Archive for May, 2012


Hey! Hey!

Today’s post is for you lovers of Poetry/Written word/ Whatever you cool kids call it.
I’m known for my horrible attempts at Poetry so I’m always in awe of people who weave words so effortlessly. Today’s word weaver is a lovely poetess who chose my spot as a testing ground so to speak.
Ladies, Gentlemen, the rest of you, welcome @St_Gothica. (Yes, I named the post after her. I’m generous like that…or clueless.)


A boiling pot, smouldering with rage;
The cold strike of a lightning flash;
Eyes staring, pushing
Against your wall.

The thankfulness on their behalf
That murder is a crime.
The urge to retreat into a corner
And avoid humanity.

Or go out, eyes and guns blazing,
To rid the earth of its greatest pest;
Its ever feeding parasite.

To commandeer the elements,
To burn and grip and bury and gulp,
To grind and slash till not quarks remain.

Or to build a fort of ice and stone,
Unaffected by the words and stares;
Impervious to the deeds and seeds,
Of discord and disdain and distaste.



“It would all too so easy.” I thought,
“To pick up the gun and fire a shot.
Or even more soothing and pleasant it’ll be
When I feel my life-blood drain out of me.
Or just a little pain I’ll have to endure
If I took some pills and passed out on the floor.”

All this my mind said to me,
Promises of peace wide as the sea.

But a little further,
My heart couldn’t but falter
At the thought of being forgotten in dust.

Then at that I thought,
“Oh I won’t be missed.
There’ll probably be something new,
By the time they sit in the pew.”

At this I take my leave
(The noose I have just wouldn’t give)
I wonder which of the verses would live….


Do give her your thoughts on her words by commenting thanks! 🙂

Musing of a Stressed Out Somebody

Another day, another rant.
Been under enormous pressure lately and I really, really need to blow some steam off!

So what am I going to rant about?
Some men are just foolish.
Most times, I imagine myself as a man (which isn’t hard to imagine 😦 ) and I know I can do better.
Do you know the ridiculous amount of money some guys spend on girls? That shit is disgusting!

Last year, people on twitter read the gist about the dude that splashed N1.5million on his girl and her friends.
On drinks.
Dem never chop o.
On drinks.
Do you know how many village girls you can marry and tamba for free with 1.5 milla? DO YOU??
Water no dey?
Wooz stron witchu!
It’s not as if at the end of the night he will tamba the girl plus her friends.
No o!
Only one!

If I was a guy ehn I’ll probably be a hermit…Forever alone.
Spend excess money on a girl? Am I mad?
Is her V made of gold? Does it hold the secrets to immortality?
Niggur PLEASE!
And the thing that can pain me is later, the same girls that extort money from their men would be claiming Feminist.
Let me spend 40k on you and you don’t pound yam for a month for me first.
Ya doing feminist.
E be like say you never jam jazz. I go just seal your vagina spiritually.
Dey there.

Look at this.
A girl would call you. Maybe your girlfriend. Maybe your fuck buddy. Una know una selves
“Hey Honey, I’m horny”
You will run to her house and perform.
“Thanks honey”
Chop kiss and go home.
Oya call the same girl to ask for the same thing and she will charge you for her  transport/feeding/house rent/school fees/her friends’ school fees.
Is it fair?
No really. Is it?
You too, kiss and disappear!
Why should you pay for her transport?
My friend, God gave you two legs! Rejoice and waka dey go your house!
It is all part of getting fit. No need to ask you about money for gym subscription later.
Kill two birds with one stone.

I’m not saying don’t spend on your woman.
Note, I said YOUR woman.
Some dudes will be spending on women that have friend-zoned them in hope that they would change their minds.
Brother, your step-mother in the village is playing Ludo with your destiny.
Listen to yourself!
After she don chop your money finish, she’ll gaan marry someone else.
You will be there, biting your fingers in regret.
Otondo Esquire.

Where was I? Ehen.
I’m not saying don’t spend on your woman.
Make her feel special.
(You can only make the  moment special if it doesn’t happen often. Look at Christmas. Once a year. Special. Look at Mother’s Day. Every frigging Sunday in April and May. Not special).
As I was saying, treat her to something romantic and affordable.
Take her to Mr Biggs once in a while and buy her chicken pie.
On a special occasion like her birthday, out of the goodness of your heart, you buy Pepsi and join to the chicken pie.
If she’s complaining, tell her she’s adding weight and return the Pepsi. She can drink water.
Buy her a packet of red candles for Valentine. Non-scented. Why should you buy her scented candles? Is she a priestess? Abi she be ogbanje?
If she insists on scents, buy her an air freshner.

There is a likely chance she will dump you but it doesn’t matter. You’re saving yourself financial stress.
Na her type. After spending over 5 milla during dating, you go ask about bride price and her family will charge you 10 milla.
Maka why. When she don chop half her bride price?
Later you start shedding tears on your wedding day.

It’s better to be forever alone and be a wealthy man than to be forever in debt with a high-maintenance woman.

Your girl will probably hate this advice I’m dispensing freely today.
“Honey, Peruvian hair”
My friend gaan plait shuku, all-back or police cap.
Better still, low-cut. You can share your clipper with her.
It’s all part of love and bonding; shave my hair, I shave yours.
Look at Amber Rose. Sexy low-cut. Is Wiz Khalifa paying for human hair?
“Honey, money for relaxer”
Relaxer ko. Let her go natural! It is good for her scalp.
Buy her a can of locally made oil. Her hair would grow longer and you will have something to pull when you’re hitting it from the back.

She will even attempt to trick you. She will come to your house and insist to cook for you.
Wait for it.
“Honey, money so I can buy foodstuff”
Lai lai! She will overprice the foodstuff.
Tell her to sit down and give you time to go and withdraw money.
On your way, buy the foodstuff you need to the nearest kobo. Collect your change my brother and come house.
“Honey, where is the money?”
“Oh darling I decided to go to the market since it was near the ATM. Save stress for my egovine. My akwa nwa. My sweetie. ”
Story Story.

Umu boys, you gats to sharpen up! Stop wasting your money!
You say investment. You’re investing on her.
Your mates are investing in Properties and shii.
Some are investing IN their own babes (and probably yours sef)
You’re there, investing ON her.
You’re lost brother.

My last advice. If your babe is making trouble about the monetary issue, fine.
Give her the money on one condition.
She will tamba your friends, collect money from them and give to you.
Profit my dear, PROFIT!
She’s probably doing it already for free so you might as well make some money out of a bad situation NO?

I’m done!
Still stressed/bombed out.

P.S: This is an announcement. I will welcome short stories from every corner of the world. Please let me know if anyone you can help or if you know that can. Just a guest thing.
At me bebe! @weird_oo

There! Done!
*Goes back to studying*


Today’s post is brought to you, for the first time here, by a young talented man @Joshua_Lean.
Do enjoy!


Gerald “Whites” Smith.

Owned a restaurant down the street.
Sold Toutierre for a living.
Called Pearly Whites because any time he smiled, his teeth would light up.
Wonder if she noticed his smile when he tore her head off.
Diagnosed with schizophrenia,
Wonder if that was what made him rip her heart out as she watched.
He was not normal, not like anyone you’d ever met.
As a kid, he sold toys. Toys made from bones of dead animals.
A quarter a piece. It was good business, no wonder he was never caught.
How come he slipped? Was it the blood on his chef uniform.
I wonder where he keeps the bodies? He is not going to be charged.
Old man Jerry said he once saw a finger in his Toutierre.
But Old man Jerry has Alzheimer’s…
No one will believe him, after all, it is Whites.
62 years, never caught.

James “Fresh Face” Johnson

“You are what you eat”,  James always said to himself .
He was really picky with his food,
Everything had to be fresh.
It worked for him, the Casanova
Can you blame him? Charming, something about his eyes
He had a thing for brunettes, something about how their hair fell.
“They say you are what you eat” he always said to me.
If you are what you eat,
then Mr James must be Samantha, Cheryl, Jane and Mary.

Donald Kramer



Captain Ricardo Wallace of the NYPD rushed into the station, still eating the half doughnut he’d found in his car. There was little time for food these days and sleep seemed to be taking naps of its own. He nodded to Paul and Anderson as he walked into his office, both weary looking. His face contorted into a grimace as he remembered the latest twist in his case, one that threatened to swallow the entire police force. He moved to his desk, opened the drawer and found the red-taped envelope he was looking for. He stared at it for what seemed like eternity before finally picking it and peeking inside with one eye; hoping the document inside had vanished.
It had not.
He sighed.
He pulled off the brown paper and read its contents for the millionth time since it arrived three days ago.

-Samantha Summers, 21, caucasian, brunette, first child, paralegal, cause of death: unknown.

Cheryl Garner, 24, caucasian, brunette, third child, swimmer, cause of death: unknown.

Jane Willows, 20, caucasian, brunette, dancer, last child, cause of death: unknown.

Mary Cheeney-Beckett, 18, caucasian, brunette, only child, cause of death: unknown.

There were 28 of them, but these were the only bodies that had been identified. Just days after being killed under very fearful circumstances and in horrid fashion by someone or something, some one or something broke into every single one of their graves and desecrated their remains. He flipped through the pages again and again, his eyes roving, searching for the link he knew was there but couldn’t find. He was so lost in thought he didn’t hear the knock on the door. A mumble was all he could manage. Paul walked into his boss’S office and what he saw terrified him. The captain looked up.

”Uh, n-nothing. The governor called some minutes ago, its time for the press-conference. The families are going to be there.”
“Shit! I almost forgot!!” the captain punched himself.
“What are you going to say?” Paul asked, putting his jacket on.
“My head’s blank man, I have no idea.”
“God help us.”


Whites dug into his turkey and sighed in contentment, it tasted so good. Almost as good as Andrea. Ah! Andrea, she was strong, lasted longer than the others. He remembered her taste, her sweet sugary taste. Her insides…
His pants had begun to tent. He stood and took a sip of his wine, recalling the details from last night as his lips contorted into a smile. The others haven’t called yet to agree on where to meet this evening.
Very strange.
He went downstairs and opened a door that led to an odd-looking passage only visible to him and the ‘gang’. He walked into a dimly lit long hall. On the walls were paintings of over a hundred brunettes, all of them beautiful and voluptuous but most importantly, ambitious; he liked that in a woman.
The painting aspect was a delicate process, one he never tried to under-estimate, it took time and concentration and this meant the rest had to wait a while before they satisfied their hunger so he let them have solitary hunts first. He stared at the paintings with longing, wishing he could do more than just relive the moments.

He remembered his first, June. They’d gone to high-school together and there was a connection or rather he felt a connection to her. She was at the top of the social scene, he was a nerd and they therefore weren’t compatible. Well, that was the excuse she gave. But he wasn’t willing to just let go, he was a Virgo, and all Virgos were overachievers. Eventually he got his chance, that night, the one he will never forget…
He still wondered why the police insisted she was dead. He can still hear her, feel her; she lived, inside of him.
He remembered his old man and the things he’d taught him. The old man took time to explain his parables in detail. His father’s lips were an article of faith for him, he’d lived by everything that proceeded out of them, and not by bread alone, definitely not by bread.

“You listen to their heart and the song in their blood, that’s what should lead you. Don’t you be looking in their eyes, that’s where Eve lies. Be gentle, love them before you tear them open…”

He remembered his mother, one of his best performances, although she had struggled too much and didn’t last long enough. He remembered the look she wore when he walked into her room past midnight after the transformation. He could still hear her screams. They were with him, forever. That was his father’s gift to him before he died, just as his father had given him his mother and the one before him.
It was tradition, he smiled.

He still didn’t understand why people in the newspapers called what they did ‘grotesque and evil’. He shook his head at their lack of ability to appreciate true art.
“Such small-minded fools.” he cursed. He walked down the hall and stopped as his wizened eyes settled on Vanessa. She had been wonderfully crafted, but what he’d liked the most about her was her screaming. It was just the right pitch!
She was one of the rare ones and he took his time breaking her body and freeing her spirit – that was their calling. They were soldiers for the soul. The body was a cage and they held the key; yes, they did.
The last painting on the row, Rachel. All he could remember of her were her large breasts and tiny eyes. She was like the day, weak and submissive.
The night was who they paid homage to; to whom they offered bloody hands and bloody offerings.


James Johnson walked into Charlie’s at about twelve, in a three-piece suit. He was eye-catching, nothing like his scruffy bartender persona. The most colorful lure caught the biggest fish. He scanned the crowd, his eyes wandering till they settled on sleek toned legs crossed over each other on the high stool, attached to a blonde sitting at the bar.
She was too good to pass on, she was a novelty. He hadn’t fed on a blonde before. His saliva glands wet his palate as he wondered how the flaxen-haired would taste. He walked up to the bar and commandeered the stool closest to her.
“It’s not very polite to gawk,you know.” she giggled.
“How did you know I was ‘gawking?” He smirked.
She winked conspiratorially. “I always know.”
The hunger bloomed like wild-fire.
“People stare often, I presume.”
“All the time, they can’t help it.”
“Hmmm! And you enjoy it?”
“How can I not, having people stare is my art.”
He laughed at that, she had a sense of humour.
“Are you alone?” he asked
“…on what?”..
“How much of a good time you are.” She teased
The suggestion was clear as day.


It was a dingy motel, run by people he knew well. He said hello to a couple of people as they walked inside, his arm around her waist, hand slipping down to squeeze her buttocks every two minutes.
They slipped into a room. A quick shrug of her shoulders and her shimmery dress was a puddle on the floor. Her body was as flawless as her face.
Today was one of his luckier days.
He was on her before she knew it. He licked her from head to toe, juxtaposing soft kisses with hard ones. She moaned her appreciation. The hunger intensified and gnawed on his insides.
With one move he tore his clothes off and roared.
She tried to get up -something was wrong- but she couldn’t move.  He grazed her neck with an elongated canine and licked the trickle of blood that flowed.
“W-what are y-you doing?”
He laughed. “This, my darling… is my art, lie still and enjoy.”
She saw the white in his eyes vanish.
The hunger took his mind over now.
James was gone.
She started to scream or rather she was about to when he tore into her fleshy throat and worked his jaws down, chewing into her stomach and drooling all over, her blood splattering in all directions. He let out a territorial growl.
Minutes later, he had her inside him up to the midriff then he swallowed…
And James returned.
He wiped his bloody maw; that had been delicious, but too quick for him. She was like a buffet; he’d stuffed himself so fast, didn’t get to savour her or even ask her name. But all is well when the hunger is fed.
He tidied up the room, took an hour but he always bothered with the details.
It was what had kept him on the streets this long.
He smiled.
He was starting to think he was better at this than his father. He watched his father perform so many times; he’d always gone for the neck first, like his four-footed cousins. He knew, not only because he watched, but because he was once his father’s partner, in every way.  His father loved to touch him, everywhere. The bite marks across his back were proof of how impassioned things could get.
His father lived two miles away, one of the wealthiest men in those parts, yet the man didn’t even give him a dime. He hadn’t tasted a man in a while. ‘Time to pay the old man a visit’  he thought,’Time for the student to show his progress to the teacher’.


With the moon’s songs entwined in his head, the freckled boy woke up humming an unusual tune. He saw muddy paw prints on his bedroom window  – they had come and gone. He reached for his toy box, his army of toy soldiers; lips stiffened, eyelids unwavering, prepared for calamitous days.
His eyes strayed to his bedside. Arranged in alphabetical order, an ungodly number of leather-bound books; Marx, Plato, Wilde, Maslow. There were few things he did not know, he mused.
There were three walls in his purview; the one facing his bed was his pride and glory, his ‘baby’. On the wall he could see all fifteen of his sister’s dolls, stolen while she slept, beheaded and nailed to tiny crosses roughly hewn from the blocks of ornamental firewood beside their electric fireplace. He wasn’t moved by pulchritude. He lovingly gazed at it every night before he went to bed, it prepared him for the nightmares.
“This is it. Tonight, I join the sacred feast.”
The night was thick  and vinegary with bad tidings, just how he liked it. His shadow, an obtrusive, timorous creature followed him lackadaiscally, murmuring to itself.
“It is time” the boy said.
Engaging in primordial flagellation, he cut himself and then sprinkled the blood on the heads of the soldiers, anointing them.
“E puribus unum.” he whispered into their tiny ears.
He remembered the words of the redbreast (a reliable source in many things).
“They come just about midnight.”
He had to be quick. He looked through the window, at dread and death, ensconced in the darkness. A sharp cry rang out. The boy smiled, his shadow whimpered. One of the soldiers brandished a knife, a mock display of bravado. The boy shook his head and holding a fork, bludgeoned the soldier until all that remained were his eyes, those he kept.
“Emotions are bad for you. Never let them bully you into displaying them to the world, they want fame, the selfish things.”

He was silent for some seconds, then turned back to the window and there they were. Darkening clouds uncloaked a moon, red as blood. Earlier that day, another six-foot abyss had been occupied. The air was foul, the only noise, silence,  biting its overgrown nails. Beasts on the prowl, retreating to their respective holes as unseen hands carry their tools of trade. From his window, he could see everything.
His was just to watch and learn, nothing more.

He could make out the two creatures, one slightly more revolting and increasingly contorted than the last, limping in retarded fashion. Their ghastly eyes settled on the new headstone, bony clawed fingers outstretched over the recently dug earth. Muffled screams with heavy timolo could be heard from within. He knew what was about to happen,he had seen the same scene so many times before.
He knew who those creatures were. They were the hollow men and they’d come to feed. Donald Kramer watched as the creatures pulled the bodies out and expertly tore them to pieces; this was his favourite part.

But it wasn’t the highlight of the night, after the feast they performed some kind of dance and over time, he had studied this ritual; every flip, every turn and every twist.
He remembered when his sister walked in on him while he was practising.
She had screamed and he had hit her once on the head.
She died immediately. They were alone at home that night.
He said she had run away.
The thought of coming clean had crossed his mind  but he’d stayed it. He knew somehow that the police would believe his story, and they did.
Few could resist him.

”Fools.” he chuckled, his shadow finding no humor scratched its ugly head.
Convinced that his mother was still asleep and his door was bolted, he tore his clothes off.
It was time for the dance.
The creatures leaped and mumbled jargons to the fallen leaves. Donald followed every movement, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. Then all of a sudden, he felt a growing heat in him and a presence that was not unfamiliar. He tried to stay still and figure out what was happening, he couldn’t…

The windows shattered, and he fell. He opened his eyes… and it hurt. Everything hurt. Slowly he rose and then he stopped. His room was in disarray, his books were in shreds, he looked at what remained of his mirror… and was shaken by the vulpine creature that replaced his 12-year-old frame. His eyes seemed to reflect the darkness around him.
He was about three feet taller, covered in fur. He felt a sharp pain in his gut, like a tuning fork vibrating and rattling his insides. Before he could recover from his fright, a hunger took him over; a different kind of hunger, a sentient hunger, the kind he only read of in a Stephen King book. It was distinctively primal and it seemed to call out to him.


Sergeant Parker Paul strolled into the SRU  (Strategic Response Unit) block, looking for somewhere to burn out. He was exhausted, they’d had three reports of ‘monsters’ in the town this morning. Normally, they would dismiss such reports but under the circumstance, his team was dispatched to hunt these ‘beasts’. They had been patrolling for hours,  didn’t even find a stray dog.
The phone rang. Reluctantly he answered.
“Parker… A missing girl?… last seen?… Charlie’s?… I’ll inform the captain immediately!”
First, a little nap he thought. As soon as his head touched the pillow, he was fast asleep, the details of the phone call dissolved into nothingness.


Donald walked out of class bubbling with life. The last period bell had just rung. He espied Kelly Wallace walk out of her class and felt that hunger rise again. A split second was all he needed to decide on walking up to her.
“I hear you got a ‘D’ in Maths. If you let me walk home with you we could go over it together.”
Kelly stared at the ground for a second, blushing all over. She was shy around guys.
“S-sure,but first, I have to get something from Sandra.”
“Okay,I’ll wait for you”..
She smiled a little and skipped down the hall, turning back to check if Donald was still there. He waved to reassure her and grimaced as the hunger spread. Amazingly, no one noticed the deep darkness that leached into his eyes. She had nice features, he thought to himself. She had beautiful hair, tied in a bun, brunette locks that caught the light as she ran. She would make a perfect first, one he could remember forever.


Captain Wallace had not slept in three days since the press conference, neither had anyone in the SRU. He looked over at the vibrating phone atop the leather vanity top beside his day bed. He instinctively knew that whomever was calling him now was going to give him reason not to sleep for the rest of the week. He reluctantly reached for his phone, looked at the caller ID.
He listened for a moment and then he got off the bed, cradling the phone with his shoulder and awkwardly dancing on the spot as he tried to pull on his jacket, still listening to every word.
“Mother called?… Hysterical?…Voodoo?”
He put the phone on speaker and pulled on his shoes as Anderson rambled excitedly.
“I’ll be on my way… tell them not to do anything till I get there!”


They swarmed into the first room. The smell hit them hard and his stomach grumbled in protest as his mind fed it images of maggots squirming in rotting flesh. He looked inside the inner room and his stomach roiled and he doubled over and retched, his stomach walls constricting in revulsion. Nailed to the wall, was the dismembered corpse of tiny Caroline Kramer. His heart beat faster now. He tried to look away but couldn’t; there was something about this that made him want to choke and gouge his eyes out.
“The killing style is different from the others, sir.”
The captain did not respond. He moved closer, it was definitely the same pattern only that this was… amateurish. Maybe they didn’t have time, a hundred maybes rushed into his mind…
The others went into the room at the end of the corridor, they called their captain.
They faced what look like a four-foot chamber, with great effort they pushed, rammed the steel door down, and froze. They were taken aback by what they saw.
“Oh God!!!” One of the other police men uttered.

He looked at the walls, the beheaded dolls. His eyes stopped at the drawings..he had seen something similar, Kelly had brought one like it home from school, said it was by one of her classmates…
Damon… Dave… Donald!! The child’s name was Donald. He paused, Kelly was still at school. A new dread crept over him, encapsulating him; he couldn’t breathe. He clutched at the knot in his tie, clawing at the stubbled skin underneath. The others surrounded him…
”KELLY!” he screamed.


*Insert GHEUN here*

In my head

Another Friday, another entry!

I’d be taking a leaf from @ekwem’s book today.
No, i won’t be writing about angels and their flaming swords.
I would be writing about a dream i had.
A pretty basic one. A good dream by my standards in fact.
*shark grin*


His death came under the most regrettable of circumstance.
We were all on the yacht, acting like the rich oafs that we were.
I probably shouldn’t have teased him the way I did but I’m a succubus. I couldn’t help myself.
I didn’t exactly expect him to jump off the yacht when I told him to. I promised him something; I forget what now.
A kiss perhaps.
He jumped.
The fool drowned.
“OMG! My brother!!” his brother- and my friend- screamed.
Two of my friends jumped into the sea to pull him out, albeit too late.
“Let us revive him” his brother muttered.
I tore my eyes away from the  blue-green scenery to give him a startled look.
“Revive him? With that method? No! Not safe!”
His brother threw me an angry glare, as if saying ‘This is all your fault!’
Yeah. Like I cared if his stupid brother lived or died.
I shook my head at them. “If I were you, I wouldn’t revive him.” I muttered.
The brother ignored me. The other friends sided with him.
Yada Yada.
“Go ahead then” I whispered, turning back to gaze at the unending sea.
The hairs at the back of my neck stood up even as I said so.
It wasn’t going to end well.
I heard them lift the dead body and place him on one of the long sofas.
I didn’t want to watch but my curiosity got the better of me.
I watched them as they set The Machine.
The Machine was my design, my brain child.
The friends contributed as well but I brought the idea so yeah!
Theoretically, it was supposed to be able to bring the dead back to life.
Practically… well we hadn’t tested it yet.
I think that as why I was curious; I really wanted to see if my child would work.
His brother unbuttoned and exposed the dead boy’s chest. Gingerly, he placed the metal disks on the chest and fiddled with The Machine, adjusting the dials.
He glanced at me as his fingers hovered on the switch button.
I nodded hesitantly.
He flicked the switch.

We watched in fascination as the body jerked and smoked, high volts to the skin.
It stopped.
We all stared, transfixed.
It didn’t work?
I was beginning to feel an ache of disappointment in my heart, when the body sat up.
It worked.
We raise the fucking dead!
He opened his eyes and turned to us.
He smiled.
That’s when I knew the shit had hit the fan.

He wasn’t normal.
It was too darn obvious.
They stepped away from him as he cleared his throat.
“You shouldn’t have brought me back” his voice rasped, that manic grin still plastered on his face.
His brother went to him, trying to touch him.
With blinding speed, the dead boy’s arms went around his brother’s neck.
Broken neck.
My friend was dead.
“You really shouldn’t have brought me back” he said again. “Not after you killed me”
He laughed and began to get up.
I backed away, and without checking on my friends, I jumped off the boat.
Shit has hit the fan.
That was my only thought as my head broke into the waters.


“You have someone here asking for you” The voice on the phone said.
I grumbled. I was in a lecture. Why on earth would the school receptionist be calling me about a visitor?
“Who is it? Name?” I muttered as I got up and walked to the back of the class.
“No name. He just left now, coming up to your hall. Had some pretty freaky smile on.”
The pen dropped.
Uh oh.
I quickly cut the phone, stuffed it into my pockets as I hurried to take my bag.
My hands were shaking.
The door opened and he walked in.
His eyes swiveled to me and his grin, ever-present, flashed brighter as he walked towards me.
I walked back, eyes darting around, looking for another exit.
The windows!
They were open.
I ran quickly and he chased me.
My chest was beginning to hurt from the thudding.
I got to the window and pulled it open.
I pushed my legs out first when I felt a thug.
He was holding my bag!
I screamed and let go of the bag, scrambling away.
I was standing on a roof.
Without thinking, I jumped.


“What are we going to do!” The voice on the phone screamed at me.
It was one of my friends.
He just received a package.
I swallowed as I waited in the queue at the airport.
“You saw what?”
“Are you fucking deaf!!!! He posted the decapitated heads of his fucking brother and Clarence to me!! They are fucking staring at me right now!”
My head was aching.
Heads? He  cut off Clarence’s head? And his brother’s head?
“Look dude. Calm the fuck down and start getting ready to leave the city.” i whispered angrily, closing my aching eyes.
I heard sobs and realised he was crying.
“I’m scared! I’m fucking scared! It’s..It’s like he’s taunting me!”
I ground my teeth in irritation.
“Can you fucking shut up!” I growled. “You wanna die? Do you? Told y’all not to use that machine but no one listened! Now see!”
His sobs increased in intensity.
I sighed, running my fingers through my hair anxiously.
“Fine. You called the other two guys? Know if they’re alive or something?”
He muttered something down the phone.
He choked on a sob “Yeah. No answer.”
The queue moved a little and I advanced a few steps.
“Ok” i said finally, mind racing. “We’re going to assume they’re dead. You need to move out. The Psycho is probably watching your house so get set for some major slinking. This night dude. Meet me at our usual haunt. Gonna have to cancel my bloody trip because of you!”
“Thanks” he whispered
“Quick man!” I muttered and cut the call.
I moved out of the queue and rolled my bag out of the terminal.
I hailed a black taxi.
The trunk opened and i put my bag in. I closed, opened the car and sat at the back.

“Where would you like to go…asides hell that is?
I looked up startled, and saw the face, grinning at me through the mirror.
I screamed, hands instinctively opening the door as I scrambled out of the cab ungracefully.
His laughter followed me as I ran back to the airport terminals.
I kept turning back, trying to make sure he wasn’t following.
When i had run a long distance, I collapsed on one of the metal seats, shoulders shaking as my first sobs racked my frame.
“Are you alright madam?” a voice said beside me and I jumped up, startled.
It wasn’t him.
I shook my head, as tears poured down my eyes.
The kind man looked distressed at my misery.
He held my shoulders.
“Can I do anything to help?” he asked, his eyes wide with concern.
I nodded.
“I…I need a ride home”


Somehow, we made it to our haunt.
We were three left.
Eight of us were on that yacht, including our psycho killer.
He had killed four.
We were safe.
We felt safe.
Out of the city.
Almost a week and no contact.
The three of us decided to go to the bar; an unspoken celebration.
After several hours and several bottles of  downed Jack Daniels, we decided to call it a night.
We walked drunkenly into our room; we were sharing a room.
On the table was food.
“Did anyone order food or something?” I slurred.
The others shook their head.
There was a salad bowl and a transparent Tupperware  that had jollof rice in it.
There was another Tupperware.
I walked unsteadily and opened it.
I stared, shocked, at the decaying heads of my missing four friends.
The door opened and closed.
I didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
I heard a shriek and a stumble.
“Trapped” a voice said.

My heart leapt out of my chest in fear.
My legs turned jelly.
I shook as I turned to see the psycho killer, standing in the way of our only escape route.
A moan escaped my lips and I quickly covered my mouth, tears beginning to form.
“Sit down! I brought food!” he said genially, smiling, pointing at the floor.
I buckled and fell, bum on the ground. The others huddled close to me.
We watched him as he went to the table, brought out plates and began dishing out food for the three of us.
“I actually cooked this myself you know! I felt killing you guys on empty stomachs would be quite inhumane” he said conversationally as he put plates, heaped with rice and salad in front of us.
He stared at our cowering frames.
We took that as our cue and gently moved towards the plates.
Hands shaking, we began eating.
He got the bowl that had the heads and sat down in front of us, watching us eat. He pulled out the four heads.
“These would be dessert” he said, as he lovingly caressed the heads.
I choked at this and he threw me an evil glare.
“Yes” he continued, eyes still on me “We are all going to eat one head and after that, I cut your heads as replacement.”

“Nice heads” i said suddenly, unthinking. “You really cut them up real nice”
What the hell was I saying!!
His eyes gleamed in pleasure.
“I know right!”
I nodded “Yeah. Your axe strokes are pretty neat. You used an axe right?”
“You can tell? Wonderful!” he said, excited and clapped his hands like a child.
Suddenly, his eyebrows furrowed “But I didn’t bring the axe for you guys though.”
“A knife would do” I whispered and he smiled at me “Yes! That would be perfect!”
The others stared at me, wondering if I had finally lost it.

“In fact, I know a place where I can get you a pretty sharp knife. Steel. Cool and sexy. I can go get it for you”
“Really! Yes! I want that! Very sharp?”
I nodded. “It can slice our heads off very very easily” I slid a finger across my throat to demonstrate.
He waved a hand at me “Go! Go! Quick! Go bring the knife!”
The others clocked.
As I got up and walked to the door, one of them said “I know where I can get another knife too” and without waiting for permission, got up.
Once my hands touched the door. I pulled open and began to run.
The second person tried to hold me back but I pushed him down. His shirt caught on the door knob and he frantically tried to remove it.
The psycho killer finally got what just happened.
I tricked him.
Fury was written all over his face, i bet.
I didn’t turn to look.

“I WILL KILL YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!” He screamed and got up, chasing after me.
I ran out of the building. There was a fence that had a bush of some sort behind it.
I jumped over the fence and hid in the bushes.

I heard him jump in.
“I will kill you brutally” he growled as he looked for me. “I will cut you up and dismember you but you will feel pain. Pain!”
My body shook like a leaf as he neared my hiding place.
I heard his footsteps retreating and I let out a shaky breath I didn’t know I had been holding.
Suddenly, cold hands clamped on my shoulders.
“Bingo” he whispered in my ears.

I screamed…


And woke up.

Yup. That was a dream I had.
No, i did not go back to sleep after that. Was pretty sure that dream would continue.

The Oath



“I ga eme ihe m gwara gi?” the old woman said, looking at the woman who sat before her.
Would you do what i told you to?

“Nne ukwu biko! A ga m eme ya!”
Great  Mother please. I’ll do it.

The old woman said nothing, staring eerily at the woman who sat in her coven, twiddling her thumbs nervously.
The old woman laughed.
“I ga emekwa ya nwanyi!” her voice rose an octave.
Woman would you do it!

The woman shuddered at the commanding voice. Her bowels rioted within her. Sweat beaded at her brows.
“E..eye. Nne.” she stammered.
Yes. Mother.

The old woman brought out a pot filled with murky liquid.
“Ngwa tinye aka gi niime!”
Put your hands inside!
Her hands shook as she hesitantly put her hands in.
The liquid turned blood-red.
The covenant was sealed.


“Don’t come in. Don’t come in” Emmanuella muttered to herself as she locked the doors quickly,placing strings of dry herbs underneath.
“Don’t. Don’t…”
She went up, taking the stairs two at a time, chest heaving from exertion and fear and she began shutting every window. She walked quickly, making sure she had not left any entrance open for them to come in. Satisfied, she went down, giving the ground floor the same treatment.
Perspiring profusely, her flimsy night-dress stuck to her body.
“Never. Never” she muttered, maniacal, as she got a wad of paper and tore them into little strips. Her hands shook as she methodically stuffed the keyholes of the entrance door.
“Not now. Not ever. You will not come in.”
She paused and stood, fighting the subtle weariness trying to creep into her.
“…forgetting something…” she rubbed her head as her vision began to dim. She blinked fast, banishing invading sleep.
Suddenly her head whipped up as she remembered.
“The light!”
She went round, switching all lights off, plunging the house into partial darkness.
“…must not attract it…” she whispered.

She lit a small candle for illumination and went back upstairs to check on her daughter, Ocheze. Sleeping peacefully, her pyjamas clad chest rose and fell. With a whispered prayer for their protection, she left her and took up her vigil in the sitting room. Carefully, she placed the candle on  holder.
She could feel it gathering.
“I shall outwit you! Waiting for me to sleep aren’t you? Ha!”
She said these furiously as she paced about.
She pushed the centre table aside and sat cross-legged on the rug. She blew air out of her mouth to her chest, trying to cool off. Slowly she calmed herself with deep steady breaths. Her eyes drooped to a close. She let her mind wander and predictably, it
made its way into the past…

“I’m sorry Ela! I’m so sorry! Please forgive and understand me…”
“Forgive you?? Understand what mummy! How am I supposed to understand that I’m a child of..of the ‘Moon goddess’? That you promised to put me in her service when I became a real woman? How am I supposed to understand that my life is forfeit because of a stupid oath you broke?? How! After all these years? You’re telling me this now? Before my wedding?? Mama!”
“Ela listen biko…I was desperate! You did not know the kind of abuse I received die to my childless! You don’t..”
“And so you bought me on credit and couldn’t pay back? ? In fact! I would not believe such nonsense!”
“Emmanuella! For your sake please do this! Even if you do not believe please just take this precaution. Nwa m biko! Every full moon, after the birth of your first female child, lock the doors! I’d give you some things to use after your honeymo..”
“Mama! O zugo. Please just leave. This is just too much to handle…”

The scene dissolved into a mist of memories, another forming and rising in its place.

Emmanuella was running through a dense forest, carrying a bundle in the crook of her arm. Hanging branches of the trees lashed at her as she ran past them.
‘The baby would be mine!’ The disembodied voice of an aged woman said harshly surrounding her.
‘Never! Leave my child alone! Go and meet my mother! You made an oath with her not me!’ Emmauella’s voice screamed back, running for cover.
‘You will die and the child would be mine! I would not be cheated twice!’
Emmanuella heard footsteps behind her and she continued running, panting.

A baby’s cry emerged from the bundle.

“Push!! She’s losing blood fast! She would need a tranfusion. Push!”

Emmanuella continued running, until she found shelter.
She held the bundle close to her chest muffling its cries.
They were safe…temporarily

“It’s a baby girl! Congratulations Madam.
No need to cry Madam! It’s over! You are lucky to be alive o! Here, carry her….”

On the heels of that memory, followed another…

“….it’s not about me being superstitious Phillip! Mummy told me two weeks before her death and I didn’t believe her! Do you know what it tried to do when I was in labour? The spirit was going to claim our baby! Please! Just help me lock the doors and windows and let’s stay in. Just tonight…”
“I’m sorry Ela but I must leave the house now! It’s important I get to Dapo’s place and back before its midnight! This is utter rubbish! Your mother is rural and archaic! Moon goddess? Why would you, an educated woman, believe something bad would happen after Ocheze’s birth?…”
“….No! Phillip!..

She had tried to stop him.
She knew what would happen.
She knew…

“…what do you mean! He slumped? How! Where! Dead! No! Please God! No! I cannot come out of the house! No! Dapo please! Take him to the morgue! I’d go in the morning! Please! YOU WON’T UNDERSTAND! The full moon is trying to draw me out! I’M NOT MAD FOR GOD’S SAKE!…”

Violent  rattling on the windows and door panes broke the connection and she was back to the present. She leaned and blew off the wispy flames with a shaky breath. The glow of the full moon didn’t penetrate through the thick curtains but she could feel it. She could feel the red mists gathering around the house enveloping it into its chilly embrace.
Her teeth began chattering.
She shivered and rubbed her exposed arms to ward off the cold.
Suddenly, she was glad Ocheze was a deep sleeper. The last thing she wanted was for her daughter to go through these terrors. She would bear it alone.
“So far the entrances are closed, you will NOT come in! Stay out! Stay where you belong! Go back! Take your spirits with you! My wards would protect me and my child! HA!”
Her skin crawled and she was tempted to get up and run.
She resisted.
It was trying to wear her down mentally.
She ground her chattering teeth as she listened to the wind howl. She peered through the curtains and faintly saw the shadows of the trees bend and sway, dancing to the rhythm of the music only nature could play.
She shuddered and silently cursed her mother who put her through this.

Time crawled.
She never really knew how long the attacks lasted for.
It felt longer every time. Time crawled even slower this time.
Slowly, she felt the house being released from its choke hold.
She could feel the terror leave her body.
Was it over?
She checked the time.
Twenty minutes.
It had lasted for twenty minutes this time.
Shorter than the last time.
Suddenly, she grinned.
“You are getting tired aren’t you! Fighting a losing battle!” she yelled.
She laughed, throwing her head back.


Unheard, the old woman laughed along with her.


Ocheze woke up in the darkness and and was frightened. She jumped off the bed and gingerly made her way to the window where the faint gleam of the moon shone. She drew the curtains.
“Wow. So big and bright.”
She stared at the lady of the night in all her splendour, alone and unaccompanied by her starry minions.
She saw something move in the shadows.
Suddenly a man appeared at the window and she jumped back in fright, heart pounding.
“Musa! You made me afraid! You should be at the gate not here”
The man Musa banged at the window urgently, looking back often as if trying to escape something.
With her shaky eight year old hands, she prised the window open and watched as he tumbled
into her room.


The old woman laughed louder.


Ocheze suddenly shivered, wondering if she should have let Musa in.
“Ah Ochese! Taink you! Where your mama? Persin dey gate but I no wan open. I dey fear!”
“She’s in her room.” Ocheze said, unsure and
“Stay for here make i go find am. No follow me you hear!”
She nodded quickly and closed her door as soon as he left.
The last thing Ocheze heard from her mother’s mouth was a shrill scream;
primal fear reverberated from her vocal chords.


The old woman climbed the stairs, red eyes gleaming in the darkness.
“Okpochi nti ijiji ga esoro ozu lakpu niime ili” she hissed.
A stubborn fly would follow a corpse to its grave.
She heard the loud whimpers of the child and smiled.


Ocheze heard the footsteps on the stairs.
She heard the jiggling of bells.
Her heart pounded.
Her legs felt rubbery.
Her bladder gave away and she shook, turning her pyjamas bottom dark with urine.
She heard the faint laughter she knew it was coming for her.
She wanted to go make sure the door was locked but her legs betrayed her.
She fell.
She watched as the door handle twisted, turned and opened.
She watched as the feet entered into her room.
Bare, black, ringed with tiny bells
She wanted to scream but she couldn’t.

The old woman walked in.

Ocheze stared at the bald, ancient woman who stood in her presence.
Her red eyes glowed; her face, patterned with white chalk.
A red wrapper was tied to her chest.
She smiled, showing her gum devoid of teeth, and walked towards her
Ocheze whimpered and crawled back.
With surprising speed, the old woman got close and held her face in the palm of one hand.
Tears obscured her vision and she closed her eyes, lips quivering.
The old woman laughed.
“Nwa m. My child.”

Ocheze felt the fetid breath of the woman on her skin.
She smelt rotten.
Suddenly, her voice came back.
Ocheze screamed and she sank into oblivion.

Visiting the iniquities of the
fathers, upon the children, unto the third and
fourth generation…

The End.


Thanks for reading and hoping you enjoyed that, do comment!
Have a lovely weekend 🙂

On Hard work

This isn’t a written post really. It is just a video clip i wanted to share.
Proud of my brother who won a regional public speaking challenge.
He spoke on Hard work and what it meant to him.
Hope it inspires!
Also wishing him the very best of luck at the National Final!

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