Scary Knight
Sometime in the 15th Century... Somewhere in Medieval London...
A SHOOTING STAR hurled its plasma-like spear of light across the medieval twilight sky, its luminous lance catching the eye of a young woman laboring in a cornfield alongside other weary slaves. As she watched the celestial display of flaming light nose-diving from the sky, the shooting star hit the forest across the great distance, resultantly sending tremors rippling through the foundation of the earth!
~~~
Present Day...
Somewhere in Lagos...
In his dream, the shooting star’s devastating impact causes a sleeping teenager to spring up abruptly from his bed with a start --
And a scream.
His tortured cry fills up and spills over the edge of the night, shattering the serenity of the night’s silence, and escapes into the neighborhood to find freedom in the emptiness of space.
A nightmare!
he exclaims in thought, momentarily relieved.
His shirt clings damply to his skin, mirroring the moisture that has soaked through his bed. His head throbs relentlessly, not just with a headache, but with the merciless pounding of a severe migraine. He presses his palms against his temples, seeking solace from the sharp, stabbing pains within. Amidst the haze of his discomfort, fragments of memory flicker – a fleeting image of a shooting star plummeting towards Earth, shattering his sleep with a jolt. Yet, the harder he strains to recall, the more his migraine tightens its grip. Eventually, he surrenders to the futility of his efforts, dismissing the event as merely another haunting nightmare.
Or is it?
For if he’s to have the slightest idea of the content of this particular nightmare, perhaps he would have wished not to remember...
He bears the distinct features of a biracial individual, a blend of Black and White ancestry evident in his fair complexion, coppery eyes, slightly pointed yet round nose, and curly black hair. His physique suggests a dedication to regular exercise, with a moderate muscular build. Beyond his physical attributes, he exudes a striking handsomeness reminiscent of a youth: a seventeen-year-young version of an unbearded Majid Michel would come to mind.
He lumbers into the bathroom. Takes a cold bath. Dries up. Puts on fresh t-shirt and blue jean. But refreshing his body does next to nothing in alleviating his severe migraine. Perhaps, a long walk into the night might help, he presumes.
Along the busy street of Ikeja he strolls into the night...
Following a lengthy walk amidst the refreshing breeze, his migraine begins to ease. Consulting his Omega wristwatch, he realizes the hour is growing late and opts to summon a taxi for the journey home.
En route, the taxi encounters an obstacle at the entrance to Allen Avenue – a security iron pipe blocks passage into the street. Glancing at his watch once more, he notes the time: 12:06 am. This obstruction, a routine occurrence, occurs precisely at midnight every night without fail.
“How we go do am, bros?” asks the driver helplessly in Nigerian Pidgin English, as the contract of earning his Six Hundred Naira note for a drop is a function of delivering the young man to his door post.
“No be your fault say security don bar the road,” replies the young man in Pidgin as well. He alights and hands over One Thousand Naira note to the driver. The driver makes a move to get his balance of Four Hundred Naira, but the young man says, “Keep the change.”
The driver grins with a larger-than-life-size show of gratitude. Not only did he fail to fulfill the contract agreement of home delivery, he’s also getting close to a double pay for it, too! “You be correct guy, bros,” he says, saluting the young man with deep respect. “You’re more than too much. In fact, you’re three much!”
The cab drives off into the emptiness of the now deserted street of Ikeja.
As he navigates Allen Avenue on his way home, the young man bends slightly to pass beneath the iron bar, his figure elongated by the streetlights casting his shadow ahead of him. However, halfway down the street, a peculiar occurrence unfolds – a vivid, elongated shadow emerges from a bright-yellow streetlight, looming ominously before him, far surpassing the length of his own.
Involuntarily, a primal sensation courses through his body, a biological response triggered by the uncanny sight. His head swells with a sensation akin to encountering a ghost, an inexplicable tingling that defies rational explanation. After all, unless the perpetrator of this intrusive shadow is a giant, the notion of a human shadow stretching to such lengths defies all earthly logic.
Momentarily startled, he casts a swift glance over his shoulder, yet finds no one behind him. Returning his gaze forward, he finds the eerie shadow is no longer showing. After a moment of contemplation, he rationalizes the experience as a trick of his mind and proceeds with his journey. Glancing back once more, he reassures himself as he confirms the absence of any lurking figures.
However, when he turns back to his front, the mysterious shadow looms forward ahead of his own shadow.
Swinging back in alertness, the long shadow’s owner is not on sight. Flipping to his front, the long shadow’s gone!
“What the hell --?”
Visibly frightened, he hastens his steps, darting his views here and there like a man ghost-haunted.
“What’s the matter, desperado?” echoes a ghastly voice from behind him, sending shivers down his spine. “Do you think you can actually elude your own shadow?”
Startled, the young man whirls around, only to find the street deserted. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, he breaks into a panicked run.
I must be imagining things, he ponders as he flees.
“Think again!” the spectral voice bellows, seeming to pierce his thoughts with eerie precision.
Abruptly halting in his tracks, the young man watches in horror as the sinister, elongated shadow materializes before him. Whirling around, his eyes widen in terror as he identifies the source of the ominous silhouette.
Standing just a few poles away looms the terrifying embodiment of a living nightmare: A demon! Outwardly, the demon presents the guise of a formidable black man, evident to the young man’s eyes. Yet, deep within, a primal intuition whispers a chilling truth: this figure is no ordinary mortal, nor even a typical demon. He is an Ancient One, an Alpha-Romeo from the shadows of Time’s antiquity, hailing from the lineage of Daemons, the original breed of Demon-kind from Ancient Times.
