1 – In The Hidden Hall

The dry leaves crunched loudly underfoot as I covered the distance between the main building and the hidden hall. Nde’nche the Younger, the chief priest and custodian of our people’s customs and history, stood at the entrance to the Hidden Hall, watching me approach. I always wondered why he was called Nde’Nche the Younger, considering there was no Nde’Nche the Elder. There had never been one. Also, the man was seventy five years old and I wondered what or who he was younger than. But like everything else in our traditional system, experience told me it was better not to ask, else I would risk a five-hour long lecture from any of the ancient ones who seemed all to eager to reel off names, places and dates to any one who was daft enough to ask silly questions.

It also struck me that for a building known as the Hidden Hall, it was quite……obvious to passers-by and was only shorter than the main building by a few inches. It was also painted in bright colors, and kept looking as bright as ever with a fresh coat of paint every two months, a task undertaken by a special group whose only function was to keep the Hidden Hall looking as brightly painted as ever with the rather imaginative name, “Hidden Hall Painters Guild”.

There was also the huge signpost right in front of the hall that read “The Hidden Hall”, spanning almost the height of the building itself. You know, in case someone didn’t know what the hall was.

Of course, I had also wanted to ask why a building that was so patently obvious was called a hidden hall but my experience from asking why the small mound at the town square was called “The Mountain Of Heights” kept my lips sealed.

“Nde’Nche, yaa wo”, I greeted as I got to the entrance to the hidden hall and stood before the elderly man who regarded me with a judgmental look.

“You’re late”. He said gruffly. “May you not be late when it’s time for the ancestors to call you”. He turned around to face the entrance door. “Well, it’s not like the ancestors have a clock that keeps the time. Let’s get this done already”.

He pushed open the wooden doors and they creaked loudly as they turned on their hinges. The doors were another marvel I would have liked to ask about if I had a few hours to spare. They looked as old as man. Nde’Nche had once mentioned something about the door having been carved from the first tree chopped down by Great Ande Dio, our first ancestor when he arrived here from…..wherever it was he came from (I always tend to space out once these lectures start). He followed that remark however with a straight-faced mutter about how it looked remarkably like one of the carved doors that were imported from the neighboring town when he was a child and how the door looked remarkably new the first time he saw it up close.

“This is the hall of our fathers. Be careful and don’t touch anything or you might anger the ancestors”, Nde’Nche warned as he stepped through the doorway into the hall. “Goodness knows they are always looking for any reason to get angry at something”, he added under his breath.

For such a large looking building from outside, the Hidden Hall looked really small inside. From the doorway to the opposite wall ran an aisle, wide enough for two slim men or one really fat man to walk through. Virtually every space was taken up with some artifact or the other, every surface covered in paintings and murals. It was impressive taking it all in from where I stood from. It was truly breathtaking.

Or it was that smell of old wood and mustiness that was taking my breath away.

“Stop!” Nde’Nche commanded as I made to step into the hall. “You must cover both eyes when you take your first three steps in this hall. I don’t know why but it apparently pisses the ancestors off if you don’t. Just know they won’t catch you if you hit your foot against something and trip yourself and fall face-down while your eyes are covered. I learnt that first hand and they probably found it funny”.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then covered both eyes with my palms. And took my first step into the Hidden Hall.

https://elpigrafa./2018/03/11/pissing-off-the-ancestors-a-short-story-series-1/

1 - The Fear Factor

The chairman looked up, certain he had heard something. Everything was still all around him, however, the only discernible motion being the second hand of the large wall clock as it ticked the seconds away. Since he had moved into the office, he hadn’t ever paid it any particular attention, in spite of the fact that it was right opposite his large desk and, unlike most wall clocks, took up nearly all the space on the left of the wall beside the door. Now, he watched the hands move, the second hand easily outpacing the other two. Yet, somehow, his heightening dread outpaced all three.
He glanced at the large casement windows on the left of the room overlooking the grounds. Asides the lamps that illuminated the walkway from the gate to the building, it was completely pitch-black outside and as still outside as it was inside. For a second, he thought he saw something move in the shadows, somewhere close to the third lamp on the walkway but concluded his mind was playing tricks as he could spot no movement after a few seconds.

He needed a drink.

The drinks cabinet in his home office was practically right beside the door on the other side from the wall spanning clock. It used to be beside his desk until his doctor had told him in firm tones that if he kept up his incessant drinking, he would die in his chair one day. Of course, he had no plans of giving up drinking so instead of getting rid of the cabinet, he had it moved to the other end of the large office. At least, sometimes, his laziness would keep him from taking more than the glass he poured himself whenever he stepped into the room.

He slowly stood up from his chair, his knees complaining loudly at having been so still for the better part of three hours. The shot glass was on his desk, empty. He couldn’t even remember when he had drained its contents. Must have been when he settled into his seat at the stroke of midnight. He now regretted not taking the bottle with him when he had poured himself a drink. At least it would have saved him the trouble of having to walk all the way across the large office to the drinks cabinet.

He picked up the shot glass, shuffled out from behind the desk and took a step forward, his ears primed for any signs of movement. Complete silence responded.

He took a second step, his bare foot sinking noiselessly into the thick carpet that covered the office floor. He thought he heard a slight shuffle right behind him and froze. Then realized it was just his other foot brushing against the carpet as he took the third step.

A flash of lightning.

This time he was sure he saw something move outside, right at the edge of his peripheral vision. He dropped on all fours, crawled to window and peered outside, taking care to make sure as little of his head would be visible to any eyes watching the window.  The shot glass lay abandoned somewhere on the carpet – not that he cared at this point. He quickly scanned the visible area of the grounds. It was just as still as he had last seen it, the lamps casting dim lights over the stone walkway. He usually found those lights comforting. Now they disconcerted him and his wished they would all go off.

A minute passed with him crouched before the window, looking for any signs of movement. There was nothing – which bothered him more than providing relief.

His gun.

 He glanced back at the desk where he usually had a pistol stashed in the bottom drawer then cast a look at the door. Was it his eyes or was it inching open?

He turned to crawl towards the desk then suddenly stopped short. The gun wouldn’t be there. He had taken it to his room three hours ago and had left it lying on the dresser beside his bed. He grit his teeth and crawled back to the window.

Now it was unmistakable. There was a shadow being cast on the grounds that hadn’t been there previously. He couldn’t see what was casting the shadow but it was there alright. His heart froze. Should he try to make a quick break back for his room to grab his gun or lock himself in and call for help?

He dropped to the ground completely and slithered to the door. Thankfully, the key was on this side of the lock. He raised himself a little and turned the key twice, locking the thick door.  He crawled to the drinks cabinet and lay on the ground in front of it.

A light suddenly went on at the opposite end of the room.

A crash of glass somewhere downstairs.

An insistent vibration.

A chill descended his spine and froze his thoughts momentarily.

After a few seconds, the source of the light and the vibration suddenly dawned on him.

His phone on the desk.

He quickly crawled back to the desk and, from his crouching position, felt for the phone, knocking down something he couldn’t readily identify in the process. A cursory glance at the caller ID brought him a moment of relief and he picked the call.

“Thank goodness you called. It’s my son.”

“I think he’s here to kill me.”

https://elpigrafa./2018/03/10/the-militarized-the-fear-factor/