonged to him.
And it was waiting.
The next morning
Peterson told his mom he needed to visit the local library. She didn't argue—she was just glad he was dressed and alert for once.
At the library, he asked the clerk if they had any books on "old Haitian symbols."
The man scratched his beard and led him to a dusty corner.
Peterson searched for anything that looked like the medallion—snakes, skulls, old veve symbols.
He found a page in a thick tome titled "Spirits of the Crossroads: Forgotten Loa."
There it was.
The same medallion. Drawn in charcoal. Two snakes. Three skulls.
The text beside it read:
"The Medallion of Zobop: A forbidden relic tied to the crossroads loa that no longer speak. Said to hold a fragment of their rage. Its bearers are haunted—called into awakening. Only those bound by blood and sacrifice may wield its voice."
Beneath that:
"Beware its whispers. They begin with truth and end in madness."
Peterson closed the book slowly, heart pounding.
That evening
He met Jean-Daniel again and told him everything.
They sat in stunned silence.
"This just keeps getting weirder," Jean-Daniel said.
"I don't know what it wants. But I don't think I can ignore it anymore."
"We need help," Jean-Daniel said.
"From who?"
Jean-Daniel hesitated. "Maybe… someone who knows spirits. A manbo, or houngan."
"You know one?"
Jean-Daniel nodded. "An old lady in Cité Vincent. My aunt used to bring me there."
"Let's go tonight."
"Man, why always at night? Can't we visit creepy spirit ladies at noon like normal people?"
Peterson smirked. "You scared?"
"I'm not scared," Jean-Daniel said, standing. "I'm cautiously brave."
Cité Vincent
When they reached the rusted gates of Cité Vincent, the air felt heavier.
The streets narrowed.
Jean-Daniel led them to a weathered green house. The porch sagged. Curtains blocked the windows.
He knocked.
"Ki moun sa?" (Who is it?)
"It's me," Jean-Daniel said. "Daniel. My aunt's boy."
Pause. Then the door opened.
A thin, elderly woman in scarves stood there. Her eyes sharp and clouded.
She looked at Peterson, at the cloth in his hand.
"You brought that here?" she said.
"We need help," Peterson said. "I need to know what it's doing to me."
She stared long and hard.
Then opened the door wider.
"Then come in. If the Zobop has chosen you… your path has only just begun."
End of Chapter 7