THE DARK ALPHA'S CURSE

Its been a while since these events happened, and its been a long while since I talked about it to anyone. This past year was both good and bad, but hold on, I'll tell you all about it.
My name is Danny White, and this is my story.

PART ONE:

CHAPTER ONE:

March 25th, 2019 was just another day for me. I mean, yeah, it was supposed to be exciting as I was entering my 2nd year as an undergraduate in the prestigious university of Benin, famed for its plethora of successful business magnates, politicians, oil magnates and very wealthy and powerful men in my country, Nigeria.

But this day, I'd had a particularly rough night, filled with nightmares and sleep paralysis. So yes, I wasn't getting the hang of it. At all. I brushed my teeth nonchalantly, listening to the latest Nigerian hit song, Jealous by artiste Fireboy.

My elder brother, David, clapped me on the shoulder, a bad habit of his that always left me irritated. I paused my brushing to glare at him, my displeasure evident in my frown and I could feel my brows almost touching.

He grinned, another habit of his that further irritated me to no end, and continued walking down the hallway to the sitting room.

He paused by my parents room, poked his head through the curtain and saluted them. I could hear their pleased replies from the hallway where I stood near the bathroom, still brushing my teeth, although this time, with more force.

"I greeted them just now, but they both pretended to be dead asleep", I murmured to myself under my breath, and spat out the phlegm.

I rinsed my mouth quietly, and tip toed to my parents room. Before they could pretend not to notice me, I jumped out, "good morning sir! Good morning mom!"

They both jerked with shock, and a dull thump came from when my mom hit her head on the head board. She groaned, rubbing the hurting part.

I stood there, inwardly smiling, wanting so much to show my real joy at them, but I decided against it and kept my face stoic.

My dad forced a cheery tone into his voice, but he knew that I knew it was forced, "good morning, my dear boy. How was your night?".

Mom made no effort to answer, only acknowledging me with a wave of the hand, almost imperceptive.

That simple exchange signalled the end of our conversation, and as I turned to leave the room, I surveyed it again.

It was quite large, the biggest room in the house. Painted a cerulean shade of blue, it was always homely. To the left hand side of the bed, there was a shiny wooden bedside drawer, and often, and as it did now, it served as a table for holding wine glasses.

Just about six feet from the bed side drawer stood a huge wardrobe, made of oak, polished so well it no longer showed signs of the dull brown it was supposed to be, but instead had a caramel shade.

It stood, tall, with its top nearly reaching the ceiling. Its handles were made of shining brass with polished wood in between. At the lowest rack stood the collection of shoes,and it was filled with exotic shoes.

A slight wind blew through the curtains, and with it the scent of ... was that akara?

I looked again, carefully at my mom and sure enough, I could see yesterday's newspaper atop a plate beside her ... and on it, were ten massive, spicy hot akara (bean cake) balls.

I looked from the plate to my mom, she had withdrawn the plate a little bit underneath the blanket.

I sighed, "mom! You could just give me a ball and I'll leave!". My dad chuckled and withdrew a loaf of bread from underneath the blanket and tossed it toward me, "cut a piece", he said, still chuckling.