So, I wrote this story many years ago and recently published it on Okada Books (https://okadabooks.com/book/about/the_blue_beard_man/29069). It resonates well with curious minded teenagers, but anyone can enjoy the story.

Copyright
©2019 by Maureen Isaiah
maureenisaiah1@gmail.com
No part of this story may be reproduced by any means without the prior permission by the author. Anyone who wishes to repost this story to any other online forum, Facebook group, blog or any other website should endeavour to acknowledge the author's identity and kindly notify the author by sending him a mail.


CHAPTER ONE

“Cynthia! Cynthia,” my sister, called as she ran into my room.

“What is it?” I asked in an angry tone as I rolled out of my bed.

“Mrs. Abubakar is dead,” she said in a solemn tone.

“What?” I responded

“Yes, she died last night.”

“How?”

“She fell from the top of their duplex.”

“Not again.”


I imagined Mrs. Abubakar falling from such height. O my God! She must have smashed her head and had her brains roll out. This is not the first time this is happening and might not be the last.

Mrs. Abubakar or will I say Halima because there had been at least five women who had bare that name and had died the same death or almost the same. I think the fourth one died in a ghastly motor accident and it was alleged that someone had tampered with the brakes and now this is the sixth one, Halima, the sweet, beautiful woman with a sonorous voice has joined them. What is really happening?

“Cynthia,” my sister, called jolting me out of my thoughts

“Huh,” I replied

“What keeps killing Mr. Abu’s wives?”

“Dear sister, I think you should rephrase that question. It is why do all the women Mr. Abu marry end up dying?”

“We are saying the same thing,” Susan said, sitting on my bed and staring hard at me with a look saying, you always think you know all.

“We are not! Mr. Abubakar, though a Muslim does not practice polygamy, and so he cannot have wives, I hope you understand now?”

“Whatever! You haven’t answered my question.”

“Was I to answer that? I thought it was a rhetoric question. Am I one of his relatives? How am I to know?”

“You are a case.” my sister mumbled getting up.

“What did you say?” I asked as I stood up from the bed with one of my hands raised.

“Nothing.” my sister said, moving back a little, “I shouldn’t have come here, should have gone to Steve.”

“Well, thanks for the piece of information; you can now take your leave.”

“I was already doing that,” she said, moving towards the door.

“Are we still going to make pap to take to them?” she asked in an innocent voice when she got to the door.

“The day his fourth and fifth wife died, did we take pap to him?” I asked in a sarcastic tone.

“I cannot remember.”

“How would you remember? Well, the answer is no; we are not taking pap to them because Mr. Abubakar is mourning. Is that clear?” I did not know my voice was loud until my mother came running into my room.

“I don’t know why you are troubling yourself, mum, as if you don’t know your daughter.” I heard Steve say from his room

“Why are you shouting?” my mum asked

“Emm…” I said, looking for what to say before she lands her big hand on my cheek.

“Well, Susan just told me about the death of Mrs. Abubakar. I guessed it caused so much pain to my soul that I didn’t know when I raised my voice.”
The look from my mum’s face showed that she believed me.

“Yes, it was a very painful thing, Halima was a sweet young woman, it is sad she had to die like that,” she said

“Mum, why do Mr. Abubakar’s wives die?” I heard my sister ask the same question she asked me

“I don’t know dear, it may be he is under a curse, or he has some bitter enemies who do not want his happiness.”

“Or maybe he kills them by himself.” I blurted out quite unconscious of what I said till I felt a sharp pain on one of my earlobe. My mum had reached out for it, squeezed it, and was still holding it.

“Let nobody hear such a thing from you again, is that clear?”

“Yes, mum.” I squinted and glanced at my sister, who was smiling with obvious satisfaction.

“I am going to the shop, make sure you tidy up the house and come join me.”

“Yes, mum,” I replied.

She walked out of the room like one filled with thoughts.

“You heard what mum said, right?” I looked at my sister

“Yes, mum said Steve and I should tidy the house before we eating anything.”

“Good girl, now get to work.”

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CHAPTER TWO

I sat down on my bed and then jumped up like someone who sat on a pack of pins. Mr. Abubakar’s house was just across the street from my bedroom window. Why haven’t I thought of it since morning? How could I with all the disturbance I was getting from my sister? I moved swiftly to the window, opening the curtain, allowing rays from the sun to fill my room.

I looked out expecting to see a large crowd of people trooping in to sympathize with him but instead, I saw police cars lined up from his duplex to the second street. I wasn’t surprised though, Halima was said to be a blue blood, so it was only natural that her death would attract this kind of attention and moreover, she is the sixth person to experience the same thing that has been going on.

“Cynthia,” Steve called from his room which was beside mine

“Yes,” I replied

“Go to your window.”

“I am already there.”

“Do you see what is happening?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you think he is in big trouble?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

“Steve come and tidy the house, or you won’t have breakfast.” I heard my sister say

“Says who?” Steve asked

“Says me,” I shouted from my room

“I don’t want breakfast then,” he said

“I am coming to get you,” I said, heading towards my door.

“You would not be able to,” he said. I heard the jiggling of keys, and before I got to the door, it was locked.

“Steve! Open this door right now.” I said banging on the door

“Nope”

“I’m going to tell mum.”

“I dare you.”

After some more banging, I left him alone and moved to the kitchen, passing through the living room. I saw Susan sweeping. Obedient little girl, I said to myself, not like that big-headed cow in his room. Why are the male folks always rebellious? I asked myself as I brought out the measuring cup from the bag of beans then used it measure five cups of rice into a pot, for breakfast and lunch because my mum and I would get back towards evening.

I left the kitchen for the store where we kept brooms. I took one and headed to my room to sweep it. I met my sister washing the toilet. I bent down and pecked her on the cheek, saying, “don’t worry, you will marry a rich man.” She squeezed her face in protest as she did not like the word marriage, just like most kids.

I remembered when I was little, and my father’s friend who comes to visit us would always tell me that I will marry his son, I would cry and cry the whole day, I was pathetic. I got to my room and began sweeping. After some minutes, I heard a knock on my door.

“What is it?” I asked

“Someone wants to buy a card.”

“Okay, I’m coming.”

Aside from making pap, selling recharge card is something I do to get extra pocket money, and God bless my mum, she doesn’t see it as the pocket money she is meant to give me when I am going back to school. It helps my account because I make good money from it.

“What type and how much do you want?”

“Glo; 500.”

“Ok,” I said as I searched my card bag for it.

“Here,” I said handing it over to him, and he gave me a 500 naira note which I quickly pocketed before my sister sees me, but I was not fast enough because she was soon by my side telling me how famished she is after all the hard work and doubting if she can wait till the rice had boiled. I had no strength to argue with her, so I gave her the money and told her to make sure she returns with my change. I went back to the kitchen, brought down the parboiled rice, and washed it.

We had neither fish nor meat in the freezer, so I had to opt for crayfish to cook the jollof rice. I turned up the gas and put the pan for frying stew. It was a remarkable gas cooker which, according to my mum, has lasted for close to twenty-three years though left with just a burner.

CHAPTER THREE

As I fried the stew, I heard someone walking towards the kitchen; I turned around and saw Steve leaning against the kitchen door

“Are you tired of staying inside your room?” I asked staring hard at him

“If only looks can kill, I would have died a long time. Well, I am hungry, and you have not finished cooking, is this how you would cook for your husband, you lazy cow?”

I took a bulb of onion from the tray beside me “Take that,” I said as I threw it at him aiming for his head, but he ducked and ran.

“Silly boy.” I cursed under my breath turning the tomatoes in the oil

“You will have no food until you have done your portion of housework.”

“Whatever!”

I finished cooking thirty minutes later and called Susan to come and eat, but she didn’t respond. I then remembered she went to buy biscuit, but that was almost an hour.

“Steve,” I called

“What is it?” he answered in a rough tone from the living room

“Where is your sister?”

“She is talking to me right now.”

“The other one,” I said playing along

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean by…?”

“Am I my sister’s keeper?” He said cutting me short

“You are so annoying,” I said as I matched to my room to check if she was there, she wasn’t. Something prompted me to look out of my window. It was then I saw her and her friends’ right in front of Mr. Abubakar’s house. What are they doing there? I asked myself as I went out of my room. I stopped at Steve’s room and looked inside; he had tidied it and also the bathroom.

Little brat! Getting me worked up for nothing, I thought as I closed the room and went back to the dining. I met Steve concentrating on a bowl of rice he had dished out himself. I looked at him and said nothing. I brought out Susan’s food, covered it with another plate, and placed it on the table, and then went to get Susan. She was still chatting with her friends in front of Mr. Abubakar’s house.

“Is this where they sell biscuits?” I asked, pulling her ears.

“Please, my ear…stop, it hurts.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for them to bring out Mrs. Abubakar’s corpse,” she answered rubbing her ears

“What are you going to do with it?”

“I want to know how people look when they die. I want to see if she is smiling or frowning.”

“Smiling or frowning?” I asked

“Yes. Our Sunday school teacher said if a dead person is smiling, then he is in heaven, but if he is frowning, then he is in that scary place called hell.”
I looked down at my ten-year-old sister and saw in her a very intelligent personality. Where is all these naivety coming? I asked myself

“Is there something else you are not telling me,” I asked touching her cheek

“I will tell you later,” she whispered into my ear.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Abubakar was rolled out on the bed to be placed inside an ambulance.

“Wait, Mr.” Susan said as she ran to the bed, “please I want to see her for the last time, she was my best friend.” she said with tears forming in her eyes.
“Are those tears?” I asked myself, “what is this girl up to?”

The man rolling the bed allowed her; he left the bed and went back into the house, probably to get Mr. Abubakar to sign something. Susan stood there, staring at the corpse.

“Open it.” one of her friends told her, and like a robot programmed to receive orders, she removed the cloth from Halima’s face, down to her legs and started examining her whole body.

“Stop that,” I shouted. “Don’t you know it’s wrong to touch a dead body?” I said, covering it up back. It is time to go home; I said, pointing towards our house. Susan started walking without protest, and I followed her closely.

CHAPTER FOUR

“What were you checking back there?” I asked slamming the door.

“Evidence,” she answered innocently.

“What evidence?”

“Well, she began in a low tone, my friend Mr. Abubakar’s neighbor said she heard a cry yesterday night and then a scream followed with a loud thud.”
“Hmm… Is she sure of what she is saying or is she just making it up?”

“I doubt she is,” said Steve.

“How do you know?” I asked, peering into his face as if the answers were written there.

“Think!” Steve said, walking up and down the sitting room, “six wives cannot commit suicide unless they found out they have contracted AIDS from the man. If you ask me, I’ll say that man is a serial killer.”

“No, he is not,” said Susan sounding terrified. He is a kind and gentle man who will not hurt even a fly. It is as mama said; maybe he is under a curse or something of that nature.

“So, what of the story your friend told you?”

“Well, I checked Mrs. Abu’s body, and I found no evidence,” said Susan in a highly professional voice.

“Who do you think you are?” Steve asked in a scornful voice.

“I am a… I am a” Susan stammered searching for the right word.

“A little fool who thinks the world about herself.” Steve helped her out.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough; it’s time to break up this little meeting. I’m going to take my bath and meet mum at the boutique, so FBIs go find something useful to do like washing your clothes and Susan lest I forget, make sure you wash your hands very well and rub olive oil on it for touching a dead body.”

After some few minutes, I was ready to join my mum in the shop, which was not far from our house.

“What kept you so long madam?” my mum asked as I entered the shop.

“I was cooking and tidying the house.”

“Or gossiping with your siblings?”

“Well, maybe?”

“So you were gossiping instead of helping me out in the shop, huh!”

“I’m so sorry, mum. Have you made any sales yet?” I asked, changing the topic.

“Yes, there has been a mad rush for gowns since morning.’

‘That’s lovely,’ I said as I walked around the boutique stocked with various fashionable items ranging from skirts, trousers, leggings, bum shorts, gowns, blouses, Indian laces, jewelry, shoes and so on. It was a fairly large store, one of the places my mother invested my late father’s money.

“Cynthia,” mum called

“Yes, mum.”

“I am going to see one of my friends, make sure you take good care of the shop.”

“I will, mum,” I replied happily that at last, I would be alone to ponder on my thoughts

When she left, I leaned on the counter, my mind roaming about, from the shop to the house then back to the main matter, Mr. Abubakar.

“If you ask me, he is a serial killer,” Steve’s voice echoed in my head and what about the story Susan’s friend told her about hearing cries and screaming but it could be possible Mr. Abu was crying for the death of his wife. Mr. Abubakar had lived in that same house for ten years, a year after they had moved in and in all those times, he had been a very private person, minding his business. He was a devout Muslim who did not joke with his religion. Having seen him several times rushing to the mosque for daily prayers, even when he returns from work late, he rarely misses it.

He had married his first wife a few years after he returned from Mecca and was the most loving husband, at least from outside. He helped her do the grocery, especially when she took in, but it was a shame she did not live long enough to bring the child into the world.

On the whole, he was a quiet and peaceful man and didn’t look at all like a serial killer, so I wonder how Steve got that wicked thought.

“Is anyone there?” shouted a woman standing at the entrance of the shop

“Yes,” I answered, jolting out of my thoughts.

“Do you have a blue jean, size 32?” She asked.

“Is it for you?” I asked, looking at the plump woman who should be wearing a size 44.

“No dear, it is for my daughter,' she laughed, knowing why I asked, she seemed like a cheerful woman.

After she left, I didn’t go back to thinking, already had enough of it. Instead, I took a plastic chair to the front of the shop and sat down on it crossing my legs. My mum came back a few minutes later with some fresh apples which she had bought on her way back. I wanted to munch them right away, but mum said it was for dessert. At about thirty minutes past five, we started packing up to go home.

When we got home, Susan informed me that Mrs. Abubakar got buried immediately according to Islamic rites.

“So she died just like that.” my mum muttered to herself but loud enough for me to hear her.

She went into the kitchen to prepare dinner while my siblings and I continued from where we stopped.

“So what has been happening after I left?”

“I think Mr. Abubakar has been release since there’s no evidence against him,” said Susan.

“I think they just allowed him to come and bury his wife first,” Steve said.

“Well, is there anything else?”

“Nope”

“Ok”

After a month, everything got back to normal. The school reopened, everyone concentrated on paying school fees, buying new books, uniforms, backpacks, pair of shoes, and everything needed to make a student look smart for a new session.

Susan gained admission into the secondary school, Steve entered JSS3, and I was in my second level of senior secondary school, and so we were fully occupied with school work and exams, no one had time to think of Mr. Abubakar and his dead wives.

CHAPTER FIVE

After a year, we heard that Mr. Abubakar had gotten married again.

“What is wrong with these women? Do they like dying? Are they blind or what? Why the hell will someone agree to marry a man whose wives have been dying one after the other?” Steve asked with a befuddled expression on his face.

“So many questions Stephen, well apart from him being chivalrous he has the money, but my blind-spot here is how he gets them to stay in the same house where people have died. I would not accept that because the thought of ghosts in the house would scare me.” I said with my eyes shut.

“You children should stop your ranting and come help me sort out these jeans.”

“Mum,” I said when I came to her side.

“Yes”

“Mr. Abubakar has married another wife,” I said expecting a surprised look or exclamation.

“And so?” she said with a blank expression which showed she already knows.

“Nothing.”

“I’ve told you, children, not to meddle in other people’s affairs, mind your business. What is wrong with this young generation? Nosing in people’s business.”

“Mum, we are not nosing, we’re just observing.”

“Whatever you call it, it stops now.”

“Yes, mum.”

“Where is Susan?” she asked.

“She’s in my room, sleeping,” I answered.

“Are you sure?” she said, noticing my hesitation.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Go and get prepared. We are going to the market.”

Susan was not sleeping; she was not even at home. She had gone to ask Mr. Abubakar if he needed a supply of our homemade pap, to see how the new wife looks. I couldn’t tell mum that seeing how she reacted when I told her of the news.

“She is beautiful, with long hair and large black eyes,” Susan said when she got to my room while I was getting ready to go out.

“Is she? What a pity, her beauty will soon be a waste in about six to seven months,” said Steve from behind.

“How old do you think she is?” I asked Susan.

“She is a woman of indeterminate age,” Susan said with a smiling face. We knew why she was smiling, she had just used a big word, and we don’t know the meaning.

“What do you mean?” I asked, playing along.

“Must I explain everything to you? What I meant is that I can’t tell her exact age.”

“Okay.” Steve and I said simultaneously, like students learning a new word.

“She is very nice and speaks good English. I think she is educated. She invited me into the house and offered me juice.” Susan continued.

“Did you drink it?” I asked

“No, I just thanked her, saying that I was in a hurry,” she said with pride in her eyes for doing something matured.

“That’s my grown-up sister,” I said, patting her head.

“Did you ask her how she felt being the seventh wife?” Steve asked in a tone showing that he was not interested in what we were doing.

“Why would she do that? She is not as rude as you,” I said in a defensive tone.

“I did,” Susan said with a timid voice.

“What?” I stared at her, “that was very rude of you.”

“No, that’s brilliant. You carried out our assignment to the core. What did Mrs. Abu say?” asked Steve.

“Well, she said she loves her husband, and that is all that matters, and she may have a different destiny from the other women that died.”

“Yeah right, different destiny indeed,” Steve spat, “she would soon be sprawling face down on the living room.”

“Don’t say that,” I said shocked at his outburst.

“Cynthia! What are you still doing upstairs, you are wasting my time.” my mum called.

“Mum! I’m coming…I have to go guys.” I said as I dashed out of the room.

When we came back later in the evening, Susan was already asleep. “Did she say any other reasonable thing?” I asked Steve who was sitting on the floor of the living room, watching a program that looked antiseptic.

“Just that she’s a Christian.”

“A Christian.” I echoed.

“Yes.”

“Why will Mr. Abubakar marry a Christian?”

“Is it not obvious?”

“What.”

“The Muslims are afraid of him, and maybe this Christian thinks she can remove the alleged curse that has been placed on him by his bitter enemies or better still, he just wants a change of prey.”

“This is strange.”

“Cynthia!” my mum called.

“Yes, mum,” I answered.

“When are you going to take your WASSCE exam?” she asked.

“Next month.”

“I hope you are reading.”

“Yes, mum.”

“Are you sure you don't spend your time gossiping about other people?”

“No, mum.”

“You know how much I spent on your exam; I hope I will not have cause to regret it.”

“Mum, I know how much you spent, and I know how much you have given for our happiness since Dad died. I promise not to let you down.” I said, taking her hand into mine, and we had a quick hug.

The exams started early next month with practicals. Being an Arts student, I only participated in Biology practical. The science students had Physics and Chemistry practical while we battled with Literature-in- English, which was my best subject.

During the Biology practical, all the specimen was passed from table to table except the specimen c, which was a live chicken. I kept wondering why they didn’t pass it too, were they scared a student will hide it. I read hard for my exams as I wanted to make my mother proud. She had been through a lot since when my father passed away when he was on official duty.

He was a journalist who had traveled to the North to cover the religious uprising that was going on there but got killed during one of the clashes between the Muslim and Christians.

We were so devastated, especially mum, who had no idea of how she would take care of her children alone. It was a trying year for us with my father’s brothers trying to lay claim to some of his properties. It was a relief knowing that dad had used mum’s name in purchasing all of his assets.

Mum has worked so hard to ensure we do not miss father in any way, giving us the love and care and also being strict when needed. I promised myself when dad died that I was going to be the daughter he would be proud of wherever he is.

CHAPTER SIX

Months passed, and soon we were in August when mum goes for the annual August meeting. In the past, she would have asked either my aunt or uncle to look after us while she is away, but this year she decided that I was going to be the Aunty who would look after my siblings.

I was so happy because not only will she give me money to run the house when she is not around but, I will also have the freedom that I craved. I couldn’t wait for the D-day.

When it finally came, I help her pack all that she needed for the journey in her bag, and after saying usual instructions and goodbyes, she left.

“Now don’t think you will control me as you do to Susan,” Steve said.

“Haven’t you heard that whoever pays the piper dictates the tune?” I replied to him in a slow voice.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, I’m the one with the money for your upkeep, and if you don’t put on your best behavior, you will suffer.”

“Who needs money when there is food in the house?’

“Really? Well, I don’t even have your time; you can do whatever you like while I get started with my beauty sleep.” I said, heading to my room.

I woke up in the evening and saw Susan beside me. I rolled out the bed gently in other not to disturb her and then I went to the living room and met Steve watching TV. I moved to the kitchen to get a bottle of coke from the fridge and also check if Susan had supplied pap to all our customers.

I opened the fridge, and it was almost empty but for one bag tagged Abubakar. I grabbed the bottle of coke from the second layer opened it and gulped down its content, and then I went back to the living room. “Why didn’t Susan supply to Abubakar,” I asked Steve.

“She said she knocked, but nobody answered the door and she assumed no one was around.”

“Then I think I’ll have to go back and give them,” I said.

“Take this camcorder should in case you see something strange,” said Steve handing it over to me.

“Something strange like what?” I said examining the camcorder which looked somehow old.

“I don’t know, maybe something like Mr. Abubakar chopping his wife into bits,” he said with a mischievous smile on his face.

“What are you trying to do? Scare me?” I asked frowning.

“Nope,” he answered, looking serious.

“Where did you get this?”

“From dad’s belongings,” he said with sadness in his voice which showed he still misses father, well everybody does.

“Okay, show me how to use it,” I said, squatting beside him.

He showed me everything like an expert, and I began to wonder how long he had had this piece of equipment.

I put the camcorder in my sling bag, where I had kept the pap and headed to Mr. Abubakar’s house.

I knocked on the door shivering a little bit.

“Who is it?” a feminine voice from inside called.

“Home delivery service,” I replied. “I’ve have come to deliver the pap you ordered.”

“Oh!” she said as she opened the door, smiling.

“Your sister didn’t bring it today.” Mrs. Abubakar asked. It was the first time I had a closeup view of her. I had seen her once or twice from a distance when she was coming down from her car or when she went jogging early in the morning, but today, I got the opportunity to have a closer view of her.

She was a beautiful woman with an almost perfect facial feature; a small round, oval face, long lashes, pointed nose, a small mouth full lips which she accentuated with bright red lipstick. Her natural hair fell gracefully on her shoulders. She was as pretty as a picture. She looked nothing like the wife of a staunch Muslim with her well fitted blue jeans, heels and flora blouse. Her heels made her taller than her actual height.

“Take this camcorder should in case you see something strange,” said Steve handing it over to me.

“Something strange like what?” I said examining the camcorder which looked somehow old.

“I don’t know, maybe something like Mr. Abubakar chopping his wife into bits,” he said with a mischievous smile on his face.

“What are you trying to do? Scare me?” I asked frowning.

“Nope,” he answered, looking serious.

“Where did you get this?”

“From dad’s belongings,” he said with sadness in his voice which showed he still misses father, well everybody does.

“Okay, show me how to use it,” I said, squatting beside him.

He showed me everything like an expert, and I began to wonder how long he had had this piece of equipment.

I put the camcorder in my sling bag, where I had kept the pap and headed to Mr. Abubakar’s house.

I knocked on the door shivering a little bit.

“Who is it?” a feminine voice from inside called.

“Home delivery service,” I replied. “I’ve have come to deliver the pap you ordered.”

“Oh!” she said as she opened the door, smiling.

“Your sister didn’t bring it today.” Mrs. Abubakar asked. It was the first time I had a closeup view of her. I had seen her once or twice from a distance when she was coming down from her car or when she went jogging early in the morning, but today, I got the opportunity to have a closer view of her.

She was a beautiful woman with an almost perfect facial feature; a small round, oval face, long lashes, pointed nose, a small mouth full lips which she accentuated with bright red lipstick. Her natural hair fell gracefully on her shoulders. She was as pretty as a picture. She looked nothing like the wife of a staunch Muslim with her well fitted blue jeans, heels and flora blouse. Her heels made her taller than her actual height.

“She came earlier, but no one answered the door when she knocked. She is asleep now.” I answered.

“Okay, come in,” she said, opening the door wide enough for me to enter.

I entered the house for the first time in my life. It was a beautiful house indeed, not only from the outside but also on the inside; I stood at the entrance looking around, from the painting hung on the wall, to their wall screen T.V, to the marble floor, to the stairs, the stairs I thought as I remember the camcorder in my bag.

“Come and sit down.” Mrs. Abukakar said, gesturing me in.

“Your house is very beautiful,” I said, sitting down on a comfy cushion.

“Thank you, dear,” she said, smiling.

“Oh, here is the pap,” I said, bringing out the pap from my bag.

“Oh yes, your sister told me you are the one preparing it?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered in a timid voice.

“Maybe one of these days, you will come and teach how to do it.”

“If I do, you won’t buy from us again,” I said, sounding so innocent that I hated my voice. “That’s not true. Do you think I will have time to do it? Of course not, I only want to learn the technique.”

Susan was right. She spoke good English. It would be a pity if she died like the others before her.

“So, when shall I be expecting you?” she asked, bringing me back from my thoughts. “Whenever you are ready, I will teach you,” I replied.

“You are a nice, hardworking girl, keep it up, it will take you to places.”

“Thank you, ma.”

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Cynthia,” I answered.

“What a lovely name,” she replied

“Thank you.”

“I’m sure if I offer you something you will reject it,” she said with a knowing smile.

“No, it’s just that……. my mum…” I stammered feeling stupid.

“You don’t need to explain you are only an obedient daughter, but you should know that you are gradually becoming an adult, you should be capable of making your own decisions.” “Thank you, ma. Please, can I take a look at your house?” I asked quietly, not sure if she would let me.

“Of course, let me check on what I’m cooking, if you are through, please notify me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay.”

I looked at the portrait, hung on the wall. It was a picture of a half-naked woman. What was she doing in the house of an arch Muslim I asked myself? While checking out the house, I noticed a door behind the stairs; maybe this was where all the answers are, I thought.

As I went inside and closed the door behind me, it slammed shut. It was then it dawned on me that the door has an automatic lock, and only someone from outside could open it. What will I do? I knocked and shouted, but no one seemed to hear me, probably because it had an iron door.

I looked around. There were big cartons all over the place, probably cartons from the factory I heard Mr. Abubakar owned. I looked inside them thinking I’ll find something implicating around him, but nothing.

I went to the door and knocked again, but still got no response. What will Mrs. Abubakar think? My bag was with me, so she might feel I left the house without telling her. I decided to seat in one of the cartons while I waited for someone to find me.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I must have slept for a long time because when I opened my eyes, it was already very dark. I checked my watch and almost screamed out. It was 2 am, how come? What made me sleep that long. I reached out for my bag and brought out my phone; seven missed calls from my brother, Christ! Was I deaf? I dialed my brother’s number it ranged just once before he picked up.

“Hello, where are you?” he said in a worried tone. “I’m still in Mr. Abubakar’s house,” I whispered. “What happened, why are you still there?” he asked.
“Let me talk to her; let me talk to her.” I could hear my sister and guessed she had been crying.

I told him what happened. “Why did you call us to come to get you?” he queried

“It didn’t even cross my mind, and I slept off.” You guys should go and sleep. I’ll be back in the morning. But if I’m not back by then, you can come and get me” I said calmly not wanting to scare them further.

“You know that wouldn’t be possible, not when we know you are in a dangerous place,” Steve said in the most caring voice that surprised me, is he feeling guilty for giving me the camcorder?

“Steve, I’m old enough to take care of myself,” I said in a hushed tone.

“Please do… bye,” said Steve.

“Bye,” I said, ending the call and keeping the phone back into my bag, and as if they were waiting for me to end the call, I heard Mr. and Mrs. Abubakar arguing.

I came out of the carton only to discover that the door was open, who opened it I couldn’t tell, but one thing for sure is whoever opened it did not see me and I wondered why.

The noise was coming from the couples’ bedroom. I tiptoed upstairs with the camcorder set in motion; I prayed in my heart that they wouldn’t see me. I reached the top of the stairs and entered a room just beside their room and luckily for me the room had an adjoining door with the other room so I could see and hear them clearly and so could my camcorder.

“You think I don’t know who you are, eh! You think I don’t know who you are?” Mr. Abubakar yelled at the top of his voice.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Mrs. Abubakar replied calmly.

“I know about the cameras woman, the one you placed all over my house. I’m asking you one more time, who are you?”

“Cameras? What cameras?” she asked with a puzzled look on her face.

Hello. This is a very interesting story. Please continue.

its interesting, hope you don't give us half baked

moorevic:
its interesting, hope you don't give us half baked

It's a complete story which I published on OkadaBooks. You can help my ministry by purchasing it here- https://okadabooks.com/book/about/the_blue_beard_man/29069. However, I'll paste the rest here soon.

“Don’t even try playing innocent; I live with only you. It can’t be the police because after they left, I contacted a detective to come and check if they left any of their equipment so, it cannot be them. Only yesterday, the expert came and detected a camera, not just one but a dozen of them. For the last time, who are you?”

There was silence; Mrs. Abubakar was not ready to talk.

“Okay, since you are reluctant, I will do what I should have done two months ago,” he said in a frightening voice. I shivered at this statement, my feet went numb, and my camcorder was shaking. I never imagined Mr. Abubakar in this manner.

“What are you going to do to me?” asked his wife sounding quite scared.

“What I did to my late wives,” he said as he pulled her hair and dragged her out of the room.

“Leave me alone,” she screamed as she struggled with him.

“I will soon do that my beloved wife or better still let me do something new, cut you bit by bit with a cutlass, you deserve it you know and after that I will leave the country and start a new life elsewhere because I believe my name is already soiled here,” he said with a wicked laugh.

“I thought you are a good man, a religious one at that?”

“Who told you that? Well, since you are already near your death, you might as well learn the truth. My real name is Richard; I am just a simple businessman, not even a Muslim. I had to hide under the cloak of Islamic religion so I could practice my passion without suspicion. Oh, I see the shock on your face, so let’s get back to business.”

I quickly hid behind the door when they came out of their room and headed towards the stairs.

“Leave me alone, you monster.” Mrs. Abubakar cried

“I will do that very soon, my dearest.”

Mrs. Abubakar did not give up; she struggled, showing the strength of a skilled soldier and broke herself from his grip, running down the stairs towards the sitting room. Abubakar chased after her while I tiptoed behind them. They were so engrossed with each other that I looked invincible.

“Somebody help me!” Mrs. Abubakar shouted, banging the entrance door, which was firmly shut. It was then I realized she was trying to escape, but the door was locked, and Mr. Abubakar had caught up with her.

He grabbed her, used his palm to cover her mouth, and started hitting her head on the iron door. It was a horrifying scene. I have to help. I said to myself as I switched the camcorder off and put it back in my bag. I then remembered the tripod I saw in the room upstairs. I rushed upstairs to get it.

Mr. Abubakar was still hitting his wife’s head on the door by the time I came back, it was a gory sight, I almost threw up, but I had to hold myself, this was not the time for weakness.

I tiptoed to where they were, and he must have felt my presence because he looked back, but I was fast enough to break what I was holding on his head, and he fell to the ground. I have killed him, I thought.

CHAPTER EIGHT


As frightened as I was, I still looked for something to tie him up should in case he tried to get up. As if reading my thoughts, Mrs. Abubakar mumbled: “go to my room, there is a handcuff in my handbag.”

“Yes, ma,” I said as I ran quickly as my little legs could carry me. I searched for the handbag and saw it hidden under her dressing table. I opened the bag, brought out the shiny handcuffs, and rushed downstairs. By the time I got there, Mrs. Abubakar had gotten up and was checking Mr. Abubakar’s pulse.

“He is still breathing, but his pulse is weak, we have to get him to a hospital quickly,” she said.

“Hospital?” I said, checking my wristwatch. It was 5:30 am.

“Don’t worry, I’ve made some calls,” she said.

“You have, when?” I asked, looking at the battered women in surprise.

“That’s the first thing I did when I got myself when you were looking around for a rope,” she said.

“Oh, I didn’t notice?” I replied.

She took the handcuff from me and placed it on Mr. Abubakar then got up from where she was kneeling staggering a little bit.

“I’m going to get myself a bag of ice, when I get back you will tell me how you got involved in all this,” she said as she walked slowly into the passage that led to the kitchen.

When she came out, she looked relaxed. “So how did it happen?” she asked, sitting beside me on the cushion.

“I will tell you only if you promise to tell me your side of the story,” I said

“What story?” she looked at me, then guessing l must have heard what Mr. Abubakar was talking about, she said no problem.

I told her my part of my story beginning from the store behind the stairs, to the argument and all. Then she told me hers.

She was working for the police under a special unit. She got close to Mr. Abubakar to investigate him properly. Mr. Abubaka helped matters by proposing to her, which she accepted immediately. Everything was supposed to go well if not for that damned expert who detected the cameras.

“So you had intimate ties with a man because of this?”

“Not really. Yes, we slept on the same bed, but we didn’t consummate.”

“How is that possible?”

“Well, I made sure that I gave him a drug which I put in his glass of wine whenever he wanted to get intimate.”

“You did that every time?”

“Yes. It makes him sleep like a baby, after which I UnCloth him and sprinkle saltwater all over him so he would think it’s his sweat. He falls for this, but I think he started getting suspicious, probably that was the reason he got the cameras checked out.”

I was quiet, thinking about the whole process, very strange.

“Thank you for saving my life.”

“God used me to save you. It is him you should be thanking.”

“Thank you, all the same, you are not just hard-working, but you’re also brave. I will ensure you get rewarded.”

“But aren’t your colleagues meant to be here or didn’t they notice the cameras got moved?”

“I think Abubakar must have turned the focus elsewhere; he is a very smart man.”

“That’s true.” I agreed

CHAPTER NINE

It was already 7:15 am by the time they arrived. They entered the house and carried Mr. Abubakar’s body into the ambulance. I saw a man discussing with Mrs. Abubakar and a nurse cleaning her wounds and applying a bandage to the deep cut at the side of her right brows, and soon it was all over.
They left with their ambulance and everywhere became quiet. It was then I remembered, “Steve, Susan, o my God.” I gasped. Amid my excitement, I had forgotten my siblings. I could only imagine what they will be thinking of now.

“Don’t worry. I will walk you home.” Mrs. Abubakar said with a kind voice.

I knocked on the door of my house and as if they have and as if they had been waiting for the knock throughout their lifetime, they flung the door open and hugged me clinging tight to me. Yes ‘they,’ Steve and Susan.

Steve realized what he was doing and backed off, but Susan held on as she would never let go.

I turned to Mrs. Abubakar who was still standing beside me

“Thank you for bringing me home,” I said.

“You are welcome, but there is something I want to ask you about.” She said, looking serious. I wondered what was on her mind.

“What is it, ma?”

“Since Mr. Abubakar removed all the camera we installed in his house to use as evidence against him, we would need an eyewitness.”

“An eyewitness?”

“Yes, without it, we have no evidence against him.”

“I do have evidence, I had wanted to show you, but it slipped my mind when I remembered my siblings,” I said hurriedly bringing out the camcorder from my bag. She watched all I recorded, and from her facial expression, she was highly impressed.

“Wow!” she said finally “looks like you did the entire job tonight. You are the real hero, but we will also need the person who operated it, you know.” Mrs. Abubakar said, placing the camcorder in my hand.

“My mum would never permit it,” I told her. Just thinking of what my mum would say when she finds out that I had spent the whole night outside the house as an uninvited guest and also with a camcorder made me shiver.

“Don’t worry. I will talk to your mum and make her see how important this is.”

“No. she would not understand.” insisted Cynthia.

“Relax sis; mum would not be angry. She would be proud of you; instead, we all are so that she won’t be the odd one out.”

“Where is your mum?” she asked

“She travelled,” Steve said

“Okay, please give me a call when she gets back.” She said as she called out her number, which I quickly stored in my phone.

“The camcorder is your evidence which you will present when the time comes. I would not say anything about it to my colleagues; I want it to come as a surprise. Take this money,” she said, bringing out a bundle of cash from her purse. “It’s my little way of showing appreciation.” I was reluctant to accept the money, but my brother did that part of the job well.

“Thank you, ma’am; you are so kind.” He said as he collected the money and kept it quickly in his pocket. I frowned at him, and he grinned.

“It looks like my work is done here; I have to take my leave.” Mrs. Abubakar said as she turned to go.

“You did not tell me your real name,” I called after her

“My name is Cynthia.” She replied

“Cynthia?” My brother and I said in unison, “what a coincidence.” We watched her as she walked back to Mr. Abubakar’s garage, entered one of the cars and zoomed off.

CHAPTER TEN


“Thank God you are alive, we thought that monster had harmed you,” Susan said, hugging me.

“And you guys sat here thinking, not even a call to the police.”

“You have to be gone for 24 hours before we can contact the police and we kept calling and calling?”

“Well, I am here and fine.”

“We are glad you are, and when mum comes back, we are going to tell her how you left us all alone to go sneaking up on other people.” Steve teased her

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would if you do not tell us all that happened right this instance.”

“It’s all in the camcorder,” I said handing it over to him

“I need to hit the bed now. I’m tired and sleepy. Please be careful with that camcorder. You heard Cynthia say it is my evidence.” I led the way to my room with Steve and Susan the following suit. They just wanted to be with me.

In my sleep, I thought I heard Steve say, “You will make a good journalist.”

I don’t know how she did it, but Cynthia talked to my mum and somehow convinced her to let me be a witness in Mr. Abubakar’s case, which was another interesting experience and Mr. Abubakar or would I say Richard was sentenced to life imprisonment in a psychiatric home.

I got a scholarship that will see me through university, and my mum was so proud of me. Steve was right, after all.


THE END

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