Eighteen O' Five {ONGOING}🇳🇬

•~~Chapter Seventeen~~•

Whose life?

That question, I was sure, lingered on each of us's mind, but we never talked about it. We remained hopeful that the storm would pass, the real culprit would be nabbed, the town borders would be declared open, and we would return to our lives in Lagos. Sad but true, we had our hopes in the wrong places. We could have just stopped having false hopes, prepared for the greater storm ahead before it grappled us in a shock.

Shock.

It whirled around me in a column of a tornado, consumed me like a starving lion, as I read the message that popped on the screen of Olamipo's phone.

“It's pay time. The female twin is all I demand—1805”

Fear gripped me, I had to re-read the message, as simple as it was, ten-times to understand and be sure I had read the right thing, not just my imagination making things up.

“Daddy.” the word escaped unconsciously to call out to my dad that sat in the living room with me.

“What is it?” he asked. I handed him the phone, he read. He sat upright, with the look on his face as much disconcerted as mine sure was.

1805 had requested a price, a soul, like Titi's grandma said it would. A price that mustn't be failed to be paid because he could take a life or more if denied or worse still, angered. We expected this, only that we failed to talk about it. We were too hopeful to face the reality. Now, the request was here, Olamipo's name on the price tag.

She ambled out of the kitchen with a tray of fruits, not noticing our awkward reactions at first. Dad didn't stop staring at the screen even after she offered him some fruits. That made her wonder.

“Dad, what are you looking at my phone that you're paying so much attention to?” She chuckled. Dad and I exchanged weird looks, not smiling.

“Okay, okay, what's going on here?” she asked, again, as a matter of factly.

After so much hesitation, dad handed her the phone to read for herself. Her eyes remained fix on the screen for hours before finally landing her ass on the chair close to her.

“Is this–?” she muttered, not finishing her words. “Am I–?”

Dad stood up, walked to where she sat still staring at the phone screen with her jaw dropped.

“Baby girl, this, it's nothing. You have absolutely nothing to worry about. Everything is just fine.” he took the phone from her, held her hands.

“S-so... S-something is going to happen t-to me?” she stuttered.

“No, baby. No... Look at me...” he framed his face with his palms. “Nothing is going to happen to you, I'll make sure of that. Moreover, it's just an ordinary text. It doesn't mean anything.”

Whose life?

The answer to that question became apparent to me. The dream about Olamipo falling off the cliff now held meaning, too. She was indeed the price. But why did she have to be? Why not me? Why did the fucking number not pick me? Again, someone else was going to pay the price for my mistake. Well, that's who I am, that's what I do to people; ruin them with my own misfortune. That had to stop. Enough of others being responsible for my missteps. There was no way I was going to let my sister pay for this. No way. I couldn't save her in the dream but I'd make sure in the real life.
 

#

The sun found its way back to its hiding place, leaving us in darkness, again, with no moon and no stars to scatter exquisitely in our skies.

Meanwhile, it was another night to call it a failure for the power holding company. They wouldn't even have been a subject of consideration if the generator had not gone south with its working operations. Dad whined it several times but the effort was a waste. He concluded it needed to be serviced.

We had to go the night without light. Very unusual. We said our goodnights and left for our separate rooms. I had to leave my windows wide open and sleep without a shirt. I wouldn't like to be announced dead the next morning because of heat.

1:05 am.

I checked my wristwatch after my sleep was cut short by the heat or another nightmare, I thought. But it was actually some strange sounds I heard outside the room that did. The sound of footsteps and keys clanging.

Stepping out of my room, I encountered a body that I quickly shone my torchlight on for identification. It was my dad. He had also heard the clanging of keys and footsteps of someone walking around the house. Together, we proceeded to the living room in search of anything strange, with weapons in our hands. My dad, with a machete. I, with a broom.

We searched all nooks and crannies and there was nothing strange except for the clock that has been forever hanging high up on the wall that was found on the tiled floor, face down, without a crack. That was strange. A clock of that glass material should break after a drop from that height, as a matter of fact, but we pretended and held on to the possibility of the otherwise. Dad climbed on a stool and fixed the clock back on the wall.

We turned our backs to return to our rooms but the damn clock dropped again. It unnerved us, and we halted, at first, before walking back to inspect it. It was face down like it was the first time, no crack, no scratch.

Like that wasn't bizarre enough. As we were still expressing our shock, inspecting the clock, the entrance door that had been locked, creaked open by itself. It stopped dead in our tracks. We turned quickly, pointing our torches at the door. Nothing was in sight, just the door, widely opened.

As we continued to stare at the open door, our torches went off at the same time, and darkness introduced itself as a third party. Suddenly, the door slammed closed, and we heard an outcry. It came from Olamipo's room.

*