Tag Archive: horror


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.

Advertisements

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

Lambs


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!’
‘Hmm…’
‘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.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Some just miss their families i guess.” she said and shrugged.
“Oh.”
“Anyway, don’t let me delay you. What do you have now?”
“Government.”
“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.
Footsteps.
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.
Footsteps.
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 me..to the bathroom.”
Gbemi’s eyebrows raised in the darkness.
“Oh?”
“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.
Giggles.
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.
Dense.
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.
Husky.
Female
“Are you really covered?”
She shook.
“Yes! I rebuke you!”
A laughter.
Harsh.
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. 🙂

The Switch


The dank air is thick with foreboding. The everlasting dusk that is this land is marred with bright streaks of lightning, illuminating in flashes, the huge gate that stretches almost to the gloomy heavens. The smell of electricity is ripe, a gathering storm. For now, all is still.
Suddenly, thunder claps of murderous decibel rent the silence, heralding the opening of the huge gate. A loud creaking of hinges, followed by more thunder claps, as if the womb of this pregnant world is being split in half. Lightning reveals coils of viscous, hissing blackness slowly emerging from within; the placenta. Closely behind are creatures; humanoid creatures walking out unsteadily. Brief illuminations show their grey, shiny, elongated arms, torso and short stumpy legs. Large grey head bald and moist, with fleshy eyelids that close instinctively as the light comes but not fast enough to hide dull, red eyes. No other facial features are visible With no visible genitalia, there is no telling their sex, if indeed they are sexual beings. The only difference that can sometimes be seen between these grotesque beings are their sizes.
Together, they all march out, great and small, in their thousands and tens of thousands. When the last of them, crawling little things, are out, a loud, harsh voice speaks from within the darkness, inside the gates. A language unknown, but meaning clear to all.

Search. Kill. Destroy.

Rain, for the lack of a better word to describe the oily splatter descending from the dark sky, begins to fall.
The viscous blackness suspended in the air, surround them, leading the glistening rabble to what is revealed to be a huge hole, a few steps beyond the gates. Without second thoughts they begin to jump in, disappearing from sight. As more enter into the mysterious hole, some crawl out slowly, undeterred by the smooth, slippery slope of the hole. They each drag behind them, muddied loads. The oily rain, fall on these figures and the still flashing lights of the storm reveal shiny, blank human faces; male, female, black, white.
The humanoids rend their naked human figures into two, revealing empty shells, ready for entry. They struggle to fit their disproportionate bodies into these shells, elongated arms shrinking itself to fit the specifications of their human subjects. The viscous blackness divides itself into globular portions and every creature that has managed to wear its human dress, is descended on and sealed.
When the last of the multitude has been sealed, they all stand. Weird screeching and cawing can be heard from the new group of humans, the adventurous ones, testing out their new voices.
Slowly, the weird procession of humanoid-cum-humans march on, disappearing into the darkness.

—————-

One minute she is cosily sleeping in her newly painted room, the next, she is being held down by a dark mass, coiling around her limbs and torso.
She screams.
Her mother doesn’t come to her rescue. Her bounds only get tighter. She hears shuffling footsteps and looks towards its origin. Surprise, shock and fear flit through her nine-year old eyes in seconds, the latter, more lasting.
She is looking at herself. Well it does look like her but it isn’t wearing clothes, it walks funny and there’s something about its dead-looking eyes that raises the hair at the back of her neck.
“Mammy!” She screams again, squirming and shivering at the sudden coldness of her room.
Suddenly, she feels the dark mass release their hold and with a cry of relief, she jerks her arms free.
That is her mistake.
With supernatural speed, the black mass pushes itself into her mouth, through her trachea, choking her. As her body struggles for vital oxygen, the blackness invades, gliding into the microtubules of her nervous system, into the optic nerves, to the brain. Mimicking cellular lysosomes, it engulfs the brain, dissolving it into itself by phagocytosis.
By now, she is dead and as the invader leaves her body, she crumbles to dust. The humanoid-cum-human opens its mouth, unnaturally wide and swallows up the blackness. With sudden knowledge, it walks properly, to the wardrobe and picks up a new nightie.
With unnatural ease, it dons the apparel and get back into bed.
Her mum walks in.
“Mandy you alright? Thought I heard you scream”
It shakes its head.
“Fine mammy”
“You sure?”
It nods.
“Fine mammy”
Her mum looks at her curiously, before leaving. She leaves the lamp on, Mandy always hated the darkness, and closes the door.

—————
“Darling are you alright? I thought I heard you scream!”
“Fine sweetie.”

++

“Mama, aru odi gi?”
“Ano m ofuma nwa m”

++

“Daddy, kilode?”
“Mo wa pa”

++

“Ki na da lafiya?”
“Yowa. Lafiya”

++

“Daijobu desu ka oba san?”
“Hai. Genki desu”

++

“J’espere tu vas bien, Monsieur?”
“Oui. Bien”

++

“Sied ihr in ordnung?”
“Ja”

————–
Who is human?
Who is not?

Search. Kill. Destroy.

The End…is near.

This story came to my head on the bus this morning. First attempt at Sci-fi! Yay me! Hope you got freaked out! 😀 Do criticise thanks! 🙂
P.S: It’s not Sci-fi after all but STILL!

%d bloggers like this: