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  • Ahmed and the Black Camel

    A boy in traditional clothing holding the reins of a saddled camel in the desert

    You might not think of a camel as being a wise animal. After all, if it were wise, it probably would not choose to be a camel.
    However, wisdom comes in many forms and, if you have to live in a place that is hot by day, cold by night, with little water and little vegetation, and a place where the landscape shifts continuously, then knowledge and wisdom become important. Such is the life of a camel.
    Yet few men learn the wisdom of the camel. Unless we choose or are born to live alongside them.

    Ahmed was a boy who was born to live with camels. He had been born into a nomadic tribe; his life was destined to be spent with camels. As a baby and as a young boy, camels would help keep him warm at night and camels would help carry him and his mother while his father led them across the desert.
    As Ahmed grew older and stronger, his father would teach him how to lead camels, how to feed them and how to ride one. Ahmed was a good learner and when he had learned all these skills, his father had one more to teach him. He would let Ahmed come with him to the desert markets. There, his father taught him how to barter, how to buy and sell camels. Ahmed also learned how to recognise a good camel from a poor one. He learned too about the different colours of camel, from dark brown ones to light brown ones and to beige ones.
    But even with all his learning, there was still something Ahmed didn’t know. The family had one special camel, a black camel. Ahmed was never allowed to lead the black camel, nor was he allowed to feed it, and he was certainly never allowed to ride it, only his father was allowed to do these things. One thing was certain, they never took the black camel to the market.
    It was clear to Ahmed that there was something special about the black camel but he was uncertain what it was. It seemed to him that if the black camel was special then they should be able to get a lot of gold by selling it at a market. It puzzled Ahmed as to why his father had not thought of this, the family could certainly use extra gold, perhaps they could then settle down at a wealthy oasis village instead of wandering across gruelling desert sands.
    Ahmed believed that his father knew the answer to all his questions but Ahmed also knew it would be wrong, disrespectful to question his father about the black camel. Ahmed realised that if he wanted to learn about the black camel, then he would have to find out for himself. He didn’t want to offend his father but he hoped his father, he hoped his father would be proud that he, Ahmed, was able to learn by himself.
    The next market day, Ahmed set out with his father and a herd of camels. Of course, this herd didn’t include the black camel. Inside, Ahmed was fired by his desire to find out about black camels, he knew if his father wouldn’t tell him then, maybe, some of the other traders would.
    As was now usual when they arrived at the market, Father left Ahmed in charge of the camels while he went around to see what the other traders had on offer. As was also usual, while Ahmed was in charge of the camels, several traders would come to him to ask about the camels. Father had told Ahmed to always tell them the best things about the camels but never to sell or even agree a price until he returned. Ahmed always played his role well, he would tell the traders about the best points of each camel and when father returned, they had always got a good price.
    Today, though, Ahmed did more, as well as telling the traders the best things about the camels, he also asked each of them if they knew anything about black camels.
    He was surprised that none of the traders could tell him much about black camels apart from the fact that they were very special and worth a lot of gold.
    Then one trader, one that Ahmed had never seen before, came up to him and said;
    “I hear you are asking about black camels.”
    “Yes,” said Ahmed, “Do you know about them?”
    “Indeed I do.” Said the trader, “They are very rare and valuable. They are worth a lot of gold. In fact, a single black camel is worth more gold than any of these other traders could afford”
    “But …” continued the trader, “ I do not see a black camel in your herd.”
    “Oh no, “ Ahmed told him, “We keep him back at our camp, where only my father is allowed to look after it.”
    “ Very wise, “ said the trader, “a black camel is very valuable and needs special attention. You must look after him very carefully.”
    “But my father will not let me look after our black camel.”
    “No, foolish boy, I mean you must look after your father very carefully.”
    With that strange remark, the traders bade farewell and left Ahmed once more to look after the herd.
    While he was giving the herd their last feed, not occurred to Ahmed that no other trader had been to see him after the strange one had visited. He also realised that his father seemed to be taking a long time to return. He wasn’t unduly worried; it just seemed unusual. Maybe father was looking for something special and it was taking a long time to find or maybe he was involved in some long and difficult bartering.
    However, the longer it went without his father’s return , the more Ahmed became concerned. The sun was starting to get low in the sky, usually by now they had done all their deals and would be making their way home. Today, they still had all their camels and father had not returned.
    Now Ahmed was worrying. In his head, he argued with himself, should he go and look for his father? But that would mean leaving the herd; something he knew he should never do, for fear they might run away or be stolen. He knew he had to make a decision but he was paralysed by indecision.
    Just as the sun was setting and the darkness grew, Ahmed saw a shadowy figure stumbling toward him. Ahmed could not recognise the man until he heard him calling his name;
    “Ahmed.” It groaned.
    “Father!” Exclaimed Ahmed, “Father, father, are you okay?”
    But Ahmed could see that his father was not okay, for the figure slumped to the ground.
    “Father, father, hang on, I’m coming.”

    Ahmed ran and ran and then stopped. He plunged to the ground, put his arm around his father’s shoulders. He saw the blood on his face, his tunic was torn and his arm twisted strangely behind his back.

    “They attacked me Ahmed.” Said his father despite the blood dripping from his mouth. “They attacked me.”
    “Who attacked you, father?”
    “The traders attacked me; a gang of them.”
    “ But why, father, why?
    “Black Camel…”

    “What about the black camel.” Said Ahmed, “Father, what about the black camel?”
    His father could say nothing more. Ahmed picked up his broken body and carried it back to the camel herd. He lifted the body onto the strongest camel before hoisting himself on as well. Then, amid a bellow of snorts and groans from the camels, Ahmed led the herd away and started the journey back to their camp.
    It was dark and it was cold throughout the journey back. The desert sands looked very different in the nighttime. Ahmed knew he had to rely on the camels’ sense of direction to get them all safely back home.
    His faith ion the camels served them well for, in time, he saw the light from the oil lamps that his mother would have kept lit until their return. This distant sight heartened Ahmed as he steered the herd toward their direction.
    “We’re nearly home, father.” He said, not knowing that his father no longer heard or saw or felt … anything.

    Almost exhausted, Ahmed led the herd into the camp. There he was greeted by his mother who then put her hand on her husband’s cold body and let out a harrowing scream.
    “Ahmed, “ she said “what happened?”
    “They attacked him, mother they attacked him.”
    “But who attacked him?”
    “Some traders …”
    “But why, why?…”
    Something about a black camel, he said, but I know nothing more.”
    Mother lifted down his dead body and clutched her husband to her chest. She filled the night air with her tears but in her distress she said to her son.
    “Ahmed, go to the black camel, go now.”
    “But mother …”
    “Go now, go quickly, go to the black camel.”

    Ahmed still did not realise the reason for his mother’s weeping and his confusion led him to dither.

    “Ahmed” a voice called.
    This was not his mother’s voice.
    “Ahmed”, it called again, “come Ahmed, come quickly.”
    Ahmed turned in the direction of the strange voice but all he could see was the outline of a camel silhouetted against the light of the oil lamps.
    “Ahmed, come quickly, come here to me.”

    Ahmed was confused but he moved closer to the voice, closer to the camel. As he came closer, he saw that the camel was not one from the herd but this camel was the black camel.

    “Good, Ahmed, yes it is me, your black camel. Now climb up onto my back.”
    Ahmed climbed up onto the black camel, without even stopping to ask why. With a lurch, the camel stood up fully and started to move off.

    “Where are we going, where are you taking me?” Asked Ahmed, not quite believing he was talking to a camel.

    “Away from here,” replied the black camel, “ Away from here.”
    “But why?”
    “Those traders who attacked your father will follow the trail left by the herd and follow it back to the camp. They will come in search of the black camel you told them about.”
    “But what about father and mother, we cannot leave them, they will not be safe.”
    “Ahmed, your father’s time is done, your time has just begun.”
    Ahmed let these words sink in but without fully realising their meaning.
    “And Mother? What about Mother?”
    “They shall not harm her.” Said the black camel, “ Nobody and nothing can harm her further.”

    The black camel and Ahmed travelled on, further and further across the dark sands. Eventually, Ahmed asked another question, one that had been boiling in his mind after the black camel had said something earlier.
    “Black camel, how did you know that I had told traders about you?”
    “Ahmed,” replied the black camel, “we, your father, your mother and I, we always knew this day would come.”

    More thoughts for Ahmed to ponder, but there was another question he needed to ask.
    “Black camel, I know you are special but I do not know why. Tell me, apart from your colour, what makes you special?”
    “Why? Is a talking camel not special enough for you?”

    No, there is something more than that. There’s something really special about you.”

    “Do you mean my value in gold?”

    “No, not even that; something much more valuable than even gold.”

    The black camel gave no reply but slowly moved on further.

    As the moon rose higher, it started shining and the night appeared brighter. The black camel started steadily walking down a tall sand dune and into a valley at its base. Once at the bottom, Ahmed realised that they were in a hollow surrounded on all sides by sand dunes.
    The black camel stopped.
    “Ahmed, “ it said, “look around you and tell me how you feel.”
    Ahmed looked all around him and all he could see was sand. There was sands all around, to the left, the right, behind and in front. Faced with all this sand and nothing else, Ahmed said,
    “Alone, lonely. I feel lonely.”

    “Now look up and above you, then tell me how you feel.” Said the black camel.

    Ahmed looked up. Above him, all he could see was stars. All the stars in the night sky. Countless stars. He knew, too, that there were even more stars that he could not see and more stars again further than he could imagine.
    “Insignificant, I feel small and insignificant.” Ahmed said.

    “Now look again,” the black camel said, “look above and around. Tell me what is the most thing you see.”

    Again Ahmed looked abide him and all around him. Again he saw the myriad of sand grains. Again he saw the countless stars. He looked and pondered in awe and he realised that the only living thing that could appreciate the vastness and the beauty of what he saw was, of course, himself.

    “I am.” Ahmed stated, “I am the most important thing here.”

    “Good”, said the black camel. “ Now look again and tell me what is more important.”

    “More important than the most important thing?” Queried Ahmed.

    “Yes” responded the black camel.

    Ahmed looked around him once more. Once more he saw the sand and once more he saw the stars. Once more he saw himself. He saw himself seated on a black camel in the middle of a desert with no idea where he was or where he was going.”

    “You are.” Ahmed asserted, “You are more important. You have taken me to safety, you have made me think, you have shown me I am important. But above all, you have shown me that those I rely on, are more important.”

    “Good” said the black camel. “Now it is time to find ourselves our new home.”

  • Emily and John

    Bride in wedding gown holding dagger behind back at altar

    Once upon a time, in a small village, there were two feuding families. The Smiths and the Johnsons had been at each other’s throats for as long as anyone could remember. However, their fortunes changed when a handsome young man from the Smiths, named John, fell in love with a beautiful young lady from the Johnsons, named Emily. Despite their families’ objections and deep-rooted hatred for each other, John and Emily decided to get married.

    On the day of their wedding, the hermit of the village was invited to the wedding ceremony. Emily was curious about how she could make her mark on the world and asked the hermit for advice. The wise old man replied, “Your time will come, my child. You will know what to do when that time arrives.”

    The newlyweds settled down into their lives together, and soon John began to notice strange occurrences happening around his estate. The servants were disappearing, and his valuables were going missing. However, his love for Emily made him blind to her deceitful ways.

    One day, John asked the hermit to come over for dinner. While they were enjoying the delicious food and drinks, John told the hermit about his vision for his land. “I do not want to see evil, hatred, crime, or deceit prevailing in my kingdom,” he said.

    At that moment, the hermit’s eyes fell on Emily’s plate, and he saw that it was empty. He asked John if he had noticed that Emily had not eaten anything. John, who was madly in love with his wife, was surprised and told the hermit that nothing could stop Emily from eating her food.

    However, the hermit revealed that Emily had been poisoning John slowly for months. John refused to believe it, but the hermit showed him the empty vial of poison he had found in Emily’s room. John was devastated, and Emily was banished from the land.

    Years later, John realized the hermit’s words had come true. Emily had indeed made her mark, but it was not the one she had hoped for. The villagers remembered her as the poisoner who nearly destroyed their beloved John and his reign. And to this day, no one knows what truly happened to the hermit.

  • Accabadora

    Elderly woman with glasses and hooded garment, detailed facial lines

    The old stone houses of the Sardinian village of Ghilosu seemed to hunch together in silence, as if sharing secrets that only the darkness understood. The chill of the autumn night crept in, winding through cobbled streets and empty fields. Moonlight settled over Ghilosu like a thin veil, washing the village in ghostly shades of silver and shadow.

    Among the villagers, the air hung thick with fear. The year had been unkind; disease had arrived quietly and spread with ruthless efficiency, and families one by one watched loved ones wither away. Mothers wept as they clutched pale infants; sons sat hollow-eyed beside their ailing fathers. The silence of grief was broken only by the distant wails of the dying and the hurried whispers that everyone feared to speak aloud:

    “The Accabadora comes in the night.”

    The villagers knew her only by rumor and shadowed recollections. She was said to be an ancient woman who wandered from village to village, appearing only when someone was on the verge of death. She arrived unbidden, a specter dressed in black, her face obscured by a hood, and her eyes… some swore they were hollow, like the night itself had carved them out. She was the spirit of mercy—or so they tried to believe. But to others, she was something more sinister, something that lingered in dark corners, feeding off suffering and waiting for the dying moments to strike.

    Chapter 1: The Summoning

    Elena Sanna sat by the low-burning hearth in her home, hands trembling as she held the fevered hand of her husband, Nino. His face, once full of laughter and light, was gaunt and pale, his breaths coming shallow and labored. She felt the weight of his suffering in her own heart, and it clawed at her insides like a hungry beast.

    Their children were asleep—or at least, she hoped they were. She had tucked them in, kissed them on their heads, but each knew in their silent way that something was wrong. That night, Elena had whispered a prayer to the Accabadora, a prayer filled with guilt and desperation, begging for her husband’s release from the agony that had plagued him for weeks. She had heard stories of people calling on her; some dared to say that if one wished hard enough, the Accabadora would hear and come.

    As midnight approached, the air grew heavy and still, until even the crackling of the fire seemed muted. Elena felt a chill crawl down her spine, and as she looked up, a figure stood in the doorway—a cloaked woman in black.

    Elena’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t see the woman’s face beneath the shadowed hood, but she could feel those hollow eyes watching her, assessing her plea.

    “Are you…?” Elena whispered, her voice trembling.

    The woman nodded slowly and moved soundlessly into the room. She walked to Nino’s side, her movements graceful and calm. Elena watched, frozen, as the Accabadora lifted a thin hand, skeletal in the dim light, and placed it on Nino’s forehead. He sighed, a soft sound of relief, and in that moment, Elena felt the unbearable weight of his suffering slip away.

    When the Accabadora turned to her, Elena managed only a weak, “Thank you.”

    The woman nodded once more before slipping into the night as silently as she had arrived. Elena knew that Nino’s spirit had departed, but the dread that filled her heart remained, as if a piece of darkness itself had seeped into her soul.

    Chapter 2: The Whispering Fear

    Word of the Accabadora’s visit spread through Ghilosu like wildfire. Some whispered in gratitude, others in fear. It was said she came only when summoned, that she never forced her will upon the living unless begged to do so. But the villagers’ whispers grew louder: if she came once, she would come again. The sickness that plagued Ghilosu wasn’t ending, and more villagers were taking to their beds, pale and feverish.

    The priest, Father Tommaso, warned the villagers against summoning her. “To invite the Accabadora is to invite death itself into your homes,” he said during his sermons, his voice shaking with conviction. “You must place your faith in God alone, not in the shadows that linger.”

    But his words went unheeded. Fear of endless suffering turned even the most faithful to whispers in the night, and soon enough, she appeared again. In each house she visited, the dying found peace, and the Accabadora left without a word. Her presence became an unspoken ritual, a dark sacrament that all knew yet dared not acknowledge.

    For Elena, life grew darker still. Weeks passed since Nino’s death, but the shadow of the Accabadora loomed over her. She would see glimpses of black in the distance, or hear a whisper of cloth brushing against the stones outside her home. But whenever she turned, the street would be empty, and the silence would return.

    One night, as she was sitting by the fire, the sound of faint footsteps echoed outside her door. Heart pounding, she peered through the window, but no one was there. A strange chill clung to the air, thick with the scent of earth and decay, and she hurried back inside, bolting the door.

    The Accabadora, it seemed, had not finished her work in Ghilosu.

    Chapter 3: Shadows in the Dark

    As winter closed in, the illness claimed more lives, and every death seemed to pull the village deeper into despair. But one thing was different this time: people were starting to die even without asking for the Accabadora’s aid. Children found their grandparents dead in bed; husbands returned to find their wives gone, a cold stillness hanging in the air. The Accabadora was no longer summoned—she was coming of her own accord.

    The village was gripped by fear, and even Father Tommaso found himself doubting his warnings. He had seen too many unnatural deaths, too many inexplicable occurrences. He resolved to confront her, to rid the village of her shadow once and for all.

    Late one night, he made his way to the church, praying fervently as he lit the candles around the altar. His voice shook as he called out, “Accabadora, show yourself! If you are a spirit of mercy, prove yourself now. Show your purpose, or begone from this place!”

    Silence met his words. But then, a flicker of movement caught his eye. He turned, heart pounding, as the candles dimmed, and there, standing in the shadowed corner of the church, was the Accabadora.

    Her dark form was outlined by the faint light, her presence an oppressive weight that made it hard for him to breathe. She lifted a single, bony finger to her lips in a gesture of silence, and Father Tommaso felt the words die in his throat.

    “Why do you bring death unbidden?” he forced out, though his voice was barely more than a whisper.

    Her head tilted slightly, as if considering him, and in that moment he felt a deep, chilling understanding. She was not bound by mercy or summons any longer; she had come for the suffering that ran through Ghilosu itself, and she would not leave until every drop had been sated.

    Father Tommaso fell to his knees as the Accabadora stepped forward. Her hollow eyes glimmered with an otherworldly light as she lifted her hand toward him.

    Chapter 4: A Final Bargain

    Days later, Father Tommaso was found dead in the church, his face frozen in a look of horror. The village was gripped by terror, and even those who had once whispered their thanks to the Accabadora now cursed her presence. They gathered at Elena’s home, desperate and afraid.

    “We need to send her away,” one villager said, clutching her shawl tightly. “If she is no longer a spirit of mercy, then she must be banished!”

    But none dared to speak the words aloud. Finally, Elena, who had been listening quietly, nodded. “I will go to her,” she whispered. “She took Nino when I asked, but now I must ask her to leave us in peace.”

    Alone, Elena ventured into the hills that night, heart pounding as she climbed toward the old ruins where, according to legend, the Accabadora dwelled. The wind howled through the stones, and the cold was biting as she reached the peak.

    There, silhouetted against the moonlight, was the cloaked figure of the Accabadora.

    Elena’s voice trembled, but she forced herself to speak. “Please, leave us. You have taken enough. I beg of you, release us from this suffering.”

    The Accabadora turned, and for the first time, Elena saw her face, an ageless mask, both ancient and ageless, hollow eyes boring into her soul. Elena fell to her knees, feeling the weight of lifetimes of suffering, pain, and sorrow pour into her mind.

    But the Accabadora’s gaze softened, as if recognizing Elena’s plea. Slowly, the woman reached out, placing a single, cold finger on Elena’s forehead. In that touch, Elena felt the weight of the deaths the Accabadora had granted, the mercy and the horror bound together in a single dark act. And then, without a word, the figure faded into the night.

    Epilogue

    The following morning, the air in Ghilosu felt lighter, the sense of dread lifting as if it had been a bad dream. The villagers resumed their lives, the sickness faded, and the name of the Accabadora was spoken only in hushed tones, a story left to the past.

    Elena, however, felt forever changed. She knew that while the Accabadora had left, her shadow lingered. She had glimpsed something that night—an understanding of death and mercy beyond what words could convey. And sometimes, when the night was especially dark and quiet, she would sense a faint presence at her side, a silent reminder that mercy and darkness could never be separated, for they walked hand in hand in the silence of the night.