Chapter 4: Mist at the Door

Grandma hold uncle, “No go out yet. E fit no be your papa set those banger. Plenty people get banger for this village.”

Her grip iron, eyes wide. She look window, lips dey move in silent prayer.

Uncle say, “Who go just dey set banger for afternoon anyhow?”

He try shake her off, impatience and worry dey fight for him face. The thought of papa in danger make him restless.

Grandma reply, “You no sure. If you just rush go and jam Oga Madu, na death be that. How you take come out from bush just now?”

Her question sharp, eyes narrow. She want every detail—no room for mistake with evil near.

Uncle say, “I crawl come out. Na four leg I use. E go think say na animal pass, no be human.”

He show the movement, pride and relief for face. Grandma nod, her fear small small dey ease.

Grandma sigh. “Good. If Oga Madu come out, na person dey lead am. Since you crawl, e no go know say na human, e no go follow you.”

She fold arm, voice soft but worry still for eye.

I think small, talk, “Grandma, e no pure o. That thing come out. E dey follow us from back.”

The feeling of being watched stick to my skin, I talk am.

Grandma face change. “You sure say you see am come out from bush?”

Eyes wide, voice rise. She look ready to run.

“I see am. E no far from us.”

Memory clear, the wave replay for my head.

Uncle shock. “Behind us?”

Mouth open, eyes dart door like e dey expect am to open.

I say, “Yes, e even wave for me—like say e call me.”

That wave haunt me, hand too long, too thin.

Uncle face just white, e fall sit for bench.

Strength comot from leg. I never see am fear reach—even masquerade no fit do am like this.

“Wahala. If e fit stand for two leg, dey talk, na demon e don turn. Anybody e choose, the family don finish.”

His words hang, heavy like curse. Room shrink, air thick with dread.

Grandma rush ask, “You answer am when e call you?”

She lean forward, hand grip knee, voice sharp.

“Uncle no gree make I talk. And the voice dey harsh, I no answer,” I reply.

I talk quick, heart dey beat. Uncle squeeze my hand, thank you dey shine for him eyes.

Grandma sharp sharp make I remove red jacket, wear black cloth.

She dig old metal box, pull faded black shirt, help me wear am. Her hand dey shake as she button, mouth dey move silent prayer.

I ask why.

Voice tremble, half fear, half confusion. Na my favourite jacket—why hide am now?

Grandma say, “If Oga Madu choose person, e no dey stop till e chop dem finish. If you no answer, e no go sabi your voice. If you change cloth…”

She pause, swallow. Her voice thick with old wisdom. She hide am inside the old clay pot where she dey keep egusi, muttering, “Let him not recognize you.”

Before she finish, we hear heavy ‘gbim gbim’ footsteps for outside the compound wall.

Ground dey shake, dust dey rise. The footsteps sound like mama dey pound yam for evening—bone dey break like dry stick, slow, each one echo deep for house.

You go know say na big living thing.

Even goat under kitchen table stop chew, press flat. Chickens rush coop, feather scatter.

Grandma and uncle look each other.

Their eyes meet, silent fear. Both move at the same time, urgency for every step.

Dem run enter house, lock another door.

Bolt slide, heavy click. Uncle lean on door, cutlass for hand, eyes wild.

Grandma whisper, “Obinna, wahala don start. Call the village chief, make we know if your papa reach there.”

She press phone for uncle hand, voice low. The urgency make me shiver.

Uncle rush call village chief house.

Hand dey shake as he press push-button landline, sweat make number slippery. Each ring loud, like whole village dey hear.

That time, na just few years after government bring telephone to area, mobile phone never plenty. Everybody dey use landline. Village chief house na for official, our own na small shop. Only us and chief get phone for whole village.

The dusty green phone rest for kitchen bench, flies already circling. Uncle press receiver, hope and fear for face.

Uncle call, phone ring tire, nobody answer.

Endless ringing, each buzz stretch fear for room. Uncle tap phone, as if e go force chief to answer.

Uncle hand dey shake. “No way say chief no go answer phone now.”

He look Grandma, dey find comfort. Hand dey tremble, knuckle white.

Grandma say, “Try again.”

Voice steady, but hand dey twist wrapper. I wish I fit believe her calm.

Uncle dial again. Still, nobody pick.

Phone ring bounce for mud wall, each call hammer hope smaller.

Even Grandma come dey fear. “No possible. Even if chief no dey, him wife suppose dey. No be time to cook?”

Her words like prayer, dey hold normal. She look clock, expect answer.

That time, ‘gbim gbim’ footsteps pass by, then return.

We hold breath as sound go, then return stronger. Dust shake, shadow deep.

E stop for our gate.

Silence heavy. Even air no move. My heartbeat loud for ear.

I fit feel say something dey peep inside through door crack.

Skin prick, sense of being watched sharp. Darkness outside dey get eyes.

My whole body hair stand.

Goosebumps dey run from neck to toe. Chest tight, breath short.

“Dong dong dong.”

Knock deep, shake doorframe. No be Grandpa usual rap—this one heavy, get weight.

Grandma hand dey shake as she hold me.

Grip tight, fingers dig shoulder. She dey mutter, "Chukwu, protect us." Her voice low, but faith strong.

Uncle grab cutlass, stand behind door.

He stand wide, ready. Eyes never leave door. Sweat drip from chin.

We three just hold breath, no talk.

Silence thick as ogbono. Each second pass like one hour. My ear dey strain for Grandpa cough or step.

After small time—

“Dong dong dong.”

Three more heavy knocks.

Uncle brace up, shout, “Who dey there?”

Voice loud, but e still dey shake. The question hang, no answer for one second.

“Na me.”

Na Grandpa voice.

Exact tone, even cough at end. My fear reduce small.

I happy, shout, “Grandpa don come back!”

Relief dey bubble, almost laugh. I jump, ready to run open door.

I rush go open door.

The urge to see Grandpa strong. Hand don reach latch—

Grandma drag me back. “No be your grandpa.”

Her grip tight, eyes sharp. She shake head, mouth thin.

“But na grandpa voice,” I talk.

Confusion make my voice high, tears dey come. Why Grandma go doubt her husband voice?

Uncle say, “Na my papa voice. I know am well.”

He too dey hesitate, doubt and longing dey fight. Hand hover for bolt, sweat dey drip from elbow. I see say him dey fight with himself, like goat wey wan cross gutter.

As he talk, he wan open door.

The need to trust papa voice strong. Fingers dey touch bolt.

That time, Grandpa voice come from outside, “Open quick. Oga Madu don come out from bush!”

Urgency high, fear spike. Words rush, almost desperate, like Grandpa wey dey run from rain.

Uncle pull back bolt for house door, go open main gate.

Resolve snap, need to help papa too much. He reach for bolt—

Grandma hold am strong, whisper, “Obinna, no go. That no be your papa.”

Her words cut confusion, stop am. She shake head, voice low.