Category: Thriller

Fatal Encounter 6

We’re almost done with this…sadly?



It gets lonely; boring.
Being what I am.
Of course I could choose to shack up with a male, be his woman and bear a child. But that would mean my dying.
You see, going through the human process of childbirth reverts something in us.
Not demons. Not humans. A blurry being in between.
It would cause me to die after a few years.
Nah, I’m too selfish. I don’t want a child. Or a man.
I’m free. Free and alone.

Well, not anymore.
It isn’t lust or hunger that has driven me to her.
It is love.
I think I’m in love with her.
Permanent, crazy love.
I can’t remember the last time I ate, yet I do not feel the gnawing of hunger. Not one bit! Not when I’m staring at her, basking in her gaze on me. I see the very feeling I have reflected in her eyes, shimmering black eyes.
Her face is so smooth, so pale, so flawless, so beautiful.
Her hands look soft, small, dainty.
I can’t keep away from her.
I dream of holding her in my arms.
Oh my fair lady!
I want to be with you, I want to be like you!

Alas, we’re not the same.
It’s complicated.
She doesn’t eat what I eat. Neither does she drink. It would be hard showing her the pleasures of being me.
Yet, we’re meant to be.
When we hold hands, the coolness of our contact brings shivers up my arms.
When our lips meet, the coolness delights me, driving me into moments of rapture.
You make me lose myself!
I cannot believe I’m saying this, but you do.
Zanda, the independent. Zanda, the fierce.
Brought to her knees, in surrender.
She makes me see the real me, I see what I have become better because of her.
She’s my confessor.
I tell her my deeds; the good, the bad and the bloody.
She never judges me. She never interrupts.
She just listens.
I don’t deserve you, my love; I don’t!
I move to push you away, but I can’t.
You’re everywhere I go.

How have you done this to me?
Tell me?
What do you see, that I can see, yet can’t see?
The cynical part of me wonders what she’d taste like.
I hope that doesn’t frighten her, not like I can bring myself to do the horrid deed. I’m just too curious sometimes.

It killed the cat. It died nine times.
Would you be scared if I squeezed your throat?
Would your eyes plead for mercy when I claw you?
Would you hate me?
Would you?
Answer me!
You refuse to speak.
See, she refuses to speak.

I can see the misery in her eyes.
Of course, she would hate me.
I wish I could hit her.
Not to kill her, just to make myself feel better.
I can’t.

I apologise profusely to her, and I see her lips move.
I cannot hear her. I move my ears closer to meet the divide separating us.
Cold divide.
Hard divide.
Glassy divide.

The object of my love, my affection
Narcissus, bear me witness.
I’m in love with the face in the mirror.
My reflection.

I can’t take this anymore.
I should break the mirror, but i can’t.
I’ve tried covering her up but i end up going back.
I love you.
But i hate you for what you are; for what you’re not.
So long.
For how long?


It’s cold in here.
Trapped, unable to move.
I’ve watched her as she watched me.
I ache to touch that face but I can’t.
I haven’t seen her in a while.
I’m afraid.
Inanimate, non-existent, I might be.
After all, I’m just a reflection.
But a mirror is like a memory.
It saves every look of you.
A little of yourself is trapped inside a looking glass.
Just the way a little of herself is trapped.
I dream about getting out; a pipe dream perhaps but i can dream can’t I?
What is it like outside?
Can you tel me?
I want to know.
I want to live.
An odd request for one trapped inside a mirror isn’t it?

Is it possible to let me out?
No? Ohwell.
I’m not hopeful.
It is cold.
Look for Zanda.
I fear she’s in trouble.
Tell her i am here; here waiting.



The concluding part of this, tomorrow. Lucky number 7.

Fatal Encounter 5

Thanks for sticking around to continue this…weird journey.


My first solo hunt.

How can I forget them?
How can I forget eyes that first widened in disbelief; same eyes, later pleading mercy.
Mouths that first rounded in shock; same mouths later calling on the name of the prophet from Nazareth. The one that saw himself as the Son of God.
Well, he sure didn’t save them.

They were newly weds, these ones; got married that day. Sneaked into the garden where they were saying their vows, to watch. I was quite taken with the pretty flowers and dresses. That didn’t distract me from my plan. I was hungry after all and a gathering of people was like a buffet to me.
Pick what you want Zanda: the short, fat vicar? The crying mother? The jealous woman at the back? My mouth watered at the prime choices I had, spread before me.
I watched as the couple left the make-shift altar, beatific smiles.
They saw me where I was hidden, savage little me with my dirty dress and unkempt hair. I remember the bride, whispering to her husband and he too looked in my direction. I could read the look on his wife’s face.
“Who’s that filthy savage child?” it clearly said
That really annoyed me, and I decided they were going to be my choice. That vicar really should have gone on his knees at that moment at the altar, in thanks to his God. Fat ponce.

I slithered away and followed them, unseen.
I had to be patient though; I had to hold on till they were done with the wedding reception. It was late then; dusk. My element.
I merged with the darkness and watched them as they got down to their night business. Those two wasted no time I tell you.
It was obvious they were virgins; fumbling, nervous laughter, her cry of pain as she was deflowered.
They quickly got into the rhythm and soon, were moaning in what could have been joy…and release.
I got bored.
It’s funny how the act of copulation reduces you to mere lower animals.
Grunting like pigs, pumping like dogs.
And the shaking afterwards? Like a pigeon after being drenched in rain.
No wonder you’re an alternative food source.

I became brazen. I sat on their wedding bed as they were in the shower.
A cloud of steam announced their arrival and a shriek, the fact that they had seen me.
I smiled at them.

“How on God’s earth did she get here?” the wife screeched to her husband as they circled the bed, watching me warily.
I crouched on the bed, still smiling.
They were unnerved.
What was I about to do?
What was the savage wedding crasher about to do?
At that very moment, hunger pangs gnawed sharply.
I stopped thinking.

I left my human form and pounced, knocking them to the floor. I was so tempted to eat immediately but something stopped me.
No, not yet.
Their fall rendered them unconscious so I tied them up to their wedding bed.
I was a savage wasn’t I?
Well, I had to show them just how ‘savagery’ I could be.
I wanted to watch them suffer; wanted to see the look of resignation to death in their eyes.
You think you’re better than me huh? With your fancy clothes? Fancy airs?
Well who’s going to get eaten now!
Pain is pleasure
Heard that phrase from my master; I found out what it really meant that day. The stirring I felt in my loins as I butchered them.
Of course I destroyed their voice boxes first; couldn’t have them screaming.

Good time, that was.

I ate to my fill, tieing leftovers into the bed sheet.
Blood soaks quite fast you know.
I watched in fascination, the swirls of red on white.
I was enchanted.
It was like Art!

My first ones.
My first victims.
Not going to forget them in a hurry.


Our savage’s journey isn’t over yet. 6. 😉

Fatal Encounter 4

Yes, another instalment. Tuck in!



Am I real?
Is there more to me?
Are you wondering why I’m like this?
Did I choose to be me?
I didn’t. I was human like you; once.
A long time ago.
I looked like you.
I shared your emotions.
I had my mama and papa, siblings too. I was the apple of my family’s eye. The youngest and prettiest child. ‘My pretty’ my mama would say lovingly as she brushed my unruly black hair with her worn out thistle comb.
I was also the most foolhardy. I mean, who leads a stranger  to their abode?
I did.
You see I was traipsing through the woods, humming a merry tune as I picked up some mushrooms for lunch, putting them into my basket.
“Those are deadly.” A gravelly voice suddenly said, breaking my reverie.
I had jumped in fright, spilling most of my harvest. My eyes widened in dismay and I quickly scrambled after the rolling ‘shrooms. The stranger appeared before me, silently sliding down the tree trunk he was squatting on.
“Let me help you.” he said and before I could voice my objection, began picking. I stopped and watched, amazed at how good and strong he looked.
“All done!” he had said, smiling at me.
I coloured slightly and hid my face shyly behind my hair.
“Thanks” I mumbled, picking up my basket and getting ready to leave.
His hand stopped me by the shoulder.
“Wait” he murmured.
I turned.
“I’m a little hungry you see. Haven’t eaten in a really long while. Do you think your family would mind if I dined with them?”
I had paused, my childish brain, thinking. I knew we didn’t really have enough but he had helped me and if mama had taught me one thing, it was to repay good with good.
“Well…” I began looking down, suddenly ashamed. “We don’t really have much.”
I heard him sigh softly and my head quickly shot up.
“..B..ut I’m sure mama won’t mind when i tell her you were kind to me!”
He grinned, thanking me profusely; and so, hand in hand, I came home with Destruction.

The shock.
The horror.
I watched my family die before me.
I watched my mama get cruelly penetrated by the most vile of instruments, other worldly.
All I had, taken away from me because of an act of kindness; human kindness.
By a sordid stroke of luck, he took me away, instead of eating me.
Maybe he was full.
My small body had been rigid with shock and fear, broking no resistance as he lifted me on his shoulder.
He took me to his abode, an abandoned house that had fallen into disrepair. I had no idea where I was. I was left to the mercy of hunger for days. I only woke up to a bowl of water every morning.
I cannot remember how I managed to survive but I remember his smiling face as he brought me flesh some days later, my first real meal.
Of course I had no idea what it was, other than the fact that it was deliciously roasted.
“What is it?” I asked after I was sated, my first sentence since my kidnapping.
He smiled at me “Flesh”
I didn’t retch. I think some part of me knew already that it was something bad.
He liked me.
I think he did anyway, I mean I’m alive aren’t I?

He liked me enough to use me.
So, I wasn’t for food; for sexual gratification.
I should have contemplated suicide, but no, I wanted to live.
I don’t know why I did really. Nothing was worth living for at that moment after all.
I was glad when he changed me.
My eyes lit up when he said he wanted me to be special.
I think I had already lost my mind then.

I had become tired of being human.

And that is how I turned out to be what I am.
The eternal hunger for flesh.
There is no fighting it.
There is no starving it.
I did try to eat animals when I got old enough to leave, to explore the world on my own. (Did I mention I stopped aging once I hit 21? I’ve been 21 for a very long time. Cool eh?)
Horrible, the taste of animals I mean.
How you enjoy steak is beyond me.
But humans; oh humans.
How do I describe the taste? Like a virgin’s first kiss. Like the first orgasm. Like heady, fine wine.
All these talks of food has made me hungry.
Need to go get nourished.
Before I leave, let me say this:
I was only 10 when all these happened.
You see, I can’t be blamed for being what I am.
Do remember to forgive me if I ever decide to hunt you down for food.
It’s not my fault.


5..tomorrow. See you then 😉

Fatal Encounter 3

Ok, this time, if you haven’t read 2, You need to before you continue this. 3 is like a continuation. 

That being said, enjoy!


I stare at my reflection in my ornately carved mirror; sitting in my boudoir like the princess of a gothic fairy tale with nothing but a black silk negligee on.

With gentle strokes, i brush my jet-black hair slowly; thinking, counting.
Why did I leave her alive?
10 strokes.
She was going to be meal, hence the white sheets.
Why did I stop?
‘I love you.’
20 strokes.
Her soft voice still rings in my head even after a week.
How can you love what you do not know?
Do I believe her?
I don’t know.
She is fun; but then, humans are always fun until its feeding time.
30 strokes.
Do I love her?
Yes…in my own way.
Same way humans keep pets or rear farm animals for slaughter; nothing too personal.
‘I love you’
I mouth these words to myself watching my lips as the shape them. I look odd saying that.
40 strokes.
She has constantly thought about me since our parting; I know.
I know what she thinks now; what she feels.
That mark you see, isn’t an ordinary one.
A thread that holds her life in a delicate balance it is; and it is in my hands.
50 strokes.
I think its time i paid my beautiful flower a visit.

She looks surprised. She hasn’t seen me since I left her that night. Did she think I’d never come back?
She looks briefly behind me, as if searching the shadows for something.
Ah, yes. I forgot that little bit about myself.
I tend to ‘open’ the eyes of my paramours.
“Can i come in?” I ask quietly.
“Sure” she moves out of the way, holding the door for me.
We sit down in the living room on different seats.
I watch her twiddle her thumbs nervously, unsure what to do.
“Come here” i say suddenly and she bolts to my side, sobbing and hugging.
“Shhh. It’s ok.”
She mutters something that sounds like “I’ve missed you” into my shirt.
I cradle her like a child.
“Are you hungry?” I whisper into her ear and watch her body language change.
She drops soft kisses on my neck, nodding.
I think she’s read my question wrongly (the thirsty wench!), but I’ve made up my mind.
I’ve decided to make her one of us.

I carried her up to her room and slowly undressed her in the dark, dropping tiny kisses on her skin.
I can feel her gaze, adoring.
I touch her forehead, and mutter a few words in the Olde Language.
She falls asleep.
I take a deep breath and shut my eyes, shedding my disguise and revealing my true self.
I open my eyes and touch her forehead, bringing her back to reality.
She opens her eyes slowly, uncertainly.
Then she sees me.
She pulls back in shock, covering her face.
I understand her fear.
My skin has shed its clothes, glowing red; my hair, a dark mass writhing with a life of its own.
My eyes, red like blood.
I probably look like the true depiction of the Devil right now.
I feel like laughing at her reaction.
Camon! I’m not that bad-looking.
I smile softly instead, pulling her hands away from her face, remembering to do it gently so i don’t break her bones.
“Look at me”
She stares eyes wide.
“Wha…t aare”
‘I wish you guys would stop asking me every time’ I think in my head.
“What you are about to become” I say instead, smiling.
Without a glance, I rip a portion of my skin out and present it to her.
She loves me, she will eat..wouldn’t she? This is the first true test of her love.
She stares at the steaming red flesh in horror, shaking her head.
“Eat!” I command a little forcefully.
She needs to do it quick!
She whimpers horribly, trying to get out of bed.
Just as I thought.
She didn’t love me.
The bitch!

Uncontrolled rage bubbles through me and with a swipe of my back hand at her neck, i decapitate her.
I maul her to pieces, every it of flesh, tearing into strips.
“You love me don’t you! Fickle human!”
I scream, vision tinged with blood as I turn muscles and bones to red pulp with my fists.
I cannot feed on her.
No, i would not feed on her.
She disgusts me.
I roll up her bit and pieces into the already bloodied sheet.
Bloody fickle human; no pun intended of course.

I calm down long enough to regain my earthly form.
I sigh as I rummage through her wardrobe for something to wear, in a haste to leave.
My clothes tend to melt off when i change form; not like I do it very often.
She would have been special, my green-eyed human.
I put the sheet containing her remains in a bag and haul it over my shoulder, an offering to the River Thames.
I slip out of her apartment quietly, blending into the shadows.
A sudden thought comes to mind.
What would her friends think?
Would she be missed?
They’d probably call the Police after they visit her apartment; her bed, stained with blood, a shocking sight.
I shrug.
She’s gone.
Many would take her place.
“Afterall, there are supposedly 7 billion of you on this planet.”
I grin fiercely, whistling a jaunty tune as I tread the shadows.



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How was that for a Saturday night fever?

The Slaughter

There he was just minding his own business, going about his daily routine with his friends. Suddenly, some huge men from nowhere came to abduct him. He struggled hard to pull free but they were just too strong. His limbs were bound with ropes and he was carelessly tossed to be back of their truck.

Surrounded on all sides by steel, his heart rate tripled. He knew it was going to be a long ride to his doom. Fear congealed at the pit of his stomach. He cried out for help but none was coming. An hour later, he alerted them that he needed to use the bathroom. It was almost like they couldn’t understand what he was saying. Unable to hold it in, he let out his excrement at the back of the truck.

The truck finally comes to a halt. He heard the doors of the truck open, spewing its occupants and he tensed up. Should he make a run for it? Was he going to be able to escape? Before a clear plan formulated in his mind, the back of the truck opened and they dragged him out of the van, sliding him on his dung.
It was almost dark. He couldn’t see any distinguishing landmarks to know where he was. They pushed him into a huge compound and carried him to a tree, tying him there for the night. He wanted to protest but didn’t have the strength. Long journey with no sustenance. He could only let out a feeble plee for mercy.

Mercy, they showed him. They gave him food which he ate up in a hurry. They left him to feed and the men disappeared into the compound. He called to them in panic, as he was left alone in the dark, nature tormenting him with the blistering cold and the insects feeding on him.
A time for sober reflection. That was what he saw this as. He thought back on his life, his mistakes, what he did and didn’t do wrong and soon before he knew it, fatigue got the better of him, sleep taking him away.

Morning came and warming sun wolke him up. He looked around, and saw himself surrounded by people. Everyone smiling, ignoring the fact that he was bound to a tree. He looked to his left and he saw a big pot steaming with boiling water. He knew what was happening. Surely they weren’t going to do that? This had to be a joke!
The next thing he saw caused his heart to race faster and he struggled to break free. It was a slim man with very mean looking with a sharp knife approaching him. He struggled, screamed at the top of his lungs to no avail, everyone just seemed to be staring at him; laughing as they carried on their daily routine. The man unfastened the rope from the tree and he tried to run but that was no use as his feet and arms were shackled. He fell to the floor and the man carried the loose end of the rope and dragged him on the ground to a drainage area. The sinister man held his head back exposing his neck and placed the knife on it.

He screamed, pleaded but they all just ignored him.
He watched the knife in disbelief as it went back and forth, across his neck. The pain hit him few seconds later and he screamed in agony, jerking.
Back and forth, the knife continued as his neck was slit open, blood gushing out like a broken tap.
His screams soon turned to silent whispers as his windpipe was cut.
Slowly, he departed his lifeless body and his spirit was still present to see what this wicked man was doing to him. He saw his legs and arms still jerk slowly even though he was dead. The Man then carried the hot water and poured it on his lifeless body, using the knife to scrape his skin. He then carried another tool and used it to make a hole on him, then put his mouth in it, blowing air in his corpse making it bloated.
They soon started cutting pieces of his body and throwing it into boiling water, opened him up, removing his bile
He watched the man admire his horns as he removed his head off.
He sighed.
“Lived, a ram. Died a ram.”
His spirit bleated one last time, before he disappeared forever.

The End.

The Curious Case of a Dead Butcher

“Is he asleep yet?”
“Shh! Don’t be so loud! I think he is.”
“Great! About time. The annoying, foolish, disgus…”
“Shhhhhh!!! Can’t you talk quietly Lefty!”
“Ok. I’m whispering. Happy?”
“Yes! Now let’s talk. Now that he’s asleep, let’s plan our revenge on the slimey turd.”
“Yeah! He’s had it coming. The pig! I mean look at the way we look now! All because of him! All red and blistering and fat!”
“Don’t blame your fat on him bozo. You willingly pick up food.”
“Oh shush you Righty! So did you!”
“Yeah and I’m not blaming him”
“Ok! Ok smarty pants. We need to wake up the rest!”
“Argh. Hate talking to those footers! So slow. You deal with them Lefty.”
“Ah I see your implied insult. Bloody wanker!”
“Hey that’s not my fault ok! Now talk to them.”
“Pssst! Footers! Wake up!”
“Mm? That you Lefty?”
“Yeah El! Wake up your sister, Ar”
“Ok. Yo Ar! Wake up!”
“Oooh what now El! Another nightmare? Need a hug?”
“You get hugs from your sister El? Ha! Hilarious!”
“Lefty is that you?”
“Yes it is Ar!”
“You cool babes? How’s Righty? You think you can convince him to marry me?”
“Shut up Righty”
“Did I hear Righty’s voice now?”
“Nah Ar! Just me! So yeah, you and El get ready. We make our move in moments!”
“Great! Finally! Revenge! Right El?”
“Right! Can’t wait! All his torture of squeezing me into the most horrible…”
“Shh El. Don’t cry now. We’d get our revenge now ok?”
“Is he really crying?”
“Oh shut up Righty!”
“Oops. My bad. Damn my loud Lefty voice.”
“Hey Ar. Looking..good”
“Really! I’m glad you like!”
“Shut up Righty and be nice!”
“Yeah yeah Lefty. Ok listen up you two! We move in exactly five minutes. You know the signal. No slagging! Ar, make sure El isn’t slow as usual! He must not jeopardise our plans!”
“I won’t Righty.”
“So you say El, so you say”
“Don’t worry Righty. I’d make sure he doesn’t. After this do you think we could talk about our future?”
“I live in the present Ar. Now everyone, to your position! Freedom and Victory are at our fingertips!”
“Yay! El, to your space! I love you Righty!”
“Yeah, whatever Ar”
“Gee you don’t have to be so mean! She’s a nice gal”
“Oh shut up Lefty. She’s got a flat foot. That’s a no-no.”
“Yeah and you’re perfect aren’t you?”
“Well I’m better looking. And most intelligent.”
“Oh shut up. Who died and made you king?”
“Don’t hate the player Lefty, hate the game. What’s the time? Can you see?”
“Aaah yeah! 3.15am! Its time!”
“Yes! Freedom! Listen Lefty, I’m glad we’ve been together in this! You’re the best sister ever and I love you.”
“Aww Righty, you can be sweet when you want to!”
“Yeah yeah, signal the footers already!”
“Tch. Fine!”
“Its the signal Ar!”
“Yeah El, scream out our plans so he can hear why don’t you.”
“Sorry Righty.”
“Whatever. Are we ready?”
“You bet bro!”
“Sweet! Let’s roll!”

The man’s eyes jerked open in alarm and surprise as he stood up.
He found himself walking to the kitchen, hands pushing the door open.
“What the hell!”
He wasn’t in control of his body! Why were his hands and feet moving without his permission.
His eyes widened as his right hand grasped the handle of his special meat cleaver he had honed to perfection before retiring to bed. Before he could yelp in horror, the blade swung and severed his left hand with deathly precision. He was too shocked to speak, or feel the pain. Surely he was so shocked, he was imagining his left hand, moving to collect the cleaver from the right hand.
With two well aimed strokes, his right hand was free from his body. He watched in horror, as the hands clung to his night shirt, scuttling down to his feet, with the cleaver.
He realised what was going to happen but was unable to stop them. He shrieked, trying to kick at the hands grasping his ankles but his feet deftly missed them.
With the first swing of the cleaver on his ankle, he screamed in agony, falling down and striking his head on the formica table. He lost consciousness, giving his hands their chance to work uninterrupted.

“High five Righty!”
“High five! We were brilliant Lefty! Did you hear his scream! Hooter!”
“His scream frightened me..”
“Oh stop being a wimp El and grow some balls…though that might not be such a good idea.”
“High five Righty! You were awesome!”
“Err Ar, you’re a foot. I don’t high five feet.”
“A hug then?”
“Nigga please. Take hold of your brother. We leave in moments! Lefty, open the doors.”
“Oh when the saints, go marching out. Oh when the…”
“Wow Ar, you have a lovely voice.”
“Really Righty!”
“NO! Now shut up and move! Thinking of our destination.”
“Sheesh bro, why are you so mean to Ar! She just likes you a lot.”
“Bleh. Not my type. Too flat. Too fat. Too hairy and have you seen her bunions! No way I’m hooking up with that! Plus she’s dumb.”
“If you weren’t my brother, I’d hit you! Gee!”
“Oh shush and open the door already Lefty”
“Oh when the sai..”
“SHUT UP ALREADY! We know! We’re marching out! Spare me your horrid rendition!”
“Sorry Righty”
“You better be. El, why are you crying?”
“I’m gonna miss this place Righty. So bad…”
” Oh dear. He’s gay isn’t he?”


Hope you enjoyed that!


Dionysus is here! Ring the alarms!


You’ve been lied to just to rape you of your sight and now they have the nerve to tell you how to feel. So sedated as they medicate your brain and while you slowly go insane they tell ya “Given with the best intentions, help you with your complications”…

“Open your mouth Walter. Here comes the chu chu train.. Chu Chu”
Walter was locked up in a care home for disturbed teens, an asylum to be frank, for the gruesome murder of his whole family.
Can you blame him?
Ever felt surrounded by people but still totally alone? Even around close companions, have you ever felt out of place, like you’ve evolved to a point where the past and the people in it are nothing but a big obstacle, a hindrance along your path and you’re forced to share the confusion and karmic reactions of their own fuck ups, not yours?
This is Walter’s tale.

“This can’t be right! I refuse to accept! I’d rather die than accept this! This is just pure wickedness.”
Walter talks to himself in the confines of his room, teary eyed not from pain but an unflinching anger building up, slowly eating away at reason, rationality and conscience. His room was the only place where his brain was not sedated with thoughts and feelings of people who didn’t understand him at all, his so called family members.
“I mean does anybody really care? God why would you allow such wickedness to happen, Why? Of what good is praying to You if you allow such people breathe rather than punish them for their evil ways. Just give me a sign Lord that you care and all my cries aren’t in vain! Please!”

Hate to twist your mind, but God ain’t on your side. An old acquaintance severed, burn the world your last endeavour…

The White family were so rich, they were almost considered royalty. They were the talk of the town; everybody envied them and wanted to be like them. They were charming, always smiling and knew the exact words to say to the public to get them ‘wet’ and craving their attention even more. All this was just a facade of course as the horrors that happened in the White household were a sharp contrast to their outward demeanour. Mrs Janice White tortures slaves as a form of entertainment, each scream of agony, widening the smile on her face. Mr White sees all but does anything to keep his wife happy. He is no saint himself, a secret paedophile. Peter, the first born and Mary, the second, share a love that is described in the outside world as Incest. Walter, sixteen years of age has to witness all these acts go on with no one to tell or turn to. They’ve hammered it into his head several times to lie to the public, beating him severely if word got out he was blabbing about the happenings of his household. Even if he did tell anyone, no one would believe, as having money and calling the name of God is enough to get plebeian man to consider you a saint. Any faux pas or irrational behaviour is easily forgotten with a shiny Rolex on the arm, a thousand dollar suit and a little ‘compensation’

Flesh is burning you can smell it in the air cause men like you have such an easy soul to steal. So stand in line while they ink numbers in your head, you’re now a slave until the end of time here. Nothing stops the madness turning, haunting, yearning pull the trigger!…

Walter lies on his bed, thoughts flowing in his head like a horror movie as he listens to the moans and the giggles of his siblings copulating, through his bedroom wall. He can also hear the wailing of a slave as his mother has her fun for the day.
“God, I’ve been patient and this patience is sucking out my soul. My soul is burning. I’m burning. Burning to do Your will. I’m Your son, the good one. Remember that. ”
With this, he gets up from his bed, eyes unblinking as if he was possessed by a certain maniac of a spirit, reality fading fast. He sneaks into his father’s room and picks up one of the fancy rifles hanging on the wall. He had seen his father use it before, shooting birds in their yard. He checks if its loaded and carries some more bullets in his pocket just to make sure he doesn’t run out of ammunition. He walks up to Peter’s room, door left ajar; the parents knew what was going on but gave up trying to stop them. He steps into the room to see his elder brother behind his sister, their backs turned towards him. Their frantic moans and giggles raises up a wave of disgust in his being. He walks closer, his siblings still unaware of his presence. Eyes wide open, shining with glare of the righteous, he cocks the rifle and pulls the trigger. The bullet passes through his brother’s neck, blood from severed jugular, splattering on the walls, the bed and on his sister. Peter’s lifeless body falls on top of Mary, his still-warm blood bathing her skin. Her moans became screams and she tried to push him off her back but he is too heavy. She looks into her younger brother’s face and sees the cold look in his eyes.
“Walter… wh….wh….co….”
He cannot hear what she’s frantically mounting and he doesn’t allow her to go on. He aims the rifle to her head and a second later, blood and brain decorate the sheets and walls some more.

The screams of the slaves have ceased as his mom heard the sound of the gunshots. She calls her husband, then the cops and locks herself in a room. She soon hears a knock on the door
“Mom! Mom! Its me! Open up! They are after me!”.
“Walt! Oh my God, Walt! I’m coming”
As soon as she opens the door, he aims for her belly and pulls the trigger, sending her sliding to the floor.
“Walt.. Wh.. Why?”
This time he really does cry as he loved his mother but hated the fact that she had to be so wicked.
“Mom. It’s God’s work. No more. No more”
The small pool of blood expands beneath her as life slowly leaves her body. He aims for her head and saves her from her misery. He looked outside the window and sees his father’s car enter the compound. He hides behind the door bidding his time, waiting for his father to come in. As soon as his father enters, he holds the iron end of the rifle and swings at his fathers head. A cracking sound, like smashing a coconut on concrete. Blood slides down Mr White’s head. He places the rifle at point blank range on his father’s groin and pulls the trigger. He leaves his father to scream and die in pain.

The cops finally arrived, finding Walter sitting on the couch, stained with blood, and the rifle in his hand, unblinking gaze into space, muttering about God’s work. He was termed insane and was sentenced to an asylum to live out his remaining days. The public considered him evil. How could someone that came from such a privileged family do something so sinister and cold hearted?


P.S- Just in case you wondered, the lyrics in bold comes from Nightmare-a7x, one of my favourite song of theirs!!!

Halloween special.

Phantom: Hello. Once again, my mind’s as blank as it was when I entered this doomed world. Therefore, I’d be posting an old story of mine. About two years old i think. Anyway, hope you like it.


Let me introduce you to Mrs Potter.
Friendly, lovely woman, always had a smile for everyone. Most people think she is senile or at least eccentric.
We don’t.
We, being residents of Pomeroy street.

We love our Mrs Potter.
I mean what harm could a middle-aged woman with a toothy smile do? Like a Susan Boyle or Mary Byrne if you will. We all loved her as we loved these women. She would bake cookies and invite the neighbourhood to tea. She’d make a casserole and with a smile on her face, knock at your door.
You can never refuse Mrs Potter. We aren’t sure why but we can’t. She lost her husband about 5 years ago to the cancer battle. She lost her two sons a year after to Afghanistan, fighting for the Queen
Sad times those were.
We rallied round her and as good neighbours, supported her.

Enough of the introduction.
Now to the story.

It was like every Halloween.
Kids trick or treating, we adults throwing costume parties. It was like every other Halloween…or so we thought. My twin boys, Olly and Callum went trick or treating like every other kid. Of course, I cautioned them.
Stick to our known neighbours! Dont collect things from strangers.
In their offhanded manner they chorused “Yeah, yeah!”
I wasnt worried anyway. Maybe I should have been.
Maybe we should have all been

I put on my cat suit and took a picture of myself, ready to party. (In your ex-husband!)
We gathered at Phillip’s house, the Engineer guy on the street, had drinks and loved every minute of it. As responsible parents, we decided to head out to our homes before we got too tipsy.
“I wonder what Mrs Potter’s gonna bake tomorrow. I love her Shepherd’s pies!” said Steve, the Real estates guy.
Cute as a button!
I went home and waited for the kids with their haul. Sweets of assorted variety. Of course  I would be keeping some and throwing the excess away
They looked alright, Olly and Callum. After a shower to remove the face make ups, we went to bed

You could hear music from the other streets but Pomeroy Street was relatively quiet. I am not sure what woke me up, but wake up, I did. I felt cold shivers travel down my spine.
I felt the sudden need to see my boys. I walked to their room, then I suddenly stopped.
I had identified the sound that woke me up.

It was coming from my boys’ room. My heart suddenly started racing. I ran.
Swung the door open.
My boys were on the floor, entwined; convulsing.
Olly’s leg was the alarm,hitting the dresser table.
Innumerable emotions rushed at me at once.
I ran to my boys, separating them with shaky hands.
I ran back to my room and got a hold of the landline.
As I called the ambulance, I heard a wail from Daisy’s house.
What was wrong with her?!

I ran back to check on my boys, palms sweaty, heart racing.
The nursery rhymes they loved as children.
They all gushed out of me.

The ambulance came.
Several ambulances came in fact.
It seemed, as crazy as this sounds, that all the children on Pomeroy street were convulsing.

They all suffered together.
They were all in the Intensive Care Unit.

Cyanide Poisoning.
What psycho would poison treating sweets?
Did they go treating on another street contrary to our commands?
I was in shock.
My boys.
My darling boys.
Never been a crier.
At the hospital I heard this cry of anguish.
Struck a chord in my soul, then I realized it was me.
It was me wailing.
We wailed together.

The police began investigating immediately at the early hours of the morning.
I was in my pyjamas with a cardigan to ward off the cold, getting questioned by the police.
Where did they go treating?
What houses did they visit?


When they finally left, we gathered at Mrs Potter’s house, knocking at her door.
“Come in! What is wrong dears?” she asked, taking in our sad faces.
We told her.
Her eyes said it all.

They came here for my home-baked sweets.
Ate them immediately too!
Saw them over at the Dover’s
Daisy perked up from her husband’s shoulder
“They ate your sweets here?”
“Why yes! I even have some left overs.”
For some odd reason, we wanted to see the left overs
“Made from bitter almonds. I was trying to get a different flavour from my usual.” Mrs Potter said bringing a tray containing a few sweets.
Paul’s head snapped up to Mrs Potter.
“Did you just say bitter almonds?”
She nodded, perplexed.
Paul picked up a sweet, sniffing and examining it like the doctor that he was.
“Just what quantity did you use? Please!”
He sounded so high-strung, we all tensed up.
9 people.
18 eyes.
Peering at the middle-aged lady we all loved.
“Well I did use a lot of them”

It was the wrong answer.

Paul jumped up suddenly, grabbing Mrs Potter’s cardigan.
“You! You poisoned them! You!”
We were shocked by his display and even more so, his accusation.
It took some minutes of calming down to get Paul in a conversational state.
He then explained it to us.
Mrs Potter.
Our dearly loved Mrs Potter.
Had unwittingly harmed our children.
Cyanide poisoning.
Bitter almonds had them.
Harmless when few, but in large quantities…

We were in shock
She was in shock
We went back to our homes, trying to decide what to do with our dear Mrs Potter.

Morning came.
The Police came back.
We told our story.
We went to Mrs Potter’s house.
Knocking, we received no answers.
The door was knocked down.
We searched for our old lady dearest and we found her, neatly hanging from a curtain cord.

Our dearly beloved Mrs Potter was no more.
Our children were still not out of danger.
So much for Halloween.



There you have it…i think.

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