Amarita:
Rosemary is finally back..
I've waited long enough..i can't access your blog link.

Sorry about this please. I didn't know it wouldn't work. Let me try and do something else about it. I'll get back to you all with the working link.

Qhio:
Welcome back 😊
Would really loved it if Kingsley had a continuation but no worries
Make I use this hold body 😃

No vex. I am developing Kingsley's story into a full book for publishing. A lot has changed in it and so much more has been added 😁

Gloriagee:
The blog link no dey work. Can you put as your personal signature

wow, really. Let me do something about it please. I will get back to you with the correct one.

Two

Sorrows, sorrows, Prayers

Ife

The next time someone would suggest that I become a chief bridesmaid for anyone ehn, 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑎 𝑐𝒉𝑖, the beating I would give that person...I would flatten that person to the ground and sit on his or her chest as my grandmother did to her 𝑛𝑤𝑢𝑛𝑦𝑒𝑑𝑖 last Christmas. Death would be too good for that person.

Tell me why I just lost my newly acquired iPhone 13 Pro Max to a man I thought was one of the groom’s men but later realized he wasn’t. The dude happened to wear the same blue senator suit as the other guys, got himself busy lifting things and running errands like every other groom’s man while his eyes and mind ran to and fro like the biblical devil who presented himself in a meeting meant for just the sons of God, a meeting he wasn’t invited.

The craziest thing was I couldn’t figure out if it was while I was running around like a headless chicken, trying to please the annoying bride who suddenly turned to Cruella de Vil of 101 Dalmatians immediately we stepped out of the hotel room where she was dressed up. Or while I was busy looking at the Bestman while realizing for the umpteenth time why God said; “It’s not good to be alone,” understanding why he created a second person, and praying that I didn’t fall tikiti-tapata rolling on the floor for that fine dude’s charm.

Thinking about it an hour later, after I cried my eyes out because of my lost phone, I should have allowed myself to fall because I got sprained trying not to. That would have counted for something I achieved attending this miserable wedding. Wiping my face to enter my car, I sniffled. I wasn’t going to let another teardrop again. Not like this—drenched from hair to toe by the vengeful rain that decided to let loose its fury immediately after the bridal march was announced.

The uncaring downpour didn’t consider that I was already in a foul mood and didn’t need an additional shege as a toppling. Now, standing on the road with my hair messed up, my make-up, now a cacophony of colors running down my face, my sandals hanging on my fingers while my other hand held my dress up, I looked like a ditched understanding girlfriend.

And why was Bro Oghene covering the event? Aside from being a mechanic, was he a professional cameraman too?
He was the head of our church’s communication department, yeah, I got that but...but...he did video coverage too?

Again, remind me why the first thing he said to me, with a camera balanced on his shoulder, was to wipe something off my face. I did, thinking he was only trying to capture my face on his camera, and he wanted it flawless.

“E never commot,” he said, adjusting the camera on his shoulder.

I wiped again.

And this man said, “Na your beauty nau, you no fit wipe am commot.” And left before I could gather my thoughts to give him a reply.

Like...what? What sought of complement was that? He had sounded like an agbero in a motor park trying to woo a woman.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or get angry cos although his crudeness irked me sometimes, he could be funny and nice and...and sweet...every old woman’s crush but definitely not relationship material. Not for me at least.

“You’re leaving already?”

Eh-eh-eh... was that...

“I heard what happened.”

It’s him! The hot as a hair dryer Bestman. I turned. I was going to smile then I remembered I was looking like someone who just escaped from Yabaleft and my face fell. Yeah right. Devil well done o. When I was finally about to meet a prince charming, someone who might give me something to take my mind off this miserable wedding, you chose to turn me into a clown. Sending rain to wash away my perfectly made-up face and ruin my dress.

“I-I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

Losing my phone or the rain turning my face into a puddle of mess?

“My name is Depreye,” he said, extending his hand for a handshake.

The way he spoke, his accent, hey, 𝑎𝑛𝑤𝑢𝑔𝑜 𝑚! This was what I wanted nau, the kind of man befitting of a girl like me. And to top it all, he oozed off money...

“Hello?”

Oh, oh...

Grabbing his hand, I summoned all the charming smiles I could muster. “My name is Ifenkili.”

“You are Igbo?”

Was that going to be a problem? I could tell him I was a heavenly citizen sent down to earth as an ambassador if that would get him relaxed.

“Anambra I guess?”

Tongue-tied, I nodded.

“Wow,” he said, sizing me up. “There’s something about beautiful Igbo girls.”

See ehn I could smell out flattery from a hundred miles away. And this one was it. However, I allowed myself to bask in it.

“So, about your phone—”

“Oh, it’s gone nau,” I said, lowering my gaze. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“But there is something I can do.”

“Really?” Was he going to suggest that I should give him time to track it, or technically damage it so the thief wouldn’t be able to make use of it?

“Let me get you another one.”

What? “Eh?”

A beautiful smile spread across his lips on seeing my shock.

“No.” I shook my head. “No, please, no—”

“I’d love to,” he interrupted. Reaching out to take my shoes.

Eh? A man took my shoes? A sexy-looking hunk? Now that was a queenly treatment ha-haaaa!

“Seriously, Depreye. I can get myself another phone. I can afford it.”

“Who said you can’t? But allow me to treat you like a lady. I want to get you a new phone. Then we can have lunch or dinner sometime...anytime you want.”

His voice...so deep, sending sweet chills all over my body like the ripples upon a body of water, making it difficult for me to think.

“Your car or mine?” he asked. And before I could reply, he added, “I drive a Mercedes Benz C-Class.”

I read the pride in his voice, but it didn’t matter. Which man would look half the way this man looked, smell like crispy dollar notes, and wouldn’t be arrogant?

“Mine,” I said. Although I’d love to ride in a Benz—I’d never ridden in one before, I wasn’t going to start acting senseless now because of what—a car, and a handsome hunk.

I was about to settle in the driver’s seat when I felt his hand on my shoulder.

“Let me drive.”

W-what? I’d never given my car to anyone to drive before, anyone except my mother and Jekwu my twin brother. Maybe it was me being careful with my things or having trust issues when it came to allowing people to use my things, but I hated sharing my stuff with others, and that included my car. I turned to politely tell him no, but that smile, that disarming smile on his face.

“Okay,” I said, handing my keys to him while taking my shoes from him.

I caught a glimpse of Bro Oghene standing a distance away, hands folded a crossed his chest, watching us—me. He was looking at me.

Was that a frown on his face?

Well... none of my business.

****
𝐎𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞

That moment you looked at a guy and realized that he was another dead end. Just one date and she would be back to God like, “Hello, hello, God. It’s me again.”

I waited for them to drive away before I turned and walked back into the reception hall. The wedding was over now, the couple was exchanging pleasantries with the remaining guests, the caterer seemed to be in a foul mood, and the bride’s mother wasn’t having it that there was no food remaining for her to take home. In fact, the whole bride’s family dey rek for the caterer who on her own 𝑔𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑦 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝒉𝑒𝑚 𝑔𝑏𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑔𝑏𝑜𝑠.

It was going to be a long argument that might escalate into a fight the way the whole thing was going, and I’d love to watch. But no matter how funny it was, 𝐼’𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑡𝑦𝑛 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑎𝑤𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝒉𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑘𝑎𝑠𝑎𝑙𝑎 𝑔𝑜 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑡.

I placed the camera in my bag and looked around for Aloy, my assistant. The twenty-four years old fresh graduate with his Okpolo eye was a few feet away chyking one fine geh. I walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Oniovo come pack up make we kawa.”

The boy frowned. “But bro Oghene—”

“I cannot stay a few more minutes here, my friend.” The girl, he didn’t want to leave her yet, I get. No wahala. “Oya give me my films and everything in your possession. Meet me up in church so we can start editing. I need to be home before 8 p.m., for my online classes,” I said and his lips stretched in a smile.

“Brother Oghene! Thank you so much, sir. I’ll meet you in church, I promise.”

“Hm.” I nodded. Glance at the nervous girl he was razzling. Chai! Young men, 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑒𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑔𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝒉𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑝𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝒉𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝒉𝑒𝑚 𝑑𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑔𝑒𝒉 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝒉𝑒𝑚 𝑔𝑜 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛. Wasn’t it just yesterday that I gave this guy the whole ten thousand naira I was given for this job?

It was supposed to be a free job. Emenike was my man and he needed help with the video coverage, said his wife insisted he took care of that one. So I promised to do it for him with my church’s camera, but he had to drop something, 𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑎 𝑖𝑚 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠. He sent 10K which wasn’t enough. The hiring of our camera for an outside job was 30k. However, I wasn’t going to tell Emenike that. I’d decided to pay the money for him as my man way he be.

Some minutes later I was on a bolt ride heading back to church. And for no reason, my mind went back to her. Ife my Ibo babe.

Ife fine 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑐𝒉𝑜𝑝 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑐𝒉, ah-ah!

And God, I liked her. From the first day, I set my eyes on her...no, not that day. I first noticed her early last year. She was worth a long stare but that was it. I didn’t feel anything for her until that night I had one crazy dream that had her in it.

I’d woken up with the thought of her filling my head. Throughout that day, I couldn’t get anything right because she was just there, 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑘𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑘𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝒉𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑.

And the next Sunday, I was looking for her in church. My heart couldn’t rest throughout the service. I wasn’t sure I heard a single word that was preached that day because, while pushing the camera tripod around the church, my eyes were roaming, searching.

I didn’t know what it was, that sudden eagerness to see her, to have her look at me. And although we hardly exchanged more than a few words which seemed to be enough for me then, I didn’t mind.

Days moved to weeks, weeks to months, and months to a year plus, yet I’d not forgotten that dream and how I woke up with my heart beating faster and a stupid grin on my face.

I wasn’t looking for a geh to marry or desiring to be in a relationship. Na money bin dey my mind abeg. I just wanted to concentrate on my mechanic work, and make a lot of money so I could finish paying for the half plot of land I wanted for my workshop. I also wanted to finish up with my online schooling. The thing don dey hard small, I couldn’t wait to graduate. But after that dream, it was impossible to look at her in church without feeling sweet tingles wash over me.

Several times I wanted to approach her, several times my heart stopped beating, and words dried up in my head. So the only thing I ever did whenever our gaze locked was smile and smile like an idiot. It was crazy, I was crazy. It was passionate and as I looked out for her during every church program, I felt like nothing in my life could ever be okay until I saw her and smile again like a fool.

I knew she didn’t like me. Not that much. She hardly kept her eyes on me for more than a few seconds. And when she smiled back at me, it was just out of courtesy.

I knew.

But I liked her still.

I also knew that even though I was trying to establish something—friendship for a start, I got her number from a church member and started chatting with her, I still felt like she didn’t rate me that much.
Maybe I should give it all up.

But oh...I liked her. I told God about it. If only he would make her look at me the same way I looked at her, maybe...just maybe...

The cab driver pulled into the church compound and I stepped down, paid, and walked, with the camera bag inside, into the church.

I thought of the young man she left with today and wondered where they might be going, what they could be doing.

I saw the way he was looking at her throughout the wedding ceremony 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝒉𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑦 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑚 𝒉𝑒𝑎𝑑, 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑚 𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑛 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝒉 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛. No, I wasn’t jealous, or hating, but I could see beyond his fine suit and perfect English.

𝑇𝒉𝑎𝑡 𝑔𝑢𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝑚𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑘𝑝𝑎𝑘𝑝𝑎, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑚 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑏𝑖𝑔 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑂𝑗𝑖. A coded thief and a worthless fellow.

But sadly, Ife babe didn’t see it. Like she didn’t see that brother Michael in the choir, that one that always took song solos, wain dey like to show imself, the one she eagerly jumped into a relationship with some months ago, was an idiot who only wanted to have his way with her and bolt.

Yes, I knew so much about her life and relationship choices. I had an interest in her, and somehow, I kept getting messages about her, seeing her with these men in my dreams even before she started going out with them. And in those dreams, it never ended well.

Just like this one.

I saw it last night.

And as soon as I saw the guy today, I knew he was another dead end.

One

My name is Ifenkili by the way, and of course, I am a very beautiful woman. I'm sexy and I know it, thank you. Oh, oh, one more thing. My culinary prowess is top notch too.

So, before you concluded that I couldn't cook and clean and that was why this particular guy treated me like an orphaned smoked fish in an evening market, cut me some slack, inugo?

I met Diepreye at the wedding of one girl who was desperate to find a chief bridesmaid rich enough to foot her own bills.

Yes, you heard me right.

Auntie was looking for a money lady who would be able to buy her own gown and accessories and pay for her own make-up and hair styling.

Unfortunately, the lot fell on me!

She wasn't my friend. Just a random girl I met in my friend's hair salon.

The werey presented herself as a charity case while begging my friend Ale to stand as her bridesmaid, swearing with A to Z and everything in between that she had no money—she was paying for everything about the wedding...the hall, refreshments, cake and decorations, I could swear with my left butt cheek that she was buying the suit for the guy to.

With my eyes glued to my phone that had brother Oghene's six "How are you...have you eaten?" WhatsApp messages spread on the screen and my mind arguing whether to curse the living daylight out of him and then block him or to just simply block him, I didn't pay much interest in the the conversation going on around me.

Not until I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard a soft voice very close to me.

"Auntie..."

I lifted my head and it was the burden-bearing, bills-paying, loving bride-to-be.
"Auntie..."

First off, I didn't think I was way too older than she was. Two or three years older perhaps. So she shouldn't be addressing me as her auntie.

With a patronizing smile on my face, I said, "My name is Ifenkili. Call me Ife."

"Okay...eh...Ife. This auntie here said I should talk to you."

"About..." I followed the finger she wielded like a weapon to where Aleruchi was stifling a grin.

"She said you can be my bridesm—"

"Bride...w-what?"

I shot Ale a look. For what nau? How could she suggest such a degrading thing? The last time I was anybody's bridesmaids was in 2020, I was 27. The wedding had ended in a free-for-all fight which was started by the groom's family who claimed that the food being served to the bride's family had more chunks of meat than theirs.
The second to the last one didn't go well either. The couple divorced seven months after the wedding.

The previous-previous one... The woman traveled abroad for further studies and got pregnant by a white dude.

So, you see? Aside from the fact that at this age, I didn't want to bridesmaid any woman, I was beginning to think that I was a marriage crash in my former life.

"Auntie, please. I don't have anyone."

"What of your friends? Your family members?"
"They will want me to buy them gowns and take care of them..."

Before nkor? Wasn't it what you were supposed to do? Especially since it's obvious you were singlehandedly footing the wedding bill, you should take care of this too.

But wait, why did I feel that this marriage would crash too? Now call me a hater or bearer of bad news, I know...I know...

But I couldn't shake off the feeling that the marriage wasn't going to last. And God knew I didn't want to be part of it so when it finally crashed, I wouldn't add that to my name.

"Ife, please..." Aleruchi added, drawing close.

Girl if I wooze you!!!

Ignoring my glare, she continued. "Come on now, girlfriend. Do this for the community—"

"Which community?"

"The girl's community nau."

"Mba." I shook my head. Couldn't everyone see that this girl was doing pass herself and that was a recipe for failure? Like. She could shift some of the expenses she was shouldering to the lax of a man she was getting married to and then use the free money for the care of a friend or family member who would gladly pose as her bridesmaid.

"Ah, Ife... Please nau. You can do this."

"But I don't want to. Besides, I don't even know if I'll be around to attend the wedding." another besides, who walked up to a random lady and asked her to be the bridesmaid?

"But Ife, agree first. See...see...she really needs help. And don't forget you may meet men—"

"Ale get out." I interrupted and burst out in laughter when the yeye girl made a face.

"Seriously, Ife. This could be God about to finally connect you with your own man."

"God has given all his eligible sons to his most dotted daughters. Nothing is left out there for people like us. Nothing but crayfish and sungu fish walking on two legs," I said with resignation, my mind making a backflip to Brother Oghene. No. He wasn't a crayfish and definitely not an azu sungu. A fine face that could stop breaths for seconds, a talking voice that made my secret places squirm, a perfect gentleman—I heard.

But he was a mechanic! Not only that, he wasn't polished, his English...oh Jesus wept. The dude hadn't overcome the accent problem that followed him from the village—always confusing letter letter S for C. To top it all, he was every church pastor's favorite person. Oh, should I also tell all the married women in the church adored him?

Yes! Married women!

Because he was what? Nice! A simp!

Which girl wanted to be seen with a man like that? Not me, of course.

"So, are you going to do it?" Ale asked.
"Do what?"
"Be the bridesmaid now. See, I am making the bride and her train of girls up. I promise to pay extra attention to you."

"Idiot. I can make myself up," I replied.

And so went the conversation. Back and forth, back and forth until I couldn't say no.

It was another hour before I left there armed with the happy bride's phone number, a feeling of foolishness prickling my skin because, again, I had allowed myself to be talked into what I swore not to do again.

And guess who I saw standing, with his back on the road, buying bole from Mama Amazing Grace, at the other side of the road as I was about to enter my car?

Brother Oghene.

Ah, chineke nna. Could one ever catch this guy clean and fresh, without this his grease coated cover-all, and dirty smeared skin on ordinary

I've only seen him dress and smell nice on Sundays or evenings during church programs.

I didn't wait for him to turn and see me, got no time to exchange pleasantries with someone who was at the bottom of the list of the men I'd date.

You wouldn't call me vain now, would you? I talked to everyone no matter their looks, class, or education. But it was obvious what this guy wanted, and he seemed not to understand my rejection.

Maybe I should change my style.

Anyway. This story was about how I made the Depreye, right?

New episodes will be dropped here every weekend so I don't get overwhelmed and fail you all as my table is full right now. But there are three long episodes already in the blog at the moment

Gloriagee:
How to access your blog

hey, sis. Here is the link. https://romanceanderoticstories..com/

Hey, beautiful people.

It's been a long while, yeah? I have been quite busy getting books published.

And yes, I have a blog now .

Even this story I'm about to start posting here has been in my blog (a few episodes anyways.) so if you don't have the patience to wait and read here weekly, you may as well move to the blog and read ahead.

How is everyone doing?

Looking for a husband in Port Harcourt is not for the faint-hearted ni.

When people said that nearly every man in Lagos is mad, hmm... them never meet Port Harcourt men o.
Those one's na principalities and powers. And if you come dey unlucky come jam the church bros among them... Ah, my sister, sister. Na weapons fashioned against you be that o.

Anyway. Na me go find trouble. No. I mustn't blame myself. It was my village people who wouldn't allow me to drink water and drop cup because I was thirty and yet to drag a man down to the village to pay my bride price.

The last time I attended our family meeting, I couldn't count the many times I was reminded of my single pringlehood. Every little pim I uttered earned me a side-eye from my mother whom I knew would have asked me to hide under the bed if she could because Ukamaka and Erimma, my much younger cousins were coming for the meeting and they were all married with kids.

I deliberately chose to be part of that meeting because...what was our slogan again for this year?

Yes, no gree for anybody.

Na single I dey, I no kill anybody.

And I'd had enough of family and friends shaming me because I didn't have a man. I'd avoided gatherings because of their sniggers and outright mockery. This year? Na me and them.

See ehn... I didn't start this adulthood that is not really adulting to be single. But all the men I have been meeting had a way of making my head scream " I want to goooooo hooooommmmeeee!"

Like...where were all those cute, loyal, well-behaved guys with a sprinkle of godliness?

Why was I meeting only deliverance cases and god forbid situations?

The story long sha, but I would tell it.

Qhio:
My kind of story 🙂
Keep em coming

Now you want to make me write a full story 😂😂

Maybe I should

everton4life:
Hello, Rosemary. I am a big fan of your stories. I'm also a writer myself. If you check my profile, you'll see some of my works that I've posted in the literature section in the past. I just have one request to make from you and I hope you won't be offended. Can I get the permission to use one of your stories 'How Gbenga found love.' on one of my blogs. I'll do some modification but I assure you that I'll give credit to you. You can see that I'm even coming out in the public to make this request. I don't have anything to hide. If you grant this permission, I will greatly appreciate it. Its my favorite story among all your works.

. Hi Everton. I appreciate your fanship. I don't know if you still see the full story here because I might have deleted some of it. But if you still do, you can go ahead. I have rewritten and edited it though. And will be publishing the latest version of it as a book.

Goldynfavour:
Interesting, Aunty Rose, glad to know you are back. We missed you

Yeyy. Glad to have you here, Goldy. My hands have been full. I'm just trying to clear my table so I can run a fresh story here

[/b]Kingsley[b]

[/i]He was back in Grandpa's little house, then it wasn't Grandpa's house but a strange compound, yet he knew he'd been there before. As he took tentative steps forward, the sound of his feet crunching what must be dry leaves echoing in the eerie silence of the compound, the air getting thicker and thicker with a sense of foreboding as though the darkness itself held secrets that were best left undisturbed, the sinister glow from the window of the hut in front of him casting long shadows that danced across the ground like ghostly figures, a shiver ran down his spine and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.

The old wooden door of the hut creaked in protest as he pushed it open, revealing an interior that was dimly lit by a flickering lantern, his eyes stayed on the ancient stools arranged around five white burning calabashes for a while, then moved to the familiar artifacts lying beside each stool. Was it his imagination or did one of the artifacts—the one that looked like the exact figurine he’d been seeing since he was a kid—come alive and look at him? And... and... there were echoes in his head, laughter, cries...the room was alive, and something was pushing him to the center of the room where a low table held an intricately designed box, adorned with patterns that seemed to shift and writhe.

As he drew near, the box pulsed with a faint energy, and there was a whisper in the back of his mind;

“Iruonmola, Oya sii.”

Hands trembling, he lifted the lid, fragments of images, emotions, and experiences that he couldn't quite grasp flooded the room at the same time he heard hushed hums.

He wasn’t alone in the room anymore.

Beings he could only recognize from his many nightmares had occupied three of the stools, and on the fourth stool sat an aged woman who had a black wrapper tied around her chest, the upper parts of her body and her face were painted white.

“Kaabo sile, olujosin orisa atijo. Welcome home, worshiper of the ancient god,” the woman said in a withering voice.

That was when it clicked: the compound, the hut, and even the box, all were intertwined with his curse, his burden. This place was more than just a strange location—it was a key to unlocking the mysteries of his past, and he had been led here for self-discovery.

He watched as three of the artifacts beside the stools tremble and in a split second, they grew large and alive, their eyes blazing. Fear surged through his veins, his heart pounded as the presence began to hypnotize him. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! He could no longer move any part of his body!

His mind began to fight. But despite his efforts, there was an invisible force tightening its grip around him, rendering his struggle futile. His limbs grew heavy as though encased in lead. He tried to scream but his voice caught in his throat, stifled by an overwhelming sense of dread.

Their voices grew stronger, mocking his resistance. With a sudden and violent surge, he was lifted off the ground, his body rendered weightless and vulnerable as he was suspended in the air.

The ritual had begun, and there was no escape for him this time. He racked his brain for the right prayer—chants, bible verses that could free him, but none came. His memories seemed to be wiped of every religious mantra. He thought of Father Ray, his heart reached out for the old priest, but he was rewarded with silence.

Jesus! He’s fast slipping away. The powerful grips of the beings were suffocating him. He wished he could close his eyes, and shut out the surreal nightmare, but his gaze remained locked on the swirling of their forms.

“The elders chose you when your father rejected them,” The woman who spoke earlier, said as the world around him blurred and twisted as though reality itself was deforming. Ancient Yoruba Symbols and sigils shimmered in the air around him. As he focused on them, he began to understand—names, dates, genealogy.

“We have watched you do things that no ordinary man can do. People are put in awe of your supernatural abilities—powers we allow you to exercise even when you constantly fight us. Now is the time to take your place with us.”

His place with them…Yes, that’s where he's meant to be. His fate was sealed when he was born. But was that really what he wanted? To become a medium and offer sacrifices to a deity who’s struggling to remain relevant in a changed world, was that what he fancied?
That didn’t sound attractive enough to him.

“This is your fate,” the woman said.

That’s a lie. His fate was anything he what it to be. Father Ray taught him that. “No one else decides what you are or who you become except you. If fate comes at you swinging, then you hit back,” the old man would always say, and those words had guided him all these years. although sometimes, they weren’t able to stop the darkness from stealing moments of his life.

“We can take away your sleeplessness, your torments. You can love again and even get married because you'll no longer embarrass and frighten your women. Just embrace who you are, and you will have everything.”

Everything? He didn't want everything. What he wanted was peace, the kind that came with no condition, no threats. And this place would not offer that to him.

“You don't have any choice, this is your destiny. You can't refuse it…”

Someone already did and nothing happened. Bishop Timini turned his back on this bullshit and these losers did nothing.

“Don’t make the same mistake your father made. This is your destiny, refuse it and you will die.”

Oh, go to hell.

King began to fight again, every fiber in him screaming for release. But his mind was caught in a vice, squeezed by an invisible hand that refused to relinquish its hold. Time lost all meaning as he hung there, trapped between the earthly realm and whatever twisted dimension these beings hailed from. The only certainty was his overwhelming desire to be free from their grasp, to return to the safety of the world he knew.

As he was teetering on the edge of letting go, something began to bloom at a corner of his waning heart, a Latin chant from a faint, distant voice.

“Tantun ergo Sacramentum
Veneremur cernui...”

At first, it was barely a whisper, like a fragile echo. But gradually, it gained strength, like a distant melody that grew clearer with each passing moment. It was a Latin prayer he learned while serving as an altar boy many years ago.

“Et antiquum documentum
Novo cedar ritui...”

The more prominent the voice became, the more his focus shifted, his mental energy realigning toward this newfound source of strength. He clung to the prayer, letting its words wrap around him like a protective shield, as though the words held a power of their own, pushing back against the encroaching darkness.

He had said those chants with other parishioners on several evening benedictions and had felt nothing but excitement during those times. Now, the chant was no longer just exciting words but a connection to something greater, something beyond the immediate battle he found himself in. He was sure he was repeating the words to himself because their rhythm was now synchronizing with his heartbeat. With each utterance, the beings shrilled, and their grip fractured.

The atmosphere changed as he continued to repeat the mantra. Minutes might have passed, or perhaps hours—he couldn't quite tell. But in that timeless space, he experienced a transformation. The darkness finally relented, retreating as if defeated by the sheer force of his will. The voices that had tormented him faded into the background, their influence diminished to mere echoes, and he was on his feet again in the center of the room. Right there before his eyes, everything began to vanish—the artifacts, the box, the table, the shadowy things, the hut itself.

Then he was standing in a field, listening to the sound of a church bell ringing in the distance.

He followed it, walked a few miles, and then everything faded, and his senses slowly returned from the vivid dream world to the waking reality.[i]

He was in his room again, bathed in the harsh light from the electric bulb while the remnants of the dream clung to his thoughts.

He was a little groggy due to the transition from sleep to waking up when his phone began to ring. He reached over, his movements a tad sluggish, and grabbed his shirt from the nearby chair. Using it to wipe his face, he raked his fingers through his hair, attempting to clear his mind.

With a deep breath, he picked up his phone from under the pillow, squinting at the screen to see the caller's ID, and swiped to answer.

It was the first call he had picked up in four days.

“King, Jesus. What had happened to you?” Obi’s voice came through, his tone a mixture of relief and worry. “Okezie said he’d been trying to reach you for days now. Where the hell are you?”

“I am home,” King said, his voice a little rough from just waking up.

“Home? Do you know how many times Okezie has been to your place?”

Kingsley groaned, got up from the bed, and left the room. His body was quite light to his amazement, and his inside soothingly empty—that kind of feeling one gets after having a satisfying bowel movement. “I... Obi, I needed to be alone,” he said, groping on the wall of his sitting room for the light bulb switch. As the space became alive with light, he walked in deeper, stood by the center table, and stared at the briefcase he’d left there before going to bed. “I was losing my mind.”

“I understand your pain, man. I know what Father meant to you.”

No, Obi didn’t understand shit, but King was going to allow him to talk anyway.

“That’s why I’ve been calling you since I heard about it. I want to be there for you, we all do.”

When the call ended, he sat down on the floor and opened the briefcase again. One by one, he picked up the items inside, felt them with his fingers, and hung the Stole across his neck the way he saw the old man do. Then with the two ends of it, he covered his palms and carefully picked up the monstrance, lifted it the way he’d watched Father do when he blessed communions, set it do, and opened the center of the sunburst to take out the half-eaten host.

“You know a half of this has never been enough for me,” he muttered as he chewed slowly, laughing at his words, sobering when he remembered that the man he was addressing wasn’t there to listen. And would never be present again. Going behind to eat the reminder of the communion, after a typical church service was one of the many mischievous acts that his old man came to accept. As he got mature, it no longer interested him, yet he’d continued with it—when he was home— because he suspected that the old man looked forward to it.
Readjusting his legs on the floor, he began to place the items back in the briefcase.

Everything in that was sacred vessels. And he did not need them. The old man was indirectly telling him to go into priesthood since marriage seemed not to be made for someone like him.

Laughter burst out of his mouth as he imagined himself a priest. “Nice joke, Father,” he said. Even in death, the old man didn’t lose his sense of humor. His eyes caught the note that had an individual’s contact details. He picked it up, mouthed the name written on it, and placed it in the case before shutting it. He would give the person a call when he’s up to his. For now, he would concentrate on healing and living, and exploring this strange peace and alertness he was feeling in the pit of his stomach.

With a newfound sense of peacefulness, he stood up, stretching his limbs. The dream still lingered in his thoughts, a peculiar mixture of emotions and images that he couldn't quite shake off. But, unlike before, there was no monotonous bullshit accompanying it. Even when he pondered the significance of the dream as he walked back to his room, he didn’t feel disturbed. He sat on the bed and checked his calls. There were a lot of them. He’d got a lot of messages too; condolences from his friends and some parishioners. Two of his drivers had called, and a few unknown numbers.

A distinct caller ID sent a flurry of emotions and thoughts racing through his mind.
Dee? She'd called?

He checked the time. It was well past 2 a.m. Should he call her back? Would it be considered too late or too early? They'd had late-night conversations, but he wasn’t sure this time was good.

Deciding not to disturb her, he sent her a message instead and lay back down. Sleep came to him fast. His dreams for the rest of the night were free from the nightmares that plagued his many other dreams.

Just a very, very, very one-chapter story. I hope you read and enjoy, and grab one or two things.

do4luv14:




So I came back again to read this Beautiful story,
the last few chapters, it's being ringing in machine since yesterday, So here I am, Only the remember the Advice I gave you, the chapters had been removed phew!!!!!!


BTW I go soon Arrest you, Cos I still never see Paul pisure

do4luv14:



Compliments of the season awa sweet Rossy,

Iffa no see Paul pisure awa 2 go enter boxing day oooo

�� Abeg o

Hi, family. Akwaugo is now out o. Available on Amazon and Bambooks. Please go and download and read. Don't forget to rate and drops your review.

This is the only way to support me

Hi, family. Akwaugo is now out o. Available on Amazon and Bambooks. Please go and download and read. Don't forget to rate and drops your review.

This is the only way to support me

Samamerc:
Aunty Rosemary33 abeg na wen u go start ur new story oh�� I Don too miss your stories and I can't wait for you to start another one

soon oh. Writing a few pages so I don't stop when I start posting

Thacutegemini:
This rosemary is just too good

the story felt real
really can't forget that"He is my general part"
your imaginations are top notch���������

Thank you!!!

onwumereoluebub:
Jesus I have never seen something so beautiful and nice that I felt like it was real. My dear, I pray for abundant grace and the love of God in your life. More grace to keep the light burning.
Please do well to notify me when the new story starts

thank you so much. I sure will

Amarita:
Thank you so much Rosie.
God bless you..
I am addicted to your stories..you're way beyond good..you're one of the reasons why I am always on N/L..

thank you so much

Katie2021:
Chaii , this story is sweet like sugar.
Thanks ma'am
More inspiration
Good to know that there are christian guys wey there head connect that want to please God.

There are, sis. I tell people that when a guy chose not to sleep with a woman (In Paul's case, take advantage of a woman. Because there are many occasions where Scarlett threw herself at him but he chose not to defile her) it's mostly because they love God and are afraid of how God feels.

bimberry1307:

Rest bawo? Ha, pls complete it o. Waiting for the part I've been waiting for #winks

Temmytope6688:
Good afternoon
Just started reading this book and trust me it is worth all my time
But I am finding difficulties in seeing the chapters I have read only two so far

apologies, please. The story is now published as a book and I have to delete most of the chapters in other to help me make sales

But the story was here for almost Eight months, while I re-write and edit it, before publishing.

You can read it now on Okadabooks, bambooks, and Amazon under the title "God, Michael and Me."

So...

You think we should start another story?

A Christian paranormal/romance story. With the MC male a plus-size truck driver (he's cute... Super cute)

gal10:


No you can’t rest we want everything na��

osuolale95:
Oshey! After that make we go Mozambique for honeymoon

Na una go write the remaining o.

My quoter has ended here. Any other epilogue will be added when I'm ready to edit and re-write this story for publishing

On to the next story.

Okay, so this story is as good as finished.

Na wedding, after wedding mekwe (if you know you know ) and life after marriage remain.

So I can rest now, abi?

“