Chapter 5: The Mountain Grows Darker

To be honest, this explanation make sense pass.

Na only this story fit join all the strange pieces together. Even village herbalist, wey dey claim vision, nod when we break am down. "Na smart pikin, but pain fit drive anybody craze."

Only this method fit make three strong people die without struggle.

For this village, no amount of curse or muscle fit bring down that family. Na only cunning—and poison silence—fit explain am.

Captain Musa change mind, agree say Bilkisu be main suspect.

He call us, eye red, say, "No sentiment for this matter. If na Bilkisu, we go find am. If no be her, truth go show."

But suspect or victim, finding her na the koko.

Every officer alert. Posters with her photo full motor park and market. Village turn web of eyes, all man dey look for shadow.

But for this mountain bush, find person no be beans.

Bush thick, path dey hide, ravine everywhere. Best hunters dey miss road. Mosquitoes dey chop person anyhow.

So we no expect—

Nobody sleep with both eyes for ground. Just as search dey cold, another wahala land.

She no even run bush.

Somehow, she dey hide among us, silent as breeze wey shake plantain leaf midnight.

She still dey hide inside that complicated village.

Some say na juju, some say na sense. Either way, her absence be like ghost dey waka for every corner.

Because that night, another big thing happen—

Thunder crack, rain pour like sky dey cry. Lanterns flicker, village hold breath.

Ezeugo family neighbour—the same people wey report case—become victim too.

Mama Ejiofor rush knock police post door. "Oga, another one don happen! Okafor them! Dem don die!" We grab torchlight, run inside mud.

This family, Okafor, na old couple, both over fifty.

Okafors quiet, respected, never owe anybody. Their house dey always smell of roasted maize and wood smoke, peace dey.

Dem get son and daughter for city, only come back for Christmas.

Children dey send money, photos for colourful frame. Parents dey boast about "Lagos children."

Okafor death wicked pass Ezeugo own.

When we enter room, air thick with blood smell. Even old hunters turn face, bile rise. One swear say spirits dey hover.

While dem sleep, heads smashed with blunt object.

No struggle, no shout—just heavy blow, silence. Bedsheet soak, blood spread like wildfire.

Their skulls scatter like watermelon wey fall for ground.

Sight wey go haunt our dream for years. Village priest burn incense, try chase away evil.

Nothing remain to show say na human being.

Even old dog for family whine, refuse enter. Neighbours dey talk curse, say ground vex.

We quickly find out—

Investigation turn up bloodied stick, thick, stone lash to end. Hide behind woodpile, still sticky.

Killer use wooden stick with stone as weapon.

Crude tool—built with haste and anger. Okafor never get enemy; e no add up.

But their death bring more question.

Whole village dey fear, people dey sleep together, some carry cutlass to bed, others dey pray deep into night.

If na still Bilkisu kill them, why she go kill neighbour?

Nobody fit answer. E no make sense. Even herbalist scratch beard, say, "Dis one pass my power."

If no be her, that means another killer dey?

Cold wind blow, suspicion waka from house to house. No trust again; even chicken dey look us somehow.

Because another big question land—

Moon rise that night, shadow long for compound, we realise: maybe we dey chase wrong ghost.

Bilkisu small woman. After all she suffer, she still get power to kill like that?

Rage fit turn gentle student monster? Or something, someone else dey hide for these bloody curtains?