Meet The Mind Behind This Story Based In Black Folklore
It’s always inspiring to see an artist push beyond boundaries, and break new ground in other mediums. Brooklyn-based artist Barrington Brissett is already on as a painter, and you can catch his murals, and his extensive body of work in a gallery near you throughout NYC. While his work as a visual artist is astounding, it was his writing ability that caught our eye this time around though.
Brissett recently penned a short story named “Black Baptism”, a horror-adjacent tale that incorporates black folklore throughout. The cool part about this story is, if you’re hip to his paintings, you can see the thread that connects it all together. Whether he’s getting his ideas off on a canvas, or a page, Barrington wants black people to feel seen and valued, often referring to his art as a love letter to his culture.
We’ll stop yapping now and introduce the artist, then premiere the story below. Tune in.
Can you introduce yourself and let us know a bit about you as an artist?
My name is Barrington Brissett and I am a Brooklyn based Artist and Writer of Jamaican descent. While I am a self-taught painter, I studied English, literature, and film in undergrad, which has impacted both my writing and art. Whether through my writing or paintings, my goal through my art is to share black stories that I believe deserves to be recognized.
“One of the consequences of colonization is that black people lost part of their identity and culture.”
Without giving it away, can you let us know your inspiration behind writing this story?
My inspiration behind my story is to pay homage to black spirituality. One of the consequences of colonization is that black people lost part of their identity and culture. Black folklore, spiritual practices, and beliefs are not as prevalent in modern black culture.
Do you intend on extending or adapting this short story into something else down the line, or are you satisfied with it as a short story?
Yes, my plan one day is to adapt this short story into a book, where I can expand on the lore that I have alluded to in these short pages.
Black Baptism
Story and Artwork by Barry Brissett
The moon peers across the stars, casting her gaze over a murky still lake. The ambience is interrupted by a body clashing onto the surface of the water, breaking its stillness with ripples. The lake catches the body and lifts it back to the surface. A boy emerges from the water. His dark skin glistens under the luminescence. Water drips from his short tightly coiled hair as his soaked clothes clings to his body.
He shivers and pants as onlookers point and laugh. They are larger boys, teens, but with complexions as pale as the moon above their heads. One of the spectators on the shore marches through the water toward him, violently splashing and thrusting his torso to clear a path, forcing his way through the lake’s body. The black boy wades through the water. Still dazed by his tumble, he struggles to find footing, unable to navigate the rocky terrain under his feet. Before he can get too far, he is yanked by his collar like a mutt. The pale teen grips the black boy’s throat with a firm hand and shoves his head into the lake. The black boy’s arm flails above the surface as the rest of his body is forcefully baptised.
The white teen pulls the black boy back to the surface.
“Please,st-” But before he can finish his sentence, he is dunked again. The white teen submerges the boy’s head with a grievous expression. He watches the army of bubbles gather on the surface of the water as the black boy’s arms swing wildly through the air. The teen pulls the boy to the surface again. The boy quickly tries to catch his breath, then pleads for the teen to stop. Ignoring his plea the white teen submerges the boy’s head into the water once again. This time he does not pull him back up and keeps him under for a prolonged amount of time. The lake slaps the white teen in the face repeatedly as the black boy frantically splashes. The white audience cheers. The black boy squirms until he manages to tear at the older boy’s forearms, his nails sinking into the pale flesh and peeling it like an orange. The white teen winces as he forfeits his grip on his captive. Returning to the surface the black boy coughs and wheezes, his tears are indistinguishable from the water racing down his face.
The black boy, still trying to catch his breath, creates some distance between him and his tormentor. He watches the pale face bully rub his wounds, flaring his nostrils, and clenching his jaw. The white teen slowly prowls through the water with even more vicious eyes than before.
The black boy attempts to flee again. The crowd of prepubescent teens at the shore notices his retreat, and follows him on the land. The black boy races against his tormentors on land and is chased by another in the lake. The surface tension of the water slows the white teen down, but unfortunately has the same effect on the black boy.
The white teens on the shore are not weighed down by her heavy body and reach the other side of the lake before their prey can make it out, leaving him trapped. Frozen in place, the black boy nervously swerves his head back and forth, unsure of which party he should keep his attention on. All the boys are at standstill, the lake is quiet, but the tension fills the silence.
The stand still is broken as one the teens on the shore picks up a stone and hurls it at the black boy, walloping him on the shoulder, making him stumble backwards. This incites a sinister smile in the other teens, soon they all scramble looking for sizable stones. The bully in the lake swishes his hands in the belly of the water searching for a stone. The lake tries to conceal her property under her murky surface, but the white teen is persistent as he finds the optimal rock, a fat chunk of earth that can barely be contained in his palm. He winds his arm back, ready to launch his stone, while the other boys draw theirs. The black boy kneels and shelters the back of his head beneath his palms. He watches as the white teens launch the stone toward him. The boy closes his eyes and awaits his biblical punishment. After several seconds he grows suspicious from the absence of impact and the lack of follow up pelting. He peers through one eye, and slightly lifts his head. His white tormentor stands still, silent and bewildered. The sinister looks in their blue eyes have been replaced with dread.
“Fuck, fuck, i didn’t…” The white teen in the lake stumbles over his words. One of the teens on land drops his rock and starts to run away, the others quickly follow. Confused, the black boy watches them flee.
“Fuck! Wait!” The white teen yells as he hastefully makes his way to the shore. Stumbling repeatedly, the lake trips him every chance she gets. Refusing to look back at the black boy, he thrashes in the water until gets to land, and makes his speedy getaway.
Left alone, the black boy stands in the waist high water, baffled and soaking. The clouds briefly intercept the moon, casting a shadow over the entire lake. The clouds eventually pass, dispersing the shade that laid atop the lake’s body. However there is still a shadow cast over where the boy is standing. The boy notices the lone shadow looming over him, and as he looks at his reflection in the water, he sees a large figure behind him. His eyes widen, and his breathing intensifies. He slowly turns his head. He is met by a tall man, in a black pinstripe suit, large top hat with skulls circling the base of it and holding a large cane, he is completely dry. He has grey pale skin, long silver locs, a white skull painted on his face, and foggy white eyes peering downward at the boy. His eyes glow in the shadow casted by his brim, just as the moon is glowing in the grim sky.
The boy trembles as the terrifying entity towers over him. His lip quivers and as his eyes tear up. The tall man reaches toward the boy, slowly extending his overtly long and skinny limb. Firmly planted in the lake, too scared to move, to make a sound, to even breathe, the boy watches as the man’s hand lands on his shivering, wet shoulder. The man’s palm is heavy, but surprisingly warm, almost comforting. For a moment the boy’s shivering ceases, and the pain in his shoulder subsides.
This calmness is swiftly broken as the boy recoils from the man’s touch and rushes the shore. As he sprints through the lake, hyperventilating, he looks over his shoulder, expecting to be chased. To his surprise, the tall man hasn’t moved, he isn’t even staring at the boy, he just continues to peer at the spot he once stood in. However, the man abruptly and stiffly turns his neck, like a hand moving on a clock, the boy is now in his line of sight. The boy shrieks as he finally makes his way out of the lake and into the grove of trees. He looks back at the man one more time, noticing he still hasn’t left the lake.
The boy enters the grove of trees, leaving the safety of the moonlight, and traveling into shadowy terrain. He runs nonstop until his chest hurts. Placing one hand on a tree and another on his knee, the boy coughs and wheezes while hunched over, taking a well deserved break. After panting for several seconds, he hears a branch snap. He quickly lifts his head and scans the dark woods. He pans his head until he notices two glowing white spheres of light in the distance. They are tiny, but their radiance cuts through the shadows cast by the trees. Startled, he quickly stands up straight, and profusely squints his eyes to decipher what he’s looking at.
The glowing white spheres inch closer to the boy, causing him to take a few steps backwards. They halt in front of a beam of moonlight, shooting from between the trees. The floating spheres have lost some of their radiance without the cover of darkness. Their shape has become much more visible. The boy realizes that they are not just spheres though, they are eyes, white foggy eyes, attached to a hardly visible face. But visibility wasn’t needed for the boy to know what stood before him.
The boy’s brown eyes widen as his jaws and hands tremor. His mouth opens as wide as his eyes, but he is unable to utter a single word, outside releasing barely audible gasps. He sprints in the opposite direction once more. He dashes through the woods, weaving between the large trees.He refuses to look back, only concentrating on the path before him. However once again the glowing white foggy eyes appear in front of him in the distance.
“Fuck! Fuck!” He yells, finally able to pass words. He stops in his tracks and changes directions again.
The wet boy treks through this nightmare garden, his heart beating violently, ready to burst through his chest. Holding back his tears, he constantly looks over his shoulder, wary of the white eyes. He trips over an unruly root sticking out of the ground, and faceplants into the patchy grass. The boy groans as he raises his head. Right before his eyes are well groomed black dress shoes, and the bottom of a cane. Despite being surrounded by dirt and grass, the shoes are spotless. The boy’s head tilts upwards. The shoes are connected to an equally clean black pinstripe suit. The boy continues to tilt his head up until he once again sees the white foggy eyes, peering down at him.
The boy whimpers as he lays at the feet of the dapper ghoul. Too exhausted and frightened to face the creepy white eyed figure, the boy scurries away. After taking several steps he is met with a loud splash. He looks down to find himself in the river again, yards away from the trees he scampered around.
“Wha-how did-” the boy questions. He quickly turns around to find the tall man towering over him once more.
“Pl…ple..please, please, whatever you’re doing, please jus, c’mon, jus stop.” the boy pleads, in a defeated tone. He extends his arm outward with his palm open, gesturing for the man to keep his distance. His hand trembles as he takes a step back. Staring intently at the boy, the man shakes his head no.
“Pleeeeaaase..please… I’m begging you, jus, jus leave me alone.” he repeats as his voice breaks, taking another step backward. The tall man shakes his head no once more.
“Whyyyy, wh-” the boy’s sentence and backward pacing is interrupted by something bumping into his rear. He is hesitant to turn his back on the man in the suit, until he notices a dark red residue spreading in the water through his peripheral. Nervously, he peeks over his shoulder. He sees the lower half of a floating body behind him. The pants that the body is wearing looks familiar, too familiar. He quickly turns around to get a better look with his back fully facing the tall man.
The lake presents the boy with a floating body that is an identical replica of his, from the hairs on his head to clothes he’s hearing. The body is surrounded by a pool of blood, mixing with the water. There is a strong concentration of blood found on the collar. The boy follows the trail of blood up the neck, and the side of the face, leading him to a severe gash on the temple. The boy peers into the body’s lifeless eyes..into his own eyes. He waits for the red stained eyes to blink but they never do.
He turns to the tall man. “The fuck is this!?” the boy yells, his fearful tone has been replaced with angst and anger. The man doesn’t respond and continues to stare silently.
“I said the fuck is this!?” The boy repeats himself. Once again he is met with silence. The boy clenches his fist and stares angrily at the man. Unable to meet the man’s gaze a few moments prior, the boy exchanges stares with the white foggy eyes. There he notices something that his fear wouldn’t let him see before. The man’s eyes lack animosity, they are gentle, but hold a hint of sadness. They carry both longing and a calmness.
The boy’s eyes are engulfed in the white fog, his gaze held hostage by these perplexing eyes. The boy’s sharp glare subsides and his fist unclenches, he stares at the man for several more seconds before pulling himself out this unspoken conversation between eyes.
“You-you didn’t do this did you?” the boy asks. The man shakes his head no.
“And that’s really me isn’t it.” the boy asks another question, gesturing to the corpse. The man shakes his head yes.
The boy sighs, tears begin to stream down his face as he stares at his reflection, he notices tiny specs of white light in each of his own eyes. “You’re here to take me, aren’t you?” the boy sniffles as he looks up at the man. The man nods yes. “My Grandmama used to tell me stories about you. Your Pap-”
The tall man interrupts the boy by placing his index finger over his lip. The boy immediately stops talking. While staring at the nicely groomed man the boy sees twinkles of lights coming from the dark woods. He looks past the man and realizes there are other white eyes peeking from the shadows cast by surrounding trees. The population of these white eyes steadily multiply. He can vaguely see the figures that the eyes are attached to. The figures walk closer to the edge of the grove, but remain in the safety of the shadows. The boy cannot vividly see their faces, but he notices their clothes, they are outdated by several decades. While he is surprised by all these eyes focused on him, his face lacks fear.
“Are they your people?” the boy asks. The man shakes his head no and then points at the boy. He stares at the man’s finger, confused for a moment, until the weight of this gesture lands on the boy’s head like an anvil.
“Them too, huh?” The boy chuckles as his eyes well up once more. Waves of sorrow wash down the boy’s cheeks. After a while the boy dries his eyes. He takes one last look at his floating corpse, then turns to the tall man.
“Ok.” the boy says with a tragic smile, and opens his arms wide. The man reciprocates the smile, with a tragic one of his own, and walks into the boy’s embrace. The boy’s arms wrap around the man’s slender waist. He cradles the boy’s head against his sternum, and lightly strokes his hair. After several seconds the pair end their embrace. The boy holds the man’s hand, and they walk further into the lake. Simultaneously the white eyes watching them retreat further into the woods until they disappear. The pair continue to walk through the lake, the water rises up their body the further they walk, until they are fully submerged. Bubbles break through the surface of the water, then settle.
There is no motion, the moonlight casts her gaze once again over a still lake, this time with a body floating in the center of it. The lake cradles the boy’s body under the moon’s watch, his empty eyes staring directly at her brilliance.
