by Olanrewaju Odesomi

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-Read Episode 2 of this enthralling story [HERE]

-Read Episode 3 of this enthralling story [HERE]

-Read Episode 4 of this enthralling story [HERE]

-Read Episode 5 of this enthralling story [HERE]

-Read Episode 6 of this enthralling story [HERE]

 

Shola shuddered, as the person moved closer, holding something – the thing hanging loose, and casting a shadow. The person stayed well enough close to the dark area to make him unrecognisable, and sinister.

Shola knew he should close the door, or, at least scream, but something held him back from doing either, or both. The sky rankled above, as lightening struck, momentarily shaking Shola to his marrows. He knew the person could see him clearly, as the front porch where he stood was illuminated.

“Who’s there?” Shola finally called out. There was silence, broken only by another loud scream of the sky, followed by lightening, that reflected against the person, revealing part of his form, as it sparkled against the shining object in the persons right hand.

Instinctively, Shola lunged inside, banged the door, and bolted it simultaneously, resting momentarily against it, as his heart stabbed at his chest. Lightening stuck twice again. He knew they would soon disrupt power. They obliged him immediately, as the sitting room went dark, and quiet. So quiet infact, he could hear his own heart beat. He listened for any sound from outside, as he rested his ears against the door. They were coming for him, he knew it.

He could hear the person’s footsteps as it drummed against the floor, Boom! Boom!, like the rasping sound of a semi-automatic riffle. The sound was magnified tenfold by the deathly silence enveloping the room, and it increased with each step towards the door. The sky made one last attempt at warning, before releasing a torrent of rain drops that pounded ceaselessly against the roof, drowning the footsteps outside.

The rain suddenly stopped, and he thought he heard the heavy breathing of someone at the other side. He went still, listening for any sound. All he could hear was the sound of water dropping from the roof, and splashing on the ground. He held his breath, but instead, the rain picked up again, and pounded away at the roof.

He could somehow feel the person at the other side of the door. He couldn’t hear anything going on outside as the falling rain drowned all else, but he knew the person was less than a feet away, only separated by the door. Should he scream for help? Or was he imagining things, like Michael before his disappearance?

The rain suddenly stopped, and he thought he heard the heavy breathing of someone at the other side. He went still, listening for any sound. All he could hear was the sound of water dropping from the roof, and splashing on the ground. He held his breath, but instead, the rain picked up again, and pounded away at the roof.
Someone was definitely as his door. He could bet his life on it – what would remain of it at least.

———————————————————-

It was raining when Isaac got home. This time, they didn’t bother to drive him home, just told him to leave, when the meeting was over. He had to take the bus, and one leaking profusely, doing little to cushion the pouring rain.

He was soaked when he knocked at his gate. He knocked again. It was dark, as there was no power, and most people didn’t bother to put on their generators. His could barely see past a few feet as the lack of power, coupled with the pouring rain made it hard to do so.

There was a flash of light suddenly coming towards him. A car possibly, and its light pointed directly at him as it snaked towards him. He cursed at the fool driving, without dimming his light, and turned to avoid it getting into his eyes, as he knocked again.

The light moved over him, as the car got closer, suddenly stopping beside him. Isaac stopped knocking, and turned. He couldn’t see who was in the car, as the inside was pitch dark. He stood in the rain, hands in waist, and waited. The windows rolled down.

“Make sure you finish the job tomorrow.” A deep voice said. Isaac stood tranfixed, squinting to see who was there.
“No more room for error. Find Muna, and take her out. Leave Shola, I’ll handle him myself.” The rain increased suddenly, punctuated by powerful bursts of lightenings that shook Isaac physically. He was suddenly shivering, and it was not just down to the rain. It felt like being in the presence of someone back from the dead.

“Who are…” He wasn’t allowed to finish before the car jerked forward without preamble, flashing its lights as it moved on, towards the end of the street.

The gate suddenly opened behind him. Isaac turned, and saw their house help standing there, holding the gate wide open. She knelt down, and greeted him. He turned, and looked at the car again. It was now almost out of sight. It was a jeep. That was the only thing he knew. And the voice – it was familiar, like one he knew, or have heard many times before.

He turned, and went inside, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought, and spine tingling with dread.

———————————————————–

Shola suddenly remembered his family, and dashed inside to check on them, the backlight from his phone guiding him. He found them both soundly asleep – bola, even snoring peacefully. Both faced each other, sideways on the bed. He longed for their innocence, and carefreeness. He closed his eyes, and said a little prayer. What would happen to them if he died? His daughter would become an orphan.

He wasn’t going to die, he tried to convince himself. At least not without a fight. He crossed himself, and left their room. He went to the kitchen, and took a log of wood, that was kept behind the gas stove since Aimee’s birthday party last year.

With it, he moved slowly, soundlessly, back to the sitting room, his phone in his other hand. He stepped over Michael’s file, and note on the center rug. It seemed a lifetime ago that he wanted to check those two for any sort of alignment. In reality, it was only fifteen minutes.

The rain was already abating, when he got to the door. He listened for any sound. Nothing, except the sound of the rain. He sat by the door, and switched off his phone, the plank lying on his lap.

There was a knock. His body instinctively jerked up, throwing the log into the air, and it landed on his feet. He silently writhed in pain. He was shaking, but he was also quiet. He took the wood in both hands, and tried to normalize his breath.

A second knock sounded, and he almost dropped the wood again. He was shaking so hard, he could barely hold on to it.
“Who is there?” He managed to ask. There was silence. Although he was in pitch darkness, even he could see the fear in the room, palpable, and obvious like a smoke from a fire. He was having trouble breathing with ease, and his heart was pumping dangerously, and furiously fast.

“It’s me.” A female voice finally supplied. A familair female voice. Shola blinked.

“It’s Muna. Open up. Am dying of cold here.”

He dropped the wood. It made a noisy, clumsy connection with the tiled floor.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

“Please open. Am serious. Someone is after me.”

He pressed a button on his phone, took three deep breaths, and turned the key, and opened the door. She jumbed inside, water cascading from everywhere on her body, even from her hand bag. Shola opened his mouth, and closed it again.

Muna locked the door, turning the key. “There are out there. I believe am next, and then, maybe it’ll be your turn.” She was shivering, but was trying to keep a hardened stance. “But I have a plan.” She dropped her bag. It had a metal handle.
“Who is outside?” Shola asked. She just starred, as she hugged herself. She turned facing the door, then checked if it was locked. She nodded.

“It’s past time we had a plan, too.”

“What plan, and why?” He was breathing much easier now. “First, let me know what am into, and what’s going on here. Then, we plan, if we have to.” He said.

She sighed, and said “Ok, will tell you everything I know.”

—————

Olanrewaju Odesomi is an accounting graduate, and a Certified Customer Care Professional. He is a dreamer who dances to his own music, and whose peak is yet to be conquered. Guilty of writing.