Deep within the dense forest and winding by‑ways of Trinidad, there lurk spirits unlike any other. These are the Douen, sometimes called Duenns, the lost children who never received baptism and now wander between the worlds of the living and the dead. Their presence is whispered in every rustle of leaves, every shadow that stretches across a moonlit path, and every sound of laughter or crying that seems too eerie to be ordinary. The Douen are immediately recognizable, yet profoundly unsettling. They have no faces, only a small, round mouth through which they whisper, call, or sometimes wail. Their feet