Chapter 7: The Monster’s Song

After what happened to Baba Musa, sleep run from my eyes. Any time I close my eyes, e be like plenty eyes dey look me.

The shadows in the corners danced, forming shapes of rat and fox and palm tree. Every creak in the house became a footstep. I wrapped myself in old cloths, wishing for my mother, for anyone to hold me.

Under bed, on top ceiling, inside cupboard, outside window.

I saw faces in every dark patch—some familiar, some old, some new. Even the mirror reflected eyes that were not mine.

Every dark corner, everywhere, e be like something dey watch.

At times, I would hear my name whispered from the rain gutter, soft as a lover but cold as death.

If I close my eyes, I still dey hear faint squeaking.

It sounded like it was crawling through my hair, burrowing into my heart. I hugged my knees and whispered, "O Lord, cover me with your blood. Ancestral spirits, make una no vex for my head."

I no send Second Uncle or Grandmother again—I light kerosene lamp, make everywhere bright.

The yellow flame threw shadows on the wall, making the room both safer and stranger. I was determined: tonight, no darkness would swallow me.

Before I even calm down, Second Uncle rush in and slap me.

The blow landed on my ear, ringing loud as Sunday bell. I bit my tongue but held back tears, not wanting to give him the pleasure.

He barked, "You dey waste kerosene like say your papa get oil well!"

He raised the lamp, threatening to smash it. “Light na for who get money, not for bad luck child like you!”

My head buzz, everywhere dark, I fall for ground.

I tasted earth and blood. For a moment, I thought I saw my father’s face in the dirt, but it was only a cockroach scurrying away.

Since my papa die and my mama run, na only servant I be for Second Uncle and Grandmother, always beating and insult.

My hands rough from farm work, my back bent from carrying firewood. Some days, I wondered if the spirits pitied me more than my own family.

If no be say they don plan to sell me to Oga Garba from next village—as bride at fourteen for fifty thousand naira—Second Uncle for throw me comot since.

I had heard him bargaining by the palm tree, “She strong, she get hips, Oga Garba, she go born plenty pikin for you.” My heart froze at the thought.

Just as Second Uncle wan beat me again, noise bust outside.

A woman’s scream split the night, then shouts—loud, urgent, like when a bush fire starts.

“Dem don chop person! Dem don chop person! Monster dey chop people!”

The voice was raw, carrying fear that made the whole compound jump up from their mats. The air vibrated with panic. Even the dogs hid under the steps.

Second Uncle grab torch and rush out. I follow behind.

He shoved me aside, almost falling in his haste. I stumbled but kept close, curiosity and fear mixing in my chest.

During the party, Chief Bako had bought the white rat’s fur from Second Uncle for two hundred and eighty thousand naira, saying he go sew vest and show people.

He had boasted to all who listened, “I go wear am for New Yam Festival. Let dem see say Bako get power!” The village boys followed him around, eyes shining with envy.

Now, seeing Chief Bako again, he don overdo the showing.

No one could have imagined what he would become. The people gasped and scattered, some calling on their gods, others falling to their knees.

His back don bend, hands and legs twist, sharp claws grow from his fingers. The white rat’s fur hold him body like living thing, join with his skin, even multiply—turning him to half-human, half-rat monster.

His mouth split open, teeth yellow and long. His eyes glowed like fireflies in the dark, and his voice—when he spoke—was not his own but deep, echoing with many spirits. Chief Bako’s voice thundered, but the words twist like masquerade song—half rat, half man. Women screamed, children wept. Some elders tried to pray, but their voices failed them.

Second Uncle and some villagers attack am with torch and machete.

They circled, brandishing cutlasses and sticks, hearts beating fast. Some swung their torches, hoping fire would chase the spirit. Others threw sand and salt, muttering old prayers. The air was full of fear and sweat, a night when nobody would forget the power of a single spirit’s betrayal.

Near there, Chief Bako’s boy dey hold him bleeding hand...