Manifest

One

Eddie hated ufọfọp.

It was a bitter and harsh drink that didn't go down the throat smoothly. Instead, Eddie was left with an intangible, leathery coating in his mouth. With every drink, the taste grew familiar. He had since evolved from struggling against the taste to ignoring the burn altogether. He'd since admitted defeat to the stale, over-fermented concoction of dead vegetables.

Eddie belched. He'd inherited his father's habit of drinking at night. Unlike his father, Eddie had no friends to share it with. He did have crickets and heavy mosquitoes but that was alright. None of them was disapproving enough to matter.

Smacking his lips, Eddie tilted the bottle. For a moment, he sat, entranced in the pitter-patter of the drink as it splattered on the tiles and splashed a few drops on his feet.

Just as the bottle emptied out, the ground shook.

Eddie sat up on the floor of the veranda, wondering if he'd imagined it. The security light in the corner of the unused gatehouse illuminated the spot on the floor where he'd just poured his drink. The tiles cracked and broke apart right before his eyes. They scattered and shifted, opening and abandoning their places. Eddie staggered to his feet, transfixed as the tiles gave way to sand. The sand churned and shifted as well until it revealed a green piece of woven material pushing its way up, out of the ground.

The cloth ripped and a man sat up. Backing the gatehouse, his entire form was shrouded in darkness as he looked around till his gaze finally rested on Eddie. He was bare from the chest down to his waist where he was covered by the same material. Frozen, blinking, they stared at each other.

"Obomme na din," the newcomer said, pushing away the cloth and getting to his feet. He was tall and had lean, muscled shoulders that could probably arm a good punch on a good day. There was little else to note, especially since Eddie's vision blurred and his head ached every time he looked up. "Nkpe ntonne nai," he said again, approaching Eddie as Eddie fell, crawling on his back across the veranda.

"I don't-" Eddie began. "I don't know what you're saying."

The man stopped moving, raised his hands and spoke slowly.

"Eyeh asiba ndonne nai."

"That's not even-" Eddie huffed in exasperation. "Speaking slowly isn't going to make me understand you."

"Ayineka mmi awo awan abaamo?" Where is my sister, the man said.

"Okay," Eddie said, snapping his fingers. "I understood that one. You're speaking Ibibio."

"Ayineka mmi awo awan abaamo?" he repeated more frantically.

"I don't know who your sister is," Eddie screamed in English.

The man hissed and approached again. Eddie's back hit the wall of the house when he tried to move away, so he rolled and fell off the veranda. He nearly tripped on his father's grave as he climbed onto it, keeping the tombstone between himself and the man.

"Eyeh asiba ndonne nai," the man said, going back to the language he'd first spoken.

"Ami ndiongho ke." I don't know, Eddie replied quickly in Ibibio.

"Unwanga?" You understand me, the man asked. "Nsíttippe? Afid owo eba mo?" What is going on? Where is everyone?

"Ami ndiongho ke," Eddie repeated because the extent of his ability to speak was to simply tell everyone else that he didn't know anything. Because he didn't.

Quicker than anyone Eddie had ever seen, the man lunged forward and grabbed Eddie by the head.

"Christ," Eddie shouted, holding the man's hand as he fought to free himself. The man leaned forward and touched his forehead to Eddie's. A warm feeling rushed through Eddie's body and his knees buckled beneath him. Before he could fall, the man let go of Eddie's head and gripped him, by the shoulder.

"What did you do to me?" Eddie asked.

"Where is my sister?" the man asked, English words slipping from his mouth with ease.

"You can s-sp-speak English?"

"Where is everybody? Why does no one worship?" the man asked, shaking Eddie frantically. "Why are you to only one here? Answer me."

"I... I-"

"You are not of the faith."

"I don't... I don't know where anyone is."

"You will have to do," the man said, slipping his hand from Eddie's shoulders as he held Eddie securely by both wrists. Without support, Eddie knelt before him.

"Do what?" Eddie asked, looking up at the man.

"You will speak for me. You will be my hand," he said to Eddie. "Even if no one else worships me, you will worship me till the day you die."