Category: horror


Quarter Past 11


Hey!
I worked on a watercolour painting on Wednesday so today, decided to try writing a story based on the painting. Picture’s in B/W cos my paint strokes are terrible and they look better this way!
Enjoy!

Quarter Past 11

IMG_20130306_172704-1_Logan

She did not mean to stay out this late.

There had been wine, music, food; she had lost track of time. She had promised she’d be home before 11. It was quarter past 11!

Harried, she walked out into the rain, cursing as she rifled through her bag for her little umbrella. The rain in savage glee increased, mercilessly lashing at her for her tardiness, plastering her clothes to her skin as she finally found and opened her umbrella.

Shivering and with alacrity, she ran, deciding to use the shorter route home. Normally she’d have been wary of using the bush path at night but between her irrational fear of large expanse of trees and the thunderous rage that would be her father when she got home, she decided to let the Devil take the hindmost and leg it.

Thankful for the flat shoes she wore, she ran until she was swallowed in by the trees.

Despite the fact that she was late, she unconsciously slowed to a walk as she traversed the narrow path. Gently, as if the slightest breaking of a twig would unsettle the atmosphere, she crept through.

Suddenly, she stopped. Her ears cocked and she turned around to stare at the gathering darkness behind her. Her heart hit her ribcage hard, as if begging to be let out. Fear of he father forgotten, she began to wonder if taking this particular route wasn’t a foolhardy thing to do.

She walked faster, stopping momentarily to stare quickly behind her. She didn’t even have any light and her phone was dead.

Only the stay rays of the moonlight that managed to penetrate though the dense foliage lighted her path and they did so badly.

There!

She heard it again.

She stopped as her blood roared in her ears raging like lions in a burning cage.

Footsteps. She was not mistaken.

Basic instincts screamed at her and she obeyed without thinking; she ran.

Her hands shook as she held the umbrella, panting as her feet slapped wet earth with dull thwacks.

Almost out of the bushes, she laughed shakily in triumph and exhilaration.

She heard no footsteps. She stopped to take deep breaths. What if she had imagined the footsteps?

She laughed and shook her head, walking at a normal pace, her ears still listening for sudden movements.

As she walked, she realised how heavy her limbs were;  almost as if she was carrying a heavy load on her back.

She blamed it on her unfit body and mentally promised to run more.

“Who’rrree you?”

A small voice suddenly asked, close behind.

She shrieked and turned about panicked. She saw no one.

“Who…who’s there?” She called out, eyes wide as clammy hands tightened their grip on her umbrella.

“How ccccould yooou not noticccce?” The small voice whispered into her ear. “You’ve beeeeen carrying me on your baaaack sincccce you walked intoooo myyyy forrressst…”

A cold tongue licked her ear.

Blood curdling scream.

Alice


Captaining today’s ship would be Dionysus.
Good luck.
You’d need it.

ALICE

Do you ever feel like a part of you is missing? A second part that seems to hold more power, more control, more grace, more drive?
It’s like you are the passive part and this other part is the Active one…
Alice felt this way all her life. Scientific folks would have called it a trauma caused by her mother’s death in a car accident when her car was smashed by a speeding truck. The driver was not drunk or inebriated in any way.
Spiritual folks would call it an affliction, like some wrong doing must have led to this.
Nihilistic folks would rationalise it as one of those random inexplicable acts just like the daily lives of humanity.
Alice lost her dark essence at a very young age. Molested by her father, she always knew she felt pain but she couldn’t understand why. Slowly, she developed a subconscious belief that life is pain; I deserve to be hurt especially by loved ones.
She felt like if she did something to assert her presence to reality, she would be an interference to the superior humans in front of her. She repressed her dark side until she completely lost it, a slave to the nice girl role.
Alice was always the polite one and the more polite she was, the more the seniors hated her, the more her classmates made fun of her, the more she withdrew into herself
Always consumed by her tragic past, she became distracted from reality most of the time, never able to pay attention to the mundane things her fellow humans talked about. She started to grow a certain disdain for them so as to keep them away from her, lost in dreaming of her past pain.
The feeling that there was no one she could confide me in consumed her. She started to listen to the voices inside of her head and she became addicted to the sotto voco of her inner voice. The voices kept telling her the same things till she became prisoner to them. Like a junkie, she was addicted to hearing them speak and she wanted more.
Alice started to unravel taboos in her mind; she decided she needed something more stimulating to arouse her.
The darkness slowly spewed into her soul.
She finally accepted that she could never leave her painful past behind because her past was what defined who she was. She also accepted that anyone who obstructed her thoughts was her mortal enemy. She subconsciously put them in the ‘Sheep’ category in her mind, never willing or able to pay attention to anything that comes out of their mouth.
Alice used to be picked on in school until she wore her oddity on her sleeve. She used to be the kid everyone made fun of and now she was the kid everyone feared. She knew she’d never be ‘one of the guys’ no matter how hard she tried and all it took was for her to stop trying. Alice always needed her ‘thought fix’ and she used it to deflect any other thoughts that didn’t come from her own head. She felt as if the shallow minds around her harmed her own thoughts.
The darkness had risen and she had more understanding of things as they really were. She mentally played back her childhood days and how her father fondled and used her. She made the thoughts darker in her mind and she saw her small self sucking her father’s penis after which he came semen and blood on her face. She also played in her mind, him fucking her young self doggy style, ripping her hymen apart and sliding in and out with his huge cock and blood dripping from her vagina. She had learned this trick. She always exaggerated everything that happened in her mind. She had stopped running away from painful memories and started trying to see how much pain the memory could actually inflict on her.
Alice also played back the memory of her dead mother. She imagined the truck ramming into her car with tiny shards of glass piercing into her flesh after which the truck climbed on top of the car and crushed her to death. She also imagined the sympathizers to be big black men and they pulled her out the car, ripped her bloody clothes off and gang-raped her lifeless corpse.
Alice mind was consumed by one single thought and that was paying back her father. She had planned so many scenarios in her mind and one day, she finally took action. As her father came home, she stood behind the door and slammed the back of his head with a baseball bat. He was knocked unconscious.
When he woke up, he was bound in a room with no clothes on. He also saw his teenage daughter standing in front of him. She had a little pubic hair and her mammary glands were not very developed
“You like what you see daddy”
A rope with thorns was tied to his penis and if he were aroused, it would pierce into his dick and cause him to bleed.
Alice started rubbing her breasts, smiling coyly and unable to help himself, her father started getting hard. He screamed as the thorns pierced through the shaft of his penis. Alice licked her two fingers and stuck it into herself, moaning like a pornographic actress sehad studied weeks ago.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrgghhhhhhh!!!
He was erect and bleeding profusely. She knelt before him and began sucking the blood that dripped. He got harder as she kept sucking it, lips slathered with blood and saliva.
“You like that daddy”
Alice then turned her back and took her father into her, the thorns still wrapped around his member. They both screamed in agony and pleasure as the thorns gripped her father’s penis tighter and ripped apart the insides of her vagina.
When she was done, she put them out of their misery.
By the time neighbours came around, they saw Alice and her dad lying dead in a pool of congealed blood.
The life is gone, another one begins to be ended in due time…
The cycle continues…
————————————————
I warned you. LOL
Hope you have a great weekend!
See you on Monday!

Eidolon


Hey guys!

Today, I bring to you a writing experiment of some sort.
This piece is going to be read in an unusual way:
First you read straight down, and you continue the story by reading from the bottom to the top!
Quirky eh?

=========================================================================================

EIDOLON

It was

Pain to move;

His body hurt,

They had held him down for too long.

For now;

He had managed to free himself from his demons.

“I need to move on”

He tried to rise on shaky legs.

Shivering like fingers stroking his spine,

He got up.

He reminded himself.

“It’s just a dream”

“Brand him! Brand him! Brand my name on him!”

Burning pincers.

Poke. Poke.

Shrieks of anguish.

More pain lanced his body.

He stumbled as his hands stretched to find a hold.

“Mine!” A voice had cried.

Bad Dream.

Flashes of light behind his eyes.

He woke up in pain.

He woke up scarred.

 Fin.

==============================================================================

Make sense?
Hehe!

Tell Me Your Dreams


First post of the New Year and it is going to be a random.
Sorry guys. Lol.
Restless (as usual), and hysteric.
I should say happy but ever been so happy you want to scream and cry and it becomes almost like a physical pain? Yup, that’s hysteria and that’s where I am now.
Also battling the oddest waves of chest pains that bring on panic attacks of me thinking I’m dying which in turn brings on my heart palpitation which according to Google, means I’m either suffering from anxiety, got kidney failure or I am a walking heart attack.
Yea, I pick anxiety, thank you.
Not writing this to bore you about my predicament (or have you worry. I am fine)
Just need to dampen my hysteria a little.

Tell me your dreams.
Literally.
I’ll tell you a few of mine. Of course, my bad dreams.
Feel free to interpret or psychoanalyse or fear for my sanity.
Lol.
This is me, opening a doorway into my mind.

I begin.
First dream that comes to mind right now is a crazy one that had an odd ending. I say odd, because I lost consciousness in the dream and in real life I suspect. And for the life of me, can’t figure out how it ended. I hit blanks when I try to remember.
They chased me. Six men. I ran but they chased and caught me.
They weren’t exactly men; creatures, lumbering creatures.
They took turns hitting me and tore my clothes into pieces. I screamed and screamed.
They held my arms and feet,dangling me in the air and the first thing got ready.
Once I saw him fumbling with his trousers, I knew what would happen.
Somehow, I forced myself to lose consciousness. Still cannot remember what happened from there. I cannot remember waking up after that dream.
So vivid and just at that spot, black.
Forcing myself to remember used to get me panicked and I’d have goosebumps so I stopped trying to remember.

Another disturbing one, I’d blame on my dabbling into the Occult.
Before you panic and say “Hey! Witches and Wizards!”, calm down.
Occult simply means hidden or secret knowledge.
I am a believer in the spiritual, the supernatural. I am curious so I always want to know.
What lies beyond this world. What we can’t see. But some things are called Secret for a reason.
Anyway, I have a lot of mystic, esoteric texts.
The infamous 6 and 7 Books of Moses (which is overrated in my opinion), Book of this and that.
I read these books. I wanted to know, not practice.
Wasn’t interested in summoning anything. I thought I was safe.
The dream.
I was at the door in the night and the Devil asked me to open up.
How do I know it was the devil? Because I was scared.
My body was shaking.
Pitch dark and swirls of red.
“Open the door” he said.
I couldn’t even pray. I couldn’t speak. I was cowering in a corner, teeth chattering, tears.
He spoke to me in my mothers voice; my brothers voice.
Even cried like a baby.
Open the door.
Then he pulled me.
I was getting up without meaning to.
I wasn’t in control of my body.
I was screaming incoherently as my hand reached the door. I kept screaming as I slid the bolt.
I woke up.
I woke in tears. My body shaking. Cold sweats. Covered my mouth to stop myself from screaming. Eyes wide.
Shook like a leaf for an hour our more.
Didn’t sleep for the rest of that night.
Terror.
Funny thing, I used to hear screams. Not asleep. In the day time. Busy with work and suddenly screams of tortured people. They spoke in different languages. Mostly Chinese and German.
Somehow, I understood what they were saying.
Save us! Save us!
This isn’t a dream.
Anyway, i quit with the books. Curiosity killed the cat.
Lol.

Mind reacting to that. Heart pounding fast.
Deep breaths.

Was gonna tell a third but meh. These two are enough.

Psychoanalyse me?
Tell me your dreams.

Day 25- Santa Claws


Dionysus decided to take you guys on today!
Hehehe!

—————————-

SANTA CLAWS

Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!
What will you like Santa to add to your wishlist?
I come bearing gifts for both the young and the old.
All I ask in return is your pound of flesh by the mould.

Santa Claws, sharper than Krueger Freddy,
I take what I want whenever I’m ready.
Kids scream in pure ecstacy,
As my fingers pierce through their soft belly.

Ladies shed tears of joy as my claws massage their fanny.
Blood dripping, I seem to be making them horny.
I want a car for christmas, he stood there wishing.
My claws were the key and his flesh was the ignition.

Ho Ho Ho!, I am Santa Claws!
I live and abide by only one law.
If you have a wish, Santa Claws would deliver.
But just remember to drop your liver,
Kidneys, toes, eyes will do.
Heart, intestines, kneecaps too

What you ask, you shall receive,
Along with your inevitable bereave.
Ho Ho Ho, I am Santa Claws!
I ride no elves, but you see me crusing a Porsche.
My stomach is bloated from drinking too much liquor.
I dyed my beard white cause young girls like em older.

Underneath my red suit are a pair of guns.
To get a titty flash from one of them uptight nuns.
I am Santa Claws and I aint no folklore.
‘Ho Ho Ho’ and my big belly are what I use to lure.

Girls, boys, men, women are fascinated.
Camouflaged as I rip their flesh and the blood painted.
Walls, floors, tables and ceilings,
I give birth to the new untainted phoenix.
Death gives life and the unborn is born.
I give something new as their flesh is ripped and torn.

I am Santa Claws and December 25th is when I make my Hitlist.
Give me a call and I’d give you a visit
Ho Ho Ho!
Merry Christmas!

————————

Frankly, Dionysus is crazy! LOL.
Do enjoy your festivities. Drink responsibly and be safe.
Bless!

Halloween Special


Feel like writing.

________
“Trick or treat?” The hooded child asked.
Without a word, I shut the door.
“Bloody Halloween kids” I grumbled, sitting back on the sofa and picking up my book.
The doorbell rang again.
I sighed and dropped my novel. I really hate Halloween nights.
Bloody kids!
I yanked the door open.
The same kid.
“Told you to fucking scram didn’t I!” I shouted. He was quiet and I immediately felt guilty. I shouldn’t swear at youngins.
“What is your name?” The boy asked in a quiet voice.
My name? Against my own volition, I told him.
“Chichi”
He repeated my name, as if practising.
“Ok Chichi” he said and raised his head to look at me. At that instant, the security lights went off.
I didn’t see his face.
He pulled his hood back down and the lights flickered back on.
I suddenly felt disturbed and without another word, I shut the door and locked it.
No more answering the door.

I could not concentrate. Something I couldn’t put my finger on niggled the back of my mind like a worm.
Upset and tired for no reason, I decided it was time to sleep.
I live alone.
I don’t know why this thought came unbidden to my head as I brushed my teeth.
I lived alone.
Shaking off my disquiet, I jumped into bed and switched off the lights.
Creaks.
On a normal day, listening to the creaks of the house soothed me to sleep but not today.
Every groan sounded like an invasion. Every creak, like someone was in the house with me. The house seemed colder. I huddled under my duvet, trying to stay warm.
My rational mind forced me to stop with the foolishness and sleep.
After tossing and turning, I managed to drop off onto a troubled sleep.

Cold.
Dark.
I run.
Trick or treat?
I’ve got no bloody sweets kid!
Run!
Trick or treat?
Run!
What’s your name?
Chichi.
Chichi.
Chichi.
Trick or treat?
Colder.
Run faster.
One stinking sweet bitch!
One. Stinking. SWEET!
Cold, small hands grab my ankles and long, sharp nails dig in.
I scream.

I woke up in sweat, shivering as my body fluids dried on my skin. I groaned and stretched my hand to flick the switch on my bedside lamp.
Light.
“One stinking sweet”a voice whispered.
I turned sharply.
I saw no one.
“One stinking sweet!”
My eyes widened. It was that child’s voice!
Suddenly I felt clammy hands grab my ankles.
I screamed, trying to kick off my invisible captor. The hands multiplied on my skin, pinning my arms to my sides and holding my head steady.
I felt something cool touch my cheek.
With sharp pain came recognition…and terror.
A knife.

——————-

Knife wounds decorated her face.
He had stuck the knife inside her mouth when he got tired of stabbing at her eyes.
He walked towards her and gently removed the knife.
He checked the clock on her bed stand.
“Not too late” he whispered.
He bent close to her lacerated ear and whispered.
Suddenly, she coughed, blood spraying her night shirt.
He stepped back and watched her.
She shrunk before his eyes.
When the transformation was complete, he helped her out of the bed.
“Come” he whispered gently, giving her a hooded cloak.
“Work to be done.”
Slowly, she nodded.

————————–

Juliet grumbled as she paused the movie on her laptop.
She opened the door and frowned at the two hooded children standing outside.
“Trick or treat?” One of them whispered, a girl.
“Go somewhere else!” Juliet grumbled and tried to shut the door.
The other child stuck his leg in the way.
“What is your name?” He asked
Juliet frowned. “Juliet. So?”
The two children repeated her name and her security lights went off.

———————-

Three hours later, three children rang a doorbell.


It’s 04:24am and I am struggling to make sure this story rocks for you guys.
I do not believe in Halloween. That is because on Phantom Pages, EVERYDAY IS FRIGGING HALLOWEEN!
This is my third and final Poe rewrite. It also happens to be my favourite because it is my favourite Poe story.
I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Dig in, zombies!

COLD CLUTCHING HANDS

When you hear a statement like ‘I heard a voice from my past’, you mostly expect to hear the tale of a vengeful ex-lover.
In my case, I heard the voice of an old school friend back in my Kings College days. My shock and somewhat reserved pleasure of hearing from him again was obvious.
“How did you get my number?” I had asked politely and listening to the voice recount the tale, while I rummaged through the deep pockets of my memory, fuzzy as they are, to remember what my caller looked like.
All I could recall was a hazy face of a chum with whom I played pranks and sometimes has dinner with. We had seen a few times after our college days and slowly, we grew apart.
“I need your help Demilade…”
That snapped me back to the conversation right then.
I paused.
“My help?” I echoed, wary.
When a voice from the past calls you, asking for your help, you know there’s trouble and trouble is one thing I have had enough of.
“Yes, your help” he replied. “Can you please come over to my house? It would be easier to explain.”
I remember my silence at this. I was mute for so long, he said several “Hello?”s just to make sure I was still on the line.
A better part of me had been ready to cut the phone and switch it off for the rest of the day. A little part of me, curious little part of me, was intrigued.
I against better judgement, I decided to satisfy my curiosity. What harm could it do?
“I don’t know…” I began and his pleas began anew.
It’s important.
It’s a matter of life and death.
I had later given him no assurances of my coming, seeing was I was in a different state, but I remember telling him to text me his address.
For old time’s sake; that was the phrase in my head.
Weeks after that call, I was back in Abuja. I had forgotten totally about my proclaimed friend.
It was on a bored stroll that I remembered him and the address and quickly, I went through my directory to get it.
I contemplated on calling, but decided to visit instead. Past 6pm it was but I felt that wasn’t too late to pay anyone a visit. I didn’t plan on staying too long after all and he did say it was a matter of life and death.
That, was how I found myself, driving to No. 56 Mississippi Street, Maitama.

I must say, the envy bug took a huge chunk off me as I parked outside a gate, the number 56 beautifully decorated on the side of the wall. Even from without, I could view the large house. Rich enough to afford a house this nice? Again, I searched my memory on this ‘Old friend of mine’. Yes, I remember he did come from an affluent home. He must have done well for himself, I thought.
With a creak and a groan, the gate opened and a security guard emerged from within.
“Demilade Phillips” I said to his silent enquiry-a quizzical look- of who I was. “Tell your master, Demilade Phillips is at the gate”
The security guard cast a baleful look at me and my somewhat rickety old Corolla before going back into the building.
It felt like an eternity before the bigger gate opened and I took this as an invitation to drive in. I drove through, gaping at the actual size of the house.
It was even bigger than it looked!
The security guard, who had been following my car, pointed to a spot where some other cars had been parked. I must say, I hadn’t seen the latest Range Rover until that day.
How awed and somewhat intimidated I was to park my old, red car beside the black beast.
I switched off and got out of the car.
“The master would see you. Follow the path Sir” the guard admonished and left me to find my way.
As I walked, I began to notice how old and decrepit the house seemed. Paints on sides of the wall were chipped, revealing greyed plaster. Weeds decorated sides of buildings like verdant garlands and grew from the cracks of the paved footpaths.
The house was falling into disrepair.
“Demilade…” a voice said, breaking me out of my scrutiny.
I turned and stared at an unknown man; unknown to me for all of 10 seconds and I’m sure I must have had an idiotic look on my face.
Slowly, I began to see hints of a man I knew ages ago.
“I look a mess, I know” the gravelly voice said, smiling sadly at me.
A mess? He looked positively frightening!
Bushy beard, thin frame covered in a faded blue shirt that had seen the insides of a washing machine one too many times.
Of course, I didn’t say this. I could only manage a ‘Wow’.
“You sure have changed” I whispered, walking to shake his outstretched hand firmly.
“Been a long time. Dee” he said, calling me by my old school nickname.
I laughed suddenly. “Too long Roboto. Too long!”
Roboto, that is, Rotimi my friend.
I remembered him now.
And with remembrance came the burning question, “What happened to you?”
If anyone was ever a shadow of his former self, this man was. The chubby lad from our Floreat days wasn’t this emaciated man I was staring at. He sighed and motioned me towards the main house.
“I’ll tell you everything when we’re inside”
I acquiesced and walked with him in silence, our feet grinding the gravel on the footpath.

“Have a seat” was all he said as he ushered me into his palatial home.
Palatial…and dead.
The drapes were drawn shut; gloomy. The furniture was coated with the gauzy film of dust. I could hear the rattling of an air conditioner in one part of the living room, whining as if taking its last breaths.
“Pardon the appearance” he said, breaking me out of my study and I smiled, sitting on a lumpy sofa beside him
We exchanged news and pleasantries.
Yes, I am an engineer.
Ah! Yes! I remember Tokunbo.
No, I ended up not getting married; bachelor for life.
The story of finding my bride kneeling between the legs of my best man, I left out. It wasn’t something I wanted to share just yet.
I threw his questions back at him.
He was an oil magnate.
Took over family business at death of his parents.
No, he wasn’t married.
He lived with his sister.
“Sister?”
And just as I was about to ask after her, a blood curdling scream rent the air. I shrieked, jumping out of the sofa I had reclined in with alacrity. Another burst of animalistic shrieks and screams filtered down and my skin puckered with goose bumps. I turned toward the direction of the sound, somewhere inside the house.

“What was that?” I asked in whispers, surprised at the calmness of my host, sitting still, watching me.
He smiled grimly. “My sister it seems, decided to say hello”
Quite shocked, was I at this revelation.
Embarrassed, I regained composure and sat down as obscenities and curses continued to rain down on us. After what seemed like an hour of madness, there was quiet.
I cleared my throat for the lack of anything to do.
Finally, the reason for the call was revealed.
I listened in morbid fascination to the story of how expensive vices rendered his only remaining family mad.
“Why didn’t you take her to a hospital?”
He shook his head and looked into my eyes. “Family is family. Couldn’t leave her in a mental home.”
How did he take care of her, I had inquired and her told me he saw to her needs, tough as it was. No one wanted to stay long in the house, ergo no servants. At nights, her screams got worse and frightened past domestic workers away. Not even the promise of a tripled salary could entice them to stay.
I was stunned at this revelation. No wonder the poor lad was in a state!
Rude of me perhaps, but it had to be asked.
“Why did you call me?”
He shook his head. “Truth, I don’t know. You came to mind one day. Felt the need to call you, to speak to an old buddy”
I received this news in silence and confusion. To speak to an old buddy? He continued to ramble on and I couldn’t hep but think that surely, he was getting as crazy as his sister.
I expressed my condolences to him and explained how I saw no way I could be of any help.
He got up suddenly and walked to me and holding my hand in a tight grip, he knelt in front of me.
“Just be there for me again. I need a friend again!”
I was quite taken aback by the gesture and the somewhat feverish light that I saw in his eyes as he stared quite intently at me.
I could do naught but agree to his terms.
He greeted my statement with a genuine smile and for a second, my heart went out to the poor, poor man.
“I have to be leaving now” I said, making a show of checking my watch.
He offered to walk me to his car and I agreed, glad to be leaving. We took a different path to the first and I noticed a garden that had a giant obelisk and a statue of angels.
I stopped to stare at the beautiful carvings, greying under the burden of the elements and age. He realised I wasn’t with him and walked back to me.
“Oh. you’ve meet my parents” He whispered.
“Your parents?”
He nodded and pointed out two open graves.
Ready-made for him and for his sister.
“How morbid” I commented and he laughed queerly, sending shivers down spine.
“Have to be prepared” he murmured and we continued our walk to my car in silence.
“Please come by more often” he said as I got into my car.
I nodded politely and shook his hand before closing the door and setting off.
That was how we met and I was determined never to meet him again.

As usual, saying something is one; actually keeping to that word, another matter entirely.
After our brief and somewhat disturbing visit, I got an urgent call and quick as a bird, I was out of Abuja. I did try to keep in touch with my friend, a call here, a text there.
All pleas to come visit were of course null as I wasn’t even around. Granted, I had gone to Calabar for a convention, yet, my convention had ended a week ago.
What then was stopping me from going back home? Was I afraid of my friend, or the fact that the goodness in me wouldn’t allow me lie to him if he asked after my location? Why was I so afraid to ‘help’ him? Could I even be blamed? After all, I didn’t understand what he really wanted from me.
Be that as it may, I stretched my stay in Calabar for a fortnight and going on the third week, I decided I had had enough. I wasn’t going to let another man scare me away from my city. Absurd!
I was on the next flight to Abuja.
I did enjoy a week’s respite before he called.
“You in town now?” he had asked.
I was a grown man; I did not lie. “Yes I am.”
He had asked me to come pay him a visit and I politely declined. Open graves, mad inmates. I sure wasn’t going to go back to that house.
“We would go out for a drink?” I said, offering an olive branch but he too declined.
“I have a sister to look after.” he replied frostily, before saying his curt goodbye.
I must say, I did feel bad for a second but that passed and the wave of relief I felt billow through me made me almost euphoric! I was free!

Alas, I was wrong.
After a few days, I got a frantic call in the late evening. My heart leapt out of my throat and fled when I saw his caller ID. A part of me darned my old friend and curse my good upbringing!
Mr. Politeness.
I picked up the call.
“Demilade you have to come! You have to! Oh my God!”
He shouted and I could have sworn he was sobbing down the line. My pulse raced with worry.
What is it?
I kept asking but the call was cut short. Either he ran out of credit or the network was bad. It was a particularly rainy evening after all.
Fast, I grabbed an umbrella and walked to my car. Wipers on, I drove off to his house.
At the back of my mind, I wondered if I was making it a habit to be a knight in shining armour. My friend was no damsel, which made it all pretty disturbing, truth be told.
It seemed the guard had been given express instruction to let me in because he only had to stick his head out to confirm my car and without questions the huge gate swung open. I parked (next to the Rover again), but had no time to admire the car.
Umbrella open, I walked to the waiting figure who could only be Rotimi. He had no umbrella and the heavy rain pelted him with their watery missiles. Quickly, I rushed and shared my umbrella with him. I was about to chide him when I saw the look of abject despair on his face.
“She is dead” was the only thing he said and walked away from the protection my umbrella provided, oblivious to the chill and dampness. I followed him quickly and entered his home; still was as dreary as the first time.
“I have to bury her” his second sentence to me.
I held his arm, confused. “Bury her? It is raining! And it is night. Won’t you at last have a proper funeral service?”
He turned to stare into my eyes and the look I saw in his eyes stopped me. Here was a man who was dead already.
I wasn’t going to be able to reason with him, I realized too.
“Fine…” I murmured. “I will help”
I watched some of his stiff mien melt and for a second, I thought he was going to fall to his knees. He walked away from me and I noticed his quaking shoulders.
He was crying.
Embarrassed and feeling out of place, I stared at my wet trainers which had left a set of muddy tracks on the marble floor.
“She’s upstairs” he whispered when he had gained a measure of control over his emotions and together we walked up winding stairs to her room. He opened doors, switched on the light and the first reaction when I put my head in there was to run out of the house and never come back. The room stank of urine, faeces and and underlying smell of rot. On the walls were depraved scribbling and realistic drawings of the most obscene and bizarre images.
“She was quite an artist” I whispered awkwardly, for the lack of nothing better to say. He grunted in reply and pointed to the bed where a shrouded body lay.
I was unsure of what to do.
“Where is the casket?” I asked and he looked at me oddly.
“Casket?” he echoed and my mouth rounded in an ‘Oh’. He planned to throw her inside her watery grave that way. How…nouveau.
He moved to the other side of her bed and motioned for me to grab hold of the shrouded ankles. I must say, for a second, I baulked but then common sense returned and I wondered to myself what harm a dead woman could do to me.
A clap of thunder and a flash of lightning decided at that moment to occur, causing me to jump, startled. The fluorescent bulb flicked and dimmed and I felt the sudden need to be out of the room before it went completely dark. I lifted her ankles –how heavy they weighed!- and gingerly, we made our way downstairs. I could not manage the task of carrying an umbrella and a corpse so I resigned to getting myself wet.
He led us under the rain to one of the dug graves and without ceremony, we dumped her body in. He shovelled some sand in, whispering something that was lost to the sound of rain falling on the corrugated roof of the guest house nearby. He buried half way while I stood there, getting rained on, watching him mutter as he laboured. Our eyes met and as if noticing me for the first time, he stopped and walked to me, dropping the shovel.
“I can do this tomorrow Dee. let’s go in.” he shouted above the noise and I nodded, walking with him inside. I left another set of even muddier tracks inside the house but he didn’t seem to mind. Not that I was surprised.
He took me to the kitchen and we removed our shirts. In the kitchen sink, we wrung water out of them.
“Sorry for the inconvenience” he said, directing me back to the living room He disappeared and appeared seconds later with a bottle of Jack Daniel and two glasses.
“Rum” he said, pouring me a full measure. With whispered thanks, I poured the drink down, wincing and sighing with gladness as the warmth of the liquor hit the back of my throat.
He began an odd eulogy right then to the dearly departed. I said nothing, listening to him. I suspect he must have forgotten I was even sitting with him in the living room. He soon quieted and a hush fell. I was grateful for the silence, content to listen to the rain pitter patter furiously and soon I found myself drowsy lulled to sleep by the sound of raindrops.

I cannot say what woke me up but wake up I did. I stretched, wincing in my neck and m eyes alighted on Rotimi. I got up slowly, staring at my friend with a growing sense of foreboding. There he sat on a love seat, eyes open, glass clutched tightly in his hands, whispering to himself.
“Roboto…” I said, before approaching him.
He did not move to acknowledge me.
Was he asleep? In a trance? I drew nearer and tapped him.
“Rotimi…” I said, staring in partly worried and in part fascination at his unblinking gaze and moving lips. I leaned in closer to hear whatever it was he as mumbling.
“She is not dead. She is not dead. Only drugged her to sleep. She is not dead. Buried her alive. Drugged. Alive. Not dead. She is asleep. Drugged…”
She is not dead?
She… She was not dead!
My eyes widened as the import of his words hit me. I drew away from him sharply. Thunder struck and lightning obliged with its flashes.
As if on cue, the power in the house went off.
Gloom.
I felt fear begin to creep at the back of my neck.
His whispering became louder still. I could barely see him in the gloom and another flash of lightning revealed him. He was rocking back and forth.
My heart raced and I quickly stumbled my way into the kitchen where I had hung my shirt to dry off and hastily wore the damp shirt. it was time to make me exit
I heard the door bang open and close and I ran out of the kitchen and into the living room to investigate the noise.
My heart stopped.

Rotimi continued murmuring, oblivious.
Low cackling, muffled laughter; slow, shuffling footsteps.
The living room brightened with another lightning and I swallowed a scream.
A naked, muddied woman walked slowly towards Rotimi.
The light was gone just as quickly and we were plunged into darkness.
She laughed harshly, voice similar to the one I heard the first time I came to the house.
My mind put two and two to make four and my bowels lost control. I felt the warm trickle of urine run down my legs.
She wasn’t dead.
She hadn’t died!
I shook  as I kept still at the entrance to the kitchen, hoping the darkness covered me. I listened in horror as Rotimi shrieked.
Another brief illumination.
She had her hands wrapped around his neck, grinning in feral delight. Rotimi’s eyes bulged and for a split second, as his eyes roved, as if sensing my presence, our eyes met.
Darkness gladly descended.
I heard him choke my name.
Help.
I cowered in my hiding place.
I’m sorry.
I can’t.
I heard her scream in glee, accompanied by repeated, heavy thuds. His blood-chilling scream unnerved me and I stuffed my fingers into my mouth to stop myself from screaming.
I don’t want to see!
Nature disobeyed and the room was brightened again.
Her hand was wrapped at the back of his neck, blood dripping. Where Rotimi’s face used to be, a pulpy mass.
Blood and brain matter littered the floor.
She slammed his head on the marble floor again.
“Nuts. Crack me some nuts” she barked and howled like a wolf.
“Holy Mary Mother of God” I whispered tremulously.
Darkness was back.
I heard her ask a distinct question.
“Where is the other one?”
My heart stopped.

It was my turn!
I forced my quaking legs to move, trying to fix a cordinate on where she was when the room was last illuminated.
“WhereisheWhereisheWhereisHE! NUTS! CRACK YOU LIKE A NUTS!”
I heard her move and quickly, i inched my way to the door.
My mind was disoriented. Which way was it?
“NutsNutsNuts” I heard her whisper. Was she nearer?
I swallowed a scream, urging myself to think. I stumbled on furniture and cursed mentally.
She had heard it.
Her shuffling was getting faster.
Quickly, I moved away, feeling a stool under my palm and suddenly knowing which way the door was.
She was quiet.
I stopped and listened.
She was quiet.
I walked slowly towards the door and at that moment, another brightness.
A figure stood before me.
Her black eyes gleamed, yellow teeth exposed in a grin. Her matted hair fell over her face. obscuring an eye, hands akimbo.
“And where did you think you are going?” she whispered to me.
“Oh shi…” i groaned, stepping back.
Quicker than a flash, i felt her cold hands seize me by my shirt.
Panic seized me.
I screamed, pushing her away with a might born out of fear and grunting in satisfaction as i heard her hit a chair.
I scrambled for the door, hands shaking as I tried to find the handle.
She screamed and lunged for me just as I found and yanked the door open. For a brief second, I felt the cold clasps of her fingers at the back of my neck before I ran blindly, out of the house.
She followed me.
I heard her scream as she came out in pursuit.
I pumped my legs as fast as they could carry me, praying to the Almighty I got to my car. I squinted frantically, trying to locate the huge Rover I knew as a landmark.
Found!
I ran towards it and heard fast footsteps behind me. My hands fumbled for the keys in my pocket as I ran towards my car and I unlocked it. I literally flew at the handle, yanking and jumping inside, slamming the door and locking.
Thud!
I heard her body slam on my window and even in the poor light, I saw her glimmering eyes and smile and my eyes widened in horror when I noticed the stone in her hand.
My fingers fumbled with the keys as I heard her first smash, trying to break my window open.
“Come on!” I shouted at the car as I stuck the keys in the ignition and tried to start.
The car wouldn’t start.
I tried again, muttering frenzied encouragements.
Smash!
I shifted away as the window gave way, broken shard of glass showering me.
She stuck her hand in the hole and tried to grab my, managing only to hold on to an ear.
I screamed.
I felt long nails dig into my skin, drawing blood. She was going to tear my ears out!
With a scream of triumph, my car came alive and without a thought, I reversed, and nodding with a grim smile of satisfaction as she screamed, letting go of me as the jagged window lacerated her arm.
Loud blasts of my horn summoned the guard and immediately he had the big gate open. Without a warning to him, I sped off into the night, not even sparing a glance backwards.

I fell sick after this.
Due to the chill of standing under the rain or due to the horror I experienced, I do not know. It could have been both.
After weeks of self-medication, treating my ear, I got better.
I left my car and moved away from Abuja, going to Lagos to stay with my family.
I do not think I will ever come back to Abuja.

She is out there, waiting.
Some nights, I wake up in cold sweats, afraid. For a few seconds, I believe I see her beside my bed, eyes glimmering; fingers stretched out towards me.
Would I wake up one day to feel her cold fingers closing around my neck?

—————————————————————————————–

Inspired by The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe.
That’s it with POE!
This is a thank you to all who have read and helped me with words of encouragements and creative criticisms. It is always great to know I have an audience to sound out my crazy ideas on.

Please, do not forget to vote for Phantom Pages here for Best Writing blog http://nigerianblogawards.com/vote.php. If you had voted On Monday to Wednesday last week, please vote again because your votes were not counted. 😦
I would really appreciate it if we could make this happen!

Tomorrow begins a new month and I can’t wait to get writing new things!

Do comment and have a wonderful Halloween celebration if it’s your thing.
I’ll be sharing one cup of rice to every child that comes to my door for sweets. How’s that for a treat?
^.^

A Tale of Two Friends


My dears!
Velcome!
Another Wednesday, another story.
Just in case you have’t realised, (hands LAST medal), I took it upon myself to rewrite some of Edgar Allan Poe’s short horror stories in my own way; own style- Modern, Nigerian, Me.
This would be my second attempt, (First was Red Eye, two posts before this)
Hope you enjoy!
A little announcement/reminder at the bottom!

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Watch your mouth, I had warned him.
He was drunk; he didn’t care.
He crossed boundaries, naturally, and he just has to pay.
He must!
It doesn’t matter that he apologized to me the next day, sober and sorry. The damage had been done and his apologies won’t stop the others at the pub sneering at me behind my back. I watch how quiet they go whenever I step in and I know; definitely talking about me.
Oh Debo, you will pay!

I totally messed up, I admit.
I can’t even believe what I had said that night. I mean, John is my good friend.
I would never purposely try to make a mockery of him.
I apologized profusely the next day after that horrible night and thankfully, he accepted my apology.
Other guys have told me they sense a cruelty to him but if anything could prove them wrong, that did.
I have stayed off alcohol since then; bad stuff.

My manner and approach never changed so he never suspected a thing.
“Debo my guy!” I’ll hail as he entered the bar and smiling, he would throw me a salute.
It gave me pleasure to think up ways to punish him while we spoke of mundane things like family and work.
After weeks of rumination, I had the perfect plan.
The New Year is a good day to die, as Debo would find out.
With haste I made my preparations and my wife, noticing the odd joie de vivre about me wanted to know just what was on my mind.
“Just happy about the New Year, darling. So many possibilities” I whispered as I took her in my arms and kissed her softly.
Spread the love.
I picked up my mobile and dialled his number.

My phone began ringing and I grunted in irritation as I dropped my cutlery to answer.
“Guy this better be important. Cutting into my food time”
Despite my irritation, I smiled a little at John’s laughter at the other end of the line.
“Quick one, Mr. Food. Would need your help tomorrow. Would you be able to come to…say my house?”
I raised an eyebrow.“Dude, you know its New Year tomorrow. Of course I will be busy!”
He scoffed. “Busy doing something you cannot get out of?”
I lowered my voice, conscious of the fact that my wife was home.
“Wifey is taking me to church and then, plan on meeting Nengi later”
“Who’s Nengi again?”
I laughed quietly and whispered conspiratorially “My new babe! Told the Wifey I got an office party. From there, FIAM! Off to my baby!”
“Baaad guy” I heard John croon, laughing. Then his voice turned low and serious. “But I need your help quickly. Say by 7pm. Need your opinion on a certain piece of land I plan on buying”
I paused, thinking as I ran my tongue across my teeth, searching for stray pieces of meat. “Ah but can’t it wait?”
He blew out air- his way of showing frustration- “Well…I guess I could just ask Godwin…”
Godwin?
I chuckled. Surely, he was joking. “Come on! Godwin? You know that guy is a fake. Just wait! The land isn’t running away!”
John sighed. “It’s really important. Trust me, I am desperate enough to consider Godwin…”
I scratched my beard in thought.

‘Take it!’ I urged him in my head.
I heard the annoying sound of his long fingernails scratching his beard in thought and grimaced.
‘Come on!’
I knew about his beef with Godwin and I was ready to goad him more when he finally spoke.
“Fine…” he groaned.
‘YES!’ I pumped my fist in victory.
“But we won’t take long though!” I heard him add.
“Sure! No problem! Thanks man!”
I heard his grumbled “You’re welcome” and grinned.
Bait taken.

And that is how I’ve gotten him in my car, driving, heading to his waterloo.
“So where did you tell your wife you were going?” I ask casually. I need to be sure he hadn’t mentioned me to his wife.
Debo chuckles and whispers comically, “Office party”
I laugh along.
Perfect.
My wife would not be home from her church activities till 11pm. She would most likely think I am home, sleeping off the stress church induced earlier.
Enough time.
Just perfect.

I maintain a stream of conversation, hoping the journey would be quick enough.
‘Office Party’
I chuckle in my head; I am too smart for my own good!
I look around as John drives. “What area is this? Very unfamiliar..”
John smiles. “Don’t worry. You will meet your girl in time”
I don’t know why, but I suddenly shiver, like someone just walked over my grave.
Probably the AC; since when did I turn paranoid?
Conversation peters out and we lapse into silence, listening to a radio DJ play the latest ‘choons’.
Suddenly the car stops and I break out of my reverie to survey where we are.
We have entered a cul-de-sac, surrounded by vegetation.
Something about the dense bushes sitting ominously against the backdrop of the darkening sky unsettles me, causing goose bumps to erupt on my flesh.
“Where is this?” I ask, looking at John.
“Why? The new land I want to buy.” He whispers, smiling.
I smile uncertainly and look around. “I can’t even see anything asides these trees…”
I hear him chuckle and I turn, confused.
“What’s funny?”
He smiles at me.
Suddenly, the thoughts about what my other drinking buddies had said about John rises unbidden in my mind.
‘Something about that your friend John smacks of wickedness’
The quality of his smiles unnerves me; nearly feral.
I decide I need some fresh air.
I make to open the door but meet resistance.
Locked.
“Open the door”
John’s smile becomes wider. “No.”
My face scrunches in confusion and part irritation.
As I turned to try opening it manually, I hear the rustling of cloth against upholstery.
Something screams at me to turn.
I obey my instincts and spy a claw hammer in his hands, grin still pasted like a bad comic on his face.
“What are yo…”
The last thing I see is the hammer moving out of my line of vision.
I feel a blinding pain at the back of my head.
Darkness.

It feels good.
Almost too good; I want to give his head a few more hits but still myself.
Oh the punishment is just beginning.
I unlock the car and go over to the other side and with several grunts of effort, I pull his dead weight not helped by his considerably bulky frame, out and into the bushes. I leave him for a moment to lock my car and when I am ready, I find the hidden path I had discovered at the back of my new property.
I drag him to a hole I had dug a week ago, in preparation, and after a little body ministration, I dump him inside.
Slowly, I begin filling the hole, trapping his body, making sure I do not get any soil on his face. That would be no fun.
When he is properly buried from his chest down, he begins to stir.
I smile and drop the shovel, sitting on my haunches, waiting for him to notice his situation.

Pain.
I struggle to open my eyes, trying to understand why my arms and legs felt so heavy.
My eyes slowly focus in the gloom and a weak, horrified shriek escapes my mouth.
I am encased in something.
Sand?
I look up and notice a barely visible figure.
It has to be only one person.
I lick my dry lips. “John” I croak. “What is this?”
He burst into fits of laughter. “What does it look like?”
I swallow hard, wincing at the pressure of the soil pressed against my throat.
“Why?”
I hear his low chuckle rumble in his chest.
“Call me an impotent bastard is what you did…” he whispered softly. “ I used my manhood to acquire wealth. I believe that was the way you phrased it yes?”
My brain whirs in confusion then I remember.
My heart stops and a growing sense of fear envelopes me. “But…I thought…we had settled…”
“Settled?” Another round of laughter.
“You forgave me John. I was drunk!” I squeak, feeling my forehead bead in sweat.
“Well…we will be settled after this…”
He sits, waiting for something.
I gulp, feeling my Adam’s apple bob uncomfortably in their earthy confinement.
Oh God…

I sit, waiting.
Smiling.
When I hear his first gasp of pain, I grin and bring out my torch.
The show has finally begun and I need to see his face!

I feel tiny burns where my right calf is.
The urge to itch drives me to shift myself in my grave.
After my futile struggle, I gasp in defeat, feeling sweat roll down my neck.
Trapped.
The itching sensation begins to grow and spread. I can feel something-or some things travelling up my thigh.
“What is happening John?” I whisper fearfully. “John!”
He doesn’t answer me and I cannot see him.
Has he left me to die?
I feel a sob try to break free and I swallow it, breathing hitched.
The pain is increasing.
Pricks and stings.
It’s increasing!
Sweat mingles with tears, the saltiness stinging my eyes, forcing me to shut them tight. My lips mumble prayers and curses.
My brain goes on overdrive.
What is is?
The pain!
Scorpions? Ants? Spiders? Cockroaches? Snakes?
Panic bites at the edges of my mind and I begin to shudder.
“Lord Jesus…”I whisper shakily, gasping for breath.
“John!” I shriek. “Please stop!”
I hear a flick and a light beam hit my eyelids.
He’s watching me.
The bastard is watching me suffer!
The fucking sonofabitch!
Crawling.
Up my trousers.
I moan in terror, pleading for mercy, cursing him at the top of my voice.
“JOHN FOR FUCK’S SAKE!!!”
“Do you want to know what is biting you?” he asks softly, ignoring my cries.
I bite down on my lips, the coppery taste of blood flooding my mouth.
IN MY PANTS!
JESUS!
“JOHN PLEASE!!”
“Fire ants” he whispers.

“Fire ants…”
I savour the feel of those words in my mouth.
Delicious.
I had poured a couple inside his clothes before burying him; my own personal touch to this whole scene.
I watch him blubber in terror, tears streaming down his face, snot making skid marks down his lips.
He screams curses at me. He cries for forgiveness.
I suddenly feel a stab of sadness and my heart melts.
I switch off the torch and locate my shovel.
“I’m sorry Debo…”

Pain!
Pain!!
John!
God!
I can feel them feasting on the soft flesh of my belly.
THEY’RE EATING ME!
OH GOD!
“PLEASE…” I moan, in gibbering whispers.
Pain!
Release me!
I hear the scrape of metal on something and I whip my head frantically, trying to see what he’s doing.
“I’m sorry Debo…” I hear him whisper.
A huge scream rips itself out of my throat.
“DON’T DO THIS!! JOHN! I HAVE TWO KIDS! MY WIFE! JOHN!”
“And I have none. I am an impotent bastard after all aren’t I, Debo?!” he shouts back at me, his voice ripe with anger.
The sound of something metallic again; and that is when I feel it.
Clods of soil, hitting my tear streaked face.
He is burying me alive!
THE BASTARD IS BURYING ME ALIVE!
My bowels lose control and I feel the cloying dampness.
“NO!!!”
WHY!.
JOHN WHY!
My ragged sobs are the only things i can hear.
I thought we were friends?
Friends.
Broken.
Jumbles of images flash in my head as the sand hits my face.
Biola; my darling wife. I am sorry.
Ayo, Gbemi. Your father is sorry.
I’ll never see you girls grow.

Oh Lord I won’t see my babies grow!
“I CURSE YOU JOHN!” I suddenly scream, shrieking.
Funny…

This is funny..
Adebola Ajayi so this is the way you will die?
I burst into gales of laughter.
John…
Curse you!
CURSE YOU!
I keep laughing and some soil enters into my mouth, choking me.
I gag, trying to spit, unable to turn my head.
I cough, expelling some and more take their place.
Struggling to breathe.
Can’t breathe!
Oh God!
Did it have to be like this!
Oh God!
Why!

Did it hav…e…

The last minutes of a man…
I contemplate on this as I continue to fill up the makeshift grave.
He laughed.
What was so funny?
I should have stopped to ask him.
What did he find so funny?
A small wind brushes my skin, rustling the leaves on the trees. For a second, I am sure I heard the vegetation mimic his laughter again.
I pause.
The cold wind suddenly bites my exposed skin and it breaks out in prominent goosebumps.
They laugh again.
Panic…
With an immediate sense of urgency, I finish my work and without a backwards glance, run to my car. The shadows of the trees lengthen, as if in pursuit, dogging my footsteps.
Hands shaking, I open the car,  jump in and locked the doors, breathing heavily.
It takes a while for my shakes to subside and I feel sweat dry on my skin.
Silence.
Suddenly, I grin.
“Why did I just scare myself like that?” I ask aloud and laugh.

A laughter answers.

I shriek and jump, eyes widened as I turn towards the passenger seat of the car, the direction of the sound.
Sitting behind me was a mound of sand, in the shape of a human, laughing, clods of soil falling off and reforming.
“John…”
I hear Debo’s whisper.

I scream.

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Hope you enjoyed that!
That was inspired by The Cask of Amontillado by Monsieur Poe!
Do leave comments!
In other news, we got nominated for Best Writing Blog and we can’t win without votes!
Ipso facto and ipso jure, please go to http://nigerianblogawards.com/vote.php and vote! vote! vote!
Remember to confirm your nomination via the email they send you!
Merci!

My last Poe story, we shall have on the 31st of October!

DAN DAN DAAAAAAN

Tee Hee!

Red Eye


Hello!
Remember i said i was working on something new; an experiment of some sort?
Yes! Starts today!
In case this is all ‘new’ to you, I decided to take on the task of rewriting some of my favorite short stories by Edgar Allan Poe. There are three of them and I would be posting them every Wednesday, leading up to Halloween Wednesday.
I was going to make people guess the original stories butttt… figured some of you haven’t read Poe’s works so I’ll be putting the original title works at the bottom.
That said, here’s the first story!

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RED EYE

I am a good daughter. This needs to be said. I have my faults, as we all do, but I have been good.
My mother would like you to disagree but pay her no mind.
She hates me.
She always had and truth be told, I cannot blame her. I am a child of her shame, a child born out of violence. She had always been quick to let me know that; that and the fact that I was born ungainly. Had I been pretty or even petite like her, maybe she’d have found a place in her torn heart to love me. Sadly, Fate dictated differently. I am too tall and too dark; too clumsy.
“Just like that mad demon that raped me!” she’d yell on her worse days. She is OK on her good days. OK meaning she leaves me to my devices –mostly reading torn sections of old newspapers-, hardly talking to me. On her bad days, I am the subject of her well-worded expletives and well-aimed blows.

We live together, my mother and I. I suspect she has a family but she has never mentioned them to me. She mumbles names in her sleep. I think they might have kicked her out of the house; probably due to the circumstances surrounding my conception.
All a guess, of course.
I know nothing and no one.

A trial it is, living with her.
Being poor, I am unable to complete my secondary education- sad, considering the fact that I just happened to be good at school studies- and now I help her in the running of her fish business just few blocks away.
I hate fish; I hate the smell of fresh fish; the cloying disgusting rank that nauseates me every time. Telling her this once had been a bad idea, judging from the sizable welts I received from her beatings. My opinion matters naught and I have learnt to bear the olfactory assaults. I do not own perfumes so I have and will continue to rely on soap and water to wash the smell off me though I suspect the odor has stuck to me, considering the upturned noses I got from students when I was still at school.
“If you know what is good for you, you’ll kill yourself!” She would scream sometimes. Some days I wonder why she hadn’t gone ahead and aborted me when she found out she was pregnant. Even God would have forgiven her that act. My father, after all, is a mad man.
Yes, she was raped by a mad man.
An exception to whatever rule governs killing unborn children.
Even if she was against abortion, why then didn’t she leave me in an abandoned dump-site to starve and die, providing a feast for whatever wild dogs strayed upon my scrawny body? Why did she let me live? Was I some sort of reminder of the fate that had befallen her? A living obelisk; a monument of her shame?
I have asked myself these questions.
Everything has always had a way of being my fault.
The fish mongers sell her rotten fish – “Onome this is your fault!” she would scream followed by a missile of a pan or a cutlery; thankfully, not a knife.
Bad sales- “’This is your fault! You’re too ugly! Chasing my customers away!” -and as usual, accompanied with her friendly missiles. I guess I have to thank Providence for giving her such a bad aim.

The funny thing is that on some days, I do believe it is my fault.
I’d hate me too if I were in her shoes.
It does vex me sorely though when she calls me mad.
I hate it.
I am not mad.
I am not my father.
One would imagine she’d have hidden the condition of my father from me but Oh no!
Not her!
I remember being 12, coming to her fish stall from the public school she barely managed to afford to take me to, in tears.
Bastard child, I had been called.
Of course, I got no measure of comfort from her asides her tongue lashing to clean my stupid tears and help her with customers. I think I spoilt her mood for the rest of the day, judging by her violent chopping of fish and barely veiled insults at customers. A little part of me had been happy, she was angry because they had abused me. She did feel something for me!
I bore her abuses with a smile, naïve me.
Home we went that day, and typical me, I broke a glass cup, her favorite cup. Needless to say, she flew off the handle.
“Idiot!”  Hit. “Stupid fool!”  Hit. “Why won’t they call you bastard!” Slap.
I howled, begging for mercy.
Hit. “You should be happy they did!” Hit. “After all” Slap “Your father was a mad man!” Hit.

That was how I got to know of him.

To be honest, it made life easier for me at school. I would chuckle when the inbred daughters of Satan would gather in their circle, calling me names.
A bastard child is better than a child of a mad man.
“Stupid mad girl” mother would scream and I would bristle angrily.
I am not mad!
I was unfortunate enough to say that to her hearing. Needless to say, I nursed a swollen lip for a week.
I hate my mother.
It is a terrible thing to say about one who gave you life but it is the truth. I hate my mother; I hate what years of bitterness and anger had turned her into. I am unashamed to say that the thoughts of her dying painfully have given me a measure of comfort.

If there is anything I hate even more, it is her left eye. You see, she lost the use of that eye during the rape incident that brought me into the world; another fact she never tires of telling me.
“I’d have been able to see with my two eyes if not for you! Idiot!”
Her left eye is forever partially open; a yellowy mess of dead optic cells filmed over with a red gauzy membrane.
The divine comedy of God or the hand of his son, Satan; I do not know.

Fish eye; red eye.

It became a habit to stand out of the line of sight of her dead eye, frightened as I was by its intensity. It would glare at me, shooting me a look full of hatred. Dead isn’t dead and I am not imagining things.
It hates me and it would kill me soon.
I do not know how, but I can feel it.

******************

It is evening and we’re done for the day.
We walk home, me in silence, she in her usual loud voice complaining about sales, shouting greetings at her friends, mumbling curses at her ‘enemies who want to see her downfall’, screaming at me to walk fast, screaming at me for walking too fast. 
We go home to no power as usual- Welcome to Magodo- and I hurry to light the kerosene lamp which we use. She goes inside to undress and after a while, while I unpack our bags, she comes out with her favorite seat outside the compound.
“Come fan me!” she commands harshly and sighing, I walk over to her, to obey.
She closes her eyes to sleep.
Well, her right eye.
Red eye gleams; I can hear it chuckling.
“Stupid mad girl” the eye seems to whisper.
I shiver.
I suddenly feel the need to close the eye.
Put a paper over it; shut it out!
It is horribly distracting. Tonight, I cannot seem to tear my gaze away from the rheumy, dead orb.
I stop fanning and immediately, the other eye flickers.
“Idiot what are you stopping for” she murmurs sleepily. I continue my task, murmuring an apology. I stare at her faded shirt in the weak light, breast flat with age underneath, hanging freely. A slight wind stirs the compound and her nipples respond obscenely, perking up even in her sleep.
I grimace, averting my eyes in embarrassment. My look is drawn back to that eye.
It glistens dully and for a second, I was sure it quivered.
Something is hiding behind that red eye. I draw nearer, careful to make sure I do not wake her.
Yes! There! It moves!
My skin crawls and I want to draw away but morbid curiosity keeps me rooted to the spot, staring.
I am not seeing things. I am not seeing things.
Suddenly a protrusion sticks out from her eye and with a barely muffled shriek, I fall back, hand on mouth, eyes wide.
“You should have stayed” the eye whispers. “Come nearer so I can poke your eye too”

I shudder, a thousand goosebumps chasing one another, my skin their playing field.
“Mad girl. Keep staring. Come closer. I will poke your eye and eat it”
I shake my head hard, trying to rid myself of its voice.
It wants to kill me!
“You’re mad. You’re better off dead. You will die sad. Come closer…”
I drop my fan, stepping away from it; from her.
“Are you running away? You’re very mad. Madder than mad. Come closer!”

SHUT UP!

It means to kill me!
My mother is snoring, dead to the world.
‘Run!’ my brain screams at me.
“Yes! Run! Idiot! Run from me!”I defy it, legs shaking as I slowly walk away from the sleeping figure. When I am out of its sight, I run to the backyard, burying my face in my hands, feeling tears drop like watery gifts into my shaking palms.
It wouldn’t leave me alone.
It would never leave me alone.
It would kill me.
It would!

**********************

“Onome blow out the lamp! Idiot! What are you waiting for? Don’t you know I use money to buy kerosene?”
Mother’s voice coming from the bedroom.
I study the lamp a little longer, staring at the yellow flame ensconced happily within a globular glass held together by metallic companions.
“Should I?” I whisper.
It just sits there on top of the wick, saying nothing.
I take a deep breath and blow, plunging the house into darkness. I trace my way back to the one room we share, my hands –and painfully, shin- guiding me. I hear her soft breathing as I lay down beside her, making sure to keep a distance. She has the tendency to kick while sleeping. Even in the dream, she stays fighting.
Should I?
I wait, listening to the house speak, begging them to dissuade me.
“Do it…” the ceiling whispers.
“Do it!” the walls cry.

Do it! Do it! DO IT!

I turn fitfully, wrapping my shaking hands under my armpits.
I can still hear them.
“She thinks you’re mad”
“Yes! Mad!”
But I am not…
“But she thinks you are! Stupid girl!”
“It’s for the best…”
“Yes! The best! Do it!”
“The best?” I whisper and I hear mother murmur in her sleep.
I still, waiting for her to finish her turn into a more comfortable position before slipping back to her dream world.
A madness seizes me.
I need to look at her face.
Just one more time before I run away; yes, I want to run away.
I need to!

When I am sure she is asleep, I get up tiptoeing to the kitchen, wincing as my searching hands almost push the lamp down. They steady and I blindly locate the matches. I light the lamp, making sure it’s dim and walk back to our bedroom. I draw as close to her as I can without waking her up and true to form, the eye is open.
“Idiot” It calls out to me. “What are you looking at?”
‘You’ I think, still staring. ‘Looking at you for the last time’.
“Mad animal! I know what you want to do! Always running away! Stupid girl!”
I hear it laugh and I grit my teeth.
“Why are you staring at me with your ugly face? Mad animal!”
“I am not mad” I mutter angrily, fingers squeezing the metallic lamp tight.
Mother murmurs again, and turns. Quickly, I step back, dropping the lamp at the farthest corner.
I am not mad.
I will not run away.
I pick up my pillow, flat shapeless thing and approach my sleeping mother.
I am not mad.
My hands shake slightly as I stand there, staring at her slumbering form.
“I am not mad” I mutter weakly.
What am I doing! I have no courage to…
“She thinks you are mad!” the wall cries out.

“I don’t think you are mad” I hear the eye whisper, “I know you are mad!” It chuckles.
“No I am not!” I shout, forgetting myself in that moment, startling my mother.
She wakes up, groggy.
“Onome…wha…?”
Panicked, I do the first thing that comes to mind.
I climb on her and press the pillow over her face.
I hear her surprised shriek, muffled by the pillow.
What am I doing!
“YES! YES!”
I can hear the house screaming!
“Mad! Mad!” the eye still yells.
“I am not mad!” I shout, pushing the pillow harder.
She buckles hard under me, as her brain gets starved of oxygen trying to throw me off. I press my weight on the pillow, heart pounding loud in my ears. What is this sensation?
I press even harder on her and realization steals up on me.
Pleasure.
Pure, intense pleasure.
“Kill the eye! Kill the eye!”
“Mad! Mad!”
The cacophony in my head increases and I struggle to tune them out.
“Shut up!” I growl, shaking in disgust as I let go of the pillow.
I am afraid to lift the pillow up; to see my handiwork.

Silence.
Shivering.
I have to see…
I slowly lift the pillow, hesitantly and stare into her dead eyes, face sculpted in a mask of fear.
Dead.
“I killed her” I whisper, dazed
“I killed her…”
I slump on the bed, body shaking, tears clouding my vision.
“With these hands…”
I stare blindly at my large, callused hands.
Suddenly, I am seized by an idea.
I get up and move to her. If I gave her mouth to mouth, she could come back.
Yes!
I pry her lips open and without a thought place mine, breathing deeply into her mouth.
I stop and put my head on her chest, listening for a heart beat.
Nothing.
I do it again.
And again.
“Wake up” I mutter, listening. “It was a mistake. I swear!”
I slap her.
“Wake up!”
Slap!
“Up!” I cry, breath hitching.
“Mummy wake up!”
Dead.
The house stays silent, listening to me, watching me cry till I drop off to sleep, cuddling my dead mother.

**************************

Pull, tug, push.
Hide.
All day to myself.
I wander around the house, making sure to avoid where I have hidden her.
Would she smell? When would she begin to smell?
I walk aimlessly, biting my nails to the quick.
What do I do?
Noon.
Hunger.
I sneak out of the house, making sure I am not spotted. Few steps away and I stop.
What if someone walks into the house? What if she isn’t dead?
A wild panic seizes me and I run back to the house as if the hounds of hell were in pursuit.
Walk. Walk. Turn. Bite. Walk.
Tummy rumbles and I wince.
I cannot go out; not yet.
Night.
Yes, night.
Walk. Walk.
I am startled out of my reverie by a knock at the door.
“Mama Onome? Onome?”
The voice is familiar.
I walk out of the room to the veranda.
“Ah Aunty Philo” I say, forcing a small smile.
“Onome you’re home. You people did not sell today? Where is your mother?”
I smile again, tightly. “Oh she went on a journey. No business today”
Mama Philo, the neighbor helps herself to my mother’s seat outside. “Ah journey? But I didn’t see her when she left! Did she fly?”
I laugh, wondering if I sound as natural as possible. “No o! She left early”
Mama Philo ‘Hmms’ and asks for a drink of water.
“Ok Ma” I say, relieved to be going inside.

As I cross into the kitchen, I hear it.
Lub dub.
I pause, listening.
I do not hear the strange sound again and hurriedly, I pour the guest a quick glass of warm water.
As I approach the verandah, I hear it again.
Lub dub.
A beating heart.
I stop, drawing a weird look from Mama Philo.
“Onome are you ok?”
I look at her. She didn’t hear it?
I laugh, trying to cover up the awkwardness. “Yes. Just my…head hurts”
She nods and accepts the glass from me.
The sound comes again, and this time, louder.
I stare wildly around, where is it coming from?
I turn to Mama Philo. She seems oblivious.
“So how are things Ma?” I ask stupidly, trying to cover up the sound of the beating heart with my voice.
She answers me, recounting the tale of something; I am not listening.

It is getting louder.

“Aunty I am coming” I say distractedly, walking inside.
The sound is coming from the room.
I walk in, letting my ears guide me to the source.
My eyes widen when I find it.
Lud dub.
Lub dub.
Beating.
Her heart is beating.
Panic.
I run out of the room, startling Mama Philo.
She jumps out of her chair. “Onome what is it?”
She stares at my horrified expression in confusion.
I smile wildly. “Nothing” I shout, voice unnaturally loud.
I clear my throat. “Nothing” I repeat.
I start laughing.
I don’t know what is so funny but it seems appropriate to laugh.
“You can’t hear it?” I suddenly ask. I need to confirm.
Her face clouds up in confusion. I burst into gales of laughter.
She can’t hear it!
SHE CAN’T HEAR IT!
“Hear what?” she asks slowly, looking at me like I just grew two horns.

LUB DUB

LUB DUB

I laugh louder, trying to drown the sound with my voice.
Beating. It’s beating!
HER HEART IS BEATING!
“Nothing! Hear nothing!” I scream out, laughing harder.
Laugh harder she must not hear it!
She shifts warily. “Onome are you alright? What is inside the house?”
“Nothing!” I say too quickly; too loudly.
Louder.
LOUDER!
“Are you sure?”
Why can’t she hear it?
“Yes! I am fine”
Why am I screaming?

Suddenly I grip her arm, pulling her into the house, ears shut to her screams for me to leave her alone.
Is she struggling? Why?
I need to show her.
I MUST!
SO LOUD.
TOO LOUD!
MY EARS!
“See!” I scream, tearing off the clothes i used to wrap mother’s dead body.
“THERE SHE IS! SEE HER! HER HEART IS BEATING!”

Why am I laughing?

WHY CAN’T I STOP LAUGHING!

——————————————————

This story was inspired by Tale Tell Heart -Edgar Allan Poe

How To Be A Vampire


Today’s post is brought to you by Dionysus. He has a lesson to teach.
Shhhh.

———————–

Ladies and Gentlemen, this isn’t some crap where I tell you to let a vampire bat bite your neck and then you slash your wrist to turn into a vampire..
Nope..
This is the Real Shit!
By following these simple rules, you would become a vampire. Vampires are more powerful than the jocks and the cheerleaders in terms of attraction to the opposite sex. They hardly do anything; they don’t play sports nor do they socialise with everyone in school but they are usually the most attractive to the opposite sex… These simple steps would set you on the path of becoming a formidable and irresistibly alluring vampire…

1. YOUR COFFIN

This is your place of solitude, your place where you escape from the world. It may be your room or perhaps a private area somewhere. The key thing about this coffin is that there is nothing stimulating your mind that is outside your control. This means if you’re listening to music, you’re listening to the music you want to listen to. If you’re watching a movie, you’re watching the movie you want to watch. If you’re reading a book, you’re reading the book you want to read. You are consciously feeding your mind with the kind of information you want it to have. All that matters is that you’re in a receptive state. Your room is your coffin. Make sure the curtains are always drawn to avoid sunlight from entering the room. It also helps to turn the lights off so your room reminds you of night. Don’t leave your room unless you really have to and if you do, come back as quickly as possible. Your room is your coffin, your place of rest, your spring from which your draw forth energy and revitalise your immortal body.

2. AVOID THE SUN

Forget all these stupid commercials about creams and soaps that will make you fresh. The key to becoming fresh is avoiding the sun. Don’t stay under the sun and avoid it as much as possible. Soon, your skin would start getting paler, whiter, fresher. The more you stay in your coffin, the more your skin becomes vampirish. Also to have the full effect, it helps to smoke pot. This gives you that vampirish red eye look contrasted with your pale white skin.

3. GO OUT AT NIGHT

Vampires hate the sun. Apart from the fact that it scorches their skins and turns them to ash, nothing ‘va va voom’ ever happens underneath the sun. Everything during the daytime is always so PG13 like life suddenly became Disney Channel. At night though, weird things happens, uncensored things, Carnal things. Vampires are known for their love of blood, flesh and sex. The night is usually the period most people let loose, Release the Beast, Unleash the Dragon but during the daytime, they are on a leash…
So, go out at night. If you have to go out during the day, wear a ring on your finger. This is the ring that protects you from the sun burning you to ashes. It also represents something else in reality.
This is called ‘Peacocking’. By wearing a mystical looking ring on your finger, you look mysterious and people are attracted to mystery. Accessorise mostly with black items, black chains, rings, bracelets etc. Also, its cool to dress in mostly black attire.

4. THE GLAMOUR MOVE

This is what vampires use to capture and influence the souls of other human beings. They do this with their gaze. To do the glamour move, look people directly in the eye when you speak and don’t blink often. This makes them very attracted cause they love the attention and yet are frightened by it. It gets their juices flowing. Believe it or not, it is easier to maintain your gaze with someone than to let your eyes keep darting around all over the place when speaking to them.

5. LOVE ARCHAIC MATERIALS & CONTROVERSIAL THINGS/TOPICS

The strongest Vampires are usually the oldest. This means they have more knowledge and power than the ones that came after them. A Vampire must have seen the grim as well as the good in his/her long time alive. You should have knowledge of things, mostly controversial things that are mysterious but really happened in reality. You should do away with the nerdy techy way of speaking adopted by the youths of this generation; tweetering language, facebook language etc and sound like someone in the 1920s. I’m not saying you should go all shakespeare and talk in the manner in which they spoke, all I’m saying is if you have 10 words to say, make sure you take your time and say them as cleanly and as clearly as possible. Its better to say 10 words well pronounced than a thousand words in haste which usually signifies nervousness.

6. COLLECT RARE RELICS, TREASURES

Believe it or not, items have tremendous power imbued upon them. They capture the subconscious parts of our minds and override the conscious. If for instance someone puts a statue of Jesus in his room or a large crucifix, He/she would start having thoughts of Christ and this in turn influences his/her behaviour. If on the other hand someone puts a picture of baphomet in his room, a pentagram, a black sabbath poster and a skull in his/her room, He/she would start having evil thoughts and this in turn would influence his/her actions. I’m not here to preach to you about morality. We choose to be heroes or villains; one cannot exist without the other. Collect items that are dear to you and place them in your coffin or your room. When your mind keeps seeings these objects or items that you like on a daily basis, it influences your mind subconsciously and brings you closer to how you need to be; A Bloodthirsty Vampire.
Symbols are extremely powerful… For the blood effect, you could drink red wine and let it slither off the side of your lips so you’d look like you just drank someone’s blood. Also, blackcurrant and zobo would do the trick for the vamp effect.

7. DRESS IN PLAIN CLOTHING

Plain black shirts and white shirts, short sleeve, long sleeve, Tshirts etc are the way to go if you want to become a vampire. Drop the fancy colored shoes and the tight jeans and the bright colored pink or yellow Tshirts.. I don’t know why this generation embraces that crappy look but that look just says ‘look at me everyone, I’m a fucking nerd trying to be cool’.
Instead of buying blue, green, red, yellow footwear, save up your money and just buy one black ankle boots. It goes with everything. If you’re wearing jeans, wear something that gives your balls space to breathe and not some tight crap. Black pants are awesome for the vamp look. Black pants + white shirt = ultimate vampire look. If you are wearing jewellery or accessories, black jewellery is the way to go. Its very cool to look at someone’s neck and you see a black rope hanging on it. It says I’m rich but I don’t like to show off by wearing a big gold chain or a fancy shiny silver chain. Also, silver items are known to burn vampires skins. Black accessories also make you look mysterious. Its always good to have a bland flat look.. Not too colorful and not too dull.. Also, the more gloomier colored clothes suit the soon to be vampire. Red, Purple, Dark blue, Dark Green, Black, Dark Grey etc.. White is the only bright color that suits a vampire. The idea is that when people look at you, you should remind them of the night, taboo, darkness and unrestrained passion.

8. TALK LESS

In this generation were everyone thinks they know it all and talking too much is the way to attract the opposite sex, it pays to talk less. If someone says something to you and you tried so hard in those seconds after they said it to come up with something reasonable to say but you couldn’t come up with anything reasonable to say to reply them, just look them in the eye and let a small smile come out from the side of your lips.
Don’t try to be funny.
Everybody is such a fucking comedian in this generation. Stop trying to be funny, Its the cheapest and most insignificant way to get attention. Its much better to speak philosophically than to speak about facts, the News and what is happening currently in the world. The idea is this; the less you know, the more fodder for conversation. Even though you did know something, pretend like you don’t and let them talk about it to you. You can then apply step 4; The Glamour Move. Just keep looking them in the eye as they speak and try your best not to blink too much. Let the tear fill your eye and let it shine with a nice gleam to hypnotize them but don’t let the tear roll down your cheeks as this would quell the spell.

This is all I could think of for now, maybe there are more, maybe not but practice these steps and watch yourself slowly but surely transform to a real life vampire.. Don’t doubt it, Try it.
This is legit shit!

———————–
You’ve heard him!!!
P.s: Best Vampire, Lestat de Lioncourt. (Stuart Townsend), created by Anne Rice. Oh Yummy!!!! ^.^

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