Death Becomes Him

I can not believe that this impetuous, over-pampered and carnally-minded simpleton actually picked up that phone call… 

I swear by the throne of Jehovah, I will kill him first chance I get. 


Ring… Ring… Ring… Ring… 

“Hello…?” 

“… I kept hoping that you’d pick up one day…” 

“Uhmmmm… Yeah… I was conflicted.” 

“Because of what I am?” 

“What are you exactly?” 

“I could show you…” 

Laughs…“For real?” 

More nervous laughter… “Where are you exactly?” 

“Here.” She answered from behind him. 

I kept watch over him. He could not see me, but she could. 

From that day they were inseparable. That day in which he had unwittingly summoned her by accepting her ‘hello’  from’ the other side’. They talked a lot. Very often. He was a very curious soul. 

He was exactly thirty three years, three months, three days, three hours, three minutes and three seconds old when he (unfortunately) stumbled upon the ability to ‘summon’. 

I confronted her one night when he was asleep. I was after all his protector. In righteous indignation I insisted on being told her plans. 

She knew that I had the power to translate her spirit back into the abyss. I am holy and righteous. Maybe that is why she demurely replied me in almost suspicious humility. 

She told me that she loved him. 

“But you are a succubus, a demon!” I recall blurting out. 

She then reminded me about the time the sons of God took for themselves wives of the sons of men. And how they cohabited in love and harmony ever after. It was their offspring that became unruly, not the abominable anomaly. 

I can not believe that I am admitting this, but she was right. 

I immediately summoned Headquarters for wisdom; and reinforcements were expeditiously despatched. The Company clearly considered this client untouchable. He was the apple of someone’s eye. He was clearly special and the beloved of someone important. 

We watched as ABIKU taught him great mysteries. She revealed ancient Truths and Verities that he clearly hungered for. She showed him the treasures of darkness and the hidden riches of secret places. He inevitably became very rich and prosperous speedily. He practically rode the high places of at least two worlds. 

She was plump, shapely and comely. The human vessel she chose was as he found pleasing. She inexplicably favored him for his warmth and meekness. Under our surveillance, she metamorphosed into human (female) tendencies of jealousy, tears and domestication. 

They were under no illusions about who and what she was, and yet they proceeded to know each other carnally. Because of her default (basic) existence and office, they copulated often, and with reckless abandon. Succubi are carnal like that. She was extremely pleased with him. They were in love. 

It has been a decade now. Their unholy liaison is now confirmed by the presence of a ruddy, cheeky and naughty lad. ABIKU is a mother. 

My name is Chrioni. I am the messenger of Yahweh; (The Alpha and The Omega, The First and The Last, Holy of Holies, Jehovah.) 

I am the head guardian angel primarily assigned to this mortal, and then to his family. 

The situation has all of us messengers befuddled. And from the murderous looks of the demons snarling and hissing constantly at ABIKU, her kind are incensed beyond belief. 

We are all watching and waiting. 

God Is Good Transport Company 

The Ramadan fast ended with a two-day public holiday in my country. 

The holidays fell on a Monday and a Tuesday. It provided for a long holiday/weekend. Muslims in my country must have been ecstatic. 

I was not. 

I had to work. 

My work needed me to travel. 

All flights to my work place were fully booked. 

I had no choice but to go by road. 

The road trip would take eight hours. Beard of Moses! Aaaarghh!! 

A few days later I was on my way back home. Same road transportation company, but I did not get my preferred seat beside the driver (or captain as God is Good drivers prefer to be called). I got seat number ‘7’, close to the door, with plenty of leg room…but no headrest. Beard of Moses! Aaaarghh!! 

Seated to my left was a pretty girl. Despite my sour disposition, that fact was impossible to miss. 

Something reeked though. That fact too, was impossible to miss. It smelled of something slightly fetid like a damp item of clothing, pungent body odor or unchanged sanitary pads left on for too long. 

Yes, my nose can perceive that. 

My nose knows. 

It is not my fault. 

I was born this way. 

Please, leave me be. 

We both kept to ourselves throughout the duration of the journey. Maybe like me she did not understand the dialect the rest of the passengers were speaking. Maybe like me she was not a member of the church the rest of the passengers obviously belonged to. They had booked as a group. But she smiled at me bashfully whenever she caught me looking at her, she was very pretty. And she had very long (and dirty) hair.  

The bus was a fourteen seater Toyota Hiace. Fully air-conditioned. The captain was nicknamed ‘Man of God’. The bus was in very good condition. 

Five hours into the journey, the stench grew increasingly worse. Man of God was becoming increasingly jittery too. He began driving quite badly. My country-people are extremely religious, and these passengers were members of the ‘MFM’ church. Their prayers were notoriously firebrand and they frequently called for the death of perceived enemies human and non human. They immediately reverted to type and began to pray in agreement, loudly. 

It seemed to calm Man of God somewhat. Whenever the prayers waned though, the stench would propagate exponentially and Man of God would seem like he was attempting to crash the bus and their prayers would intensify and it would seem to calm Man of God somewhat. 

Mercifully we arrived at a scheduled rest point. It was the last stop before the final two and a half hours to our destination. Gratefully we all scrambled out to go eat, relieve ourselves and / or return circulation to cramped and tired limbs. 

About fifteen minutes later, we began reentering the bus to continue the journey. We were all accounted for, except for my pretty neighbor. 

Ten minutes later she was still nowhere to be found… Same thing fifteen minutes later… The situation remained unchanged thirty minutes after that. At this point the passengers had gotten impatient to the point of hostility. They demanded that we drive off without her. All the restaurants and conveniences had been searched to no avail. 

I then advised that we refer to the ‘passenger’s manifest’ and get her cell phone number and try to call her. Man of God acquiesced… He tried calling her, but his service provider had poor service where we were. Utterly disgusted at the entire scenario, I requested for the number and dialed it. I kept it on ‘speaker’ and it rang unanswered five times. I subsequently suggested that we call her next of kin who’s details ABIKU had also listed on the passenger’s manifest. Man of God acquiesced… And luckily a woman picked up and suspiciously requested for the identity of the caller. We were all listening, the call was on ‘speaker’. 

“Madam, good evening. Na me be driver for God is Good Motors. Abeg one woman wey follow me travel drop your number as next of kin. Her name na ABIKU GAWA. Her phone number na 0*******666. We no fit find the woman. You know am?” 

Silence… 

“Hello madam, you hear wetin I talk? Abeg you know the woman?” 

Heavy breathing… 

“If this is a prank, I suggest you stop it immediately!” She suddenly spat out. Hysteria bubbling under… 

“Madam no be ‘plank‘. We dey find the owner of the number. We go continue journey leave am for here o!” 

“She is dead! She died four years ago!! Why are you doing this?!” 

Beard of Moses! 

Pandemonium broke out!! 

Long story short, I joined them in a heated prayer session that lasted the rest of the journey. Obviously we arrived safely. 

I am an author. I write on my android smartphone. It is convenient and I get to write on the ‘go’. This incident took place a week ago.  As I started writing this recollection, ABIKU GAWA suddenly started calling me back. The ‘Truecaller’ application on my phone confirmed her name. So far I’ve refused to pick up thirteen of her calls within the last forty minutes. 

Buy This Book! : ’32 Days In September’

SNIPPETS FROM:- 

‘DAY 1’ 

(THE SENIOR ADVOCATE OF NIGERIA)

“…Her speedy rise professionally had always bothered her. It was too good, too sweet to be true. Now she knew why. 

She knew about Omuha, Ogboni and even the Illuminati. Several of those seated here were members of some or all of these fraternities. 

The shame though… the inevitable fall to nothingness, after soaring so high professionally. The sniggering and jeers from her many detractors…”

The Greedy Slut

Last month was February. 

My boyfriend was hard up and so I knew that I would not be getting any extravagant gifts. But I wanted an iPhone. I wanted the iPhone 7 Plus specifically. All my friends had one. It cost a lot, but I do not earn a lot. 

“Use what you got girl!” Elena had coyly whispered. 

What I had was just a vagina. Vagina’s are overrated really. 

I am hot, lightskinned and endowed. Men have always wanted me. 

But then there was Dapo. We were in a committed relationship. He is the sweetest man ever, and he loves me to bits. But in Elena’s words, 

“Na who love help?!”

Dapo though is fiercely territorial and possessive. He is a very intuitive and a very intelligent person. He is not someone you could cuckold. He is almost impossible to cheat on. He knew my body even better than I did. Down to the days, duration and dynamics of my menstrual cycle, he knew. 

I was not willing to break up with him just to date someone who would buy me expensive stuff. But I wanted that iPhone. 

I know how to manipulate a man any way I prefer. And so I chose a mark off my many admirers and strung him on. He would buy me the phone without laying a finger on me. 

Ladies back me up on this, we have this gift; 

A free lunch, a date to see a new movie, airtime recharge vouchers or a trip to the salon, we all have that ‘ATM-man’ or several of them we can manipulate to achieve this or that

I told Dapo that I had to go for a meeting in church that evening. As he knew, the church had a Night of Bliss programme coming up. He nodded his consent and then I got him to drop me off at the church. 

My ‘ATM’ came by about an hour later and we left in his well-maintained Honda Pilot. He was obviously rich. He was well dressed and smelled even better. But he not very good looking. He was nervous and eager to please. He could not get his eyes off my breasts, the lecherous pervert kept licking his thick lips as he overtly undressed me with his eyes. 

He let me choose where we would go and so I chose the Elephant Bar at the Sheraton hotels. No danger of running into anyone I knew there. 

The date went very well. Dapo had surprisingly not called, and my ‘ATM’ was so much in lust that he promised to give me the $769 in cash that same night. 

True to his word, he did. In crisp dollar bills. In appreciation, after tucking the bills away safely, I allowed him to occasionally stroke and grope my boobs. What a girl goes through! 

We were by this time driving back and not too far from the church when he suddenly swerved off the road, parked and practically jumped me! It took a couple of seconds for me to realize that I was suddenly in hot water. 

Then I began to struggle with him. He was as though possessed. He somehow broke my bra strap and the top buttons of my silk blouse. His face dove down to my exposed breasts while his hand went under my skirt. As his fingers grazed my covered pubis, fear spurred me into violence. I clenched my Samsung Edge tightly and viciously drove it into his head slobbering over my breasts. I felt the phone splinter as he howled in agony. He raised his head and before he could bring his hands to check his injury, I speared the phone into his face. He screamed even louder. 

I was out of his car and running blindly back the way we came. I heard him come out and begin pursuit. I was wearing a pair of flat shoes, but my skirt was a tad too tight. He was gaining on me quickly. 

It was about eight pm and it was dark. Not surprisingly, the road was deserted. The church is located in a fairly undeveloped area of town. I instinctively knew that I was going to die horribly if he caught up with me. 

My untethered breasts were wildly flapping about, clutch purse containing the cursed dollar bills and hot tears of regret, terror and resignation all impeded my race for life. 

“God…! Please…!! Help!!!”I remember hoarsely crying out over and over again as I ran. 

Just then I saw a car approaching at full speed, it had the oh so familiar halogen headlight and fog light off on the right side. Dare I hope? Dapo’s Toyota Camry! 

He drove past me and slammed his brakes between me and my pursuer. The suddenness of Dapo’s maneuver caused my ‘ATM’ to practically run into the front of the car in a head on collision. The impact sent him flailing backwards in ungainly heel-over-head somersaults. 

By now,  I was in Dapo’s car. He put the car in reverse and gunned the engine ferociously, after a few meters he executed a flawless hand brake turn and then we were on our way home. 

He kept his eyes and face grimly on the road. His expression was inscrutable. I remember crying… No, edit that, bawling all the way home. Sweet Lord I cried! 

“Dapo… I’m sorry… Please…??”

Not one word. Not one syllable. 

I remember thinking then that we were over. I know his silence. It is not a good thing. I hung my head in grief and sobbed some more. 

Then we were suddenly parked in front of our apartment. He got out and walked away behind the vehicle. I originally thought that he was coming to get the door for me until I saw our front door open and Dapo come out looking worried. 

I stepped out of the car slowly. I cannot describe my state of mind, please try to understand. 

I was trapped standing, was I to run to this Dapo or to the other one… that was suddenly no where to be found?

“Baby what happened? Why is your blouse torn? Talk to me…! Why are you crying? How…Did I leave my car open?”

I dropped in a dead faint.  

I am a greedy slut. 

At least I used to be. 

I could regal you with the reasons why I was the way I was, but I will save you the tirade. 

I am not a good person. But these days I try daily to be a better woman. Experience they say is the best teacher. 

Spawn of Satan

I imagine that you are reading this from somewhere not in Africa. 

As you read, you will probably sneer and then dismissively chuck me off as backward, gullible and ostensibly religious-bordering on the insane. 

But I know what I am talking about. 

Welcome to a warm and dark continent. The traditions and customs here are still archaic. The first gods are still worshipped here. Worshipped, not merely served. There is a difference. 

I do not believe in coincidences. 

Once, yeah… Okay. 

Twice, I start to reach for my sidearm. 

Thrice, I come out of my den snarling behind a hail of bullets. Machete in the other hand. 

The following took place about ten years ago. (Between the eighth to the tenth years… to further misdirect you… I am smiling broadly right now.) 

One. 

I was in a long term relationship with a lovely young woman. By this time I already knew that I could not marry her. She was a snooping, manipulative, arrogant bitch! (Hmmm… Now where did that emanate from? Forgive me, I am clearly still upset with her). One midnight, she surprised me while I had my pants down. Erect phallus in hand. Indulging in self-help and self-love. She lost it! She broke down in self-righteous tears,  and when that did not work she told me that it would never be well with me until I learned to treat her right. In retrospect I regret not replying her ominous words. You see, I am a creature of habit. I am a maverick, but I have method to my eccentricity. So I know and notice when my jewellery and items of my clothing suddenly disappear. I know about her father, and I know that her mum still worships the first gods. Despite being a deaconess in a local community church. So I knew that her threat was not idle. 

Two. 

By now things had deteriorated quite badly. I was in a bind in every respect. While I did not owe money at the time, I used to be a millionaire. Yes I was still involved with ‘Evil-ynn’, that conniving, stinking maggot. And sibling of Satan! (Hmmm… Now where did that emanate from? Forgive me, I am clearly still upset with her). It was a hot and dry Friday afternoon. I was in between (seemingly futile) business meetings. I drove to a quiet park. They were typically leased to vendors who maintained them via recreational facilities and restaurants and / or a beer parlour. All sorts of mobile vendors would stop by tables offering wares ranging from roasted peanuts to lingerie to cheap electrical accessories. This particular vendor was a Yoruba traditional medicine man. He was selling bottled plant roots and potions purportedly able to cure piles, diabetes and all sorts of ailments. I was bored and I am likable, so he told me that I was on the verge of greatness but that I needed to pray more fervently. He said that my prosperity had been tied up in a tree somewhere. He advised that I prayed that night with a white handkerchief last thing before I slept. That he would stay up and pray in agreement with me at my preferred time. He was a Muslim. I am a Christian. 

Three. 

I was out of town officially. I was mentally chastising myself on why I had bothered to arrive by air. The assignment was clearly not going to be as lucrative as I had hoped. Then that sneaky, succubus that hated Jesus called. She typically called at my lowest times, just in time to make matters worse. Witch! (Hmmm… Now where did that emanate from? Forgive me, I am clearly still upset with her). Luckily a former colleague called me right after her call. He knew I was in his town and wanted to swing by. He arrived with a young man he introduced as ‘his prophet’. They were on their way to dedicate a parcel of land or something. Just before he left, he told me that I had made a mistake dating ‘Evil-ynn’. He told me that I needed deliverance. He said that ‘they’ had ‘tied my progress’ to a particular shrub somewhere in Ankpa. A town in Kogi state, Nigeria. 

Sigh! 

I had no choice but to speak with my pastor. He had us both pray at a set time with a set of specific prayer requests. 

It has been a while since that prayer session. Believe it or not, I am wealthy and rich. More so than ever, and this is me modestly understating things. Everything is going well. Perfectly actually. 

Evilynn’s mother ran mad. She had a mental breakdown in a NEXT –  CASH AND CARRY supermarket. She was said to have rambled on and on about her being a witch. She reportedly asked for my forgiveness. 

Evilynn’s sister ran mad. She had a mental breakdown in a popular Abuja market. Same story, she mentioned my name too. 

Evilynn. Chikadibia – went slightly bipolar. She broke into my convenience while I was there seated waiting on gravity to call on nature. She sank to her knees right there in the ‘shitter’ and apologized. She told me that her mum did it to protect her daughter from harm. I absolved her of wrongdoing in my books. Hey, I loved her once. 

A popular shaman in Ankpa apparently lost his damn mind and stepped in front of a truck suddenly. Before he died, I hear he confessed to a lot of vile things. Yes. Yes, my name came up… Again! 

At this juncture, I wisely relocated. Left town for good. Good thing I did. 

Inside of a week all the aforementioned, plus one or two unmentioned were dead. 

They all died in their sleep. They were insane until they died. 

When Words Fail… 

I know it is going to be hard for you to relate to…  

Yes you… (sick, degenerate lech!) but she is in a committed relationship.  And so am I by the way… 

Thank you for asking…but Vivian and I are just friends! 

Now do not get me wrong, Vivian and I are attracted to each other… But that is where it must end. Too many lives would be ruined if Vivian and I cross that line. 

She is a wealthy banker and is engaged to be married to Franklin. He is a stock broker. We are all mutual friends. 

I am emotionally committed; lock, stock and barrel to Alicia. Alicia is utterly besotted with me. She is currently earning a masters degree in a private university. I am an author, my first book just grossed a little over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars on amazon.com.

Alicia and I will marry soon. We have been dating for two years and have decided that our honeymoon would be at the Obudu Cattle Ranch, Cross River state, Nigeria. 

Alicia has never been to The Ranch and she says that she cannot wait to make love to me there. Neither can I…wait to make love to her… anywhere I mean. 

Vivian and Franklin were supposed to holiday at The Ranch last week. 

That is until he broke up with her. 

The holiday was booked months ago, it was a promotion and she had planned on giving Franklin a surprise treat. It had cost her a small fortune, because she had arranged for the best. 

And so she approached me to accompany her there. No point allowing the money go to waste, since there were no refunds she reasoned. 

I thought it would be a great way of getting to know my future honeymoon spot free of charge. 

In a bid to absolve (our popular) selves from gossip and slander, we both agreed to tell no one else. Not family, not Alicia or even God, we joked. 

And so we went and were lodged in the tastefully prepared Honeymoon Chalets. I promise you that it was fun. I made sure Vivian got over her heartbreak whenever I looked at her. There was nothing sexual or inappropriate that was done. We were extremely close and friendly  ‘asexuals’. 

Our neighbors though… By Jove! The ruckus! 

The chalets were about fifty meters apart, but their every sound carried like they were next door. 

She was a screamer! I have never, in all my life, heard a woman moan, groan and scream as loud as the woman in that chalet. 

In truth, I was miserable all through. I missed Alicia terribly and I was emotionally drained from constantly bolstering Vivian’s heartbroken spirit. The loud lovers next door did not help matters, they made me pine for Alicia even more. 

A night before we were (mercifully) due to return home, there was a barbecue Vivian had preordered outside our chalet. Though it was chilly, I was bare-chested. The fire from the grill and the crossfade I was on from the moonshine and cannabis liqueur I was sipping had me feeling invincible. 

I saw our ‘neighbour’ come out for a smoke, and after respectfully raising hands in respectful salutation, I beckoned him over. 

He was good-natured and straight shooting. 

I teased him about his sexual prowess when Vivian was not listening and he swore (down) that he was always on a diet of Viagra. But because his girlfriend was paying for their current, annual  holiday, he was presently on a cocktail of Viagra, Spanish fly and a Chinese aphrodisiac. 

They had been together for four years and came up here every year. 

He was (clearly) a cool dude so Vivian and I insisted that he and his girlfriend join us. There was more than enough meat and drinks. 

I waited till they were clearly headed towards us from their chalet before I dashed in to wear a shirt. 

As I stepped out, they all had their backs to me. 

“I’m back…, miss me?!” I remember shouting cheerfully. 

She understandably reacted  faster than Vivian and my male neighbor. Let’s face it, a man suddenly shouted out gibberish from behind her in the dark… That would startle anyone. 

But I was startled that it was Alicia, my Alicia that whipped around to face me. 

In retrospect, crossfading probably saved a life or two that night. 

It is a miracle that neither Alicia nor I caused a scene, screamed or fainted. 

All words failed for the first few minutes. 

Then my buzz and my high smoothened me out. I was like silk, the crossfade kept everything nice and easy. 
Vivian had never met Alicia in any capacity, so she was none the wiser. 

My male neighbor was too busy munching on grilled protein to be aware. 

When it was time to call it a night, I decisively shook Alicia’s hand… goodbye. 

THIS IS MY ABUJA 


I NEED YOU TO VOTE FOR MY STORY!
The Etisalat Flash Fiction Competition 2016 has graciously approved a lot of my stories for voting.
However the story I would like you to vote for is; 
THIS IS MY ABUJA 
http://prize.etisalat.com.ng/flash-fiction/voteall.php?id=53
I would be grateful if you:
1. Share this information 
2. Help me motivate friends and family to vote for the story “THIS IS MY ABUJA”
3. Most importantly, PLEASE VOTE FOR MY STORY ! 
Voting lines are open for a few days. I’m sorry for the pressure, but for you my friend, voting is TODAY! 
Thank you. For your data, time and benevolence. 

I hope to return the favor some day, if (for a reason I can’t imagine) I cannot, you have my eternal loyalty and appreciation. 
Regards, 
DAN Ochu-Baiye. 

#danochubaiye

https://prize.etisalat.com.ng/flash-fiction/voteall.php?id=53 NEED YOU TO VOTE FOR MY STORY!
The Etisalat Flash Fiction Competition 2016 has graciously approved a lot of my stories for voting.
However the story I would like you to vote for is; 
THIS IS MY ABUJA 
http://prize.etisalat.com.ng/flash-fiction/voteall.php?id=53
I would be grateful if you:
1. Share this information 
2. Help me motivate friends and family to vote for the story “THIS IS MY ABUJA”
3. Most importantly, PLEASE VOTE FOR MY STORY ! 
Voting lines are open for a few days. I’m sorry for the pressure, but for you my friend, voting is TODAY! 
Thank you. For your data, time and benevolence. 

I hope to return the favor some day, if (for a reason I can’t imagine) I cannot, you have my eternal loyalty and appreciation. 
Regards, 
DAN Ochu-Baiye. 

#danochubaiye

https://prize.etisalat.com.ng/flash-fiction/voteall.php?id=53