MY SPIRITUAL WIFE

EPISODE 12
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It is true what they say.

Nature versus nurture is actually a thing.

Children born and raised by the same parent can be so different in ways that raises significant concern.
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Silas (my stepmother's remaining child) was surprisingly different from his mother and his other dead siblings.

Silas was the only one amongst my stepmother's children that spoke with me like a "human being". We played together every time my stepmother was not at home but the second, she got back, he dared not come close to me.
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Most of the times my stepmother would deprive me of food, Silas would always try to find a way; he’d always attempt to sneak me something; anything, ranging from biscuits, to making sure he doesn't finish his food so I could have what’s left of it, to sometimes even attempting to bring up my "not haven eaten situation”, to Daddy.
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Never had Silas ever succeeded in any of these attempts though but, I guess his intentions were all that mattered after all.
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Oluchi took a special liking for Silas, after I told her one day that he was the only source of happiness I had at home.
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The day my stepmother designed my back with a razor blade and smeared it with pounded pepper, you should have seen Silas that day, crying.

Seeing Silas cry so passionately, you'd have assumed that he was somehow linked to me; feeling every bit of the pain I was feeling.
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Even though my stepmother later found her supposed "lost fifty naira", I still carry the marks; the scars from that allegation, till date.
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It was just like every other Sunday. We arrived at church earlier than usual.

Daddy was supposed to meet us in church, later that day. He was returning from his three weeks journey.
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It was during a "praise and worship" session. Everyone was just beginning to get in the "groove" of praises when something strange gradually began to happen to my stepmother.

My stepmother who had rhythmically been moving to the beat suddenly began to behave unusually. She was all over the place, dancing more than necessary.

Hell! My stepmother was dancing “off beat”.

Mini break in transmission.....
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Earlier on, while the sermon was going on, at a point, my stepmother was laughing unnecessarily, even when there was nothing humorous about that part of pastor Isaac's preaching.
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Pastor Isaac soon signaled at the pastor on the pulpit to hold.
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Everyone’s eyes were now very much fixated on my stepmother.

It had now become very obvious that something was indeed, wrong with the woman.
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A small crowd of prayer warriors had now begun to gather around my stepmother. Prayer warriors, who at this point must have already assumed that nothing about this unusual display was ordinary.

They all began to "Cast and Bind".
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Thunderous prayers from all angles began.

My stepmother's restored sanity was their prayer point.
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Even though I had no idea what exactly was going on, I closed my eyes too, to pray for my stepmother.

But I was not sure whether I wanted that woman's condition to change for the better or worse.
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Everyone in church had now been praying for my stepmother for well over thirty minutes before her sudden shout and screams of “wanting to talk”, had pastor Isaac ordering the prayers to come to a halt,
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"In Jesus name we pray".

The whole church thundered "Amen".
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Pastor Isaac then proceeded to ask my stepmother, "What do you want to talk about sister Ire...?"

"...I killed Helen! I killed James! I killed my children! There you have it. I killed them! I kill them out of my wickedness. I killed them! I killed them! I killed them".
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My stepmother sprung up and began to dance to the rhythm she had now gotten from the repetition of "I killed them."
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"Blood of Jesus!" The entire church roared in unison; in surprise.

Not even pastor Isaac could hide his shock at this revelation.
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Even though they’d heard this from the "horse's mouth", it was a hard pill to swallow. No one could believe any of it. They couldn’t believe that their very "beloved, angelic and inspiring mother in the lord" could be capable of this kind of atrocity.
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"Sister Ireti! Why? Why did you kill them? How could you kill your own children? What could they have done to you, to have deserved such cruelty? What have they done that you couldn't possibly have forgiven them; your own children?" A voice from the crowd echoed, with a lot of anger embedded in every word.
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Just in the heat of these, my Daddy showed up.

Apparently, he had entered the church just around the same time his wife was confessing to having killed his children.

To be continued...

Hello � fanmily, yeah one more update tonight, because why not........
Please, kindly read to the end.

MY SPIRITUAL WIFE

Episode 11
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My Daddy had traveled that morning and considering how heavy he'd packed, It was very obvious that he was going on one of his usual "business trips". This always meant that we won't be seeing him anytime soon.
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Just the night before, on my way back from seeing Oluchi, I'd eavesdroped on Daddy's conversation with his wife (my stepmother).

Daddy had asked my stepmother if it was okay for me to go over; to be with my Mum for a while. Especially since we were on holidays (at the time).

"Ha! No now. Have you forgotten what happened the day that woman was leaving this house? Have you forgotten what led to you, literally prying Richard off of her hands in that hard long battle? Don't you know that if he goes over to her place now in the disguise of holiday, he won't be coming back again? She will just keep him to herself and you might never be able to have access to him, ever again." My stepmother said.
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I heard my Daddy heave a deep sigh. I was afraid that he must have thought there was some sense in what my stepmother had just said.
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I'd not seen my mother since that day she left the house. I'd not heard her voice either.

My stepmother found a way to make my daddy forbid it; forbid any means of contact.
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One would have thought that my school should have been a perfect place for a meet, if my mother cared enough but it wasn't.

My stepmother ensured that that was not an option either.
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My stepmother made my Daddy go over to the school authorities one day, to have them ban my mother from ever coming anywhere close to the school premises to see me. He also made sure that my mother could not possibly wait at a particular spot to see me on my way back from school either.
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"But he is still her son and she deserves to see him too. Its been so long since they both last saw." My Daddy said in rebuttal to the point my stepmother had raised earlier, in a manner that depicted "reason".

I was happy to hear that part, in their conversation.

I was hopeful.

It meant that my father was not so unreasonable after all.

But my happiness was short leaved.
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"Hmm! Well, on a second thought, I think you have a point in what you have said. That woman is mischievous and could have something planned. Paul is not going anywhere." Daddy concluded.

I was eclipsed by sadness at this point.
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As i turned to leave that night; to take the long sad walk towards my room, I heard a voice; a very familiar voice.

It was Oluchi's.

Oluchi whispered in my ears...

"Don't worry baby, she'll wish she had let you go, before long.
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My daddy was away for three weeks. In those three weeks, my step mother's cruelty upon me, heightened.
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I was convinced that this woman devices new means to cause me pains every time she was bored.

My stepmother was so good at it, that at a point, I began to wonder if she was not just wasting her God's given talents on "little Me".
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That woman's creativity in causing pain was unmatched.

I was sure; very certain that my stepmother's inspirations to enact most of these evil she enacted upon me were "divine".

It couldn't have been anything besides being "divine", it just couldn't have.

No one could possibly wrack their heads so hard, just so they can come up with "unique" ways to enact these cruelty like this woman does. No one.

I mean, my step mothers does these, effortlessly.
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But there was just one small problem with all of these.

I was the only person seeing this side of my stepmother.

Even my daddy, to a reasonable extent see my stepmother as a loving, caring, God fearing, responsible and very reasonable (woman) wife.
The only flaw my father assumes my stepmother has, is her short temper.
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My stepmother was an elder in church. She mentors people. Prominent people looked up to her and her words were usually "watch words".
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If you see my stepmother preaching on a pulpit, advising or even counseling people, you won't be able to help it; falling in love with the personality she portrays was imminent.
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During a conversation with Oluchi the other night, I was forced to ask...

"If the world thinks very highly of my stepmother and I happen to be the only one (besides my mummy of course) who thinks otherwise, doesn't that make me (us) the minority? If she was as terrible as I have come to see her to be, should I be the only person seeing it? I'm sure I'd once heard, during pastor Isaac's sermon, that characters were like smoke and can not possibly be hidden forever? Why are others not seeing what I am seeing glaringly in this woman day in, day out?"

Oluchi smiled all through my questions. When she finally opened her mouth to say something, I'd expected it to be an answer to my question but it wasn't.

It was something else; something dark; something more.
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"Don't worry, Paul, we'll make the world see her for who she truly is, and even a little bit of who she isn't. It'll be her little punishment for being evil at heart and saintly in the presence of all".

To be continued...

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MY SPIRITUAL WIFE

Episode 10
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My stepmother's loud cry woke us up that morning. Apparently, she had woken up to prepare her "beloved" children for school only to discover that James was not responding to her call. She'd gone closer to "shake" him, hoping that he was only sleeping but his overly cold lifeless body delivered the heart shattering message.
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My stepmother wept like I'd never seen her cry before. She was busy rolling from one end of the house to the other. It was obvious that James's death hit her hard. She has always had a special likeness for the boy. No doubt, losing James to the cold hands of death really did "a number" on her; It'd hit her differently.
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For six straight months, my stepmother didn't go a day without crying. Everything seemed to remind her of James, which makes her cry even more.
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Everytime friends; family and church members came over to our house on condolence visits, my stepmother never failed to lament to them on how cruel the world had been to her. She consistently built lies on top of lies in her stories about her love for “us”, her children.

"What have I done to deserve this kind of cruelty? Ehn? What? I am kind hearted. I try to be a very good Christian. I am not just one that attends church, I try to be a practicing Christian. I love my neighbor as myself and never, not even in the slightest of ways do I wish evil for another woman's child. Why is heaven’s name should God allow the evil eye to befall my household like this? Why James? How could death not have taken me instead? How can I be burying my children one after the other? Who have I wronged na?" My stepmother would always lament.
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Everytime she was on with these anthem, people who'd come visiting, would usually take turns in patting her back, throwing words of encouragement at her. They’d try to remind her that this was only a trying time in her life and that she needed to be steadfast in prayers to overcome.

My stepmother would usually thank them for their kind words but once they were gone, resume crying again.
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My stepmother barely even noticed that I was living in the same house (during this period).

This made me free; very happy.
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For the first time in "NEVER", I wake up and go about my daily routines like every other normal child my age.

But just like every other thing in life, the peace of mind I enjoyed was only momentarily.

Soon, the emotions that came affiliated with the loss of James gradually began to wear off.

We got to a point where James was only sometimes made reference of in “certain” conversations and even at that, the sadness that followed was no longer as depressing.
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As though my stepmother knew something; as though she’d sensed that I might have had a hand in everything that was going on in her life, she tried as best as she could to avoid me, completely. I could see how very difficult it was for her to allow certain things slide but she seemed not to have a choice every time she’d had to.
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Bofore now, I'd overheard a conversation between my stepmother and pastor Isaac (after Sunday service).

Pastor Isaac advised my stepmother to be kind to me.

"Take that young man as your own, sister Ireti, and the good lord will never forsake you; He'll put a smile back on your face again in no time. You see, our battle is of the lord, but before the lord takes up his armor and shield to defend us against evil schemes, we need to have been faithful to him in our own right or at least, be a work in progress towards achieving closure in his sight. The evil that has befallen your household is not ordinary. Familiar spirits are at work. If you want to see the face of the lord manifest in your life, you have to be righteous in your own right, sister Ireti. I don't know what you have been doing to that boy that you ought not to, but the lord says I should tell you to stop; to turn a new leaf with him."

Pastor Isaac prayed with my stepmother afterwards, before he departed.
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Four months later, my face was to be buried between my stepmother's warm laps.

The firmness in this grip, was with precision.
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With a razor blade in one hand and pounded pepper smeared in another, my stepmother was supposedly about to teach me a lesson, one I was never to forget.
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Apparently, her fifty naira was missing, and I was the only verified thief, living in her house.

Besides, shebi I once told her that I frequently found money in my school bag?

Money she'd assumed were stashes from her money I must have stolen.
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Not everyone is capable of complete repentance after all.

To be continued...

MY SPIRITUAL WIFE

EPISODE 9
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My stepmother was still busy lying; telling daddy that I'd finished a very big mold of "wheat' she'd served me earlier. She said that she had even added James's food to mine, when he couldn't finish it.
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My stepmother said that, even if I was going to eventually eat out of the food again, it couldn't possibly be that night because she was sure that there was no way I still had space left in my stomach for more food.
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Surprisingly, this time around, my daddy was not buying any of these.

I don't know if it was the tears that had now started rolling freely down my cheeks or the fact that my stomach was not confirming the story my stepmother was selling but, he just wasn't.

"Come and wash your hand, Paul; come and eat with your brother and me." Daddy said.
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What I was feeling at this point was a mix of "everything". From happiness (of finally being able to eat for the first time, today), to fear (of what my stepmother would do to me as a result of these); to, even wondering whether the food in front of us would be enough for only me (not haven eaten all day long).
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The fact that my daddy had insisted that I wash my hand; to join them on that dining table definitely didn't go down well with my stepmother, and she wasn't one to give up easily.

The moment I took a seat in front of daddy (just right beside James) and began to wash my hand, my stepmother sprung up from where she had been seated down the whole time, and began matching towards us; towards me.

I recognized that walking step very well.

The woman was coming to drag me by my ear again, off the table.
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My stepmother halted, just steps away from where I was sitting down (where I was seriously trying to swallow as many muscles of the food as I could before the inevitable happened).
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I didn’t know exactly what was to come but the anticipation alone was killing; my ear already hurt from I'd presumed would come.

It still didn't stop me from swallowing as fast as my throat could, though.
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If I knew this woman well, I was more than certain that she was going to create a small scene with this move she was about to make.
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My stepmother stretched forth her hand to grab me by my ear.

She hadn’t made any real contact yet but in my mind, I was already feeling the pain from this grip.
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My stepmother’s hand had barely touched me when James dropped to the floor and suddenly began to convulse.
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James was rushed to the hospital and to the glory of God, he didn't die.
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James’s condition worsened though, as the weeks wound by. Ultimately leaving him paralyzed from his waist down.
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Every test done to ascertain what must have happened to have subjected James to “these”, was medically unexplainable.
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James was provided a wheelchair.
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We were all inside the doctor's office when certain instructions were given, particularly to my stepmother, on how to care for James in this tough time.

"Now more than ever, Madam, your son needs all the attention he can get. With this kind of paralysis comes having to wipe after him most of the time. Always ensure he is kept clean, most especially, back there. He needs all the attention he can get and must never be made to feel any less of himself in any way. That way, it doesn't mess with his psychology. Though his condition is medically unexplainable, I believe in miracles. As such, be prayerful and trust God to change his situation in no time." The doctor said.
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My stepmother, whom no one could get to stop crying since this incident, kept nodding to everything the doctor was saying (like a good woman)
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Weeks after we left the hospital, the task of taking care of James gradually transitioned to me.

I would wash and clean up after James.
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One would have expected that as a mother, my stepmother would heed to the doctor’s advice; pay real attention to her child; her son, instead of leaving him in the hands of another “minor”.
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My stepmother would often tell me that she was only training me; teaching me to be responsible; proactive in being able to take care of this "kind" of people, since I'll be meeting them a lot in future.

I was still trying to wrap my head around those words; wondering what she’d meant by that when she continued...

“I am sure; very sure that all your children will be born in the state at which James is right now. Did I say the same? Sorry, it was a slip of tongue. I meant to say, worse. Paul! All your children will be imbeciles naaaaw. You better not suffer your wife by leaving all of them in her hands to care for o. It is best you start learning how to care for them now”. My stepmother said.
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Oluchi had had to notice my depressing situation from my face; in school one day.
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Oluchi had asked if I was hungry and as usual, my answer was a resounding "yes". But she somehow noticed that that wasn't the only thing bothering me.

After a lot of probing and my initial hesitation to spill, I finally did.
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For reasons I couldn't understand at the time, Oluchi was livid that I'd had to take up such adult responsibilities at home. She was mad at the fact that my stepmother had the efruntary to say all of that about my unborn children. "How dare Ireti?" Oluchi exclaimed, angrily before she went quiet on me for the remainder of that day.
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That night, Oluchi came over to call me out as usual. We had all the fun we possibly could and when it was time for me to go back home, the thought of what I would be going back home to, hit me; the sadness on my face was evident.

But Oluchi smiled; held me close in a warm embrace, then whispered in my ears "cheer up, love. Don't worry, I've taken care of your problems."
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Oluchi did exactly as she'd whispered, because we woke up to James's very cold lifeless body the next morning.

To be continued...

Am so sorry for dropping this update late guys, I literally forgot my log in details. I'm sorry readers.

MY SPIRITUAL WIFE

EPISODE 8
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A resounding slap had woken me up again that morning.
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My "step mother" held me by my legs and began to drag me outside, in that sleepy state.

These confusing acts got me terrified.
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I initially had no idea what was going on, even though the violence in this drag was evident that I'd done something “terribly wrong” again and indeed, judgment awaited me on the other side.
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My stepmother dragged me violently into the veranda before she released her hold on my leg. She dashed back inside and before I could “process” what was happening; what was about to happen, she'd sprung back out, this time, with a bucket of water in one hand and a “customized pain enhancer” on the other.
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My stepmother drenched me with the bucket of water before the introduction of her customized pain enhancer.
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Lashes that sent agonizing pains all over my body began to rain on me in rapid successions.
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My stepmother first started with the wire she had creatively constructed for my "crying pleasure", before she moved on to beating me with any; everything she could lay her hands upon, as though I was "her problem in life".
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My step mother was not just beating me at this point, she was biting me too.
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That woman beat me to a pulp; to a point that I could hardly feel anything; a point that I didn’t even know where I was, nor what was happening.
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I woke up in a hospital later that night to a lot of confused; sad faces.

They said I'd fainted.
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Apparently, my Daddy hadn't returned from “wherever” he'd gone to, after the fight with his wife the previous day.

Apparently, my step mother had made up a story; she claimed that I'd ran out of the house the previous night, only to have been found lying next to our house in a lifeless; battered state in the early hours of that morning.

“At first, I was confused. I didn’t know what to think upon seeing Paul lying helplessly in front of our house. As happy as I was to know that the worse hadn't happened to him because honestly, I didn't sleep all through the night before. I couldn't, not when I had no idea where my son had ran off to. I knew for a fact that the right thing to do at that moment, was rush my son to the hospital” she told the doctor, who’d been shocked to see me in that condition.
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In the period of time I’d been “out”, a lot had happened in the lives of the people around me.

Apparently, Helen had died in her sleep that morning and my stepmother didn’t know until much later.
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My stepmother had left me in the pool of my own blood, hoping to continue from where she’d stopped when I eventually woke up from what I believe she must have considered a pretentious “faint”.
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My stepmother only discovered that her daughter had died in her sleep when she went over to prepare her for school.

It was a very sad time for the family.
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During the period of mourning, one would have assumed that my stepmother would be too bereaved to be mean to me but that was definitely not the case.

My stepmother told me just two days after Helen’s demise that she wished the death that'd taken "Helen" had taken me instead. She said my life had no meaning; my future was already bound to be fruitless. She said that I was a walking corpse; that I was eventually going to die, so why did God not take me now in place of her daughter, instead of prolonging the inevitable.

That woman beat the hell out of me that day.
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It was as though my existence from then on, irritated her even more.

The slightest of opportunities she gets, she beats me; starves me of food or of other basic necessities.

It got so bad, that a time came when I couldn't even remember the last time I bathed with soup or brushed my teeth with toothpaste. I was now very accustomed to bathing with regular detergents, and even at that, I'll have to have hidden some, from the one she'd given me to wash, else, I was “dead”.

And for my teeth, my stepmother always had me use salt.
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Daddy was never at home, so it was easier for my step mother to get away with most of the things she did, unquestioned.
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Daddy on the other hand is not the observant type. When he asks if I'd eaten, he’d outrightly take my response in the affirmative for it, without probing to be sure (even if I look nothing like a child that’d eaten).

I couldn't possibly tell my father that I hadn’t eaten or confirm anything he’d asked. Definitely not in the presence of my step mother (who most of the time was always around; never giving me the opportunity to be alone with my father).

So every time my father asks me a question that the answer is a solid “NO”, I simply nod my head or say "yes" and hope that he reads the truth out of my countenance.

But he never did.
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The few times my father had asked me to come join him (and my other step siblings) to eat, my step mother would always find a way to prevent that from happening. She'll mostly end up saying that I was being overfed and that it was a sin.
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Daddy had asked me to come join him for dinner one evening and my stepmother, as usual, wasn't having it.

(This was after I'd not eaten the whole day because I'd come back from an errand two minutes later than the time my stepmother had given me).

At this juncture, I couldn't hold my pain any longer. Tears freely began to flood my cheeks.
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I felt something cold run down my spine.

It was more like a breeze; a very cool breeze.

It was nothing like an air conditioner emanates.

This was rather strange because this particular night was one of those nights where electricity was out and the entire window had been raised for fresh air.

Then I saw something; someone lurking in the shadows.

I couldn't believe my eyes.

I rubbed my eyes very well to be sure that who I thought I'd seen was indeed, here.
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Lurking in the shadows was Oluchi.

From the distance where I stood, I noticed that Oluchi had a very sad facial expression on.

I decided to go close, to be sure that who I was seeing, was indeed, Oluchi, my classmate and yeah, it was.

At this close range, I could see clearly now.

Oluchi was crying and I didn't know why.
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No one else could see Oluchi, besides me.
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I tried to lock gaze with Oluchi but the whole time, Oluchi had her eyes locked on James, who at this point was busy, relishing his mother’s food with my father; the same food I’d been invited to partake in but had been disallowed by my stepmother.
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As the tears fell freely from Oluchi’s face, she suddenly began to slowly walk towards James (my step mother's first born).

To be continued...

MY SPIRITUAL WIFE

EPISODE 7
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“Cheer up, Paul. You’ll be fine. Your business is mine to handle. Whoever dares you, have dared me and trust me when I say that they won’t know what hit them. They don’t have the slightest of ideas of what they are getting themselves into.” Oluchi said with so much conviction, still with the smirk splattered all over her face.
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Oluchi said that my step mother was going to be taught a lesson.

“She needs to be taught a lesson, Paul. That woman needs to understand that she is a role model and as such, ought to teach; bring up her children in the right way; in the way that they should go, so that when they grow up, departing from it would naturally be difficult for them. Ireti has to learn. She has to learn never to mess with my husband ever again. It is on this note, that I shall make an example out of Helen”. Oluchi concluded, now with a very straight face.
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I simply sat mute the whole time, listening, as Oluchi went on and on with what sounded like a very well rehearsed speech to me.
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I affirmed everything she said, even though I had no idea what she was actually talking about.

The fact that I had someone to confide in; someone that gives me food where my step mother had made it a taboo for me to eat, was more than enough succor for me, at that moment.
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Oluchi suggested that we go over to "Our Mother’s" house.

Apparently, “violence” turns her on.
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We were in “our mother’s” compound; in our allocated room within a twinkle of an eye.
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The second we appeared in our room, Oluchi began to devour my lips as though a very hungry lioness.
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Oluchi let go of my lips momentarily; took my right hand and placed it on the left “bulb”, hanging firmly on her chest.
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Oluchi’s “bulbs” hung proudly. They were succulent; very succulent.
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I squeezed on Oluchi's "bulb" joyfully for a second or so, then nibbled on its “pointed knuckle” for as long as Oluchi let me.

With my other free hand, I reached for Oluchi’s right “bulb”.

The feelings that came with having both bulbs in my hand at that very moment was priceless. I felt as though I was floating; my head was spinning; constantly expanding in size out of excitement.
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"Would you please, kiss me?" Oluchi asked, with a voice, the most soothing to the ears.

I had no reason to decline Oluchi’s request.
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Our lips met.

Our tongues began to wrestle.

I was doing what I'd assumed was an incredible job, hoping that I was impressing Oluchi until she broke the kiss and said "slow down, Paul, I am not going anywhere."
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Oluchi resumed kissing me again.

When Oluchi was probably satisfied with my kissing, she led me down to her “pointed knuckles”.

I eagerly sucked and licked at them, enjoying the larger area to explore, encouraged by Oluchi’s sighs.

I clamped down Oluchi’s “pointed knuckles” lightly with my teeth, flicking my tongue around and over, listening, as she moaned with pleasure.
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I felt Oluchi’s hands roaming my body, making its way down to my pants, then over my pants, feeling the length of my joystick.
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"Sit back. Let me see." Oluchi commanded.

Without hesitation, I sat back on the bed, as Oluchi unhooked my pants and let them slide down my legs.
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My joystick, now free, stuck straight out.
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"Now, let me relieve what I know is hiding in here." Oluchi said, as she cupped my balls, rolling them in her hand. "Mmm, feels like a lot."

I moaned out loud when Oluchi bent over and sucked the head of my joystick into her mouth.

Two seconds later, Oluchi suddenly popped it out.

Apparently, I'd poured my "gum" inside Oluchi's mouth earlier than she'd have wanted.

I woke up almost immediately after.

"Ha! The devil is liar. Paul! You urinated on my bed again?"

To be continued...

MY SPIRITUAL WIFE
EPISODE 6
.
Shortly after that incident, daddy left the house (probably, with the intent to cool off).
.
As expected, my stepmother, to the best of her abilities vented on me. First and foremost, she assured me that there will be no food for me in her house, until further notice.

My stepmother followed this up by also assuring me that, for as long as I remained in her house, if she doesn't eventually kill me, misery was inevitable.

"If i don't come through with these threats, Paul, know say my name no be IRETI". She said, with the meanest of looks, on.
.
My stepmother said if I liked, I could go ahead and tell my daddy about what she'd said. She said it'll only make matters worst for me when she eventually gets to find out.

"You know your father is a foolish man, he'll definitely tell me everything you tell him".
.
For a start, my stepmother gave me a resounding slap that left me literally deaf, for the most part of the remainder of that day.
.
I'd had to sit down later that night, to watch my step mother and her three children relish a very delicious looking meal; food she'd made for dinner.
.
I sat at one corner; swallowing spit to the aroma that was slapping me from all angle.
.
After they were done eating, I was commanded to come over and clear the table; the plates.
.
The moment i got into the kitchen, I hurriedly began to gather the leftovers, with the intent to hopefully use that one to "hold body and soul" together but that never happened.

The moment i began to gather these leftovers, my step mother's last born (Helen) came in after me.

"What do you think you are doing, Paul?" Helen yelled at me.

Before I could regain my senses from the scare the unexpected sight of Helen had ignited in me, she (Helen) went ahead to pour water into the plate of the gathered leftovers I had in hand.

I couldn’t believe my eyes.

I couldn’t believe Helen could be so mean.

I guess it is true what they say. This apple didn’t fall so far from its tree after all.
.
As promised, I went to bed on an empty stomach that night.

(I almost did)
.
I'd never been happier to see a face, when Oluchi came over to call me out that same night.

In her hand was a food flask.

Oluchi as usual, came to the rescue; brought me food.
.
Oluchi and I found ourselves a place outside my house; outside "our Mother's" house.

Oluchi wanted us to just sit down while I eat, then we can talk.
.
Oluchi sat beside me watching, as I relished the food she'd brought me.

The food tasted nothing like I'd eaten before.
It was delicious; too delicious.

In more than one occasion, I'd attempted to ask Oluchi if “her mother” had prepared this food or she'd bought it from an eatery.

On a second thought, I figured it was non of my business. What mattered the most was that "Paul" wouldn't be going to bed on a empty stomach tonight.

I was so grateful.
.
Something about this food flask was strange though.

I'd started with what seemed like a small portion of "very delicious fried rice" but, I noticed that this seemingly small portion of rice never got finished.

I eat to my fill until I had no space left for more.
.
I eat; eat and eat, yet, there was still more than enough in the food flask, for a decent takeaway.
.
"How is your step mother, Paul?" Oluchi finally broke the long silence to ask, calmly, after observing that I'd eaten to my fill.

The moment I heard that question, for whatever reason, I bursted out into a sob.

I somehow suddenly got overwhelmed by sorrow at that instant.

I sobbed as though Oluchi had just told me that this plate of fried rice would be the last she was ever going to bring me.

Oluchi simply sat quietly, staring at me. She kept a straight face the entire time.

I had no idea what was going on in her mind or why she never held me in; in whatever form of comfort.
.
"What has she threatened to do to you, Paul?" Oluchi asked, in a little roar, with her eyes suddenly burning red.

"Sh...she said she is going to kill me eventually and that if she doesn't, I should know that her name is not IRETI..."
.
My sobbing had now transcended into a loud cry.

"I don't want to diieeee..." I found myself saying, sorrowfully.
.
Even though I had not even the slightest of ideas what it meant to die, I somehow wasn't ready to find out. Not at the time.
.
Oluchi let out a smirk.

Even in the midst of my pain, I found this smirk strange.
.
I was just about to ask Oluchi what was funny, when she dropped in on me.

"Don't worry Paul, you won't. You won't die; you can't die, not on my watch. But I can't possibly promise the same about Helen, though".

To be continued...

Guysssss, �� I'm sorry I haven't posted for so long I've minor issues with my Phone. But I'm back now sha....


MY SPIRITUAL WIFE
EPISODE 5
.
My father always took my stepmother's side in a story, regardless of how hideous an act she was perpetrating.
.
My stepmother had initially attempted to cook up a story but since my father didn’t let her, as such, cutting her shut before she could even complete that thought, she went all out to retort.

(I bet on a second thought, she believed she had no reason to coat words. Besides, this man is still the same man she's known all these years na).
.
"Honey! Can you imagine this useless son of yours? He urinated on my bed; my expensive bedspread this morning. As though that was not more than enough, this stupid boy washed the bedspread and left it outside for…” she charged towards me in an attempt to continue from where she’d stopped, before my father jumped in-between us. “…for sun to kill it for me." My step mother completed.
.
I stood there trembling; unsure exactly what to expect.
.
Well, if I am being completely honest, I'll tell you that I was expecting deafening slaps to rain on me, from all angles (courtesy of my father) as soon as my step mother finished her story.
.
Though the old man had "charged out" upon hearing my step mother beat me earlier, countering every word she attempted to spit but I still couldn’t allow any of those to fool me.

“This man and his wife are five and six Paul. It’s a trap” I said to myself in some sought of "reality check".
.
"Okay. But you still haven't answered my question, Ireti”. My father said, with a very straight face. “I said, what has Paul done right now to have deserved this kind of beating, even while still in his school uniform?"

"Ehn…he did not know to come back home earlier; to take my bedsheet inside the house. Was it his plan to allow my bedsheets fade from too much sun?"

“Was he not in school? You expected him to leave…”

“…but he could have been able to do that na; during one of his break times or even in the middle of whatever classes he was receiving. It's not as if he even knows anything sef.” My step mother said, rolling her eyes. “Well, since we are on the topic, I think it is about time we start looking for other alternatives to schooling, for this foo..."

"...you think it's about time we did what?" My father inquired, in a semi calm tone.

"I think it’s about time we looked for another alternative for this useless boy’s schooling situation, honey. He cannot be wasting our money all in the name of school fees na, and besides..."

What happened next was what even in my wildest of imaginations, I couldn't have dared to imagine.
.
Before my stepmother could finish that thought, a deafening slap have clamped her face.

It sounded more like a tire in motion had busted.

My father didn’t give my stepmother a chance to recover from that first slap before he began to rain slaps on her.
.
I’d never been so terrified in my whole life.

I couldn’t believe what was playing out right in front of me.

I outrightly assumed my father must have mistook my face for my stepmother's, hence the slap.
.
My eyes were shut the whole time (out of fear).
.
Slaps had been raining for quite some time now.

It was indeed a heavy rain.

It took a couple of agonizing minutes for my brain to reset.

"How could a rain be this heavy; I'd been inside it the whole time and yet, not even a single droplet have touched me?" I wondered, still with my eyes tightly shut.
.
Then I decided to take a peek; to open one eye.

I did; I opened one, then the other eye to a sight that shook me to my bones.
.
My father had by this time, mounted upon my stepmother, doing the unbelievable.
.
By this time, my step mother's children had run inside the room for fear of possible transferred aggression. If I knew that this beat down didn't feature me, I was more than certain that I would have been long gone too.

I probably would have found a very nice spot under a bed to have hidden.
.
My stepmother's face became unrecognizable in just a couple of minutes.

Daddy had beaten this woman as though she was his mate.
.
If she hadn't run out of the house, I believe Daddy could have ended up doing even worse.
.
My step mother sprung out of the house shouting at the top of her voice “Paul! Your own don finish for this house.”

“Ha!”

To be continued...


And to those that have been following thanks a lot, also sorry for the typographical errors. ♥️ ➕�

Hey Fanmily, I'm sorry for posting late... Please you'll should accept my apology.

I've decided to drop 2 Chapters today and together... Enjoy.



MY SPIRITUAL WIFE

EPISODE 3
.
Oluchi and I couldn’t wait to get into the room. Halfway in and we’d already shed our clothes, ripping the clothes off each other’s bodies, hungrily.
.
I pushed Oluchi onto the bed, anxiously.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I spread Oluchi's thighs apart and slid my hard throbbing “member” into her wet feminine crevice.

(How I knew that the flesh hanging from between my thighs could fit perfectly inside the opening in-between Oluchi’s legs is still a mystery.)
.
“Oh, Paul!” Oluchi panted, as my member slid sweetly in and out of her “clenching hole”.

I let out a shuddering whimper at the delicious friction of Oluchi’s honey pot’s lips around my "joystick".

Oluchi’s legs wrapped around my waists, drawing me closer to her. Her fingers dove into my hair as we kissed maddeningly. Our tongue danced in our mouth as we tasted each other.
.
A pressure began to form at the base of my "joystick". The need to release grew larger and larger at every hard pounding.

From Oluchi’s facial expression; with her eyes drooping with ecstasy, I somehow knew that she hadn’t got long to explode, either.

(How I managed to know this much at the time, again, is a mystery).
.
With every thrust, Oluchi’s body writhed hard; her moans became louder; her grips on my hair tightened.
.
I wrapped my hands around Oluchi’s hips and pulled her to me, ramming into her with so much pleasure.

All it took was one more final push and my joystick spurted out volley after volley of thick “gums” inside Oluchi’s eager hole.
.
Oluchi cried breathlessly, as her “honey pot" got filled up by my seemingly never ending downpour.
.
I held Oluchi tightly in place and pounded her honey pot a few more times to coax more “gum” out of me.

Oluchi’s body returned the favor by clenching around me, tightening the walls of her womanhood to milk me harder.
.
Once my "joystick" no longer had any more “gum” to spare, I pulled myself out of Oluchi.

I shivered as the head of my joystick slid out of Oluchi’s gripping; warm honey pot.
.
Oluchi and I both stayed in place for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow of an amazing consummation.
.
Oluchi’s face softened with exhaustion. Her body trembled as aftershock of the hasty release rippled across her petite frame.
.
“That was quick”, Oluchi muttered with a giggle, before pulling me in for a hot wet kiss.
.
I’d leaned in for this kiss when a resounding slap got me jerking up to my feet.

Ha! I’d just urinated on my step mother's bed.

Lashes on lashes from my step mother's four mouthed koboko rained on me that morning.
.
Apparently, I'd rolled away from the spot where I'd urinated and my step mother had walked in, to the sight of it.
.
My step mother’s koboko rained on me that morning with the speed of lightning, flogging the living daylight out of me.

One look at me during this beat down and you'd easily have assumed that I'd stolen this woman’s life's savings and this backlash was as a result.
.
I was made to take the mattress outside and wash the bed sheets.
.
I couldn't help but notice that this urine was not the usual kind.

The map that this urine drew on the bed was different. Instead of having its map “everywhere” like I normally designed, I noticed that this particular urine was not as much as I would normally soil the bed with, and distinctively, it was slippery and thick.
.
I got to school very late that morning, only to get another round of brutal beating from "uncle P" as a result.

(Uncle P, derived pleasure in beating students for no reason.)
.
I didn’t get to see Oluchi until later that day.
.
During break time, Oluchi had somehow noticed the countless marks left on my body from the four mouthed koboko my step mother had designed my body with, earlier.

The rage in Oluchi’s eyes was second to none.

"Tell me Paul, who did this to you?" Oluchi demanded to know, as her eyes suddenly began to turn red with pure rage.

To be continued...


MY SPIRITUAL WIFE
EPISODE 4
.
Oluchi was livid after I told her that my step mother had left those marks on my body.
.
Oluchi’s jaw was on the floor when I told her that this was nothing compared to what my step mother was synonymous for.
.
“This is nothing jare. Ha! If this is usually what I get, when that woman is angry, I won’t even have a course to complain. I thank God that no part of my joint was dislocated this time around” I muttered, still very obviously in pain, from both my step mother’s beating and uncle P’s.
.
At this point, Oluchi was enraged.

I didn’t understand why.
.
I know that Oluchi and I had become very close but I just didn’t expect her to have seemingly cared about me as much as she appeared to.
.
Oluchi asked to know in detail what had happened; what I’d done to have deserved this beat down from my step mother.

“What did she say you’d done this time around?” Oluchi asked, with a facial expression that now depicts keen interest.
.
I didn’t know what to say or how to say what Oluchi seemingly couldn’t wait to hear.

How could I have?

Where was I even supposed to have found the voice? I was too shy to tell Oluchi that it was because I'd urinated on my stepmother’s bed.

Where do I begin to tell a girl that'd been bringing me food all this while because she'd probably assumed me a “big boy,” that I was still bed wetting?
.
"Was it because you wetted her bed?" Oluchi asked with a straight face to my utmost amazement, after what must have seemed like “forever”, waiting for me to say something.
.
“What?” My eyes almost popped out of their sockets, out of shock. “How did she know? Who told her? How will she perceive me right now?” I wondered. “But I didn’t wetted the woman’s bed na. I only urinated on it”. I thought to myself.
.
"No! I didn't wetted her bed, Oluchi. I only mistakenly urinated on it.” I muttered, very ashamed. "My stepmother found out and the beating had been as a result". I said, this time, with a dampened mood.
.
Again, I could see it on Oluchi's face. She'd never seen an idiot like me before. In her mind, I was sure that she must have been wondering what the differences were (in urinating on a bed and wetting it); how terrible my English was but at the time, I wasn't even seeing their relativeness.
.
"Paul, tell me about your father and how he handles your step mother treating you in this manner" Oluchi inquired.

"Hmmn. That man never complains. Since my mother left; since he literally fought to get custody of me, my step mother has been running the affairs of the home, unchallenged. This woman beats me at any; every slight provocation. You'll be amazed at the kind of work that woman makes me do, at my age. She sends me out on very ridiculous errands even at very odd hours. Most of which would be right there, in my father’s presence and he’d never say anything about it."
.
Oluchi heaved a deep sigh, then looked into my eyes and said "Paul, don't worry, all that is about to change", with total conviction.

I didn't know what Oluchi had meant by that but something deep within me believed every word she spoke.
.
I got home that day and just like every other day before it, I met my step mother in the parlor watching a movie with her children. As usual, all the chores she could think of, had been piled up for my tiny hands to attend to.
.
I walked in trembling; reeking of fear because on my way inside, I'd noticed that the bedsheet I'd washed earlier and hung to dry, was no longer on the line.
.
You'll have assumed that this shouldn't have been a big deal, as the betsheet probably got dried while I was away and my stepmother simply helped me pack them inside, but how I wished it was that simple with that woman.
.
"PAUL! COME AND STAND HERE!” my stepmother commanded, thunderously. “I am now your house girl, abi? Who did you leave that bedsheet outside in care of? You left it lying out there for so long, you want the sun to kill it for me, ehn? You couldn't even come back home earlier, to take it inside because you knew for a fact that you had a servant at home that would do the job for you, right?"
.
Before I could open my mouth to say something; anything (even though I definitely had no rebuttal for this one) my step mother began to rain down slap on my skinny body.

I had no idea that my Daddy was even at home that day. He was usually never at home by this time of the day so you'll understand my shock, when I heard his thundering voice charging out from inside.
.
I was even more terrified at this point.

Whenever my stepmother was beating me for an offence, if my father was around, without asking what I'd done to know if it was justifiable for the kind of beating I was receiving, he'd usually join in the beatdown.

I'd presumed that my father was getting set to be my step mother's "tag team" partner on this, as usual, but I was wrong.

He was charging at my step mother instead, demanding to know what I'd done wrong to have deserved this kind of beating, still in my school uniform.

My step mother tried to "paint a story" but to my utmost bewilderment, my father shut her up before she could even complete her thought.
.
All these were certainly a side of him I'd never seen before, not since my mother left this house.

To be continued...

MY SPIRITUAL WIFE

EPISODE 2
.
I had not the slightest idea what Oluchi had meant by that question. How was I even to have had it? I was just an unexposed eleven years old for crying out loud.
.
The expression on Oluchi's face when she asked that question depicted worry; genuine concern and the need for an equally genuine response. I didn't know what I was expected to say but I certainly knew whatever it was, it had better not mean preferring some other person to Oluchi.
.
I told Oluchi that I had no idea what she was talking about.

“I don’t know what you mean. Can you please rephrase your question?” I'd asked.

"Am I not beautiful enough for you, Paul?"
.
I didn't know what it meant to be "beautiful" in the manner Oluchi had asked, either.
.
I bet if it was now, I would have known; understood everything Oluchi was talking about, even before she completed that thought (being in a day and age where an eleven years old knows even more than some adults).
.
At the time, I knew "Beautiful" was usually used to express satisfaction for a job well done. I knew this because my step mother used “the word” a lot to express satisfaction, after an assigned job had been carried out by her children.
.
"Don't you like me, Paul?" Oluchi asked, with a piercing stare.

"Of course I do! I like you a lot, Oluchi. You know I do. More so, when you bring me food" I replied, with a broad smile
.
There was no hiding it. Oluchi's countenance said it all. That was not the response she was hoping to hear.

It actually seemed very far from it.
.
Oluchi gave me “the look”.

A look that screamed the question, "how more dumb can an eleven years old, be?�
.
Oluchi simply shook her head; reached inside her school bag to bring out what the sight of, got me immediately excited; salivating.

Oluchi handed me a lunch pack. Apparently, she'd had her mum pack me one today.
.
Oluchi was a life saver. I'd not eaten the whole of that day and didn’t have any hope of eating for the remainder of it, either.

A supposed "very expensive" breakable plate had slipped off of my hand while I was doing the dishes earlier that morning and my punishment for this was "No food for the whole day".

It was not the first time I'll be starved in that manner.

I almost shed tears of Joy to the sight of the very delicious spaghetti Oluchi handed to me.
.
I sat side by side with Oluchi, as I ate the spaghetti with relish.
.
That night, again, Oluchi came over to call me out of my room.

This time around, attendance was different.

Unlike our previous visits, where almost everyone are age mates, Oluchi and I were the only young ones present on this day.
.
“Our Mother" had a special meal made for what looked like "an occasion". An occasion that was largely attended by strange faces. All elderly.
.
There was more than enough to eat and drink.
.
Oluchi and I seemed the center of attraction. .
.
Over here, on this day, Oluchi suddenly had no match in beauty.

Oluchi was grown too.

Oluchi had curves seated graciously in the right places.

Oluchi wore what looked like a wedding dress.

I was in a suit.
.
I was made to feed Oluchi and Oluchi was made to feed me.
.
We both looked very happy.

We danced, dined and merry.
.
Oluchi and I had a special seat.

This seat looked very much like a throne.
.
Very strangely, Oluchi and I didn’t seem so young any longer. In the presence of our "Mother" that night and every other night that followed, we looked as though we were in our “late teens”.
.
After a very long dancing session; after everyone had eaten to their fill, what was on display for refreshment, "Mother" went on to address us in the presence of everyone in attendance.
.
"My faithfuls. Bear witness today, as my children become one. On this day, they become bounded not just by body but also by soul. On this day, in your humble presence, leaders from all the various realms, I declare Paul and Oluchi, man and wife..." Turning to us, mother said, "You must never do anything that'll bring heartache to one another in any shape or form. You shall love each other almost as much as you love me. Anyone who stands against one, stands against the other. You shall go forth to bare children; children that'll grow up to glorify me…”
.
Mother’s speech was a very long, powerful but confusing one. She ended it with these words…

"...your bed has been prepared. You may now go ahead to consummate this marriage"

To be continued...



Typicool8
Treasurewamiri
Stainless190
Leosmaria
Moura7
Peero1
Wande22
Royalty189
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Beeteazaa
Tahir01
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Elpochas
Hungerbadoo
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duruZed

MY SPIRITUAL WIFE

EPISODE 1
.
I'd grown up like every normal child but nothing about me had ever felt normal.
.
Where every other person (my mate) found a certain task or achievement difficult, “they”, on the other hand, fall in pleasant places for me, effortlessly.
.
Growing up; back in primary school, I'd often find money in my school bag. This usually happened every time I wished I could spend as much as my classmates were spending on biscuits and sweets.
.
At first, I thought these were possibly monies I'd forgotten in my school bag until it became a "recurring decimal."
.
I got used to these mysterious monies and it gradually grew on me to become a norm.
.
I once attempted to tell my step mother about these monies I frequently found inside my school bag; pockets, but she slapped the words right back into my mouth. She said I was spewing rubbish and that there was no such thing as "miracle money".

My step mother went as far as saying that I'd been stealing her money and that it was these “stash” I always found in my bag and assumed they were "mysterious".

“My God has caught you today!” My step mother said, as she beat the living daylight out of me that day.
.
Since I knew that talking to that woman was a lost cause, "bottling up" these experiences and every other that followed, began that day.
.
Whenever I go to sleep at night, something strange happens. I’d usually have dreams where I “merry” with very unusual faces and other times, very familiar faces.

I wake up from these sleeps wondering if these were mere dreams or there was more to it because of how real they usually felt.

I don't usually know what these dreams meant.

As far as I was concerned, I’d slept and woken up like every other person and nothing about any of these was a big deal. But surprisingly, every time I got back to school the next day (after one of these dreams), a particular girl in my class always appeared to know about my night; about these dreams.

It was always as though she’d featured in it and remembers every tiny little detail.
.
Oluchi would usually walk up to me and try to strike a conversation starting from where we’d seemingly stopped from my dream, the previous night.
.
I found this strange every time but for some reason, I never asked Oluchi how she managed to do; to know as much as she always seemed to know.
.
Oluchi walked her way to becoming my very good friend.

Oluchi would always ensure that whenever her mother packed her lunch, she packed mine too.

It felt very good to have a friend such as Oluchi at the time, especially as I had a step mother who almost never cared if I’d eaten; what I'd eaten or even, if someone like me deserved to eat.
.
One day, Oluchi called me out in the middle of the night. It felt like one of my usual dreams, only that this time around, it wasn't.
.
Oluchi knocked at my door that night.

Strangely, I wasn’t scared. I simply woke up; stood up, walked over to the door and unlocked it.

Then Oluchi beckoned on me.

I went out to meet her in the company of other children our age.
.
My father and step mother’s room was just next door (right opposite mine). For some reason, I cared less about how my step mother would react if she heard my door open at this time of the night.
.
The first and the last time I’d ever pulled this stunt was a couple of months prior. I’d sleepwalked and found my way outside my room. But my stepmother made sure to beat that spirit of “sleep walking” out of my body that very night.

So it it never happened again.
.
My step mother doesn’t sleep deeply so imagine my surprise when she didn’t wake up at all. For some reason, she had slept deeper than usual, this very night.
.
Oluchi held my hand and the other children too soon joined in this fashion, holding each other.

Oluchi chanted some gibberish and in a twinkle of an eye, we were no longer at my house.
.
We were now in a very big, long hall. A hall that was filled with a lot of children; children who were mostly my age mates.
.
If I was asked to round up the figures I'd seen to the nearest fraction, I'll say three million.
.
We all seemed as though, relatives.

We all seemed as though, birthed by one woman; a woman that was comfortably seated on a very huge throne.

Our supposed “mother” was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen up until that point. She was beautifully adorned in gold from head to toe. She was very light skinned and had very long hair which looked amazing in braids.
.
On this particular day, we were having a feast. Our mother seemed to have recently given birth to more children and we had all converged to celebrate their arrival.

We eat; drank; danced and played in various ways. One of those included “the mummy and daddy kind”.
.
Every time we played in this manner, Oluchi and I were usually paired.

The first time I tried to have Oluchi and I switched with others, Oluchi didn't talk to me in school the following morning and the week that followed.

Oluchi stopped having her mum pack me lunch too (an act that really shattered my heart to bits).
.
"Paul, what is it about these other girls that you often make me believe that you prefer them to me?" Oluchi asked me one day, during one of our break times.
.
We were only eleven at the time, so imagine how lost for words I was, out of ignorance to what Oluchi was possibly talking about.

To be continued...



New story alert, fanmily.

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Hungerbadoo
Royalty123
Hotswagg12
duruZed

It happened.

This morning.

In my neighborhood.

I was in my usual place to get beans cake (akara).

There were a lot of people waiting. I have always thought that people don't eat akara on monday morning but my colleagues stylishly requested I get akara for them in the office.

So I stopped by to get the akara.

There was this young man who was just close to the tray eating the akara one by one.

I watched as he was eating the akara on the tray.

The woman who was selling the akara used her church mind and told him to stop, since she had already wrapped his own for him.

He said he's eating “jara.”

“Jara? And you have eaten five akara already? Don't you know beans is costly now? You will pay me for the five you've eaten. It's N250” the woman said.

“I won't pay anything. These are small ones.” he insisted, and continued to eat.

He meant it.

I believe he was looking for troublè.

So as he was about to put another one into his mouth.

The woman grabbed his hand and she mistakenly gave him a scratch on his cheek with her nail.

It was a small scratch.

She sincerely apologized.

And told him to drop her akara for her and carry his ‘wahala’ and go.

We thought that this young man had agreed to her plea, though he was the one at fault.

The next thing we saw left us speechless.

He gathered sand into his hands and poured it into the akara that was on fire and into the tray of akara.

Everyone was shouting.

What a hót tèmpered young man is this?

But he met his match there.

The woman carried the hot akara oil on the pan and poured everything on him.

Every single drop of the hot oil.

She used the sachet of salt on her table and laced it on him.

He was there scrèaming and tèaring himself apart.

His body have already started pèeling off like were they're pèeling yam.

I ran.

Everyone ran.

We all ran.

September 19, 2022.

©️ Emmanuel Nobel Okereke

Hilarious � � �

An elderly lady handed her bank card to a teller and said, “I would like to withdraw 1,000 naira. The teller advised her, “For withdrawals less than 10,000 naira, please use the ATM outside."

The woman wanted to know why. The teller returned her bank card and irritably told her “These are the rules, please leave if there is no further matter. There is a line of customers behind you”.

The woman remained silent for a few seconds and handed her card back to the teller and said “Please help me withdraw all the money I have in this bank.”

The teller was astonished when she checked the account balance. She nodded her head, leaned down and respectfully told her, “Maa'm you have 30 million in your account, but the bank doesn’t have that much cash currently. Could you make an appointment and come back again tomorrow?"

The client then asked how much she could withdraw immediately. The teller told her any amount up to 1million. “Well please let me have my 1million now.”

After counting the cash on a machine, the teller handed her the 1million with a relatively friendly smile on her face.

The woman put 1000 naira in her purse and asked the teller to deposit 999,000 naira back into her account. (IJE UWA)

zorse

I'm glad you enjoyed it, thanks.

She choose to remain anonymous �

elpochas

I'm sorry, didn't mean to frighten you.....Just that not every wishes you good okay.

Whatever you plan or want to do involve God, cos' He would never lead you astray.

Love and Light
Congratulations �

....Sui'C'ide isn't the answer, it passes the paIn to someone else...�

Tania stared around Her room one more time, she wanted to see how it looks like for the last time, so she could remember how it would look like when She was gone.

She picked up the rope that she had yesterday and knotted an end to the ceiling fan above her, while balls of tears formed in her eye.

I'm tired, Yeah that is what she would say to her diary everyday.
Tania was emotionally down, she had no one to talk to or pour her heart too.

Tania has no friends and her family aren't even helping matters, been the only child Her mom and Dad were very busy people, though there's nothing she wants that she doesn't get as far as money could buy it.

She had never had a decent conversation with her mum, because everytime she tries her mum's reply is always the same, "let's do this another time" and that another time never came.
Her dad was worse, she rarely saw Him.

But, all of that would end today, yeah she was going to take her own life, though she tried consoling herself, by giving herself hope, that everything will be fine but nothing changed .....Never.

.....Flash back.....

"Why are you bleeding from your back? Did you seat on a nail?". Alex teased which made everyone in class laugh.

It was a Thursday, at school when Tania realized she was stained, the shock on her face was everything, as she kept muttering to herself "What is happening to my body" , why I'm i bleeding.

That was when the class bully noticed the stain and teased her about it in front of the whole class, it didn't stop there they nicknamed her "Madam red pants". And this hurt Tania so bad.

Even some teachers joined in calling her Madam red pants, while some insulted her that at her age she couldn't take care of herself properly.

One of the teachers had order Tania to pull her stained skirt and hold it up high, parading her from class to class and saying hurtful words.

............

Tears began to roll down her eyes as she remembered the incident that took place in school today, though she had always been a victim of bullying, but this one happened too sudden, she didn't expect it, and it hurt her so bad.

Oh! And did I mention Tania was just Twelve.

There was only one thing that she believed could take the pain away, which is ...'C'...

..........

....And that was how Tania lost her life, through **suicide**

After the incident, her parents came across her diaries and blamed their selves, though it was too late while the school brought their heads low and regretted their actions, activities were suspended in the school and parents began to pull out their kids.

.....

Mini Advice -

People are different, the way they
Thinking and share opinion.


Your mental health matters
So do your words.


Don't say negative things to
People, knowing fully well
That it hurts. Remember kaRma


Stop been toxic and stay away
From people or things that will
Affect your mental health.


Do things that make you happy
Even when you fail, stop pleasing
People, because they can't be
Satisfied.


.... Please speak out if you feel
The urge too, no one is perfect,
But you'll be fine.


Be safe and be good, remember
If you're 'no more' the world will
Still go on.


......sui'C'ide isn't the answer, it passes the pain to someone else...

Final chapter �

Please read till the end.
Part 17

The weeks that followed, after we left Nurse Ada’s (the midwife's) house was exciting
.
The feeling that came with being "expectant", was different.
.
Even though we could still barely feed and had no idea where we were going to get everything our baby was going to need upon delivery, we were still hopeful.

We just knew that the same God that’d brought this kind of smile upon our family will perfect what he’d started.
.
John worked the hardest during this period. You’d find him at every building sight; any and everywhere there was a menial job seeking workers.
.
John was loving and kind to me in a way I’d not experienced in a long, long time (not since our second year in marriage anyways).
.
John’s Elder sister (Aunty Juliet) pampered me like a baby. She’d never let me lift a finger to do anything. She practically did everything around the house, causing me to be lazy.

“You people should not allow me to get used to this kind of life, fa. Nine months is just around the corner o. After childbirth, don’t blame me if I refuse to do what you’ve made me get used to not doing again o.” I’ll often sing to their ears, teasingly (even though a part of me strongly believed every word).
.
The first trimester was peaceful. We didn’t experience any form of discomfort with the pregnancy.

If not that there was no way I could have forgotten that I was pregnant (haven waited for so long to be pregnant), I would have said that, that was exactly what that first trimester felt like.
.
It was in my second trimester that the discomfort most people described as normal for first time pregnant women, came.

I frequently had contractions. These contractions usually came with severe pain.
.
I would usually have these contractions at very odd hours; times when John and I cannot go out to call for help.
.
Some days were better than others.
.
There was this one time where this pain was so intense, it felt as though I was going to die that night.

John was scared to death at the sight of me in that much pain, that he broke into a cry, out of frustration.

When fluid began to leak from my v*gina, uncontrollably, John was petrified. He ran from pillar to post in search of help.
.
Nurse Ada’s house was quite a distance from ours and having to run all the way over (since we had no personal means of conveyance) just to get help, was almost mission impossible but John made that trip anyway.
.
John and nurse Ada arrived to meet me in the pool of my own blood.

I’d screamed my lungs out for help, the second I noticed that I was bleeding; when I feared that the worse must have happened, that by the time John and Nurse Ada got to me, I was too weak; too tired to even cry.
.
Nurse Ada examined me. She told me that my baby seemed fine and that I was only experiencing “vaginal bleeding.

“One out of four of all pregnant women have some bleeding (or spotting) during their pregnancy. Bleeding and spotting in pregnancy don’t always mean there’s a problem, but they can be a sign of miscarriage or other serious complication though.” Nurse Ada said, sending cold shivers down my spine.

“What exactly are you telling us, Nurse? Are you saying that we might loose our baby or what? Talk to me, madam!” John demanded, impatiently.
.
A cloud of tears had now formed on John's eyes. All he needed to do now was simply blink and they'd start to pour.
.
“That’s not exactly what I am saying, Mr. John. And you need to put yourself together. Stop behaving like a woman. If you are like this, how then do you expect your wife to behave…?”

“…Nurse abeg answer my question!” John retorted.

“Well. I cannot say for certain, without running certain examinations.”
.
It was later determined that we were fine; our baby was intact; healthy and kicking.

It was a huge relief for John and me.
.
Somewhere in the early stages of my third trimester, I’d gone out on a stroll one day when I bumped into Sandra.

John was out as usual.
.
Before now, no one had seen Sandra since the incident in my compound and as I barely went out these days because of my pregnancy, I hadn’t seen her either.
.
Sandra was minding her business; Sandra was busy, being mad.
.
At first, I’d thought of striking up a conversation but again, this was a famous mad woman and the last thing I’d want was to be seen engaging in a conversation.
.
I’d barely made it past Sandra when I heard very familiar utterances. I turned back around and behold, Sandra was now upright, staring me dead in the eyes as she repeated those words again, over and over.

“There is still a moment of sadness to come but if you are patient, it shall be momentarily. Some deliverance might not seem like a deliverance, especially when what follows immediately after is not as expected. But your deliverance has come. You shall have a child to continue this lineage. But this one you are carrying is not that child.” Sandra said, before she suddenly switched to being very mad again.
.
I lost that baby the very next day and Sandra was never more right.

It was the darkest of moments, in the life of my husband and me.

All the money John had managed to gather in anticipation for when we’ll deliver our baby went into the evacuation process; process of bring out of the child; a child I’d waited twelve long years to meet, only to be united with his lifeless body.
.
John and I wept like children in each other's arms.

No word was comforting enough.
.
It was not until two years later that we became pregnant again. This time around, it was no doubt that this was exactly what Sandra had spoken about.
.
John got a very well-paying Job immediately after I was confirmed pregnant, through a friend of his (same friends that seemed to have forgotten that they had a friend in John, suddenly rallied around to make life comfortable for us prior to John securing this Job).
.
I put to bed, a beautiful baby girl nine months later abroad but it was no small fight.

The spiritual battle; the war that went on inside that labor room that day was enormous.

For me to have come out victorious; with my child; my life intact, I knew for a fact that indeed my time had come; I’d broken free and the enemy had no hold on me any longer.
.
My daughter is currently married with children of her own.

Even after I had a child in my old age, I am now a grand mother.
.
It is in my hands now to rewrite the story of my lineage and I shall sow nothing but good seeds till I go back to my creator.

It is the only way my children's children can reap good fruits.



A big thank you to y'all for liking replying and viewing my post, God bless you all.
..... Moreover, I didn't write this story my friend did.... Of course I write but then this piece isn't mine, after reading it I felt the urge to share it and of course He gave me the permission. Also, it will make sense to give credit to the owner Moshood Avidiime.

Lastly a special shout out to does who have been commenting/replying y'all are loved.

Typicool8
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Zorse
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Elpochas
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duruZed


I would drop a mini piece of mine after this.

Part 16


“…I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust. Surely he will save me from the fowler’s snare and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover me with his feathers, and under his wings I will find refuge; his faithfulness will be my shield and rampart…”

“…baby…Babe…BABY!” my husband called out, clenching tightly to my arm as he shook me back to consciousness.
.
I looked at John, then at Aunty Esther (who at this point had now seemingly heeded to my matching order to leave my house), then back at my husband.
.
“Baby, who are you talking to?” John asked, bemused.
.
I turned to look at Aunty Esther, who at this point had almost made it to the gate before I turned back to John, motioning towards Aunty Esther.

John looked towards the gate and then back at me in a manner that translated more confusion.

John seemed not to see who I’d pointed him towards.

This was rather strange because John is obviously not a blind man, neither is he short sighted.
.
“Who are you pointing at, baby?” John enquired.

“What do you mean who am I pointing at? Can’t you see Aunty Esther?” I asked, almost annoyingly.
.
I’d gotten so pissed off by Aunty Esther’s utterances that John seemed to only be moments away from getting a backlash from me in the form of a transferred aggression, if he kept this rough play up.
.
At this point, Aunty Esther had gotten to the gate but instead of just exiting it, she halted; brought out “a hoe” from the big bag she had in hand and began to dig.
.
At first, the sight of Aunty Esther suddenly digging the edge of our fence was confusing.
.
“What is she doing? Why is she digging? What is she digging for? Did she put anything in there? How could she have? I haven’t seen this woman for years, before today. So what is she doing then?” I kept asking; thinking to myself, in that split second.
.
I watched in utter astonishment from afar, as my very old Aunty dug with so much vigor and commitment to achieving what I was oblivious of, at the time.
.
I attempted to blow “my pipes” out; to scream my lungs out in shock, when Aunty Esther dug and pulled out a fresh human head from the spot she’d been digging.

This head was so fresh, it still had blood dripping from it, even amidst the sand.

The sight of this was so horrible that I clenched tightly unto John, screaming; begging him to make Aunty Esther stop; to throw Aunty Esther out of our compound already.
.
John, the whole time, was still just annoyingly standing, staring at me looking puzzled and watching as I reacted to the sight of what Aunty Esther was doing.
.
Aunty Esther shoved this fresh human head inside the bag she had in hand and moved over to the next spot and again, began to dig.
.
Aunty Esther didn’t seem fazed by the fact that John and I were her spectators.

Aunty Esther didn’t even seem to care.

It was as though we weren’t even present, as every indication pointed towards "carelessness".
.
It didn’t take too long before the real horror hit me.

It didn’t take too long before I understood why John had been acting strange since he arrived home to meet Aunty Esther and I engaged in that heated back and forth.

It didn’t take too long before I realized that John was not just acting it; he couldn’t help but be the way he’d been because he could not see what I was seeing.
.
For "some reason", John couldn’t see Aunty Esther who had at this point, ran three laps, circling the compound, before she settled to digging again.
.
I know I was depressed; I’d been depressed for a while now but it hadn’t gotten this bad.
.
I was not mad; none of these was neither a dream nor a trance but I had no idea how to explain to my husband that I was seeing something he wasn’t, hence the display that every indication from his facial expression now depicted was strange.
.
I was now turn between acting normal (since I was the only one supposedly seeing Aunty Esther and her weird activities) and dealing with the sight of the human parts Aunty Esther was exhuming right in front of my eyes; from every corner of the house I’ve been living in for so long now, with my family.
.
I lost my cool when Aunty Esther began to dig out new born babies; babies that still had their umbilical cords dangling from their navel.

I stood startled; terrified watching, as Aunty Esther went on digging these children out, one after the other.
.
I screamed at the top of my voice; with all my might at the sight of the eighth child Aunty Esther dug out.
.
The reason I’d screamed this loudly was not so much because of the baby that Aunty Esther had dug out.

I'd screamed this loudly because of what this baby looked like; the fact that he winked at me.
.
This child looked old but yet, a newborn.

This child was a replica of my husband in a baby form.
.
The baby was dug out just like every other before him but upon digging this one out, unlike the rest that were seemingly dead, this particular child (abi old man) opened his eyes, smiled and winked at me before Aunty Esther again, shoved him into her bag.
.
It was a blackout from thereon.
.
I woke up to strange faces.

I woke up to voices; very loud chatters.

I managed to make it to a sitting position before I began to look around; to see if I could recognize anyone or deduce where exactly I was.
.
Then in that fuzzy state, I saw John; my husband approaching; beaming with smiles.

“Finally, baby, we did it.” John said, as he held me in, for a smothering hug. "Nurse Ada said that we are six weeks pregnant, can you believe this?".

To be continued...



Finally part dropping today.

I'm grateful to God and y'all
I'll do a shout to you'll that have been replying my post...

Part 15

How could Aunty Esther suddenly flip on me? Why is she sounding as though I am the cause of all of these? Why wouldn’t she at least try to help me find the light in these, instead of stressing what she’s expecting me to accept as my fate? How can Aunty Esther advise me to leave John? How could she ever utter such words?” I thought to myself, as I sat at the edge of my seat, staring at an overly animated Aunty Esther.
.
“Aunty, why are you suddenly so angry?” I managed to mutter.
.
Aunty Esther suddenly stopped reacting. She stared me down for a second or so before her lips formed in a manner just about pathing for words when we both heard the gate throw open.
.
What Aunty Esther wanted to say seemed very important. Her facial expression to the build up to this, confirmed it. Then we heard the gate open and we both had to turn towards its direction, to behold John (my husband).
.
I was happy to see John but at the same time, scared; gloomy from everything Aunty Esther had just rained on me.

The fact that Aunty Esther could ever think; advise me to leave my husband was still such a hard pill for me to swallow.
.
The proximity from the gate to the part of the compound where Aunty Esther and I were, was quite a distance. So it was not so awkward when I decided to take my eyes off John to concentrate on Aunty Esther, hoping for her to finish that thought, before my husband got to us.
.
“Look at the poor man.” Aunty Esther started, motioning at my husband. “He is just coming from where he’d gone to work his butt off, for you. Unknown to him that the genesis of his problem lies exactly with you; the love of his life; the person he has been eating himself up over, constantly calling himself a failure because of his inability to truly provide for..."

Aunty Esther let out a long annoying hiss before she continued.

"Let this man go, I beg you. You can come with me to leave the remainder of your miserable life anyhow you want; knowing that everything ends with you, my daughter…”
.
Aunty Esther went on and on, almost driving me insane with her words.
.
Aunty Esther’s voice got louder as John got closer, causing my heart to skip in irregular beats.
.
“Aunty, can you please stop this? Did you come all the way to my house after all these years to end my marriage? Hasn't this family done more than enough to me already?” I asked in a very low tone (just so John, who was now much closer, doesn’t hear me), as rivulets of tears threatened to roll down my cheeks.
.
There was no stopping Aunty Esther, because she went on and on and on spewing nonsense until John was now only a few steps away from us.
.
“WILL YOU SHUT UP, AUNTY?" I spurted, after seemingly haven had enough of Aunty Esther. "You know what? I think you have overstayed your welcome. Please leave my house.”

Aunty Esther scoffed before she asked "Are you walking me out of your house? You are seriously asking me to leave your house, ehn?’ Aunty Esther queried, as though to be sure I wasn’t out of my mind. “Wonders shall never end o.” Aunty Esther exclaimed, clapping her hands together and then placing them on her chest in an overly dramatic fashion. “You have not even seen anything o. You that’ll soon reach menopause? Am I the one you are raising your voice at?" Aunty Esther demanded, now with a facial expression on that clearly denoted pure rage. "Your own situation will be so worse, menopause wouldn’t even cut it. You think the past twelve years have been hard, abi? Wait until the next twelve years elapses. You’d cast your mind back at these past twelve years and wish for it, because your current situation would seem a luxury compared to what is to come, bet me.” Aunty Esther said, stretching forth her hand.
.
John had now walked up to Aunty Esther and I and had been standing the entire time watching in awe at what was playing out, right in front of him.
.
John’s facial expression certainly depicted that of confusion.

I could understand John's confusion. He'd met Aunty Esther one time and have heard series of stories about my love for her. So imagine his surprise to the sight of this.
.
On more than one occasion, John tried to hold me back from getting physical with Aunty Esther when it seemed like it.

It was soon obvious that this woman had gotten on my nerves and that I needed to get some things, off my chest.

It was at this point that John let go of me and simply stood, with his hands akimbo.
.
“I have been suspecting you since, Aunty. I have. I have wondered how you knew this much; how you knew so much and from all indications, you are not so far from all of these. I was not there when you, nor my mother soiled your hands with all that you have, so I refuse to suffer for what I know nothing about. It is not yet time for me to conceive, that is why I haven’t. When it is, I believe God in his infinite mercy will come through for me. You think twelve years is such a long time, abi. Sarah was ninety when she had Isaac. I am only forty eight years old, so I shouldn’t be scared of menopause if I truly believe that my maker is all-powerful; all-able and all-capable. Whatever authority you are standing upon right now Aunty Esther, spewing this rubbish, I bind and cast you; I cast them into a lake of fire. Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust. Surely he will save me from the fowler’s snare and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover me with his feathers, and under his wings I will find refuge; his faithfulness will be my shield and rampart…”

“…baby…Babe…BABY!” my husband called out, clenching tightly to my arm as he shook me rigorously.
.
I looked at John, then at Aunty Esther (who at this point had now seemingly heeded to my matching order to leave my house), then back at my husband.
.
“Baby, who are you talking to?” John asked, looking around to be sure no one else was present, bemusedly.

To be continued...

Just like I promised
A big thank you too you guys �❤️

A big apology to all my readers � I'm sorry I've not posted in a while now.

I'll post three more parts of the story today � Grab your popcorn �☺️.

Once again, thank you for your supports.

Part 14

“You see, for a curse as accumulated as the one your mother has incurred over time to have manifested, a point of contact was needed. This point of contact varied, more so, as the years wound by. It had to be something; anything at all that would always be in your possession. It had to be something you made use of on a daily basis. The tricky aspect of this, is that no matter how hard you try, you’d never know what this item is because they are usually what you least expect. It could be a favorite earring; a favorite dress; that giant mirror hanging on your wall; a television either in your bedroom or sitting room; a favorite spot in your own house; a favorite utensil or even, a favorite child…”

“…a favorite child?” I asked, almost screaming, even more surprised.
.
Aunty Esther’s wrinkled face squeezed again to let out a weary smile before she nodded in the affirmative.
.
“This world is more spiritual than physical, my daughter. You’ve not been observant, hence the reason you only began paying real attention to these setbacks after your wedding. It has been there long before. Sandra noticed your carelessness and decided to snap you out of it even though there was only as much as you could have done. You were born to be the last of your generation. Your husband could have gone ahead to sleep with any woman and immediately gotten her pregnant but with you, he was never going to; he is never going to. All those times it seemed mere coincidence; when you’d always fall short in major things you’ve set out to achieve in life, little did you know that it wasn’t so much of a coincidence after all. You have been the cause of your husband’s problem. Your ill luck has landed him in the ditch he currently finds himself. That wedding frame was only a tool; that point of contact the evil forces working against you needed, to stay in contact. Your sister inlaw loves you to death. She has absolutely no hand in any of these. And for your information, destroying that frame hasn't solved a thing. It has only made matters worse for you because If it’s not that frame, it’ll be something else; someone else.”
.
I sat there next to Aunty Esther watching bemusedly as she uttered those words with a straight face.

I sat there, wondering what exactly Aunty Esther was talking about.
.
Now more than ever, I wondered how Aunty Esther knew all of these, moreso, with so much conviction.
.
Aunty Esther’s eyes were now burning red, as she passionately spoke about how my situation was only going to get worse, rather than the “better” I’d hoped that Sandra’s supposed divine intervention would assure.
.
Aunty Esther spoke so passionately, It began to get me scared.
.
I had a couple of theories but none of them explained much.
.
“What can I do to break this curse?” I managed to mutter.
.
Before I could even complete that statement, Aunty Esther screamed “NOTHING!”

This got me jerking in fear.

I didn’t see that one coming.

“Why did you…? How, Aunty...? What do you mea…?”

“...there is no coming out of this. This is how it has to be. It is either it ends with you or it continues with your children and their children’s children. There is a next step to this and I advice you brace yourself for it. It shall be your little punishment for your association with a mad woman. In your bid to prove that you are better than your mother, I’ll advise you to accept your fate; break up with your husband and cut him loose of this ill luck you’ve plunged him into, ever since you came into his life. Or are you so heartless that you don’t have pity for him? Are you so heartless that you’ll choose to pretend not to notice; not to see how hard he is trying; striving only to fall short, every time, all because of his affiliations with you? Was this how he was when you first met him? He has lost so much all because of you and for what? What crime has he committed? His only mistake I can think of right now is that he had to leave Omotola to be with you. If he’d known that his luck would have shown brightest with Omotola, do you think he would have taken a second look at you…?”
.
Aunty Esther went on and on spewing words I couldn’t even begin to wrap my head around.
.
I could not believe what I was hearing.

I could not believe what I was seeing either.
.
Aunty Esther had now stood up from where she’d been seated down the whole time and began throwing her arms in the air in a bid to really drive home every word.
.
Every word Aunty Esther spoke pierced my soul.

Every word sent cold shivers down my spine.

“Why are you saying all of these, Aunty Esther? Are you trying to make me feel better or worse? Is there something you’d like to tell me? How is any of these my fault?” I asked, as rivulets of tears had now begun to roll down my cheeks.
.
How could Aunty Esther suddenly flip on me? Why is she sounding as though I am the cause of any of these? Why wouldn’t she at least try to help me find the light in these, instead of stressing what she’s expecting me to accept as my fate? How can Aunty Esther advise me to leave John? How could she ever utter such words?” I thought to myself, as I sat at the edge of my seat, staring at a now overly animated Aunty Esther.
.
“Aunty, why are you suddenly so angry?” I managed to mutter.

To be continued...

Part 13


“The choice to sacrifice Aunty D didn’t come as a big shock. Aunty D was the closest person alive to your mother at the time. So close, your father couldn't even have s.x with your mother sometimes if Aunty D did not sanction it. Your mother had grown to be the absolute mirror of Aunty D. For her to have attained the height she sorted, doing away with Aunty D was just inevitable. It was going to be as though shedding one's skin to take on another …”
.
If these two were this close, I could only have imagined how my mother was able to stare Aunty D in the eye, while she went on with this plan to; to use Aunty D for rituals.

I could only imagine what was going on in my mother’s mind when she went on to do as planned; to sacrifice Aunty D, the only woman who seemed to really “get her”. The woman whose business she had inherited; a woman who'd passed her the baton; a woman she now hopes to surpass in terms of prosperity.

I guess it’s true what they say about the evil…

“…evil that men do, lives after them” Aunty Esther suddenly muttered, as though haven read my mind, spitting those words right out of my mouth.
.
Aunty Esther went ahead to give me a vivid description of the gruesome murder of Aunty D.

I couldn’t believe my ears. I couldn’t believe that my mother could have had the mind to do any of those to anyone, talk more, the woman that literally gave her identity.
.
“This transcending ritual was to last four days. One out of the four names your mother had selected must die each day. The first name on the list had to be the last person to die and his or her death must be the most gruesome. Its just the way it had to be. That happened to be Aunty D. Your mother was up all night, the night before that day; the last day; the day Aunty D was scheduled to die. At this point, your mother was close to being heartless. The three people she'd sacrificed prior to this moment were also quiet close to her heart. I mean, one of those was our elder brother; the only man that could go to the moon and back for your mother; the only man that couldn't bear to hear anyone speak ill of your mother; not in his presence. Our elder brother was the saddest, when your mother had to leave with Aunty D. So imagine who the happiest amongst us was, when your mother finally made that epic come back. His death was equally as gruesome but Aunty D's had to be the most gruesome; the crown on all of these..."
.
My jaw had not left the floor in disbelief, since this part in Aunty Esther's story.

"No way! No way any of these is true. It can't be. There is no way a woman can ever be capable of these kind of atrocity. No! No way. Definitely not my mother". I kept thinking to myself as I watched Aunty Esther readjust her seating positing, before she began to narrate to me, Aunty D's death.
.
Aunty D's death was indeed, gruesome.

Apparently, my mother had invited Aunty D into the farm that faithful evening. She had, with the story of wanting Aunty D to see how the crops were growing, different from the previous years.

Out of curiosity; having been in the business for so long and never for once had experienced what my mother had described of this year's growth in production, Aunty D needed to see things for herself.

Though now very old, she still managed.
.
The cocoa plantation was obviously a huge one, so it was no easy walk.

As they walked through the plantation, Aunty D noticed these fresh kills (the sacrifices for the last three days) and the horror to how they'd been killed, different from what she was used to, caused her to jerk in fear, especially since she wasn't expecting to see any of these in the land; not today.

Besides, my mother never told Aunty D anything about a recent sacrifice that needed to be done for the growth of this plantation (something she always does).

Besides, from Aunty D's calculations, the yearly ritual; sacrifices for these plantation wasn't due for another month or two.

It was in that moment that Aunty D knew that all was not well.

Aunty D turned towards my mother without uttering a word but certainly hoping to get an explanation for all of these, only to meet a straight face.

A face devoid of any expression or emotions.
.
As Aunty D stared down my mother, I bet something within her knew in that instant, that this was not the woman she brought up; that something terrible was about to happen.
.
Aunty D was too old to run even if she had wanted to take a chance.
.
The sight of my mother suddenly scared her so much, she made to scream "What is going on here" but couldn't find the voice to.
.
It was at this point, my mother pulled out a sheet of paper; a papers were in she'd prepared a speech.

Yeah! Speech.

The sick woman thought she at least, owed Aunty D some explanations before she carried on with her business of the day.
.
"I want to use this opportunity to thank you for all you've done for me, Aunty D. I'll never be who I am or where I am today, without you. For that, I'll forever be grateful. It is the dream of every parent to be alive to see their children surpass them in accomplishments, Aunty D. It breaks my heart that in your case, that greater accomplishment can only be birthed from the inception of your demise. This means even though you'd wish it, you can't; you won't see me surpass you. But that's fine. You shall exit this world knowing that your last moment here on earth gave birth to a better me." My mother said, as she drew Aunty D in for a hug before she went ahead to detach Aunty D's ear with a razor blade.
.
It was with that razor blade, my mother took her time to literally, skin Aunty D alive.
.
"Remember that the primary aim of these gruesome murders is to give the victims a chance to be very vocal in laying curses upon their murderer. The more gruesome these kills are, the more time the dying victims have to either utter or mutter these words; these curses."
.
Apparently, Aunty D had laid a curse on my mother that day, after seeing what she'd created in her.
.
Weirdly, Aunty D didn't want any of us to take after our mother, so she'd laid the curse that ensured my mother died shortly after my birth and my father, only days later.
.
"But how could a woman who had committed a lot of atrocities during her time lay a curse that turned out valid?" I finally managed to mutter, out of confusion; a serious need to understand.
.
"We all have two spirits in us, right from inception. The good and the bad. Depending on what your understanding of Good is from Bad, you have a chance to choose a part. A part that something as little as a cold or warm water bath can regulate..."

"...what are you talking about Aunty?" I asked, confused.
.
"Not everyone who walks around with a fowl smell have body odor, my daughter. Some of these smells are as a result of their constant fight to detach themselves from one of these spirits".

To be continued...

Part 12


“Your mother set out to uphold Aunty D’s legacy. She did very well in her first few years in charge. Aunty D was impressed but your mother wasn’t. She wanted more. Your mother didn’t just want to walk in Aunty D’s shoes. She felt the need to surpass Aunty D’s legacy. During one of her yearly visits to the source of Aunty D’s wealth, she inquired from Baba, what she could do to make Aunty D’s rein, a child’s play compared to hers in the business, then sought to do whatever it took. Baba asked your mother over and over again, if she was sure about her request. Your mother responded in the affirmative. Baba asked what she needed more money and fame for, especially since she was at the time already the only known name in the region; in the business. Baba went on to give your mother a long list of things she needed to bring for this transcending ritual. Your mother had taken over from Aunty D, thereby, standing upon all protocols already observed. But for your mother to level up, she was required to fully perform all the ritual; the rights Aunty D had earlier done, during her time. Your mother was then expected to go through another phase of ritual; fortifications, inducting her into the level of power she’d soughted…”
.
I could not believe that all of these stories were about my mother; the woman that bore me; gave me life.

I couldn’t believe that all of these scary tales were about a woman I could have grown up to call, mother.
.
I grew up knowing very well that the woman who'd raised me was not my biological mother.
.
“Mummy Philo”, like we all often call her (my foster mother) tried her best to be the mother I never had. But you know, it can never equate the love of a parent, if it isn’t from a biological parent.
.
My foster mother was very mean to me. She would never pass on an opportunity to rub how unfortunate my situation was, on my face. Especially when I’d done something supposedly terrible.
.
My foster mother had my biological mother’s picture enlarged in a frame. This frame she showed me every now and then, while raining derogatory words on me, reminding me of how miserable a life I was bound to live until she came to my aid.
.
My mother wore exactly the same cloth as she did in that picture, in my trance.
.
My foster mother would often segregate me from her kids, making me wonder what it was about me that she’d detested so much.
.
Everything at this point in Aunty Esther's story began to make sense.

It explained quite a lot.
.
My foster mother must have known or heard about my biological mom.

These knowledge must have been the reason for her cruelty towards me.

I probably constantly reminded her of my mother.

She had to have heard that my mother was this terrible. That is the only way any of those experiences could have made sense.
.
Aunty Esther’s story about my mother was beginning to sound more fiction than it was, true.
.
Somewhere in all of these, supposedly laid the genesis of the problems I’ve had to face all my life and more so, for the past twelve years.
.
“…It was during that transcendence that your mother was tasked to bring five of the closest people in her life for this ritual; sacrifice. Your mother had to. She had come too far at the time, to go back. It was now either she went through with anything she was told to do or she faced the repercussions. But your mother was not even ready to back out at any point. Your mother insisted that she was willing to pay any price to get the money, power and fame she so much craved. You father weirdly, fully supported her every step of the way. Your mother presented five names. Four out of these five were to be chosen. Four people from these five names were to serve as sacrifice, transcending your mother into spiritual heights beyond human comprehension; beyond what anyone could ever have imagined..."
.
Even though I knew that the names Sandra had mentioned earlier, most likely fell under these names Aunty Esther was talking about, I still couldn't wait to hear her mention them.

I couldn't wait to know who these people were and how close they were to my mother.

But more than anything else, I couldn't wait to ask; to verify; to have Aunty Esther clarify the one thing I'd been dying to know since she started this story.

"How in heaven's name do you know this much? How do you know all of these and in such detail?"
.
I swear, this question was in my lips the whole time; all through the time I sat there with my eyes fixated at Aunty Esther's lips as they parted for words.

I'd only held back because again, I didn't want my supposed skepticism to cut across as complete diselief in the credibility of Aunty Esther's story.
.
"...Hmmn. Your mother out did herself when the first name on her list happened to be Aunty D's..."

To be continued...




A very big 'Thank You' to you'll for replying and liking this story. Thank you ❣️�

I'll try and drop three updates today.

Meanwhile, drop your replies on what you think would happen next.

Part 11


“No one ever suspected that there could have been something extraordinary behind Aunty D’s successful cocoa plantation. Everyone simply affiliated her success to grace. Whatever she lays her hands on, prospers; everyone would often say. Making Aunty D the envy of fellow cocoa farmers; farmers who toiled the hardest but reaped the least. It was after your mother came of age that Aunty D supposedly let her in on the secret behind their prosperity. Aunty D made sure your mother knew that, she wasn’t just sharing this information with her just for the love of sharing but because she needed your mother to brace up and be prepared to do what needed to be done when her time comes; when she eventually takes her over the business. Aunty D told your mother that day, that the secret behind their bountiful harvests, year after year, had been because she knew what the price of success was and had been paying it diligently for as long as she could remember…”
.
At this point in Aunty Esther’s story, I already knew what to expect.

Every indication now points towards “one thing” and I doubt that there could be any more twist to this.
.
I was not wrong. It was indeed as I’d presumed.

A human sacrifice was usually required to get all the bountiful harvest Aunty D was synonymous for.
.
Haven already seen this part in Aunty Esther’s story coming from miles away, I’d almost resolved within me that though shocking, there couldn't have been anything more shocking to come after this revelation, but I was never more wrong.
.
“…for this plantation to yield as much fruit as Aunty D wanted, certain rituals needed to be done. These rituals; sacrifices was nothing like you’d have imagined. Aunty D's cocoa plantation does not need just any blood. No! It does not need a random sex, either. It had an age range and this was for a specific purpose. Aunty D’s victims had to be female; they had to be a little above fifty years of age; every murder had to be done at a specific spot in the farm; every murder had to be carried out in a specific way…”
.
I sat there unsure exactly what I was hearing.
.
At this point in Aunty Esther’s story, I could have sworn that this was one of those fairy tales we hear on a daily basis.
.
“There is no way any of these could have been true na!” I said to myself.
.
I mean, let’s put aside the whole feminist movement for a second.

I can’t imagine a woman capable of being this mean.

No offence, but everything Aunty Esther was saying; everything I heard, were things I’ve always only known men capable of and never had I imagined that a woman could have the heart to do something as cruel as these. Talk more, an affiliation of my mom's.
.
Aunty Esther went on to tell me that, for these sacrifices to be as potent as expected of them, Aunty D was expected to have had a relationship with these people; earned their trust; be top, on their good grades and very importantly; more important than all the aforementioned, these victims must be very vocal in laying curses on Aunty D, while she carried out these heinous crimes.
.
Yeah! You read right.
.
Apparently, these victims are expected to be laying curses on Aunty D upon every blow; cut or whatever the means of killing, Aunty D had devised.
.
The closer these victims are to Aunty D; the more gruesome these deaths are; the heavier the curses lashed out at Aunty D is, the more bountiful the harvest to come, promises.
.
“Aunty D was still very much alive when your mother took over the business. Your father who was supposed to have been the voice of reason; that person who should have been able to call your mother to order, supported her like a real man should support his ambitious wife. Your father was everything a woman prays for in a life partner as support but unfortunately, he was the right man in the wrong way with your mother. Your mother was known to be very kind hearted. She was very generous too. She was loved by everyone. All these, your mother did, just so she could win as many hearts as possible, over. Making her choice and job of keeping her ritual potent whenever she fingers one out from these multitude, easy…”
.
Aunty Esther was beginning to strike a very “unbelievable cord” with her story.

She appeared to know too much.

“There is no way my mother could have sat Aunty Esther down to tell her all of these. Not in this much detail.” I thought to myself
.
I’d thought about it.

I’d thought to ask but didn’t think it'd be a good idea at the time.

Aunty Esther must not misinterpret my skepticism for these stories to being a total doubt of its credibility.
.
“Remember the names you told me that Sandra was murmuring moments ago; the ones you said were random and seemingly nonsensical? Blessing, Raphael, Cynthia and then Joseph? Those names are not so random after all. They are names of your mother’s victims…”
.
I made to interrupt Aunty Esther.

I was just about to ask what made these names so special to have made it to Sandra’s lips amongst the lots I could only have assumed that my mother had killed over time, but at this point, Aunty Esther wouldn’t let me.
.
“…remember I’d earlier told you that Aunty D's victims had to be females because it was what the ritual demanded? Noticed how two, out of the names Sandra mentioned are male…?”

"...I was going to ask..."

"...that is because your mother took hers to the next level."

To be continued...

Part 10

"How your mother turned out different from the rest of us is the perfect description of nature versus nurture. Our mother; your grandmother never stopped regretting that singular decision to give your mother out to another woman; to bring up, all in the name of we could use all the help we can get. Our father died early, leaving our mother with five mouths to feed. It was not as though he already had establishments that assured we’d be very well catered for after his demise. We had to practically feed from hand to mouth. We all dropped out of school shortly after he died. Our mother’s petty trading was barely able to do much and so when the offer to take your mother away to another city came, our mother didn’t really see the need to think twice about it. It came more as a huge relief. It meant one less mouth to feed. The promise to put your mother back in school and during holidays, ensure that she learned a skill, was more than enough reason to win our mother’s heart. I believe that decision was birthed primarily from a heart that wanted the best for her daughter, even though it turned out to be a very bad one. Your mother left for the city with a woman we all knew as Aunty D (Dorcas)…”
.
Aunty Esther readjusted her seating position, then continued.
.
“…Mama obviously knew Aunty D more because, I want to believe that she couldn't have given out her daughter to this woman if she didn't know her well enough. Your mother was around ten; eleven years old at the time. Her departure that day left every one of us in tears. We were so young at the time. Something about this departure felt different. It felt strange. This was not the first time one of us would be traveling, only to return after a period of time but this particular farewell felt different. It was as though we somehow all knew that a version of the sister we've grown up to know and love, was dying that day. I remember clenching tightly to your mother, begging her not to leave and even if she must, take me with. To everyone, it felt more like children, just being overly dramatic. Your mother left that day and for years unend, none of us; her siblings heard from or saw her. We didn't get to see your mother again until a few months before her wedding to your father..."
.
Aunty Esther began to cough at this point. I sprung up to fetch her some water.

I watched as Aunty Esther gulped down every drop from the cup of water I'd handed to her.
.
Before Aunty Esther made to continue from where she'd stop in her story, I quickly interrupted.

"...wait Aunty! My mother left at that early age of eleven and didn't come back home again until she was preparing to get married? I don’t understand. Was that a collective decision? I mean, was it an arrangement of some sort between grandma and Aunty D?
.
I had no plans of missing out on any tiny detail.
.
Before Aunty Esther was even able to answer my question, I added a couple more.

I really needed to get things straight because something about Aunty Esther's story wasn't just adding up.
.
"How old was my mother when she got married to my father? How long exactly did you know my father for, before he eventually walked my mother down the aisle? Were you all still at the same location she remembered, at the time? How did she locate you? This is assuming she’d lost contact in the first place, to have stayed that long before a reunion."

Aunty Esther smiled, obviously at my curiosity and more so, probably wondering how I’d expected her to answer all these questions, especially as it seemed as though I needed answers to them all at once.
.
Aunty Esther didn’t even bother to ask which of my questions I’ll prefer she answered first. She just dove right into the one she could.
.
"It's our father's house. It's not like we could move it to wherever we choose when we think we'd been at a location for too long, you know. I remember I was already in my second year in the university at the time. Your mother was in her later twenties when she got married to your father. If there was an understanding between Aunty D and mama that your mother would not come back home, at least to see us every now and then, I certainly didn’t get the memo. Maybe it had something to do with how young we were at the time. Because your mother was away for so long, I almost forgot that I had a sister like her, until that day; the day she finally showed up…”

“...alone? I mean, did she come home alone or was that the same day you met my dad?"
.
"That was the day we all met Abel." Aunty Esther said, before she went silent for a couple of seconds.

"Is anything the matter, Aunty?". I asked, haven noticed Aunty Esther's sudden change in countenance.
.
"Abel put your mother up to everything; everything that have ultimately led to your present situation. Abel led your mother down the part that took the lives of your other siblings. It was not mare coincidence that she died while giving birth to you. Neither was it a coincidence that your father died just three days after your birth. It was always predetermined but with the hope that your life wouldn't take this route..."

"...wait! What?"

To be continued...

Part 9

Mama had a facial expression on, that depicted utter evil. She was so engulfed in this act that she barely blinked.
.
Mama went on and on chanting these incantations as the black cloud got thicker.
.
I was shocked to see my mother in the mix.
.
Just to make sense of the situation, at first, I chose not to believe the obvious.

Instead of affiliating mama to being the cause of this dark cloud that was hovering over my wedding gifts; seemingly casting a spell on them, I chose to believe that my mother (just live every mother would) was only trying to be the solution.
.
I turned my head to Sandra’s direction and locked gaze. As though she was reading my mind, Sandra shook her head in a supposed response to my thoughts, still with a straight face.
.
"The iniquities of the fathers are visited upon the sons and daughters unto the third and fourth generation. You are just the first, my daughter. You should count yourself lucky that you don't have any siblings left. You should thank your stars that you don't have any offspring either. No one else would have to suffer (innocently) as a result of what this evil woman has done." Sandra said, pointing to my mother.
.
My jaw was again, on the floor in disbelief.
.
The more I stood staring at my mother, the more I became aware of my present situation.

I reached for mama; to take her hand in a bid to break whatever this was.
.
Mama’s face was still very much fixed in the mirror the whole time.
.
I'd not forgotten that I couldn't make any physical contact with anyone in this realm. I was only being hopeful that Mama could be that exception.
.
I felt a hand, grab my arm just before I could completely reach for my mother.

“Get up!” was the word I heard, over and over again in a very faint distant voice.
.
I opened my eyes and began to look around in a bid to establish presence; self-awareness.
.
The first thing I noticed after I'd fully regained consciousness was that I am still in my compound.

The house was still as empty as I remembered.

Sandra was still standing right in front of me, looking exactly as I remembered (that unkept mad woman).

The frame I'd smashed earlier was still burning right next to me and to my surprise, it had only just begun to burn.
.
"How is this even possible?"

It felt like I'd been “out” for weeks or dreaming for months fa.

"Was I even dreaming? Was I dead and only just came back alive? How long have I been out? Why is this frame taking so long to burn? Did it just start burning?" Were all the confusing questions I couldn't get Sandra to answer.
.
Apparently, I’d only been out for a few seconds.
.
Sandra got into her "mad woman" mode once again and began to mutter words.

Sandra kept on murmuring a particular name, over and over again.

The name didn't ring a bell.

It couldn’t have.

I had no idea what the significance of this name was, to my situation.
.
“What are you trying to tell me now, Sandra?” I asked, having now fully come to accept the fact that this woman might just be “God’s sent” to me, after all.
.
I listened closely to the name Sandra was muttering only to discover that it had suddenly switched to another, then another.

It was Blessing, Raphael, Cynthia and then Joseph.

These names sounded nonsensical at first, because they were just random names.

I didn’t know if these names had anything to do with my present situation or if this was Sandra, simply being mad.
.
“Even if these people might somehow have had one thing or the other to do with my current situation, how was just hearing their names supposed to put everything into perspective na?”
.
As faith would have it, almost around the same time as I was almost joining Sandra in her craft, our gate threw open and behold, emerging out of nowhere after what had been ages since we last saw, was Aunty Esther (my mother’s youngest sister).
.
Aunty Esther was the last person I could ever have expected to walk through that gate. We'd not seen since the day after my wedding.
.
Aunty Esther is my favorite aunt and the only remaining extended family I have, alive.

It was not easy at first, but i eventually I came to live with what soon became my reality. Which was the fact that I'd been dejected by my favorite Aunty; the only true family I have, alive.
.
I watched as Aunty Esther struggled with her balance (a result of old age), as she approached Sandra and I from the gate.
.
Aunty Esther’s eyes went wide upon seeing a mad woman and I, seemingly engaged in a conversation.
.
Sandra ran out of the compound immediately Aunty Esther and I hugged each other.

I tried to run after Sandra in an attempt to ask for clarity on the puzzle she’d left me with but she was far gone in no time.
.
Aunty Esther wondered what my affiliation with a mad woman was.
.
Aunty Esther was overly concerned about the bruises, especially in my arms; from Sandra’s lashes.

It was very glaring on me.
.
Aunty Esther demanded to know what exactly happened to me and even more so, why I’d open the gate of the house to a woman looking as deranged as Sandra.
.
After Aunty Esther had settled, I went ahead to narrate my encounter with Sandra, to her.

I didn’t leave a single thing out.

Aunty Esther outrightly got the plot in my story.
.
“Sandra is no ordinary woman. No doubt, she is mad but her level of spirituality even in that state, is unmatched. I’ve seen and have had a swing with a couple of her kind during my lifetime."Aunty Esther said.
.
Aunty Esther took a second to catch her breath. Then heaved a deep sigh, after seemingly journeyed into the past.
.
“I’ve feared for a very long time that this day might come. I wish your mother was still alive to see the works of her hands in your life. I wish she was still around to see the result of not listening; not knowing where to draw the boundary to her cruelty; cruelty that transcended into evil.”
.
Aunty Esther stared me deep in the eyes with a facial expression that clearly depicted pity,before proceeding to ask, “Do you often walk into spider webs even in awkward places? I am talking places where a spider web should never have been".
.
"How did she know?" I asked myself.

To be continued...

Part 8

I couldn’t really remember where I nor everyone else was, at this moment.

I wondered what excuse Franka must have given us before she excused herself to sneak into my room.
.
I stood, holding my breath watching, as Franka went through my stuff.
.
I stood in utmost bemusement at the sight of a rattled up Franka, as she constantly looked over her shoulder to be sure no one was watching; coming.
.
“What are you doing in my room, Franka?” I asked, confusingly, forgetting that there was no way she could hear me.
.
I tuned to lock gaze with Sandra but all she did was motion back at Franka.
.
With every indication now pointing towards “something was about to go down”, I braced myself for what I feared could very well be a disappointing discovery about Franka.

It was not long before my eyes were almost popping out of its socket in disbelief.
.
At this point, even though I now knew what was playing out in front of me, I honestly prayed; hoped that it wasn’t as it seemed.
.
No wonder we mysteriously couldn’t find this item on my wedding day and had to hurriedly find a replacement.

(A moment that almost ruined my wedding day)”.
.
I watched in utter astonishment as Franka first smeared something all over my wedding gown.

From the angle Sandra and I stood, I couldn’t really figure out what exactly Franka had in hand to have figured out what she had set out to achieve with this act.

It was a liquid substance though.

So out of curiosity, I decided to go a little closer; to get a better view of this.
.
I wasn’t sure if it had always been the plan or it was after a second thought, because Franka suddenly stopped smearing (whatever that substance was, all over my wedding gown).

Franka immediately reached and ripped out my wedding dress from the wardrobe where it'd been hanging.

Franka shoved my very expensive wedding gown into the “Ghana must go” bag she’d seemingly came with.
.
I couldn’t believe my eyes.

I couldn’t believe any of this.
.
“Oh my God! Franka! Ha! So na you? Wetin I don ever do you to deserve this Kain thing na? Where you carry my wedding gown dey go?” I exclaimed in a blend of being livid, shocked and almost attempting to even get physical with her before I remembered again that there was no way Franka could hear me.
.
Even the bag that Franka had whisked my wedding dress away in, wouldn’t have been enough to pack my jaw that was at this very moment, on the floor.
.
I stood in utter disbelief as Franka walked past Sandra and I as fast as her legs could ferry.
.
I watched as Franka seemed the sorriest for me the next day, upon discovery that my wedding gown was nowhere to be found.

I watched from where I stood, as Franka brought out her cell phone and helped in making necessary arrangements for the replacement of my lost wedding dress.
.
From where I stood, I could observe from my facial expression to the sight of Franka doing all of these. It was nothing short of gratitude.

I remember that very moment vividly.

I remember feeling so blessed to have met Franka; to have had her in my life, as a friend.
.
“What would I have done without Franka that day?” I kept thinking to myself.
.
Rivulets of tears rolled down my cheeks from where Sandra and I stood, as I watched Franka struggle to fit me into this new replacement (for a wedding gown).
.
I watched as Franka let out a smirk, when it was very obvious that this new (replaced) wedding gown was nothing close to being as expected of a bride my status.
.
I swear, we came very close to either postponing or pushing forward this wedding because of that singular act.

It was rather strange.

Very strange because never had it been heard before that a wedding gown went missing before the wedding.
.
I always reminded my husband that if it wasn’t for Franka, he either wouldn’t have had me as a bride right now (out of the embarrassment I might have caused him that day) or he would have had to wait another week to hear me say “I do”.

"All your thanks should go to Franka, baby". I'll often tell John.
.
I’d never felt more betrayed in my entire life.
.
Franka has remained a part of my life till this very moment and I didn’t know how bitter her heart had been towards me, until now.
.
“But why?” I asked, staring at Sandra who was also staring back, with a straight face.
.
Sandra got hold of my hand and pulled me into another room.

In here, I saw a pile of wrapped up items; my wedding gifts.

I recognized this room.

It was Aunty Juliet’s room.

Because Aunty Juliet is more like family than she is, a sister-in-law, I’d happily placed her in charge of collecting and keeping all my wedding gifts (which explained a lot).

I was still trying to wrap my head around why Sandra would bring me into an empty room to stare at wrappers; wedding gifts, when suddenly, right in front of my very eyes, like a scene from a horror movie, I saw what looked like a very dark cloud hovering over these items.

I was certainly terrified at the sight of this.

I was about taking to my heels when Sandra grabbed me by my arm, clenching tightly unto it.

I turned swiftly to express displeasure and hopefully break loose, then continue running to nowhere exactly (as long as it was far away from this strange manifestation) only to meet Sandra's straight face; a hand stretched out; a finger pointing towards a direction in a manner that strongly depicted trying to direct my gaze.

Instinctively, I looked towards the direction Sandra had pointed and there she was, "my nemesis".
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Sitting in front of a mirror chanting what was best described as an incantation; sending what appeared to be spiritual forces into my wedding gift one after the other, was a strange figure; a woman who shuffled between seeming a “shadow cast” and being human.

She had a veil on, so I couldn’t really get a good look at her face.
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Sandra encouraged me to get closer; to have a clearer look.

With every step I took towards this strange figure, my heartbeat increased.
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I finally got close enough.

At this close a range, there was no way I wouldn't have recognized this woman.

How could I not have recognized the woman that gave me life.

"Mama�?"

“Oh my God! It can't be”.

To be continued...




A big shout out to those that have been following this story I love � you'll real big.
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Ps - I'm new on Nairaland and I'll still trying to understand how it works, reasons why Ive not been replying or tagging people.

Big hugs � readers...