The Ghost in Africa

"Darkness hides from light.As raving mortals, we never wonder why, then we die too, sane lunatics"

"In ancient times, long before our own fathers were born, a story is told of a woman who had fallen in love with a comely man. So taken was she by his charm that she desired nothing else, save his affection." The frail gray bearded man coughed and shut his eyes. Obviously, the cough hurt his throat more than he had expected, but no one would offer him any water. Clutching his stick ever so tightly, he continued his story.

"She loved him dearly, and so she had confessed her love for him as alluringly as she could, tenderly coercing him with her sonorous voice and even softer appearance."

He coughed again, this time rattling the chains that loosely clung to his frail wrists. His hands groped in the near darkness as though asking for something, water, but then o one could give him any.

"Old one" one of the young men that eagerly waited for his story offered, "You do realize we are in a prison, and these guards outside would not offer us any water"

The others nodded, each one appearing even dirtier and more unkempt than the other. After waiting a while, the 'old one' finally regained his breath and sought to continue his tale.

"Where was I?" he asked.

"She told him how much she loved him" the one that had reminded the old one of their current prison predicament offered once again.

"Aha" the old replied, punching the air with a balled fist as much as the chains would let him. "But alas, this tale is not to be a beautiful love story, Jakob"

The countenance of the one now referred to as Jakob dropped ever so suddenly, but the old one would not end his story just yet.

"Her would be lover would not be swayed as her heart willed. How could he love her? She had two sons already. His heart was his, and her sons, hers - and he had told her just that." He paused and cleared his throat once more. A quiet hush fell over all seven men in the prison.

"She had wept streams, refusing to be consoled as she implored him even further, but even all the rivers of Africa could quench his fiery resolve." The old one suddenly stopped talking, and as so many old ones before him had done in these parts of Africa before him, he pretended to be asleep.

"Old one" the one called Jakob tapped at the old one's hand, hoping to rouse him from the strange slumber that had consumed him. "Are you awake old one?"

"Oh I am, Jakob" the Old one offered a wane smile. "Where was I again?"

The other prisoners appeared somewhat disinterested in the tale that was coming forth in scattered bits and pieces. They would rather hear the entire tale without further breaks from the Old one. Jakob did not mind. With eager eyes, he reminded the Old one where he had last ended his tale.

"Some say she had seen him share laughs and then maybe a little more with another lady that same night" the Old one continued, "but don't ask me, I do not know - but whatever it was that happened, this heartbroken lovebird had raced home and in a bid to win his affection, or was it resentment toward her now estranged lover, got rid of those who seemed to stand in the way of her happiness. She drowned both her sons."

The gasp among the prisoners echoed in the stone walls of their prison cell.

"As most tales of his sort go," the Old one continued, "she never did find the happiness she sought. She was scorned by Wiccan and non-wiccan folk alike, cursed to forever roam the earth, seeking her murdered children."

"But where is she, Old One?" Jakob asked.

"She roams amongst us, even now she listens to this very tale." Looking around, he signaled for Jakob to come closer, and in a rather loud whisper, told him, "Whoever traps the woman, controls the nine"

13th, June 1880

In a thick, fecund forest somewhere in the western coast of Africa, Jakob and his eight companions trudged on quietly in a single file, through the dense undergrowth, in the stillness of the darkness that threatened to blind them. They neither heard the occasional calls of yawning bird-folk nor the unmistakable warnings from prowling animals. Even the eternal chatter of forest insects presided over by the nocturnal orator, the cricket was nonexistent on this very night. An eerie calm had spread and the forest slept.

Jakob was not surprised; the old one had warned him already. He remembered the very night when the Old One had told them the story of the strange woman. That same night had been the night of his awakening. He had somehow discovered his purpose in the words the Old one.

That very night, he had become illuminated. The Old one was no longer to be addressed by that title. He was now Master. Every one among them had gone on their knees and had sworn their allegiance to a cause greater than their previous life of crime. This was a calling higher than any of them could have ever imagined. They would band together in this newfound flurry of faith and overpower the guards that had for long kept them locked up this far into the North. Thus began their journey to the Western coast of the country.

Jakob and his eight companions trudged on wordlessly through the dense dew-kissed undergrowth, all bare bodied with their heads shaved, their only 'clothing' being animal skin skirts wrapped around their waists. On their bodies were diverse markings of varying patterns, each symbolizing their 'identity', as their Master had told them. The patterns were neither drawn nor were they painted onto the skin of their skin.

Master had carved it in himself, deep into their skins, even to the top of their shaved heads on the very day of their initiation. He had doused the wounds with sacred ash from the bronze altar at the temple until they had finally healed.

As he walked on behind Master, mute as they had been commanded, he held his head high watching master's every step and strenuously matching his long strides. An unseen owl, the royal night-guard of the African fauna, hooted its greetings not too far off and they all nodded in solemn response. She was an ancient too wizened to be ignored.

He held the trap in his hand gingerly, careful not to dislodge any of its coils. This 'trap' was a contraption made of a black thorn stave and pure copper wire, which no electricity had passed through before. The thorn stave, sleep thorn as Master liked to call it was carved from balsa wood with the tip pointing about a foot downwards like a half 'v', the end curving outwards like a sickle like a hook. There were three horizontal extensions at the center. Then copper wire was wound about it, while they had all chanted in unison.

Someone stifled a sneeze.

"Silence" Master might have said, but he didn't. Repeating warnings spelt cowardice, or love, or compassion, and none of these foul distractions were welcome amongst them.

The culprit already knew what fate awaited him, he had dropped to his knees among the forest debris, obviously contemplating he means to his end. Master stared at the culprit, his eyes unblinking. The latter returned the stare, captured as though unwilling to break his gaze.

In truth, Jakob saw had futility of even trying. Master's eye had turned yellow - the evil eye. In split seconds, the culprit was writhing on the floor, clutching his throat, choking on his own spittle. They all watched on as expressionless as they could be, mustering courage not to look away and incur the master's wrath on them too. For Jakob however, it wasn't an act. He didn't bother to hide his smile at the beautiful spectacle. To him, this only meant one thing; power.

They soon continued their journey once the sneezer was done transitioning to the death. They would not come back for his body after their hunt - there wouldn't be any. They hadn't gone any farther when Master stopped. The air about them suddenly grew chilly and the smell of tobacco filled their nostrils. The woman was here. Master retrieved the trap from Jakob and wordlessly stuck it in the debris below. A foot away from the trap, he placed a candle. This would lure the ghoul he had told them earlier on.

Jakob's hair tinged with excitement as he smiled at himself. This was not his first hunt, no, but it was the first time he, or anyone of them, was hunting an entity as powerful as this.

I used to think the ghosts haunt the house, I guess you still do. You've read stories about haunted houses, you've watched ghost themed movies, and you've even played a couple of death themed games to the delight of your adrenaline rush. You might even live in a haunted house yourself or so you claim. But you've never, ever been farther from the truth about us.

Pardon my manners. I should introduce myself properly. My name is Elias Dum and I am dead. Yes, I am. I am the only child born to Nigerian professors Jonathan Dum and Loveth Dum. I guess that should answer why I am so smart compare to my peers. What it doesn't answer however is why I am dead, but I am getting ahead of myself already.

I still remember the day I died like it was yesterday, although it's quite blurry in my head. Oh wait, maybe it actually was yesterday I died. I've been floating about this very room for the past twenty four hours, unable to leave, and a little unsure if I'm indeed dead, or if this was some long allergy-induced hallucination. If indeed I was, where in the heavens was my body? Wherever it was, I had no idea at the moment. All I knew was that I had this very dead-ey panic with no one to vent to.

I had tried leaving this room a couple of times already, but each time I get close to that door, the strangeness that lurks around gets even stronger so I end up giving up and returning to this bed. I float above this bed, trying to shut out the strange whisperings I keep hearing every now and then. When I do try to focus and listen, I cannot hear anything that's being said. Are there ghosts even to ghosts or is this house just different?

There is something in this house, there always has been. I had told mummy of the sobbing I hear whenever I sleep – slept, whatever - close to the wall in my room, but she said I was watching too much cartoons and had an over-active imagination, but I knew she was wrong. It was more than the sobbing.

At times I'd hear multiple voices and hundreds of clocks, ticking and talking all at once. At other times, the house would smell funny, not the putrid stench of decaying matter or the unpleasant odor of unwashed clothing, just a rather odd smell I couldn't place. And all along, neither Mummy nor Daddy perceived it too.

But you see, here in Nigeria, you don't go talking about the spooky night stuff, else you get tagged mummy's baby asked to come sleep in Mummy's room. Worst case scenario, you're before a panel consisting of your parents, an exorcist-pastor and some prayer warrior answering the question "Who gave you the 'puff-puff?'. In Nigeria, that translated to, "We know you've been initiated to witchcraft, just tell us who did", and I wasn't ready for any of that.

Floating just above my child-sized bed still dressed in my blue pajamas, I looked nervously around my room. It was as simple as any child's room could be. One bed, fancy lights and chairs I never really used. I almost chuckled, what's furniture to a ghost? I floated slowly towards the door, cautiously watching the door as I approached.

Barely a foot away from the door, I started hearing the faint tapping sound again, like water dripping in a sink. That's how it always starts. I floated forward still, as silent as only a ghost could be. I was inches away from the door now, ready to dart right through it, or away from it if need be.

The door suddenly shook violently, like someone was trying to force it open from the other side, someone very strong. I paused and tried in vain to swallow, my eyes never for once leaving the door. Whatever lay behind that door is something more than I could comprehend. The door shook again, this time, a lot harder than it had the first time.

I floated forward towards the door, slower than I had the first time, steeling my nerves not to bolt. Whatever it was that shook the door, it seemed to know I was approaching. Why else would it amplify its energy when I got closer?

As I edged closer, I heard whispering. I was down to my last ounce of confidence now. I listened, peering at the door as though I could somehow see what lay behind it. The voice was getting clearer now, it was a feminine voice, and it wasn't just a whisper. She - it, was humming, barely above a whisper, a steady dull tune as depressing as a barn own singing on a dark stormy might. Her voice was clear, yet I couldn't make out a word of what she sang about.

An eerie chill suddenly enveloped me. I heard footsteps behind me and...

"Who's there?" I turned around sharply.

In mock response the door shook again. The footsteps were tapping behind me as much as I turned, yet I saw nobody. Are there ghosts even to ghosts? I was petrified. I darted towards my position atop the bed. But I didn't get there. The lights flickered and went out. I remained transfixed to the spot where I was.

I was about chiding myself for being a ghost scared of the dark, when the humming transformed into a depressing wail that dissolved any ounce confidence I had left. I tried shutting my ears with my hands, but my hands fell right through my head. The tapping had not abated even for a bit. The door shook as though it would shatter any moment now. I reeked of fear, my eyes shut, praying to snap out of this nightmare. God hears the prayers of a ghost right? The tapping of running feet sounded closer to me now. In this dark room, I felt like I would die all over again from fear.

Then as suddenly as everything had begun, it ceased, except the ticking of the clock in the darkness. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel the lights come back on through my very skin, err essence.

"Get out of my room!"

I turned and froze.

Beside the bed was a girl about my size, a bit scrawnier anyway, in a floral gown that looked a size bigger than hers, with large unblinking black eyes that accented her witchy-wide lips. Her hair was unmade and packed in a tidy bundle behind her. Her scrawny hands were akimbo and her feet were... Christ! She had no feet!

"What are you doing here?" Her shrill voice thundered with every syllable.

I remained where I was, staring at this strange girl in front of me. I wondered if she been the on humming that depressing tune earlier. I was still watching her, openmouthed. Her skin was so pale, like it was about to rot. I was so drenched in fear that I started shrinking. Then something even stranger happened. The scrawny little girl started growing bigger. I felt so much fear I could taste the temperature drop.

"Get out of MY room!". She thundered again and I could swear I heard something explode in a distant. The smell of burning flesh – or was it burning rubber, filled my entire room.

'Your room' I thought. "This room is..." I began saying then paused. The next word on my lips was 'mine', but one of the few surviving cells in my mind warned me of the deathly nature of that move. Instead, I blurted,

"I just died!"

Fear had fried my ghost nerves. If ghosts fainted, I would have found out by now. Right now, I was dumb for sure.

"Aboki free the guy joor" I heard in unmistakable Nigerian pidgin. Aboki, to the Hausa tribe of Northern Nigeria translated to 'my friend'. But then, to the Southerners, it was a way on calling someone a simpleton. Immediately the second voice spoke, the scary 'aboki' shrank to a normal sized girl ghost, laughing uncontrollably. She then clapped her hands.

"You can come out now" She was literally falling over herself in delight. Immediately, about a dozen other children, all about my age emerged from the wardrobe.

"This never grows old does it?" She looked at me as she spoke so I assumed she was talking to me. My response was a half nod, not knowing what would follow her outburst.

The other children that had appeared, all one...two...three...four... wait... seven of them, did not share the same energetic aura about them as the female ghost that was bent double with laughs. Obviously, her joke had grown stale to them, as they all paid no attention to her, every one of them sizing me up. I floated a few inches backwards, somewhat intimidated by their stares, my eyes darting from one face to another.

The first person that had come out looked the meanest. He was plump and dark-complexioned, with his eyes too deep set for a child. That sort of weirdo eyes you get from doing lots of bad things over and over again. From his outfit, an upandan - a Nigerian native long-sleeved top, with the trouser sewn from the same African print fabric, I could tell he was from the northern region of the country. He floated a little away from the others.

My eyes darted sharply to the left. Huddled together in a corner were three undersized boys who looked closer to five than nine-years-old. If these were indeed nine-year-olds, then they must have been thoroughly underfed. They were all identical, dressed in the same blue shirt and black shorts. It was obvious that they were definitely more terrified of me than I was of them, as they stared at me like I was some strange creature.

My eyes still darted back and forth at the black northern boy, who was now floating at the far end of the room, way from the rest of us. He stared at me with a frown that clearly screamed 'What are you doing here?'

I spied four other girls whispering at the other end of the wardrobe. They didn't bother to mask the fact that they were talking about me as regular gossips in school would. They were all dressed casually, in very simple 'house' gowns, except the light complexioned girl at the left, the only light complexioned person in the group. She wore a red gown atop black skinny jeans.

"Hi, I'm Adaeze, 1956" the scrawny girl said, offering her hand for a handshake. I glanced warily at her hand and then back at her face, appraising the smile that she wore. What did she mean by 1956? That's got to be the strangest surname I've ever heard, even for a Nigerian.

"Huh?" I managed, still not returning her handshake.

"What?" she still hand lost her smile, or dropped her hand.

"1956?" I said, still trying to sound as polite as I could.

"Oh that" She chuckled, "that's when I died".

1956! I tried not to seem shocked.

"It's okay if you're surprised" she had caught me. "It took Samuel here nearly a year to finally come to terms with it" she motioned at a rather funny looking fat boy just beside that gossiping gang of four. He, like me, was still dressed in his superman themed pajamas, complete with the pant atop his trousers.

"Okay, I am Elias" I managed, reaching out to shake her still outstretched hand. "Yesterday, I guess"

"Good" She said. As our hands connected, she suddenly phased, and my hand passed right through hers. Somehow, she he found this very hilarious and uncorked a fresh jar of laughter, alone again. The last time I felt this embarrassed was when I had peed on myself while sleeping in class. But then, that was way back in primary school and everyone had sympathized with me. This was totally out of context.

"Did you see the look on his face?" she was saying, pointing at me as she cackled on. They most certainly did, I felt like saying, seeing that their eyes had never left my face even for a second since they had shown up. As suddenly as she had begun laughing, she stopped and floated towards me. Stopping right in front of me, she grabbed the front of my pajamas, pulling me to herself.

"Now, you're going to help us figure out what has been killing thirteen-year-olds in this house for sixty-four years now."

I still hadn't understood everything that had just happened. Far from it, I hadn't understood anything at all!. Where had they been for the past hours since I died? Did they have anything to do with the haunting earlier? I watched Adaeze floating all over the place; maybe she could give me some answers. Her hands were behind her, observing me now with the others with thye glint of suppressed humor glaring in her eyes.

To believe this fragile child was born in 1956, that'll make her about a hundred years old right! Okay, I might have exaggerated a bit but sixty-four is still a big number.

"I understand that it might take a while for you to process everything, Elias" Adaeze said. Someone snorted.

"So all along I've been living with ghosts in my room?" I raised my hands and dropped them in obvious frustration. The expression of the other children in the room made me feel like I had said something very stupid.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Technically, this room used to be ours too before whatever happened to us did so um, it's kind of ours too, you know" she replied. "Let's just say you never knew your other roommates or bunkmates at times"

My eyes bulged in shock.

"Relax abeg, I'm just messing with your head"

"So everyone here died in this very room?" I asked.

"In this house? Yes. But in this very room, we don't know for sure"

"We need to tell him" Someone interrupted. It was the same person that had called Adaeze off earlier, the same person who had snorted. I was right. This is the trouble maker of the gang.

"Not now Usman" Adaeze retorted.

"He's right, Adaeze, there is no time for sweet talking him. He has been tossed into warfare and he needs to girdle quickly or he's a goner" The speaker was leaning on the wardrobe, with his hands folded across his chest. He wore nice round glasses on his unsmiling face.

"He needs time to process everything, . We can't just toss everything at him all at once. Not right now." Adaeze was addressing everybody now, not just me and Usman.

"Then when? We're out of time as it stands" Usman replied. I expected him to. "Look at the triplets" he motioned at three boys huddled together in a corner, "They haven't said a word in three years. Three years Adaeze!"

"In time we would, not now"

"Adaeze" It was the kid in the superman pajamas. "Are we really out of time?"

"No we're not. Usman is only trying to scare us" Adaeze didn't even look at him. Her eyes were locked on Usman as she spoke. Usman didn't seem to mind the burning gaze she directed at him, he still wore the same frown he had on when he first emerged from the wardrobe.

"This is the ninth kid and just as the book says, he remembers nothing." He shot at Adaeze, "I bet his parents remember nothing either, just as the book said"

"The book be damned!" Adaeze shouted, glowering at Usman.

"No, YOU BE DAMNED! Hell, we would all be damned Missy if we don't find a way to end all this any sooner than five days."

Silence followed the audible gasp. The two girls huddled together in school uniforms were getting dramatic in their whisperings now. They said a number of things I couldn't hear and motioned towards me.

"I've seen the book, Adaeze" one among the girls began, "I know you have too. What I don't know is why you are being sluggish about doing anything about anything?" it seemed to be an innocent question, but the accusation in her tone was as plain as day. For someone that appeared as cowardly she, it was quite a brazen accusation.

"It's almost dark, let's move to the wardrobe" Adaeze commanded, completely ignoring her comment.

Usman started clapping, laughing as he did so. "Typical Adaeze, always running when it gets hot"

"I don't want any trouble, Usman. Let's all go in"

"I say we stay here. We all got questions to ask, don't we?" There were unmistakable nods from different people. "Well then, let's get them all cleared up. Or you have a problem with that Aboki?"

Here was my chance, presented on a platter of gold.

"Um... Adaeze" I ventured, "My mom... my ... my Dad".

"They're fine, Elias"

Somehow, I knew she was lying. Why? I had no idea. Usman was pacing angrily now with an obvious scowl on his face. "Why won't you just tell the kid?"

"There's nothing worth telling yet, Usman. I'd let him know whatever he needs to know with time." Adaeze retorted.

This squabble had gone on longer than I could bear. I had just received the greatest shock of my life, or death - whatever, and these two considered now a perfect time to grapple each other's throats. The one called Usman had the look of a rebel. He was the darkest of all the ghosts in the room with eyes too deep seated for a thirteen-year-old. His hands were always busy, either fiddling with some part of his body or each other. Right now, he glared at Adaeze like he could pounce on her any second now.

"Aboki," It took a while to realize he was actually referring to me. This guy is a northerner, I guess.

"Yes" I replied, trying not to get vaporized by his stare.

"The house is cursed." He started. Finally, someone with balls. Shhh... Mum would kill me all over again if she heard me think that.

"There..." He never got to finish that sentence.

A gust of wind suddenly rushed into the room, slamming the door shut. Pandemonium followed. Everyone was moving everywhere in a hurry, going over and under and through each other. The wind howled even louder still, vacuuming everyone towards the door as they struggled, screaming. The windows slammed back and forth, adding to the commotion that had already ensued. The lights flickered and went out.

I could swear I had heard someone laugh or maybe it was the wind. Strangely, I seemed rooted the spot I was, unmoving, savoring the horrific opera.

"Quick, to the wardrobe!" I heard Adaeze repeat. How? With all that has happened in the past half an hour, I wasn't really surprised. The commotion now multiplied. Everyone tried finding their way in the blinding darkness toward the wardrobe, aided by occasional flashes of moonlight from the window whenever it swung open. What sort of darkness was this that robbed even ghosts of sight? I didn't have time to ponder.

The door swung open as suddenly as it had shut earlier. The windows too remained open, and streaks of moonlight found their way in. The howling wind ceased its dreadfully horrifying solo and for a second or so everything seemed calm.

"Don't look at it." Adaeze commanded quietly, stressing every syllable. "Slowly turn away from the door and back away toward the wardrobe"

She shouldn't have said that. Curiosity took over. I turned sharply toward the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever I'm not supposed to look at. "Come on, Elias" I heard her say, but she was too late. The sight was just too compelling for me to look away from.

At the door post was darkness, pitch black nothingness more magnificent than anything else I had beheld in my entire life; however short it had been. The darkness was so perfect, like the dead of a moonless night. Such clear unblemished darkness, thrumming steadily with life as it held me captive, seducing me to stare on. I did, smiling in awe. I heard it call out to me, softly, its voice caressing my entire being.

I moved closer and immediately felt peace swelling inside. The screams of the other kids gradually faded in my ears. All I now heard was the smooth silky laughter from the darkness. The wind now whispered the truth to me. Here was peace the other kids could not give me.

Someone tugged at me, trying to pull me away. Without turning back, I held the hand, and with surprising ease flung it toward the darkness, a favor if you ask me. It was one of the triplets. I knew because immediately, the other two shrieked in shock and went in after him, into the darkness. Double, triple favors.

I was nearing the darkness now. It felt like a grand homecoming.

"Aboki, come here!" Usman's ghost hands immediately blinded me. Next thing I know I'm been carted off against my will towards a weird looking wardrobe. One that I had no memory of every seeing in this room! I closed my eyes and braced for impact. There was none.