Victim of the Tokkelos (eBook)

An SA Police Series Suspense Story, Book 11

Gerrie Radlof, Pieter Haasbroek (Autoren)

Pieter Haasbroek (Herausgeber)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
108 Seiten
Pieter Haasbroek (Verlag)
9780001021518 (ISBN)

Infos

He was warned the spirits wanted his life.

He laughed.

Now, he's gone.

On the wild frontier of the Western Transvaal, farmer Hennie Vermeulen vanishes after ignoring a terrifying warning. The only clue left behind is a blood-spattered rock. Detective Sergeant Kobus Roode, a man who understands both the criminal mind and the soul of the Bushveld, is sent from the city to find him.

Roode is plunged into a world of chilling superstition, where whispers of a malevolent spirit, the Tokkelos, mask a sinister plot of ritual murder. He faces a cunning witch doctor who uses ancient fears to conceal a modern evil and will kill anyone who gets too close to the truth.

As Roode closes in, the hunters become the hunted. He and the farmer's sister are marked as the next victims for a gruesome ceremony. In a deadly game across rugged mountains and treacherous rivers, Roode must fight for his life against an enemy who is always one step ahead.

This pulse-pounding mystery blends high-stakes action with the dark suspense of a classic thriller. Perfect for fans of Wilbur Smith's adventures and gripping international mysteries.

Prepare for a reading experience that will keep you up all night. Perfect for fans of pulp, action, and supernatural mystery, this thrilling eleventh book in the SA Police Series delivers relentless suspense. Are you brave enough to meet the Victim of the Tokkelos? Begin the chilling investigation now!

Textauszug

11. VICTIM OF THE TOKKELOS

Chapter 1

THE TOKKELOS GAVE WARNING

Hennie Vermeulen was not easily startled. When the mare suddenly half-collapsed beneath him and strained towards the side of the footpath, he jerked sharply on the reins and spoke reassuringly to the horse.

But his eyes darted through the pitch-black darkness around him. To his left, he imagined he saw a movement, a figure that moved, hunched over and like a shadow, across the veld.

“Who’s there?” he called out loudly.

There was no answer. It was dead silent, and he heard no sound from that direction.

He swung the rifle from his back. Lightly, he guided the mare in that direction, but then he reconsidered.

This was his land, his farm, and he would very much like to know what was moving about here so late at night. But precisely because it was so late, he was in a hurry to get home. He disliked being away from the house after dusk, leaving his sister there alone. Santie only came home for holiday once a year, and it was as if she had learnt in the city to be afraid of the veld and the darkness.

He tapped the horse in its flanks with his heels. They were no longer too far from the house, and the animal knew every step of the way. He rode on at a brisk canter, but he glanced back over his shoulder once or twice, involuntarily.

He suddenly felt uneasy. Natives from neighbouring kraals often came to visit his farmhands, and this could have been one of them on his way back to his hut. Yet he could not shake the feeling of foreboding. It was as if eyes were fixed upon him with hostility and venom.

He laughed, deliberately and loudly. He was being childish. He could now even see the few lit windows of the farmhouse. It was, of course, merely his concern for Santie’s safety that made him entertain such thoughts.

Hennie and Santie had lost their mother early in their lives. After matriculating, he went to an agricultural college and his twin sister to Johannesburg to take a secretarial course. A year later, their father passed away, and Hennie came home to take over Boshoek. Santie had offered to come and keep house for him, but Hennie had persuaded her to complete her course, after which she found work as a private secretary. At times his life was rather lonely, for the farms here, close to the Bechuanaland border in the Western Transvaal, were sparsely scattered. He appreciated that Santie still came to spend her holidays here.

Usually, she accompanied him when he left the house. Today he had ridden far, and she had stayed at home. He knew that a few of his cattle had calved in the mountains, and he had gone to look for them but could not find them.

He was still some distance from the farmyard when his two wolfhounds came barking to meet him. They jumped up against the horse, but the animal knew them well, and Hennie patted their necks as he swung out of the saddle before the back door. A young black man came running from the huts and took the horse.

“Good evening, Arrie,” Hennie greeted him amicably. “Are all the folk back?”

“Good evening, my baas,” Arrie replied, and Hennie looked up in surprise when he heard how timid the black man was. The lamplight falling through the top half of the kitchen door was faint, and he could not clearly distinguish the black face before him.

“Is something wrong?” Hennie asked quickly.

“No, my baas,” Arrie assured him. “They have all come.”

“Did they find anything?”

“I... I...”

“What’s the matter with you tonight, Arrie?” Hennie called out, slightly impatient. “Have you got your hands on dagga again?”

“No, my baas.”

“Well then, walk her until she’s cool before you put her in the stable,” Hennie requested without further ado. He wanted to go inside to wash and freshen up, for he felt hungry. He could find out from the workers tomorrow if any of them had come across the cows or calves. They were sometimes so witlessly stupid that one could get nowhere with them.

As Arrie walked away with the mare, Hennie suddenly became aware that they were not alone. He looked up and found the old native cook’s gaze fixed penetratingly upon him. Jantjie, who had worked in their kitchen since Hennie could remember, was standing with her stout body just inside the kitchen door, staring at him silently.

Hennie shrugged. He did not always understand this nation. Ordinarily, she would have greeted him warmly and opened the door.

“Good evening, Jantjie,” he called out as he entered, pushing the lower half of the door closed behind him so the dogs could not follow. “What’s in the pots?”

“Good evening, Baas Hennie,” Jantjie answered calmly, almost grimly, ignoring his cheerfulness. “The food is ready.”

“That’s not what I asked. I know it would be ready by this time, but you look as sour as if you’d burnt it all. What’s going on with you people tonight?”

“The Tokkelos has walked, Baas Hennie,” she informed him demurely and with reverence.

He stopped short. He looked at her with an expression that wavered between astonishment and humour. Then he laughed.

“You are so old,” he exclaimed. “And you still believe such children’s stories. Where is the young mistress?”

“The young mistress is in the sitting room.”

“Well, I just want to wash, then you can dish up.”

“Baas Hennie,” she said, and her voice sounded so urgently serious that he turned at the door and looked back. “The Tokkelos has...”

“Look, Jantjie,” he stopped her, not unkindly. “I’ve ridden far today and I’m tired. We can talk later about what the Tokkelos had to say.” He walked down the passage. He knew how superstitious the blacks were, but one would expect that someone like old Jantjie, who had practically raised his mother as well and was treated like one of the family, would have outgrown those things by now.

Santie met her brother at the sitting-room door. She kissed him lightly on the cheek.

“I didn’t hear you arrive, Hennie,” she exclaimed in her silvery voice, her soft grey eyes sparkling a welcome. “I was sitting in front of the fire, dreaming.”

“Hello, Santie,” he greeted her in return. “I must say I’m glad to meet someone who doesn’t react to my appearance like a sourpuss.”

She laughed. She led him to the fire.

“Who’s pulling such long faces?” she enquired cheerfully.

“Oh, it’s just that Arrie; it seems to me the lot of them have found a bit of dagga somewhere again. But even old Jantjie is cantankerous tonight. All sorts of nonsense about Tokkelosse.”

“What is she saying?” Santie asked, suddenly looking at him seriously.

“I didn’t wait to hear,” he answered nonchalantly. “When you’ve lived here among them, practically with them, year in and year out as I have, you eventually stop paying too much attention to such things. Let’s forget it. How was your day? Were you very bored?”

She shook her head. She laughed happily.

“Not at all,” she assured him. “I came across a pile of your shirts that were missing a few buttons.”

“Well, that is good of you.” He walked through to the door. “I’m just going to wash, then we can have a good chat.”

In the bathroom, Jantjie was waiting with a bucket of hot water she had brought from the kitchen. From her posture, he could see that something was seriously amiss, seriously, according to her beliefs, of course. He sighed. He took the bucket from her and poured some of the water into the basin.

“Alright, tell me then, Jantjie,” he resigned himself to his fate. “What does the little Tokkelos say?”

His attitude apparently did not faze her. Her voice trembled slightly when she answered.

“Baas Hennie makes jokes. You laugh. The Tokkelos is like the leopard and the crocodile; he tears and he kills.”

“Have you ever seen him do it?” Hennie asked drily as he cupped his hands and splashed the soothing water onto his face.

“Not seen, Baas Hennie. But heard, heard many times.”

“I’ve also heard, but never seen. I believe what I see. Who does the Tokkelos want to tear apart now?”

“Me, Baas Hennie,” she answered convincingly. “Me, if he finds out I’m talking to you.”

Hennie snorted into the water. This was why it was so difficult to ever get anything out of the blacks. They were perpetually living in one fear or another. If it was not a ruthless witch doctor, it was a tokkelos, or some other creation of their superstition.

“Well then, what is it that you may not tell me?” he enquired nonetheless, as his interest was slightly piqued. As little as he cared for this sort of nonsense, he might as well know what was on the minds of his workers, and especially this faithful old soul.

“The Tokkelos seeks the medicine, Baas Hennie.”

“Is that all? Why didn’t you give him some of the pills there in my cabinet?”

“He seeks the great medicine.” She hesitated. The whites of her eyes were large. “You are my child, you are my white child,” she continued in her simple way, and as always, he was struck by the sincerity with which she expressed her feelings towards him.

“I know, Jantjie. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“That is why I speak, Baas Hennie. The Tokkelos seeks the medicine that is in you.”

“In me?” He laughed. This was going too far. “What medicine is there in me?”

“Life,” she answered. “The breath.”

He was busy drying his face. He could not imagine where she...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 18.9.2025
• Übersetzer: Pieter Haasbroek, Ai
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror
• ISBN-13: 9780001021518 / 9780001021518