Archive for January, 2012


I am no poet but reading @DrealGenie’s first poem kinda encouraged me to bring out the little ‘rubbishes’ I’ve always written and saved in a dark place. Well…enjoy (I’d use that term loosely)


She was no poet.
She cried in frustration as she tried
to string words together.
Like badly strewn beads,
The clitter clattered to the floor.
Delete. Delete.
She punched the delete key
In frustration.

She is no poet.
She cries in frustration as she tries.
But try,
She never stops trying.



Every incision for every syllable in your name
Every drop of blood, a testament to your shame.
I’m your lover and your executioner.
Quicken the smouldering embers of hate
I’m nothing but the tool of fate.
Karma is a bitch.
You really should have remembered, you snitch.



It exists yet, does not exist.
Why then did we give something non-existent a name?
The god of numbers.
No matter how huge, it would divide it
And produce a replica of itself,
Another Zero.
Yet, nothing can divide Zero.
Impossible! The mathematicians would cry
A perfect circle.
The blackhole.
No positives, No negatives.
Single, lone entity
What is Zero?
Why is Zero, Zero?
Why then the need,
To create a Zero?


That’s it!
What do you think? X_X

Invasion (Reblogged)

This was the story i wrote at for their Halloween series special last year. Most have read but if you haven’t, well here it is!


I feel the bed suddenly depress with her weight and my heart beat spikes up. Slowly and surely, her cold, moist hands travel across my skin. It works its magic and I’m instantly paralysed, save my mouth, open in a silent appeal, darkness hiding my roving eyes. My flesh erupts in chill bumps as I feel her cold breath travelling across my face. I must not squirm. She might get angry. With that soft lilting voice I know very well, she whispers warnings into my ears. Be silent. Remember your dad? Do you want a repeat? Ofcourse I remember. How could I ever forget? In my blind panic, I had ignored all her warnings and called out to my dad the first time I felt that invasive coldness clamp down on me. He had rushed in, alarm written all over his face. Of course he wearily chalked my explanation down to a bad dream, berating me for almost waking my step-mum and her baby. “Go to sleep” he had muttered as he left me. I had closed my eyes, wanting to believe his explanation; that is until the same voice whispered into my ears promising me severe punishment for my insolence.

How could I forget the look of dejection on my step-mother’s face as she told me in a hushed tone, about my father’s death the week after? I cried myself empty that night and went to bed in a daze. I didn’t even notice her presence until the paralysis had set in. I listened in anguish as she told me how she killed my dad; how she used her cold hands to strangle him as he was driving; how she taunted him as he jerked, foaming from his lips. “It is your entire fault. Why did you call your daddy? Didn’t I warn you?” She bought my silence that day. How could I ever forget?

She leaves me and I stare unseeingly at the dark room, tears rolling off my eyes. Has it really been three months since then? It feels like three years. Another piece of my mind has been stolen; every attack chipping away at my sanity. How long before I finally descend into madness? Is that her intention? Would she leave me alone then? I shut my eyes, praying for a dreamless sleep and morning; the former, a wish never granted.


“Kambili I’ve decided we need to get out of Lagos for a while. Not really an ideal environment with his burial still fresh in our minds.” my step mum quips as we watch TV in the living room.

My mouth opens to counter but I sigh as every impending argument dies on my lips. I took her husband away from her. She is dealing with grief, nursing a baby and rearing a teenage step-daughter.  She does need a change of scenery. Guilt bores a deep hole into my psyche.

“You people are on long vacation in school so it’s no problem. We’d be back from Ihembosi before you resume in SS2.”

“Yes ma” I whisper.

She waits a beat, then sighs.

“If you don’t want to go, its fine. You could stay at a friend’s place…”

I protest immediately.

It’s fine. I’d go. I even manage a small smile.

My smile dies as soon as she mentions visiting my real aunt. “Do I have to?”

“It would be unfair if we went back and you didn’t see your mother’s people since your aunt lives in the next town.”

I do not like visiting my aunt. All she did was gossip the last time I travelled with my dad. But, who am I to complain? All my fault.

“Ok.” I mutter.


The sound of Guilt, carving another notch.


The road is slick with blood. Dead bodies lay strewn on asphalt. Moving cars help to dismember and mash up body parts. Why are they being so thoughtless? The driver stops the car and I wish he hadn’t. We need to move out of here. One of the bodies lying gets up and starts to move towards us. My eyes widen in horror. I tap my step-mum beside me. She’s sleeping. I try to wake the driver to no avail. Why won’t they wake up? Something’s coming! Suddenly there’s a tap at my window. I turn and scream in fright at the face looming, empty eye sockets boring into me.

“O gini!”

I open my eyes sharply. The car hasn’t stopped. No one is sleeping. There is no one at my window.

“Bad dream” I mutter, wiping my eyes. My step-mum looks at me worriedly.


I nod and settle back into the seat. The face at the window in my dream doesn’t leave my mind; My mother. She died in an accident along this road three years ago.


I sigh.


Just when the journey to the village was getting exciting.


“Nno nu o!” My step grandmother screams excitedly as she sees our car coming into the compound. For the first time since my dad died, I see my second mum give a genuine smile. I stand by the car, watching as Mama dotes on her child and grandchild. I feel slightly jealous as I watch the reunion.

“Nwa m kedu?” Mama finally says to me, motioning me to come closer. She hugs me perfunctorily and goes back to her grandbaby.

“Ngwa, the driver would take you to your Aunty Njide’s place. You should be there in an hour tops. Greet her for me. I’ve kept some bread, banana and groundnut in the car for her so make sure you give It to her. I’d come pick you up later”

I nod at her instructions. I understand. There’s no place for me here; at least not yet. The driver comes into the car and we drive off.


“Nne wake up. Teta!”

I mutter sleepily at my aunt’s insistent voice. Can’t I just get one quiet night’s sleep?

“O nwere ndi obia choro I hu gi. You have visitors”

“Visitors aunty? This night?” I say struggling to sit up.

“Osiiso nne.”

“Ok” I say, yawning, rubbing sleep off my eyes as I follow her to the sitting room. I’m greeted by the sight of four women. They look familiar but I hardly know them.

They all stare at me in silence.

“Nno nu” I whisper, sitting down warily, sleep suddenly vanishing from my eyes.

My aunt breaks the ice.

“When last did your mother pay you a night visit?”

My eyes widen at the question. My mouth goes dry and I lick my lips to moisten them.

“ know?”

They all laugh quietly.

“Ofcourse we know!” One of the women whispered fiercely. “She’s our sister.”

My heart pounds. Sweat gathers at my armpits and my hands shake nervously.

Their sister?

My mum had only one sister, Njideka.

They all smile at me and suddenly, I feel tendrils of fear crawling down my spine, settling uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach.

I swallowed.

“What does she want from me? She’s dead. Why is she tormenting me? What does she do to me! Why did she kill my dad? Weren’t they married?”

“Tormenting kwa?” One of them intoned.

“Your dad was a fool! Because of him, she never became the priestess. She hated him!” another added.

“Your mother was killed by that woman you now call step mother! Through you, shall her revenge come!” Njideka’s voice whispered fiercely.

My head spins in confusion, trying to take all the information in.

“M..My step mum Sylvia?”

They nod their heads furiously.

Confusion clouds my mind.

“But..but..she’s nice..and…”

“Taa! Can’t you see she’s just fooling you! She’s evil and she must be destroyed!”

Beads of sweat roll down my face. What am I getting myself into?

Aunty offers me a cup and I accept hesitantly. I smell it and wrinkle my face in disgust. I give her back the cup. “Sorry aunty but I can’t drink. I don’t like the smell and I’m not sure what you people want from me”

Without a word, the women surround me, holding me forcefully as my aunt squeezes my mouth open and pours the drink down my throat. Spluttering in revulsion, I rise up to leave when my limbs suddenly go numb. My tongue feels swollen and every attempt to talk proves futile. Only my eyes show my growing depth of disbelief and fear.

Two of them quickly undress me while the others set up the living room with lighted candles and incenses in small clay pots. With practiced hands, my aunt ties palm fronds around my head, hands and feet. She dips her fingers into a clay pot and sprinkles its content on me. She clears her throat and the other women gather around me, each holding down a limb.

“Nne anyi! Adamma! Agbara mmiri! Oke nwanyi! Oji anya ahu uzo! Lekwa ya. Nwata a choro iwere onodu nne ya. Nara ya nne anyi!”

I feel cold permeating my naked skin. My aunt dips her hand into another pot and smears my eyes shut with a mushy substance. I can’t open them. My ears pick up the voices of the women intoning their prayers. I feel pressure on my wrist. A cut. “Ire gi” my aunt commands to other women.

I feel her hand squeeze at the opening wound routinely. I catch a whiff of incense cloying in the air. Its acrid stench burn my throat but I cannot cough out.

My aunt suddenly screams.

“Nneka! Nneka! Bia! Biaba! Bia! Uzo yere oye!”  Come. The door is open

These words chill me to the marrow. Why are they calling her? They shouldn’t! What door is open?

After several minutes of calling, my fears are realized. I hear her. I hear my aunt greet her sister.

“Nno nwanne. Ngwa banye” Welcome sister. Now, enter.

Banye? Enter where? The hairs on my neck are raised in alarm at the cold familiar feeling on my skin. I can’t even struggle effectively. Their hold upon my limbs are vice-like


Why this!

Why me!

I feel the descending darkness quickly wrap me in its embrace and I lose consciousness.


I’m afraid.

My step mum came to pick me up the next afternoon and I was reluctant to follow her.

I’m afraid for her.

My aunt told me earlier that I’m now one of them. Agbara nwanyi accepted me. Spilling her secret is death.

I’m afraid of myself.

Evening slowly matures into night and my feelings of fear and trepidation increase in folds. My stomach is in knots. My nerves have been woven together and stretched like strings. I’ve refused to carry my baby brother three times now. What would happen when I have him in my arms? I cannot risk that. Grandma has asked me if I’m alright several times and my answer remains the same.

Yes, yes I’m ok.

“Goodnight mama”

“Laru ofuma nwa m” Sleep well, child.

“Goodnight ma”

“Night my dear”

I slowly walk to my designated room and lay down.

I’m determined not to sleep.

My body begs to differ.


“Kambili. Its time.” My heart leaps. Did I just speak? I find myself getting up. Wait! Wait! What am I doing? Why am I moving? I try to control my movement. It is futile. Fear and confusion swamps me. I try to scream but my vocal chords refuse to function. Like a puppet in the hands of its puppeteer, I move.

No! Wait! Where am I going? Why is my body betraying me?

I trudge into the kitchen unwillingly and straight to the knife cupboard. My fingers grasp the hilt of a knife.

Stop it!

I hear her laughing in my head and the realisation of my plight dawns on me as I walk past the living room into a bedroom where a woman and her baby lay asleep on the bed.

Mummy please stop! This is madness! Mummy!

My slim hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of the knife, I tip toed to the room. The door is open and I can see the woman and child inside by the light of the lamp. The baby is barely an arm length away from her. It is a small bed, and easy to reach from the far side. My feet makes quiet contact with the ground as I approach the favourable side of the bed.

It’s an innocent baby! My brother! Somto! Please! Not me please!

The baby moves suddenly as though in the throes of a bad dream, and I strike!

The knife plunges into the soft flesh above the child’s chest. I find new strength to push it further and I feel the knife graze horridly against the soft bones.

Jesus! Jesus! Oh my God!

I repeat the action as the baby gasps painfully and makes a terrible noise before keeping quiet. By the time my step mum is awake, her child looks like fleshy rags. Her eyes open wide in terror at the sight. Her hand instinctively reaches for her baby and draws back instantly at the feel of raw flesh and blood. She looks up at me, dazed. Her mind has still not understood that I did not only come for the baby.

Forgive me!

Forgive me!

“Kambili! Blood of Jesus!” she seems to collect herself as she opens her mouth to begin screaming for help. I quickly jump on her while she was halfway off the bed, so that her upper body is off it while I straddle her at the waist….

“Mama! Mama! Biakwa! Mama!” she manages to scream as I try to muffle her scream.

My eyes are confessing my innocence, pleading release from my inner bondage even as I’m struggling to pin her struggling frame down.


Make it stop!

“Chineke! Kambili! O gini!” Mama screams as she enters into the room in haste. My hand feels for the knife which I dropped during the wrestle. My step mother bucks wildly, trying to gorge out my eyes with her fingers.

I feel something connect with my head and as I spin towards my grandma, brandishing a metallic flask, my step mum pushes me off her and I land on the floor. I feel her hold on me release for a moment but before I can seize control of my body, my step mum comes off the bed and lands on me.


“Ekwensu!” she screams in anguish as she lashes at my face with the ferocity of a wounded animal with her fists.

She doesn’t try to fight her, stretching my lips into a smile, laughing with my voice at her.

My grandma rushes out of the room, screaming for neighbours.

“Ekwensu! Satan! Satan!” She picks up a torch, replacing it with her fists.

She slams it with fury into my head and pain blooms, causing me to scream out in pain.

She’s left me!

“Aunty please! Its not me!” I cry out.

She doesn’t listen, pounding away.

I try to protect my head but I’m too weak.

Isn’t it better to die?

“Ekwensu! Ekwensu!”

My vision dims and with the image of her, mouth pulled in a shriek, hair scattered holding a bloodied torch, I release my hold on consciousness.


Hope you enjoyed that!

I’ve got great plans for this story…GREAT ONES. All i can say for now is “Wait for the printed version!” 😀


She admired her dapper self quickly in the mirror one last time, even as she heard her mother scream for her to ‘Hurry up and move!’. Something about her beating the traffic. She smiled to herself, patting her newly braided hair unnecessarily and smoothening the pleats on the skirt of her new school uniform.
Off to boarding school.
She chuckled and ran out of the room.
For the first time since they- her family- moved houses, she was happy about the change. Leaving Festac behind and relocating to V.I had hit her hard; her school friends, neighbours, swimming club friends. At least they still went to church every Sunday there. Not like they had a choice, seeing as her dad was one of the Pastors there. The good thing about moving was that for the first time, she was going to become a ‘boarder’. And it was not just any school, it was Princess College! One of the most prestigious all-girls school in the state. She had called Timi, her bestfriend to share the good news last week. Remembering their conversation suddenly dampened her mood as she got into the back seat of the Peugot 505 with one of her luggages.
‘Boarder?? At Princess College??’
‘Yeah! It’s so cool abi!’
‘What is hmm now. You’re supposed to be happy for me.’
‘I am, I am, babe. It’s just that i heard something about that college…’
‘What? Their standard of education is really good and…’
‘I know that. I applied there after primary school remember?’
‘So what is it then?’
‘I heard stuff about witches and stuff in their hostel at night. And at certain times of the month stuff like..’
‘Abeg abeg abeg! Don’t tell me you believe that Madam Koi Koi rubbish. Or Bush baby stories. Those are primary school ghost stories jo!’
‘Hmm..Ok o. Sha be careful there Geebee. Pray o.’
‘Yeah yeah..’
‘Gbemi don’t yeah yeah o. I’m serious….’

Of course she was serious.
She scoffed in her head as she waved to her little brother until they disappeared out of sight.
She settled back in her seat. She was going to be alright. After all, she was the daughter of a Pastor.

“…there are two bunks free in Newton house. I’d advice you to take the one beside me. The other is near the toilet!”
Gbemi smiled and nodded.
“Thank you Senior.”
The Senior laughed.
“No need for formalities in here. Only on school premises. You can call me Amanda.”
‘No need for Senior! This school too cool gaan!’ she thought.
“Ok Se…Amanda”
Amanda smiled at her sweetly.
“Welcome to Princess College.”

Gbemi allowed the mass of students streaming from the Grand Hall to carry her along while she thought about the announcement the Principal just made. A student apparently ran away from the hostel. The Principal sounded furious; she had the right to. She wondered why anyone in their right mind would leave the school. It wasn’t like the living conditions were bad. The punishments could be a bit severe she agreed especially coming from the Matron but still!
“All these ajebo kids sha. Small thing they run away. Abeg!” she muttered under her breath.
Someone tapped her shoulder and she turned.
“Ama..I mean Senior” she smiled sheepishly.
“You were frowning before. Are you Ok?” Amanda asked.
“Yes. Yes I’m fine. Just what Princi said…”
“Oh about the girl than ran away? They do that a lot.”
Gbemi’s eyes widened.
“Yeah. Some just miss their families i guess.” she said and shrugged.
“Anyway, don’t let me delay you. What do you have now?”
“Oh with that perv Mr Abidemi!” Amanda chuckled. “Goodluck with him. I’m glad i dropped that subject! If you need any help though you can always meet me during Prep time.”
“Really! Thanks!”
Amanda smiled indulgently “Anyway. See you later!”
She wriggled her fingers and left.
Gbemi tried to imitate her finger-wriggling. If this were her former school, she would have taken Amanda to be her school mother. They didn’t do that kind of stuff here. She had asked Nengi, her new friend. She said it was old-fashioned. The Seniors didn’t bully so there was no use for that, apparently.
Gbemi shrugged and continued walking to her class.
“All these cool kids sha.” she murmured. She couldn’t wait to gist Timi when she went back home on Mid-term break.

Everybody was tensed.
Gbemi could feel it. She could see it infact. Even Amanda the most docile person she knew snapped at one of the Junior starter girls (calling them J1 girls was ‘old-fashioned’ too) in their room, driving her to tears.
“Na wa o” she whispered conspiratorially to her reading partner in the Prep hall. “Is anything happening? This one everyone is just boning anyhow anyhow”
Judith sighed and dropped her pretense of reading.
“Don’t you know the date? It’s Friday 13th.”
Gbemi stared. “…Erm so?”
Judith looked at her, amazed.
“What! Talk jo! What’s wrong with Friday 13th?”
“Well…the crux of the matter is that bad things happen apparently.”
Gbemi looked at her incredulously.
“You people believe all that superstition nonsense?”
She hissed and went back to her reading.
“It’s not superstition…Ok maybe it is but it’s serious Gbemi!”
Gbemi laughed.
“Don’t make me laugh abeg. Let’s read. Today might be Friday 13th, but next Monday is 16th and we have an ‘End of the year’ test then!”
Judith stared at her.
“Fine.” she whispered.

Well bad things did happen, though she wasn’t sure it was on the scale of what Judith…and the rest expected.
First, the dinner was burnt. Then, some girl sprained her ankle and had to be rushed to the clinic. Worst of all, the generator became faulty; light flickering, unstable. There was an unnatural sense of quiet in the rooms. She had approached Amanda for help with her revision and luckily, she was in the mood to oblige her. Was it her imagination or had Amanda been looking sad? On top this Friday matter? O ga o! Their unease had leached into her.
She admitted this as she tossed and turned on the bed, unable to sleep.
Because of the power outage, the whole boarding house was plunged into darkness.
Her ears were picking up every sound. It was a little windy outside and an unlatched window kept banging at the side of the wall infrequently. The roof creaked a little as a particularly huge gust of wind blew.
She heard other sounds too; even one that sounded like a muffled sob. Probably a J1 girl missing home.
The hair at the nape of her neck suddenly rose and she shivered.
Was her mind playing tricks on her or did she suddenly feel eyes, staring…boring into her through the darkness?
She shuddered and chastised herself. It was high time she made another attempt at sleeping.
She closed her eyes and took deep breaths. Her ears twitched at a sound and her eyes snapped open.
Her heart began to race.
She heard the door of the bathroom open and close and she sighed, releasing the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.
The toilet flushed a few seconds later. Someone was just using the loo. She hissed under her breath.
‘Friday the 13th ko. Sunday the 14th ni.’ she thought.
She closed her eyes and once again, they snapped open. She could clearly hear it.
From behind.
Her body tensed and her hands gripped her sheets in fear. She felt sweat beading on her forehead and armpits.
‘Turn!’ Her mind screamed at her but she was afraid to make any moves.
She felt cold hands touch her exposed arm and she yelped, jumping and hitting her head on the bunk.

“Oh my God I’m sorry!” A voice whispered.
It was Amanda.
Gbemi’s heartbeat thundered in her chest. She swallowed hard to moisten her suddenly dry mouth.
“No problem.” She said hoarsely.
“Sorry for disturbing your sleep…but please..can…you..?”
Amanda stopped and swallowed a sob.
She was the one crying? Gbemi became worried.
“You’re crying! What happened? Are you ok?”
She didn’t answer but Gbemi heard her sniff and wipe her nose.
“Yes. Just.please follow the bathroom.”
Gbemi’s eyebrows raised in the darkness.
“Yes..I’m..I’m afraid of the dark” Amanda answered in a small voice.
She almost laughed out harshly at the ridiculous request.
Afraid of the dark? That’s why she’s crying? O ga o!
“Sure. No problem” she said getting up and donning her slippers.
She felt Amanda groping for her hand and she let her hold it. She could feel her sweaty palm holding on tight.
Counting the steps in her mind, Gbemi led her to the bathroom, opening the door ans instinctively reaching for the light switch. She remembered the outage and her hand fell. She hoped Amanda would not make her wait outside the stall as she did her business.

Suddenly, Amanda wrenched her hand away and forcefully pushed her into the dark bathroom.
She shrieked and tried to open the door, hands shaking with fury.
It was locked.
What kind of rubbish was this now!
She hit the door, screaming to be let out but no one was answering. She became angry and kicked the door repeatedly. Surely, the other girls would wake up with the racket.
No one did.
She sank down on her haunches, shivering. It had become chilly in there. And there was something about the darkness that unnerved her. That feeling of staring eyes came back and she shuddered, rubbing her arms brusquely.
From one of the toilet stalls.
She got up.
“Wh..who’s there?” She whispered.
More giggles answered her.
Her eyes struggled in vain to pierce the darkness.
It was complete.
Surrounding her.
Stiffling her.
She heard the squeak of the metal hinges and she knew whoever was inside was coming out.
“I’m covered by the Blood!” She whispered fiercely, her shaking voice belying her conviction.
“Are you?”
A voice whispered.
“Are you really covered?”
She shook.
“Yes! I rebuke you!”
A laughter.
Then silence.
“Rebuke me! As if!”

She felt clammy hands; numerous clammy hands hold her arms and legs.
“Leave me alone!” She screamed.
That laugh again, this time, very close to her ear.
“No.” The voice whispered.
She felt bile burning in her throat as the clammy hands clamp on her head, holding her head in place as one hand prised her mouth open. Tears of terror streaked down her face. Her bowels betrayed her.
A tiny hand shoved itseld down her throat and she wheezed in an attempt to breathe. White light danced across her eyes and her body jerked sporadically, a rictus of shock.
Darkness claimed her.

“….I’m most concerned madam. It would seem she ran away from the boarding house.”
Mrs Ganiyat’s eyes widened in fear.
“Why! Where would she go to now ehn! What is this!”
The Principal held her hands in commiseration.
“We are doing everything we can as a school, Madam. The police have been informed..”.
Mrs Ganiyat swallowed a sob, nodding.
Gbemisola? Run away? Eledumare!

Mrs Okonkwo turned in her chair as her office door opened. Three Senior students walked in and sat down. She smiled at them.
“Well…” She started rubbing her hands.
“When would be the next time?” One of the students asked.
“Whenever she gets hungry again. Who knows. In six months? A year? Tomorrow? Who knows?” she shrugged.
They nodded in silence.
The sacrifices they had to make to keep the school standing.
Amanda grimaced inwardly, remembering to leave a mask of unconcern on her face.
She had liked Gbemi. It was too bad her name came up. Even worse that she had to lead her to her death.
Mrs Okonkwo retrieved a basket from beneath her table, filled with white paper.
“So…the next name. Who would want to do us the honour?”
One of the three girls got up and plunged her hand into the sea of folded white papers, picking their next sacrificial lamb.

Not The End
Seems my block has been lifted. Praises. 🙂

This was a story i tweeted ‘on-the-go’ last year, for the only Pie Poet i know, @pieinstomach. It probably makes no sense and it is long and a little sexual so if you are having second thoughts now, this post isn’t for you.
For the curious who wish to continue reading, welcome. Hope you enjoy!


He was the best of them all, the créme of the society. His services as a Poet were being sought after. Nobles enlisted his help as entertainment on their feast days. Oh how he mocked them with words and how the laughed at themselves.  As every mortal is wont to be, the Pie poet got bored of his station. He got fed up of pandering to his patrons’ whims.

Twas brillig but no slithy toves gyred and gimbled. No. Just one poet, leaving town in the wee hours of the morn without warning. You see, he had come to possess a papyrus which had been left purposely for his perusal. It promised great things! Frabjous!
‘Seek for Her and Her riches where the Gazelle meets the Tiger. The Hunter would show you the way’ read the papyrus.  He had no idea who ‘Her’ referred to. He wasn’t overly awed by riches. He didn’t lack money. What he lacked was adventure. He went. Where the Gazelle met the Tiger could only be the drylands outside the city that was called the Gazelle. Tiger, a small river. He had no idea who or what the Hunter was but he was prepared to find out. With ample supplies of food and water, he set off on foot, turban hiding his face.

The food was almost running out. The water, lukewarm and tepid. He was at the meeting point. Where was the hunter? It had been three days already! On the fourth evening, hunger pangs crippling him, he wondered if he should give up on his so-called adventure and go home.
What was waiting for him at home anyway? Nothing. He decided it was better to die than go back to the Great City. He laid down, exhausted. He watched the skies turn from the dark orange of dusk, to a deep indigo of twilight.
That was when he saw it.
With his back on the ground, stones poking through layers of clothing, he saw the Hunter.
In the sky.
The stars.
Of course! With renewed energy he arose, and walked doggedly in the direction the Hunter’s arrow pointed. Surely he had passed the drylands. Shrubs began to crop up. Where there were shrubs, there would be animals. He became afraid but trodden on under the stars’ gaze. Shrubs became trees. And soon, his view of the skies was obstructed by them. He had never known any land like this existed! He walked on blindly, tensing at every sound he heard. He stumbled out quite abruptly into a clearing.

A magnificent castle. He paused,eyes wide in wonder at the building illuminated by the starry night. He walked to the giant double doors. He held the knocker. “Come in” a sultry voice said from inside the Castle before he knocked. The doors swung open. He stepped in warily. Had he found her?  Unlit lamps suddenly sprung to life, lighting his way. One door lay ahead, with soft light streaming from its hinges. He approached it. Again, before he pushed open the voice again commanded “Come in”. The door opened of its own accord. He gawked in disbelief. He could not believe his eyes. Everything was golden. From the chairs, to the tables…to the woman who sat, staring at him, smiling.

“The Pie Poet” she whispered, her voice like liquid gold to his ears. He shivered in awe. “Be welcome” She motioned him in.  He walked in, unable to speak, suddenly feeling like a speck of dirt in the presence of this opulent being. She rose and walked to him. He tensed as she stood in front of him. He wanted to shield his eyes. She was beautiful. Long golden hair, intense yellow pupils, Full yellow hued lips. He took in her attire, sheer transparent silk, barely covering up her body. He could see…everything. She was naked. He averted his eyes, staring at his reflection on the golden floor. He felt his intense arousal, his loose trousers suddenly tight. His eyes snapped up as he felt her touch on his chin. Her hand was surprisingly warm…for a golden woman.
“Be at ease” she whispered. He suddenly became drowsy, eyes dimming, drinking in the look of amusement in her yellow eyes before they closed. He felt weightless.

He awoke. His eyes widened in surprise. He was laying on a golden bed. His clothes were already taken off.
“Awake?” He turned around. There she was, sitting on the bed, staring intently at him. He quickly pulled the shimmering sheets over himself.
“Can’t you speak?”
He cleared his throat. “Of course I can”. His throat felt sore. She rose and walked to him, a cup suddenly in her hand. “Drink”.  He stared at the golden viscous liquid in the cup. He sniffed. Faint smell of citrus and honey. He drank and his eyes widened in wonder.
“Like?” She asked smiling. He nodded. She shook her head. “Speak”.
“Yes. Lovely.” She grinned widely and suddenly laughed. He watched her, confused. The heaving of her chest as she laughed shifted her silk gown slightly. A golden nipple peeked shyly at him. He could not stop his eyes from roving, imagining just what she looked like without the gown. His member rose in awe and he shifted uncomfortably to shield his embarrassing body.
She stopped laughing “You’re interesting”.
He picked up courage.
“And you’re golden. And this room. Gold. How?”
She wagged her index finger at him. “Food. Eat first.” He nodded.
She left him and came back with a golden platter filled with different fruits..golden fruits. He bit into one and exclaimed in delight.
“Frabjous! Heavens! Glory! This is pie!” He devoured everything as she watched him, giggling. After eating, she took his platter away. She came back with more of the golden liquid which he drank greedily.
“So, who are you?”
She slithered into bed with him. She took his head and cradled on her bosom.
“Well. I’m Her. The Eternal Riches. The queen of Glory. I chose you Pie poet. I chose you because in you, I saw a man thirsty for adventure. A man fit for godhood. A virile man”
“The queen? Glory? Me?” He muttered. “Yes, my poet. The queen. And yes, you. I’ve heard of your oratory prowess. Would you weave me a poem? I’d like that.”
“Anything for you!” he said, rising. He got out of bed, temporarily forgetting his nakedness and threw a mock bow to her. “My lady of flames. No words should describe your fame..”.  She stopped him. “No. No poems. Come back to bed. Tell me about yourself.”
He slid back into her embrace willingly. “Yes, My goddess”.
As he opened his mouth to speak,
“No. Don’t tell me. let me show you something! Here! Lick my finger!” She prodded him with her pinkie. He did and his eyes widened.
“The golden liquid!” He exclaimed, getting up to stare at her. “How?”
“Every part of me secretes it”.
“Every part?” She nodded, grinning. He bent close to her neck and licked. Faint taste. He sucked on her skin and drew the liquid out.
“Wow”. Her eyes were glazed over.
“Do that again!” She commanded, holding his head to her neck. He obeyed, her cooing of pleasure, susurration.
Oh the heady feeling! Better than fine wine! Inhibitions forgotten, he traced whorly patterns on her neck with his tongue. She sighed in delight as she parted her silk garment.
He stopped and gazed in wonder. With shaking hands, he took the garment off. With reverence, he took one perfectly shaped golden nipple between his thumb and pulled, watching her yellow eyes dim as she sucked in a breath. He took the nob into his mouth and sighed as his eyes watered at her wondrous taste. He tugged with his teeth, glorying in her sighs of pleasure and the feel of her hands caressing his scalp. He stopped and before her groan of protest was formulated, he transferred his oral ministration to her other mammary peak. He squeezed gently, lapping up her liquid. Greedy for more, he was. He drew lazy lines with his tongue across her chest as his fingers tweaked and thumbed her nipple.

He wanted more.
By the gods!
She sensed his thoughts and stopped him.
“You. You have to promise one thing. Before you can drink of my well.” She said huskily, panting.
“Anything!” He cried.
He didn’t think.
He couldn’t think.
He was going mad.
He had to taste more. She released his head and his mouth mapped a hasty path down her navel. Pooled between the cleft of two golden thighs, was the golden liquid, dripping. Holding firmly to her thighs, he sank his mouth into the well and drank. Manners forgotten, he lapped up, slurped and sucked, determined to get every drop of her liquid fire into his system. She held on to his head, mashing his face into her sanctuary. He pried his tongue into her, determined to lick her dry. His fingers soon replaces his tongue as he moved for further exploration, to the round nub of flesh at the entrance to her mound. He heard her gasp as he teased the swollen, throbbing flesh. He felt her spasms as her well contracted against his mouth. With a feral scream, she dragged him up, grasped his aching shaft and pushed it into herself. He rode her cosmic wave, senseless to everything else but the endless sea of sensations he was being sucked into. He wanted to drown in her. With a cry, he released, shuddering as he flopped on her chest. The sound of their panting was all the music they needed. He felt her fingers on his hair. “Welcome” she said softly.

“Welcome?” . She smiled at him, golden eyes glimmering.
“Yes welcome.” His eyes clouded in confusion so she deftly drew a strand of hair from his head and showed him. Golden.
He jumped off her and gazed at himself in horror. He was shining like burnished gold. He looked at her in surprise. “Wha…?”.
She smiled serenely at him.
“You did promise before you drank of the well.” He stuttered
“B..but this?” He shook his head in disbelief.
“I…I must leave.”
Golden eyebrows furrowed.
“Leave? You cannot leave. You belong to this house now.”
He didn’t listen. He picked up a golden shirt he saw on one of the chairs, donning it as he walked out of the room. He pushed the double doors open.
His eyes widened in horror.
Why was he staring at the crater of bubbling volcanic mountain?
Where was he?
Where was land?
He ran back.
“Where is this! Where am I!” He screamed in horror at her reclining form. She opened her eyes.

“Ah. You’ve noticed.”
She got up. She walked up to him, and dragged him by the phallus, back to bed. “Lie down Pie Poet. There’s no leaving here. You promised.”
She stared into his eyes.
“I’m here. Am I not a better option? Would you rather die than lay with me? Let me drink from you” .
Without waiting for his reply, she pushed him on the bed and settling snugly between his legs, she took him in her mouth.
He sighed in confusion mixed with desire as his hands instinctively tightened her golden hair, thrusting his hips into her gloriously warm mouth.
Well, he wanted adventure didn’t he. Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

How was that for a Saturday night fever?


Our Incubus, Eddie-san is here again. Enjoy 😉


He talks to me with slow, deliberate cadences. He watches me with knowing eyes, watching for my sign. He shuffles a stack of tarot cards with flourish. He’s Marius et je suis totalement enchanté avec lui.

C’ete une petite féte, small, personal and heady with bloodlust. Obviously glamoured paramours wiggled tiny bosoms and puffed up little pouts, like diminished peahens. I stood in the corner, completely disinterested with the spectacle. Their overt displays of sexuality jarred me and I shuddered at their image they presented. I couldn’t be part of the spectacle; I had my dignity and not even for the folk would I debase myself so.
A practiced hand grabbed my arm, firm but non intrusive. I was intrigued but slightly miffed.
“Are you cancerian?” The unaccented words came deliberately.
“What?” I said, even though I heard perfectly what was said.
“You heard me the first time but I’ll repeat the question again, are you a cancerian?”
He nodded. “What day?”
He beamed. “I’m a cancerian too.”
I turned to him. He was a head taller, with the lithe athletic frame of a ballet major draped in a taselled cowl. There was a languidness to his gait and the way his midnight eyes caught mine and dared me to turn away. I’m a feminist so I held his gaze.
“You have the cancer spark.” he pronounced with a smirk and looked away.
“And you have a lisp.” I retorted. He parted his lips, revealing distended canines. I tried to hide my smile but he saw.
He stretched out a hand, I grabbed it firmly. He turned it over to expose the spanish rose sigil tattoed on my flushed flesh. I could feel the tension in his muscles. Even with my fingers clenched around his, he was still in control. I smiled and eased my hand off him and he rubbed gingerly.
“A cambion in these parts. Je suis tres amusante.” he said.

I blushed. Very few could sense my demon half as it swam in my blood and suggested dark things to me.

“You must wonder, how I knew. I have the gift of Sight, very little is veiled from me.” he shuffled a pack of tarot cards. “And I know what you want the most from me right now…”

He led me to a pitch black room and pushed me onto the bed. With flourish, he threw off his garb, revealing his beautiful body underneath. His torso had the smooth yet structured muscle definition of an adonis crafted by a sculptor’s loving hand. Inverted love handles opened up to powerful thighs and a phallus that made my blood hot with unbridled lust. He reached for the light switch but I shook my head in protest. Neither of us needed it. In a fluid move he picked me off the bed and pinned my arms to the wall. I draped my legs around his waist, planted my feet over his cold buttocks and ground him into me.

“Don’t rush…” he whispered in my ear, “…savor it.”

He brought his lips close enough that his gravitational force seemed to pull mine to his. I leaned forward to steal a kiss and he pulled just out of reach. I tried to push further, but my restrained hands prevented any satisfaction. He taunted me with deliciously red lips and breathed on my moist lips. The demon groaned inside me. I wanted him and he knew it.

I started to protest when he sandwiched me against the wall and shut me up with a expert’s kiss. He sucked on my ample lower lip and darted his serpentine tongue between my teeth. I caught a clump of his mane and reciprocated with as much pressure as I could muster, drawing him into me. He tickled the roof of my mouth with his tongue and teasingly pulled on my lip with his teeth, tearing little lines on it with his pointed canines and eliciting little whimpers of delight. My scored lips turned our oral jousting into a buffet of iron and sickly sweet platelets. He groaned and ground into me as his fangs protuded and his arousal grew and his eyes colored crimson.

“Your blood,” he murmured as he nibbled on my left ear, “It’s like finely aged wine. It sings on my palate.”

“My pedigree spans a century. My fae blood is undiluted.” I murmured back, and dug my fingernails into his perfect trapezius muscles.

My clothes provided no barriers to his roving hands as he tore through them like rice paper. My moist flesh grew slick and slid over his frigid unyielding torso and I lost a little more ground to my feral side. He bit a finger and put it to my lips and I suckled on it. The high was instanteous, the glamour magic intensified my lust and I swooned.

“I want to mark you.” he whispered, urgency tinging his usual languor.

“Then take me as you do.” I replied in a voice that was barely mine. “Tip me off the edge, awaken me!”

He bit into my neck as he entered me and my knees wobbled as my body exploded with an overload of emotions, headrush of endorphins chasing the venom as it rushed to my brain, paralyzing me in a state of rigor. Marius thrust with each pulse, the intensity of his thrusts quickening in response to my heartbeat. My body feebly struggled to respond to his passionate ministrations, shuddering as no other action was possible. My body began to die, a blue patchwork rising to the surface, my youth being sapped away. Marius noticed but he couldn’t stop, demon tainted Fae blood was like an elixir that silenced the restraint of even the oldest of dhampirs. He fought himself and withdrew from my neck for a few seconds as my body weakened into a lost vitality and finally gave in to the compulsion singing in my blood, sinking his teeth into my left areola. At the brink of death, with all my human frailty sucked into the one who fed on me, the demon shook off it’s fetters and awakened. My head moved of its own accord to the bloated arm holding my hands above my head and bit into the blood vessels at the elbow. It broke the spell. Marius gasped, unhinged his jaw from my breast and tried to backpedal away from me, but the demon had begun to feed and wouldn’t be stopped. Controlling my hands like liana tendrils, it swapped the confused dhampir and toppled him onto the woodpanelled floor, somehow managing not disengage out coupling. The dhampir’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he relived the attack that turned him, spurred by the bucking of my hips. I dont know how my lips found my way to Dhampirs carotid artery, but the blood flowed stronger there and the Marius’ pleasurable gasps spurred the demon on. My body absorbed all blemishes and bruises Marius had inflicted from taking me so brusquely against the stuccoed wall and I cackled at how light and supple I felt. Spurred by the demon; I sucked harder and rode the dhampir and his gasps devolved into choking sounds as his lungs collapsed and his chest cavity caved in. His bones grew frail and cracked and his muscles became a matted pile of mush. And a powerful orgasm washed over me in waves of spasms as the last drop of my enigmatic lover’s blood teased my palate.

I stood and admired my now bone white skin and perfect belly. Sans the twin points of red on my nipple, I was unblemished. I picked a tarot card from the pile strewn across the floor and turned it over, it was a demon arisen. I smiled. My sleeping cambion had awoken into a lustful succubus.

The Carnality of Fortune

If by my fault,
I am rejected, then
by my excellence,
into perfection,
I am injected like black tar heroin
into the dead vein of the world.
All my glistening wrath,
the equations that pervert my immaculate maths,
the torture and the sprawl of poignancy, the waters like ether bath.
In valleys,
in calm storms,
tempests of the calamity
like repentance
in the arms of
the dying,
the young,
the lying
and the highly strung.
Blood is nothing but the taste of a moment in the rapture of eclipse,
meat in the carnality of fortune,
my infinite, eternal fucking fault.

I am mad,
but only because madness loves
the taste of my flesh
next to the rotted putridity
of your composed shell.
I am feast for madness.

Today, I spill the souls
of a thousand enemies,
the spirits of a million worthless friends, the brains of all the
warmongering serpents.
Guts and ruin,
minds and absolution,
the perverted,
the inverted ashes
of the converse day,
the fortune tellers,
the elliptical fallacies.
This is the metamorphic industrial,
the twisting of the changeling,
channel me, flay me on pyres for the burning rust of deadness birthed.

I am only the
worse version
of the best fucking dream
I dream.


Hello! I’m sorry for the silence that has been here lately. I seem to be suffering from something i know not. Any attempt to write or think of a story leaves me with a bad headache. 😦 Sob story aside, today’s story was written by a newcomer here, @jjjawfu . He’s actually a bassist for a Nigerian Christian rock band, Stage One. (And they’re SO AWESOME!!!!!!!!) Ok, gushing aside, Enjoy!


I sat there in the church, hardly listening to the words read by the pastor from the Bible. I opened my bible and stared right into it but I didn’t read anything. I just let my mind wander about, thinking of my family, friends, my girl friend, my work. I started analysing myself, my life. Was I happy? Fulfilled? Satisfied? I bent my head and closed my eyes automatically as the Pastor said a prayer during his sermon. I opened my eyes as the congregation chorused “Amen”. Less thinking. Listen to the sermon. I chided myself. I sat there listening to the sermon and I could see the strange looks I was getting from Faith and Paul, my church buddies. What? Did I suddenly go transparent?? I ignored them.
After the pastor concluded his message, we all stood up as he walked away from the pulpit. I noticed Faith and Paul had wide annoying grin on their faces and I heard Faith whisper “Maybe he’s asleep.”

Who was asleep??! I looked around and everyone seemed alert. “Who’s asleep?” I whispered to them. They ignored me.
At that moment, the Pastor told us to pronounce a blessing on one another. I turned to the fellow behind me and as I turned, I saw the most horrifying and shocking thing ever. I was standing up but I appeared to be sitting down, head bowed. How was this possible? My eyes widened in panic. I was horrified! I talked to Paul, asking him a question but it seemed like he was ignoring me…or couldn’t hear me.  I screamed at him ‘LOOK AT ME! AM I DEAD? WAKE ME UP PLEASE!!! FAITH! PAUL!’

They didn’t hear me.

What was going wrong? What was happening to me? Was I dead? I could fee my heart rate doubling in trepidation. Surely, the dead didn’t have heartbeats! Everyone in the church sat down and with trembling legs, I walked to the centre of the congregation and screamed! A fly on a wall would have gotten more attention.
Was all this a dream? What was happening to me? I couldn’t wrap my mind around this so I walked up to a pew with a man sitting alone on it and I sat on the far edge. I needed to think but the soft murmuring of the man beside me kept breaking my concentration. I turned to him. I ‘ve seen him in church, every Sunday. He would walk into the church, greet the pastor, pray and then leave without talking to anybody. I was getting distracted. I bent my head backwards, easing the kink in my neck when I heard someone sobbing softly. I heard a voice, far removed from the hubbub of the service. I paid attention. It was coming from the man beside me. He was crying inside; I could see his heart bleeding, blood staining his pristine white shirt. I sat up in fear and worry for him. Was he alright? I moved closer to him. Suddenly, I could see a clear image of a woman and a boy in my mind. His wife and his son, somehow I knew. He was thinking about them, so why was he crying?!
“I wish you’d forgive me Grace, if you can hear me, I’m sorry. I wish I could take it all back”.

A certain scene kept playing out in his mind; I could see it. I was somehow able to share his thoughts. He replayed the argument he had with his wife the morning she stormed out with their son, Ben. As she drove, crying and heading to her friend’s place, she had been hit by another car and their vehicle tumbled into a ditch. They died on the spot. Eight years had gone by and he still blamed himself.
He cried silently at night; no one could see the pain past that “smile” he always wore.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and I jumped up, terrified. The link between the man and I was broken. I turned, terrified as I saw a woman sitting beside me.

Tell him I have forgiven him and tell him to move on.”

I stared at her and it suddenly clicked. His wife! She smiled at me.

“You should be getting ready.”

I didn’t understand what she meant by that. Before I could ask, she was gone.

I took in a sharp breath as I woke up, into the real world this time. I tapped Faith lightly and she turned, looking at me with disapproving eyes. I laughed in delight! I was alive!

The service ended and I looked for the man I sat with on the pew.I caught him before he left church and pulled him to a secluded corner.

“Your wife gave me a message for you”  I whispered. His eyes shimmered in tears as I told him about what happened to me. Sitting him down, I spoke words of comfort to him. He smiled in gratitude as I finished.

“Thank you. God bless you brother.”
I smiled.

I approached the door to exit the church, where Paul and Faith had been waiting for me. I called out to them and waved. I could see their smirks and knew they couldn’t wait to tell me off for ‘sleeping’ during the service.  As I walked up to them, I felt my body suddenly collapse and I fell to the floor.

I heard faint sounds of  running footsteps and screams, someone shouting for the ambulance to be called.

Slowly, the sounds faded to nothing.



This post was first published on The Naked Convos as a two-part story. I’ve merged them together here, left in the original names with which they were first written. All characters are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, pure coincidence!


“You sure say na Badmus? Because remember say Mama Efosa no dey ‘off’ pesin like that. Remember say na you go take punishment if no be Badmus. You sure?”

Mama Efosa’s warning rang in his ears, judging him.
He had been sure then.
His instincts were never wrong!
How had he failed?
Chief Oyegun Praise’s heart gave him an unfriendly squeeze.
‘Oga your time don reach o’
There was no stopping death this time.
He had been undone by his mistake.


(2 weeks ago)

Gently, he slipped out of bed and walked to the open window.
Had he heard wrong?
His wife’s snoring broke into his reverie and he silently screamed at her to be quiet.
She snuffled and turned into the pillow, muffling her sleeping growls. He sighed in relief and turned back to the window, looking at the garden he had ordered the professional gardener to plant.
He strained his ears, trying to catch the conversation to no avail.
Security guards?
The security lights do not illuminate the garden at night so spying on the ‘intruder’ was nigh impossible.
His heart rate increased.
Sweat broke out on his brow and he stifled the urge to take off the white t-shirt he was wearing.
Thieves? Assassins? It couldn’t be. The sound was low and consistent and it wasn’t coming any closer. The most ridiculous conclusion came to his mind.
His garden was talking.
At that point, Chief decided that the mystery of the talking garden was mostly likely his enemies at work.
The whispers stopped but he stayed put. After several minutes of silence, he felt it was safe to go back to bed. The Governor of Edo state carried his bulky frame silently to bed. Unable to sleep, he gazed at the ceiling, worrying.
Who was it this time?


“…Yes, Your Excellency, about our efforts at the local governm….”

Chief’s mind wandered far away from the government house where he was seated with members of his campaign committee. Instead of day dreaming about the fine buxom babes he would be picking up later at UNIBEN, as was his custom, his superstitious mind dwelled on the matter of his would-be assailant, Badmus Akhenova, CPC gubernatorial candidate and rival. With the elections coming up in a few months, he was the number one suspect.
‘That man always had a mean streak.’ he thought churlishly to himself. Or could it be the other candidate from the NNP party? Osaretin Mark.
‘Dr Osaretin Mark. Do you have the guts?’
He doubted it. His party didn’t stand a chance in hell of stopping his re-election as governor. The man himself couldn’t be that much of a threat.
His political godfather on the other hand…
An Igbenedion.
No. He could not eliminate Dr Mark from the list of suspects.
Then there was Mrs. Idahosa, wife to his Deputy Governor and his former secret mistress. He still hadn’t forgotten the threats she made to ‘deal with him’ after he refused to accept the fact that her pregnancy wasn’t his. He saw the child a few weeks ago, and luckily, it looked like his ugly father.
There were other minor players he could add to the list but his instincts told him these three people were enough. They would gain the most at his demise.
He would get them before they got him!
Mind made up, he calmed down enough to enjoy the thoughts of Chidimma, his latest ‘baby’ on campus.
He didn’t notice the evil glare his Deputy Governor, Mr. Idahosa Uwa threw him from across the round table.


(1 week ago)

A week away from home was enough to make him forget about his ‘garden problem’.
The cruel reminder came when at exactly 1:15am, the whispers came back. He silently cursed his light sleeping habits as he moved his robust frame, to stand sentry at his window.
‘I really should get light installed at this window’ he thought but knew that would not solve the problem.
Should he order the garden destroyed?
‘No. That would make whoever is behind this think I’m scared.’
He ran his hand across his bearded face.
‘Ogagena! Ira vha la neni vha me! I must get them before they get me!’
Predictably, after a few minutes, the whispers stopped. Chief picked up his special phone from underneath the pillow and left the room to his noisy sleeper of a wife.
He dialled a number.
“Yes Spartan, make preparations for us to see Mama Efosa soonest. Also, get Cobra on the ready.”
With an acknowledged “Yes Sir!” squeaking from the speaker he disconnected the call.
“A ma zẹ azẹ ne ọbo emianmwẹn I fo” Without paying the doctor’s fees, sickness will not heal.
He was ready to pay whatever price it would take to get rid of the ant that thought itself big enough to bother the elephant.
He smiled to himself as he walked back to his marital bedroom.


“Chief Chief!” A woman said as she entered the sitting room where Chief Oyegun reclined, waiting.
He stood up respectfully, smiling, as she took a seat, adjusting her buba to contain her voluptuousness.
“Ób’ókhían. Welcome”
“Ù rú èsé. Thank you.”
She smiled, revealing a gap-toothed smile ensconced within luscious lips.
Her eyes twinkled as she saw his eyes go over her in admiration.
“This one wey you just come like this. I renren wahala abi? Tell Mama Efosa what it is.”
Chief Oyegun nodded to his lone security guard standing behind him and he left the room after giving a sharp salute.
“Mama, my garden dey talk for night since two weeks. And i suspect na pesin wey wan harm my family and me. I sure say na incantation.”
She was silent, arms crossed on her ample breasts, eyes hooded, listening with rapt attention.
Chief Praise swallowed.
“I suspect say na Badmus.”
With that, Mama Efosa sat up.
“Badmus Akhenova.”
He nodded.
She stared at him unblinking, as if looking directly into his soul, judging him.
It scared and excited him when she got that look in her eyes.
Beautiful and dangerous.
“You sure?” she whispered eerily. “You sure say na Badmus? Because remember say Mama Efosa no dey ‘off’ persin like that. Remember say na you go take punishment if no be Badmus. You sure?” He licked his lips, suddenly nervous.
Was he sure?
He rubbed his huge stomach subconsciously.
His guts told him it was Badmus. Why else would they churn whenever his name was mentioned in his presence?
“Yes Mama. I sure.”
She nodded and made a hand signal for him to wait as she went into one of the doors.
Five minutes later, she came back with a black nylon bag and handed it over to him.
He opened it and inside, was one bullet.
“Badmus protection dey strong. Ordinary bullet no go touch am. That bullet wey you see so no be ordinary one. Make de persin wey go use am use am well because na de only one i fit give.”
Chief nodded, getting up.
“Ù rú èsé íyé”
“Eh Chief no forget to bring your yearly òkhùo you hear?”
“Yes ma” he said, choosing in his mind, which buxom companion of his would be his sacrifice.


Chief Badmus Akhenova shot and killed by armed robbers on the Benin-Ore express way, on his way to a party rally at Egor.
Governor Praise Oyegun denounces act of violence and calls for the Police to make sure perpetrators are brought to justice.


Saturday evening, after a visit to the family of the deceased, the Chief entered his car.
He gazed unseeing, as they cruised past Ring Road, by the Oba’s Palace and into the Motel Benin plaza road.
“Oga, Ofure hotels?” His driver asked.
“No. Home”
He did not have strength to perform with the girls tonight. There was always a tomorrow. He got home and after dinner and a kiss from his wife, he retired to bed. After weeks of fear, he was sure to get proper sleep!
Or so he thought.
At 1:15am the whispers began and Chief woke up, knowing he was finished.
His heart rattled at the bars of muscle and flesh caging them, beating to be let out. He struggled to breathe; struggled to tap his deep sleeping wife.
Before she could wakeup, before she could get help, he died.

“Praise oooooooooo”


Mr. Uwa Idahosa could not believe his change of fortune. He went to bed a deputy, and woke up, the Acting Governor. He wasn’t sorry for the demise of Chief. Contrary to what they thought, he knew what had gone on between him and his wife. He allowed the stupid woman go on with her delusion of having fooled him.
He would get her surely.
Uwa thanked God, who fought his battle for him and killed his enemy without him resorting to any diabolical means.


Gladys admired the purple hibiscus blooming from her late father’s prize garden sadly.
‘He always liked aesthetic beauty’
She sighed and made to move on when she noticed something hidden beneath the bushes.
Curious, she picked it up.
It was a Blackberry smartphone.
“Oh wow! My phone! Must have fallen when I was here with James.”
She switched it on.
“Battery red. I guess being off kept it alive this long sha.”
She winced guiltily as she remembered how she blamed the house help Ekaete for its theft.
Later that night at 1:15am, whispers woke her up.
She located where it came from.
Phone alarm.
She picked it up from her bedside where it was charging.
‘Why did i set an alarm for 1.15am again?’ she wondered groggy from sleep.
She clicked ‘Dismiss’ and The Whisper song by Ying Yang twins died.
She went back to sleep, oblivious to the fact that she had unwittingly caused her father’s death.

The End.

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