Tag Archive: death


Day 16 – End of the World


Allo!
Today, Dionysus is taking over!

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END OF THE WORLD

If the world was actually going to end and you were given a heads-up beforehand, how would you spend your last days? Seriously, if Today was the last day of existence, what would you do before you got swept away by rapture or crushed by meteorites from space?.. Feel Free to voice your opinion at the end of this but let me explore some possibilities of my own…
1. REPENTANCE
Ah, yes!, this is where you’d find most people. They are all holding their bibles or crucifixes or kneeling down in church and praying violently or singing praise and worship with their eyes glazed and staring at the ceiling…the path of mass fear!. We came to this world and right from the beginning, they told us our very existence is cursed! They say everyone born of this world is born of sin and if we deny our instinctive drives, we might get lucky and make it to this place called ‘heaven’. If it is such a burden to actually be sinless on Earth, then heaven must be a place where humans gnash their teeth and weep inside while wearing a smiling façade. Heaven must be like the workplace; Everybody pretending to like each other, laughing loudly at jokes that ain’t funny and all in all, acting like everything is fine when its as boring as watching paint dry. Think about it… Its meant to be a smooth sailing trip from Earth to Heaven, no turbulence, but to live a life without sin is to suffer intense pain from your fellow humans on Earth. The most common pain is the pain of ostracism. I’m not talking about pseudo religious people who only have God’s name on their lips not in their hearts. People who are actually devoted to religion know what I’m talking about. You’d forever be ridiculed by your peers and feel repressed, like you’re denying a huge part of yourself, burying it underneath. You’d feel cheated more than you feel blessed, like you’ve been alienated from everyday life. Its the case of the sinful party chick who gets married to a billionaire while the christian girl is still single and hurting inside. She usually wears a plastic smile on her face and pays lip service to Christ even though she’s burning within. If Heaven where real, going there is not gonna be pleasurable. Solitude is the only true path to heaven, aloneness, loneliness. To really be sinless is to live in solitude. Many Humans cannot deal with solitude so I don’t know why they think they’d feel good if they actually went to heaven…
2. REVENGE
I love this path even though many won’t choose to take it. It is punishing your enemy! whoever he or she is. Since the world is gonna end, you’d just say fuck it and look for that enemy you’ve murdered many times in your mind and actually kill Him/Her in real life. Sharpen your blades! Fuel your chainsaws! Load that shotgun!, make sure that marafucker dies by your hands! Its orgasm to your soul ending your enemy’s life with your own hands.
3. FRIENDS & FAMILY
This is another path people would likely choose. They’d spend time with their friends and family; sit together and go down memory lane, say those mushy mushy words they wouldn’t say on a normal day, stare at the sunset together with Celine Dion’s music playing in the background… You get the picture.
4. INHIBITIONLESS
I also love this path! Since the world is ending today, rip off all your clothes, scream at the top of your lungs, smack a girls ass for no reason, take all the drugs you can find. You’re basically going down swinging! Your last moments on Earth would be so fucking great that the afterlife would seem boring to you (If there’s any)
5. REVELATIONS
Fasten your seatbelts and open your ears wide cause this is where you hear the most shocking secrets revealed!. You might just realise your brother is in the Yakuza or your girlfriend was once an orangutang!. This is where people pour out all their deep dark secrets, clear it off their chest since the world is gonna end anyway. It might be fun to listen to… sometimes.
6. DENIAL
There are obviously those who just can’t believe that the world will come to an end one day (including me). Hollywood has corrupted our minds with special effects and science fiction that we think we’d get plucked by some white light from the sky (the Holy ones) OR we’d witness the Apocalypse and get crushed in the final battle between the Angels from Heaven and the Demons from Hell…Yawn!.. Some people will go to work, come back home and sleep even if the world were ending today. They just can’t accept that strange phenomena like that could occur. It would have been fucking epic though if something like that could happen
This is all I could come up with. Tell us how you’d spend your last days on Earth if the world where ending today.
———————————————————————-
Lool! The world ending? Man’s gonna be in a frigging Chinese buffet eating myself to a premature heart attack! Then get married to the nearest guy. Man’s can’t die single. Jesus didn’t die for that. -.- Consummate the marriage inside the church there there. Hotel gini? Are you not hear the world is gonna end ni? My friend will you bring out that penis biko! Are we here to play?
We gats do like 20 rounds…at least.
The End.
😀

Day 15


Hey guys! Today, I’ll be doing another freeform writing, seeing as I have nothing set to offer.
Good luck!

___________________

Mama, they marched us to the parade ground. I held the hand of Nahor. He didn’t let me go even as I stumbled. They shouted at me roughly, Mama. It made me sad. You never shout at me even when I am naughty.
After marching us to the ground, they made us take off our clothes. They said we might have diseases. They shaved my hair too. I am not happy. I miss my curly hair, Mama. I miss your fingers running through my curls.
Where are you mama? Hope they’re not shouting at you? No one shouts at my Mama!
They’re taking us into a chamber mama. They said it’s to bath us.
I hope I’ll be able to see you tonight. Nahor misses you too but he’s ‘being a man’.
They’re pushing us roughly into the chamber.
Nahor is shaking.
It’s just a bath. I wonder why he’s afraid…

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

They captured us from our homes. Rounded us up like animals. Don’t take anything! Out! They screamed at us, hate twisting their faces, guns pointed at us. We obeyed.
We’re on a train huddled together.
Where is our destination, an old man asked. They hit him and told him to him up.
We’re watching landscape change in silence. Someone tries to sing but no one responds. Our hearts are heavy.
We’ve passed familiar places, Towns we visited in happier times.
The train stops at a station and more people are pushed in.
Where are you taking us to? An indignant man asks. One of the guards shoots him in the chest, laughing and leaves him in the carriage. The younger children are screaming. 
Some of the girls are crying.
Why us?
What did we do?
The men are trying to move the body to another part of the already cramped coach.
The train passes a post that reads ‘Auschwitz’.
I watch the sign even as it had passed out of view. Fear twists my heart.
Bubbe holds my hands tightly, her frail body quivering with exhaustion and age.
We wonder what we’ll find there…

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

Cries.
Screams.
Their voices are raised, day and night.
Black smoke pours out of the huge chimneys attached to the chambers.
Cries.
Screams.
They’re being burned alive.
Eli Eli lama sabachtani?

———————–

That’s it.
Dunno why they came to mind; those children in 1942.
They went to Auschwitz- Birkenau.
They never came back…

Sigh.

Day 13-Scream


Hey guys…
Umm… Think we’ll be having a poem from me. Well, dunno if it’s a poem but kinda dictates my mood now. Something i wrote some time in October.

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SCREAM

Scream!
Scream for the past!
Widen your eyes in dismay.
Throw yourself with vexation for the broken promises.
Tear at the hard earth with your nails for the betrayals.
One after another, they came didn’t they?

Scream!
Scream for the present!
Tear your clothes!
Gouge your skin raw with your nails.
Scream and shriek!
Scream for the burdens of today.
Let your eyes know tears for the suffering.
Dig your nails into your scalp and pull hard.
Scream in pain as your pull out clumps of hair attached to skin.
Let the blood run down your face.
Roll your naked self on cobbled stones.
Feel the bite of pain that nibbles in places where hard abrasion occurs.
Let your blood surly the stone earth.

Scream!
Scream for the future!
Scream for the monsters, the vultures.
Scream for the hopelessness.
The hungry nights, the stolen bread.
Scream for the jailed bird, the jaded bird.
Prod your fingers into your eyes and scream.
Scream as you pull your eyeballs out of their sockets.

Let your eyes know darkness.
Cry blood!
Scream!
Arch your back and scream!
Crawl on the floor!
Mewl and growl!
Scream!
Scream!
Scream!
SCREAM
SCREAM
SCREAM
SCREAM
FUCKING SCREAM!!

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I’ll scream if i wasn’t too tired. Lol.
See you later. Have a lovely day.

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?
^.^

Firebug


Hey people!
I’ve got the uber-talented Joshua here!
Yay!
Read, enjoy and comment! Peace!

FIREBUG

Fire falls like a fold of floundering ferrets from her face and burns the world.
Because just yesterday she watched the sun poise and coil like a venomous snake.

Her mother lay there like an old carpet; that every time you stepped on,the dust rose to your face and stung your eyes but not with enough force to make your eyes water,only to register its presence at the back of your mind.
She watched her eight year old son whose eyes were wide enough to consume every smiling face and every walking story in a heartbeat. Those eyes were sunken now; he was confused.
The way that she was about Fermat’s last theorem. Why are X,Y,Z and n negative integers and so what if n wants to be greater than two?
But this was not a number theory that needed to be understood.
She wished it was,but it wasn’t.
She could see that he was grappling with the situation,trying to sketch it into a mental sheet of paper so that it would make sense. But every time he tried, the pencil snapped in two and fell like a love that was too afraid to fly.
A lot of things seemed too afraid to fly that day: the birds in their nests, the kites at the park, looking morose as they gave in cowardly to the bark of the wind. Her prayers too seemed unwilling to soar and many times she would sit back and scream at the ceiling like it was some contraption she had invented.
She embraced his tiny body and felt the blood running through it and like a pivoted bar falling into its notch, the grip was fastened.
Nothing was going to break it; not today, maybe tomorrow, but not today.
Because hugs were not hugs unless the skin of the hugged agreed to compress against the hugger; unless its soul welcomed the other in that brief eternity.
The air sandwiched between them must be in coincidence.
Only after these acts of correspondence are observed to the letter can the bodies truly latch onto one another and nothing can distort that moment, not a forest fire not a stray bullet.

He withdrew his face from her bosom and looked her in the eyes.
She saw the tears well in them and then subside.
She saw that he understood.
The message had been clear: I am home.
Because no matter what ends of the world a lie travelled, the lie would always belong to the liar.
She needed him to know that no matter how many fountains he drank from, she would always be the source that replenished him.
She would always be warmth and a good book.
The smell of coffee and the casual shoulder brush with a stranger.
The ensuing apology and the understanding smile.
She would be all the intimacy he needed even after steamy nights at a friends party and at the back of an old truck.
She would be all the breathtaking views his eyes longed to see even if he sailed all the glassy seas and danced on every Himalaya.
She would also be the constant headaches and the pain in his back.

The memory that she had stabbed his grandmother twenty-two times and watched the life leave her eyes while the kettle screamed in the kitchen like a lost child.
Like a lost note missed by an overconfident finger and demanding retribution.
Because notes don’t like to be missed; everyone knows that.
She would be the nudge in his head every time he was upset,the nudge to act quickly and attack the upsetter.
The nudge to protect himself with worries that he would always find in the pocket of his jeans.She would be cold nights and unrequited love.
Because home was not just where the heart was but the realization that the heart was not and could not be some place else and that it might as well sit its ass there.
Because home was not a promise of sweet dreams and laughter.
Home was a promise that when darkness engulfed the mind’s deepest recesses there would be a perceptible nod somewhere in the corner.
A nod of approval, a nod that would mean the pain had only begun, a nod that would forbear many tragedies and hold the assurance that escape would come,narrowly and with the possibility of being missed.
But that it would come.
And that was enough.
”It’s time for you to go” she said.
He turned around slowly without a word and left the house.
She watched just like she had watched many times before a part of herself leave.
It wasn’t the leaving that hurt her, or the possibility that it would want to stay wherever it went,it was the fact that it would cope, survive, thrive without her auspices.

She picked the gallon on the table,opened it and spilled its contents around her and on the woman lying lifeless a few feet from her.
She bent and kissed her cold face.
She then took out the box of matches from her back pocket, deftly struck it, and tossed the hungry flame on the dead body.
She took the stool in the corner, sat and with the lack of interest evident on a student’s face when the teacher broaches a subject he already knows.
She watched it eat its way through the woman’s clothes like a carnivore with a proclivity to solicitude. The drapes caught fire and so did the ornamental table she bought on Christmas.
Smoke swam in the air now but it did not disturb her. She could hear voices across the street and the distant whir of a police vehicle.
She leant back and let the flames tickle her bare feet like sexual foreplay.
She closed her eyes as the smell of her own flesh wafted upwards and reminded her of a family barbecue her mother had forced her to attend many years back.
One of the many family gatherings that did not go well.
It was tradition at these gatherings for her to read a poem she had just written,she could not remember the title but the lines never left her.
With great effort,she parted her lips slightly and began to whisper the words as they came to her

Fire falls from my face like a fold of floundering ferrets and burns the world because just yesterday I watched the sun poise and coil like a venomous snake…

———————————————————————–

Sigh…
:’)
On to other things, please go to the Nigerian Blog Awards website and vote us for Best Writing blog! If you voted last Monday- Wednesday, the votes were not counted so please vote again.
Thanks!
I’ll pay for your BIS. Really. 😀
*snorts*

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!

———————————————————————————————————-

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.

————————————————————————————————————

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!

————————————————————————————————

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


Happy Short story day Africa! In honor of today’s celebrations, I decided to try a challenge, I put my phone of shuffle and wrote flash fiction around the themes of the first four songs that played. (Scout’s honor, I didn’t cheat, lol). So here are the stories, 120 words or less.

Come Away With Me – Norah Jones

I’ll sit by the last stoop, and wait. I won’t mind the rain that trickles and turns my hair into droopy strings or the cold that makes my bones chatter, and wait. I’ll keep my eyes away from the beautiful horizon filled with grey clouds that glow and flash with lightning and keep my eyes on the muddy path, and wait. I’ll notice the shoes that splatters mud on the other travellers and then the pants, glued to beautiful legs by the rivulets of rain water, the outline of shoulders and your frantic eyes looking out for me, and I’ll smile. I will elope, with no one but you.

Love Will Tear Us Apart – Nerina Pallot.

Our bed holds no warmth, my pillow is soaked with tears. You sleep so soundly, I’m a little envious. How do you sleep through my crying every night? The baby’s sniffling in the other room but I can’t hear him. What have you done to me? What have you turned me into? I clutch my pillow over my face and sob. You stir and turn towards me, and then you sigh when you see me crying. You leave the bed and walk to the other room to comfort your child. Your child, because post-partum depression has robbed me of the joy of being a mother.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday – Paramore

They’re all running, left, right, jumping across the gutters away from the tarred road. I want to follow but my legs are too short. Mama always used to help me across but now I can’t find her. I start to run along the street, there’s a plank down the road that I can use to cross. I can hear sirens but I don’t know where its coming from. Where’s mama? Mama oh, where are you? Boom! Gun! Oh God! Mama? Mama? I’m almost at the plank. Thank God! I start crossing and stop when I see it. Not an it, a him, inside the gutter, bent over with blood all over his shirt. I scream!

There for you – Flyleaf

What is she doing here? How did this happen under our noses? The nurse leading us to the room whispers that we shouldn’t be afraid, everyone here is under the appropriate drugs, they won’t harm us. She looks so knowledgable in her white shift, not like our check pinafores that single us out as amateur nursing students. Still I can’t help shuddering when they look at me from the small windows in their doors, and feeling bad that I think of them as less than human. She opens the door and points to the bald thing curled up in the corner of the room.
“That’s your friend.” She says.

In my head


Hello!
Another Friday, another entry!

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

——————————————————

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

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

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

————————————————

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

—————————————

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

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

——————————————————-

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

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

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

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

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

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

I screamed…

————————————–

And woke up.

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

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