The DarkKnight

DARKNIGHT

The First Cursed!

THE GENESIS WAS A TRAVESTY

So many stories ragged with true-life hints, but mine is more of a certain reality, a confession, I deeply wish to express if you have enough patience to bear it all. If this story that makes up a large chunk of my life is an extract from the devil’s script, then, we can say he has done a fine job of it. And personally, I mean the whole thing in all its horridness. I still remember vividly. It was a frightening, stormy as well as extremely dark Tuesday afternoon with so much fury in the atmosphere as if the day has suddenly developed its own mind, and has decided to be vexed with humanity for no specific reason. Nigeria, for those who already know it, is one tried place and here again this stormy Tuesday. It was a day that completely established the fact that sometimes nemesis and desires are two parallel lines that can surreptitiously intertwine to influence the fate of mankind. These are common phenomena that can easily lock themselves in our psyche, common routines and even lifetimes without us knowing, or having any power to alter them even when we know. But then, back to this Tuesday, it looked as if night has suddenly and sinuously come blackening and heartlessly taking over the day. The same stormy night seemed to have taking the place of the sun and even the moon as well.

The air felt dry and stale with a slightly heavy wind blowing dirt with any other fragile pieces across and about the tall houses marking the metropolis terrains. This was sooner followed by a murky and heavy rush of the combination of dust and rain; slashing into people’s faces — with the same vexation. I think. Honestly, the day itself seemed prepared to burst open a secret, perhaps, I think it’s now I should make my confession open here. My confession is about betrayal, strife and something close to magic if you believe in the African voodoo anyway.

Now to start with, I must say that even the day itself knew I was unjustly implicated in a crime I have not committed, or have any clear knowledge of. This stormy Tuesdays met us in a law court. But then, in spite of the atmospheric craze, all the people that should have been mine, I mean my own family, in their worrisome euphoria were sort of downright determined to send me to jail. And my mind could seemingly read their lips seething beneath their clench teeth — to jail you lousy bastard!

I was walked, or should I say shoved, in cuffs into the tiny box meant for the respondent. I felt like an annoying bug preserved for some other wicked swap of the slipper. There was no other way for one not to conclude that these people, the judge inclusive, were in a hurry to have me imprisoned. The judge would summarily refute and decline any objection raised by my counsel.

I was in a bigger trouble than I thought I was. The mess I have gotten myself into seemed to be getting deeper and uglier as I grasped for breath where there’s obviously none.

My counsel, no doubt, a brilliant barrister also knew he was walking a tightrope with a pole laden with vipers on both ends. He fought tenaciously for both of us. You will understand in earnest and better why I said ‘…for both of us.’ Like I said, he fought but all his punches, his alibis, seemed futile or even nonexistent against the presumably brick-walled obstinacy of the judge and these people in this darkened courtroom.

The courtroom was filled with the judge’s searing voice of ‘objection granted!’ to the prosecuting lawyer, when my lawyer could barely get one. Aside this, quite a number of people in the courtroom were already seething at my lawyer and contemptuously hurling unreserved insults at him; systemically drawing the curtain on whatever alibi he might possess under his belt. These continual displays of attitude and outbursts forced the court’s clerk to intermittently shout for orderliness in the courtroom, and a stringent reminder that whoever refused to control to do likewise would be thrown out of the courtroom, or given some prison terms.

Gradually, I was seeing my fragile fate... and hope for acquittal, going down the drain. Permit me to say here that it was like the battle of two hares against a pack of wolves; hounding and lolling their tongues hungrily for a few pieces of their flesh. My lawyer and I are the hares and the courtroom and, perhaps, its entire people are the wolves. My case is the only lawsuit my lawyer can use to set right the scores; repair his damaged pride, retrieve his relationship and perhaps the financial lost he has so incurred in these past few months. Now you see why I said earlier that he is fighting for both of us. Somehow, I felt he could as well have cursed me for these neck-deep challenges. But then, I saw him choosing to handle my case, perhaps for sake of humanity, the truth or the name, Osare, even if it means he could eventually lose.

This battle which had been for three months with feverishly painful blows from both ends has become a big issue for the outside world and the ’inner worlds’ alike. It was a fight to finish between the prosecutors and defendants — a tooth and nail fight. However, it eventually ended this Tuesday with the expected verdict as the judge hurriedly pronounced his judgment in a mild cocky voice,

“After much deliberation, I finally discovered that you, Mr. John Osare, is guilty of the crime charged. And hereby sentenced you to ten years imprisonment with hard labour for the murder of…”

The words trailed off my consciousness. They trailed off my sanity. I cried and felt an infuriating urge to burst out of this ‘wrongly accused’ box; hit the judge, the prosecuting lawyer and the entire people in the courtroom upside the head for these deceptive terms as ‘After much deliberation…’ ‘Guilty of the crime charged….’ ‘With hard labour…..’ In fact, there hasn’t been any deliberation whatsoever anywhere. Besides, there can’t be such. These people have only carried out their selfish intention without a thought for any decent fair hearing or reliable post-mortem. Honestly, within me, I know there simply just can’t be any post-mortem whatsoever. And worst still, I was charged for murder which every one of them should know was a blatant frame up. I am not the criminal here. These people are the criminals. The forces behind it all, and the legal system that has made itself manipulate-able are the criminals here. I am not!

I always personally wondered why the phrase ‘hard labour’ is always included in court sentences. Is there anything as “mild labour” in the life of a prisoner? Honestly, I must say here that my name and pedigree so destroyed are enough hard labour than any other within the walls of a prison yard. And worst still, when one is mystically and maliciously framed, charged and sentenced, what else remained mild about such outcome?

The tears kept coming. I was undaunted though, and also felt there is no point in being ashamed to shed tears as a man at such legal impropriety, falsehood and gross hatred in a law court that has so coloured its judgment. But then, can I blame them? No. This is a situation far beyond me. The little strength in me fizzled. My body, just like my spirit, was gradually becoming wimpy, and the scrawny weal on it wasn’t helping matter in even dealing with the pains. I knew I was passing out fast, and I also knew my tears weren’t to crave a non-existing sympathy, but like every other person with enough imagination to directly charge the good God that I know to be right there in heaven, for allowing such hatred and manipulation to loom justifiably without any form of resistance or rejection. Or perhaps, have I already been asking too much of him? My thought sparkled into many wild imaginations, the very vengeful ones, like seeing this deceptive and arrogant judge punched in the face by an imaginary fist from nowhere just like the biblical one that wrote on the wall of the banquet hall of the ancient Babylonian king, and therefore leaving this judge’s selfish face irreparably damaged beyond recognition. I mean like plainly grotesque and sorry. But still, I would be unreasonable to think a physical judge should be expected to be a judge of all anywhere and anytime. Some people are far beyond any impotent judge for all I understood... some people are despots where others grovelled for crumbs.

Come to think of it, I thought it’s a sort of general belief that top judges should belong to one occult fraternity or another? That they are themselves enigmatic when it comes to things like been mystically manipulated during their mercurial processes of passing judgments?

I felt a sharp tug on my chest. It woke me from this reverie in time to see this same judge discussing with somebody I don’t think I know, along the hallway of some entrances into the court building. His duty for that day seemed over. He looked so ordinary as if I should walked up to him and give him a whack on the head so hard that will open up his skull. He also seemed to have forgotten about me so quickly. But, who would blame him, people dish it out the way they, themselves, can’t even smell it — let alone taste it.

I believed it is only God that can be the true judge of all. But now, I’m not really sure what I believe anymore. Somehow, I felt a strange tingling somewhere up my chest that, perhaps if this man had pronounced my death sentence right there in the court room, would there have been any objection or someone to stop him? And worst still, this is the same way he would’ve forgotten he just sentenced another human to death, and as expected continued discussing as if nothing had happened or as if I never exist. At this point, I felt a bit scared at such enormous power. If he had done exactly that, I would’ve been taken straight to the gallows and that would be all. Fatality and humanity are on one side of the coin, while unflinching professionalism remained on the other. I managed a brief smile... who then said the devil is not an angel within his own domain?

Someone must’ve noticed the hatred lining my mien as I watched the man continued his discourse innocently, because I got the tug again on my ribs, more of a shove; probing me to move on. It was one of the prison wardens. I felt his eyes drove around my body as he said directly into my ear in a very low coarse metallic voice meant for just me, “No need to hate him, fool. He’s only doing his job based on the facts presented. So, move!” At that instant, as if he heard the officer, the judge turned toward my side, flashed me a quick-yet-discerning look characterising people of his profession before continuing his discussion. And like I said earlier, his look summarised it all, as if I never existed in the first place.

Although, my eyes were still glistering with tears, I surprisingly realized I wasn’t regretting anything or afraid of the sentence anymore, or hating anyone for it. My mind seemed made up and if need be, even ready to face a death sentence — the electric chair, noose or whatever toxin these guys inject into the system of any condemned persons became nothing to me. I felt it would have been incredibly stupid to go about things the way I thought initially. I mean charging with rage out of the accused box and probably murdering the judge and any other persons in the court. I smiled again, that would’ve been a quicker death sentence anyway, and even when it’s obviously slim a chance of an accused charging at the judge’s seat before been shot down by the court orderlies. Attacking and possibly killing a judge after his or her pronouncement has always been the fantasy of every accused person anyway. A thought only he, can truly understand. But carrying out such has equally been as fictitious as simply walking gaily out of a courtroom straight home, after being sentenced to death. Likewise, plotting the demise of a judge or the family after unfavourable judgement may be a probable. But not right there inside the courtroom while the proceeding is still on, and where he or she is nothing short of god-personified. I smiled for the last time. Fate has, sort of, played a hard one on me and like a man I have enjoyed it irrespective of how it’s been played.

Ever since I realized life is all about events and its various consequences and rewards, I see my life as a series of events, the ones I would personally tag very unpalatable. As I sat on one of the thread-bare and rickety bunks inside my cell my thought wavered once more. I must confess here that I can’t even remember the cell it was — prison or police. Although, there are few numbers of prison yards in the country that are as terrible as the policies behind them, but then, you have to be assigned yours, and mine was in the far northern part of the country, precisely in Maiduguri. I was a weak flightless bird, meant to be preyed on by circumstances and the entire body of all dark forces available. Remember I mentioned something about the ‘inner worlds’ earlier in this story. Yes, the combination of all the powers of these dark forces is what I tagged the inner worlds, which means a large part of my story has one or two to do with mysticism, voodoo, magic and such. It’s indeed, a story where the beginning is intertwined in complexities of mysterious confusions in which I have been entangled and prepared for... destruction.

Now, here is my story in earnest. I must first say that the life and events that preceded my being victimised, trialled and jailed went thus... when I was younger, about sixteen, I was dating a girl some years younger than I was and in a lower class in the same secondary school I attended. I think that should be Year 2 lower class if I still remember. I was in the final class, just about to sit my West African Examination Council papers when I met her, and for the first three years we were dating steady. Talking of beauty, she is nothing less of an epitome with her clear and smooth skin, lovely voice and hair, although low-cut, it would still tell anyone with some good imagination that once she is out of the academic strait-jacket, she is bound to look like some Indian goddess with her hair bundling down her neck and shoulders. She has a perfectly shaped body and those killer curves in their right places. And in rare addition, she also has a functioning brain that carved a niche for her as one of the most intelligent in her class. Honestly, then I could count myself among the lucky few to get such a girl even though I was in a senior class with parents that are wealthy. But then, without knocking myself so hard though, I too was one of the best therein with the likes of Felix Idube — the duper, Michael Oni, Dare Olawale to mention a few of my friends. We were always representing my school in, virtually, all academic exploits, wherever we are head-to-head with other schools. Those days, I must confess that rich and intelligent boys usually sought after intelligent girls like Casey Igbosele, and vice-versa. Thus, I never thought there has been any mistake made in our relationship. And we, indeed, enjoyed it while it lasted. However, to drive the story more homely, just like most children those days, there’s less attention to the boarding schools. I live with my parents. My dad was an energetic disciplinarian who was as eager to support education to any level as he was as eager to make money. I was his only child. He was a highly educated man himself a doctoral degree holder in Marine engineering. Unfortunately after my birth, the family doctor had advised that my mum may never be able to conceive again due to some complications. He furthered on that it was even by miracle I was delivered alive. He stressed that my mum has had some health issues from birth that can probably hinder fertility, and these were gravely aggravated by her eventually becoming pregnant. For sake of emphasis here though, I was born through caesarean. I can still hear her tortuous voice reeking with pains as she sometimes continually repeated the doctor’s advice, even after years of giving birth to me, in a voice sinuously filled with that irritating dispensary odour known with medical practitioners, Mrs Osare, your tubes were malefic and twisted. The conception and delivery of your son was a miracle. I’m sorry you may remain infertile for a long time to come... therefore, take good care of him. I know exactly what you were thinking. And I must also tell you that even though I remained her only child, my mum never spoil me one bit — doting over me though, but never had me spoilt. These words were always hard, bitter and deep, but then, the deepest point is that in this part of the world, a man with just a child even when it is a son, believe me, Africans value son-ship for sake of lineage continuity, will still find an excuse to cheat; claiming he needed to have a daughter too... for sake of sensitivity.

These are some of the painful situations of an average coloured woman in Africa. Sometimes, I don’t even know which is more painful; her situation as a woman who seemingly must obey and satisfied her husband and society in spite of her doctor’s claim, or the fact that she is pronounced sterile. At first, the doctor’s claim about my mum’s health and infertility, or say damaged tubes, seemed inconsequential to my parents and their marriage until at seven she was still unable to conceive, thus, having no other child aside me. Somehow, I felt this certain part of their lives had cultivated a sort of secrecy between them. A kind of secrecy even I, their son, in spite of all my attempts couldn’t prize open over the years. Yet, I do commend the fact that they did so much together without complaints or nursing any negative thought about their infertile condition. Eventually, it became obvious that the secret hasn’t been far-fetch after all; they have been together long enough to understand that it was just the common love they shared, and are ready to stand for each other within the family battles — wedged by the extended family members of both sides for one gnomic reason or another. It was a ritualistic kind of love which is bound to tempt anyone to believe they were on a kind of magical oath. My Father ardently refused the prodding of his people to get a second wife who would bear him more children. Polygamy is almost no issue in this part of the world. They tried all possible means; claiming my existence wasn’t enough assurance that he would be buried by his children and even grand children after he passed on, at his old age, as their custom demands. In their malicious ruse they labelled my mum a witch. A demonic agent sent to ruin their son, her husband’s life. To this end, they are always coming up with barrage of fictitious spiritual affirmations so as to make my father have a change of heart. Probably, as a means to fight back or simply because she was scared, over time, my mother started dropping her firmness. She began to monitor and send private investigators after my dad so as to be sure the man was actually sticking to his claims about not securing another family outside their marriage. Through the same family members, my father got wind of it and was so vexed. And like, that minor fits started creeping into our once united family, and before long heavier and longer quarrels — and even fights!

The devil has set in, and my mum started driving into the path of over pampering me. I was not used to this, and subsequently we were all derailing into utter confusion altogether. These series of fight has bore into accusations springing up from every excuse, even crazily unreasonable ones. In spite of this, my mother kept to her guns; claiming, “Osunbor, I must tell you that my son, John, is the only claim I have to this world before you and your wicked family, and I will never let it wither away!” Just like every other man with his own personal conceit, my father became furious. He saw my mother as the initiator of the demise of their once sweet family. All excesses weren’t expected to be curbed, and in fact, my mum was specifically creating some imaginary ones with the mindset of since your father is rich spoil yourself silly. I knew I wasn’t like that. I have come in time to prefer the way I was brought up and nothing could change that. As expected, I started having issues with even my mother over these as well. She was also trying to force my father to do same till I got into the university with the accusation that if indeed he has no intention of raising another family like she’s been hearing, he should spoil me silly. My family within this period has turned around to become those kinds of family where any words easily become a racket, even within the neighbourhood. It was in my university days when my father made it clear to me to always be on his side, because he would rather not have a child than have a spoilt-silly one. My mum’s over dotting attitudes started causing me embarrassments within circles of friends in school and at home; earning me such nicknames as Mummy’s pet, Her apron’s string, Jonnie-bobo, Spoil-me-little-more, My boy and even Omo Alhaja, which literarily means the child of a big shot Muslim woman, when in fact none of my family member was even a Muslim.

Years after, I should probably be thinking about settling down with a woman I love, so as to raise a family of my own. But then, the crisis that took me to prison occured, and everyone, including my parents started looking the same direction. However, just a little bit more about my family, I will say to a reasonable extent, my father was a quiet extrovert. Rare combination, isn’t it? And I definitely took my high proficiency in mathematics and other scientific thinking from him. I got my ingenuity in smooth talking, distinct sense of expression from my mother, Titilayo Osare. She was a graduate of Communication art from one of the notable universities here in Nigeria. She used to have her ways smoothly with people within the high class society even before she met my father. But then, we can’t hide the fact that each helped the other to grow to full potential over time in all ramifications. However, apart from the recent and near-perpetual rancour that has coloured my family, we can generally say that my parents are sophisticated and well-to-do. They are one of those set of people, anyone would refer to as an upper class in an apparently struggling county like mine. All these coupled with my attempts at trying out on girls for a wife material contributed to my being a homemade Casanova and of course any girls’ favourite on campus. And girlfriends to me then were like shirts — you wear one today and keep the other on the shelf for another day. I don’t even have to woo most of the time before I get attentions, they just seemed attracted to me for these obvious reasons. And like that in my university days, I was a member of so many clubs and societies, except cultism. And extensively, I recorded one of the highest numbers of one-night stands. Venereal diseases were like headaches; they come and go. I was just lucky to have quitted before I started hearing tales of friends, even close ones now living with H.I.V/AIDS, and even worse. It was a scary narrow escape and I live in dread of this till date. Ironically, not for fear of what the disease would do to me, but the fear of how my parents, especially my mother would be traumatized at the end of it all. I was the only egg in their basket.

In spite of all of these, eventually I fell in love with a young lady towards the end of my school years as an undergraduate. Stella, just as her name suggested, really held my heart and like that, I decided to settle down and start a family with her. As expected, she has heard about my brief illicit and exuberant past with women, and I have gone the length to convince her that I have changed; proving to her enough to be part of my life. Asides, I simply just have to hide some of my dirty past from her. I told her countless times that all what she heard were majorly made-up stories and outright lies from those that do not want us to succeed together, if this is true or not even I, didn’t know that much. After all, stories grow wings and fly to where you can never contemplate. She believed me, not just because I said a lot of things, but because, as it seemed, I had the backings of her own blood sister, whose name is Janet, in fact, her twin Sister — the Ananias’ twin.

To show appreciation for what Janet was doing for me; covering up and solidifying any of my seemingly troubled positions with her sister, I took them out together most of the time. And sometimes, we go to expensive and classy shopping malls to buy things. Stella, to some extent even within the sphere of her good nature, felt uncomfortable about the closeness our relationship is maintaining with Janet to the extent that she quibbled during one of our outings, “Who exactly is your girlfriend, John? Me or my sister?”

Perhaps, it is safer for me to say that Stella saw all these gestures as merely a point of extending an arm of platonic friendship to her sister. But then, I felt she somehow had her reservations. There is more to what met the eyes. Seriously, something is hidden.

Janet on her own was indeed getting too close and almost interfering in our relationship, and sometimes becoming a troubling subject in what should be our private moments together. We argue over this. There is no sense in me dating your sister behind you while I’m already so much in love with you. I had tried to prove in many ways to Stella, but strangely, I must say I don’t know where she’s getting this crazy idea from. Too much of soap opera? I had wondered. She was becoming impatient about this to the extent of paranoia. And me? Well, wondering what exactly could’ve been the problem, because suspicion of incest between me and my intended sister-in-law was far from being sensible to me. I asked her if there is anything she needs me to know about her family, and she responded in the most worrisome way possible that the only regret she has in life was having Janet as her Sister and worse still, her twin Sister which systemically guaranteed the fact that they would be expected to be seen together during some occasions. I laughed and trivialized this with the hope that Stella was just overreacting or just joking. But then, she tenaciously maintained to my horror that the excessive interference in our relationship excuse was just a ruse. She had hated her ever since, even before we met!

I felt a kind of shudder ran down my spine. What am I getting myself into here? Is this a family I can happily belong? And as if that wasn’t enough, she further shocked me when I asked her about her reasons for hating her sister so much. She shrugged flippantly, “Well, maybe, I don’t have any reason, John.”

I was forced to worriedly ask further, “For goodness sake! Stella, there must just be a reason, clear or not. Please, why?” And as if still bent on killing me with continually weird or no reasons whatever, she voiced coldly and cursorily, “She is a damn stupid witch!”

Somehow, to this I felt a little relief. Stella can’t possibly be serious now. She was just being jealous, and I laughed within me with a simple conclusion, ladies and their problems. All in all, couldn’t she have just called to simply ask me not to take Janet along anytime we are going out, instead of all this made-up tales about her sister being a witch and a whole case of annoying person? Summarily, I maintained that the entire fuse about Janet helping me to woo her sister was a big smoke screen, a big lie, and I also knew she couldn’t have convinced Stella to date me even if she could in the first place if she so hate her gut. I don’t feel bothered anymore about Stella’s statements and all her spiteful shots at her sister. After all, every woman would want complete privacy with her man. As for me I also maintained that Janet might’ve been all her sister called her, except stupid! And being a witch? Oh please!

“Anyway, honey, she is your sister. You’re supposed to respect her and her opinions at least,” I breezed lightly; cautioning her, “Besides, from all I’ve seen, she does respect you. Remember?”

Stella just stared at me in a second and adamantly looked away like a sagacious adult who prefers to simply leave a little ignorant kid to his folly. She didn’t even respond to my statement. Rather, she just changed the direction of discussion altogether. She seemed to really possess a very dark spot somewhere within her mind for her. To me, this is simply jejune not worthy of attention. However, one thing is certain that for all the time we were together, she had sort of deceptively shielded these from her, if really she did, and also somehow from me.

I used to think Janet must surely be the bad girl, the black sheep of her family, until when I started noticing something I could barely explain myself. Whenever we are all together, Stella was the nice pretty girl looking out for her sister and likewise her sister, Janet, for her too... or so I was made to believe. But once, the two are apart, she would start hissing and spitting with a kind of deeply incredulous disgust as if she was some poisonous viper.

As if that wasn’t enough, I nearly passed out when I discovered that this same attitude was equally enshrined in their parents and their only sibling — a boy named Paul. So many questions started popping up in my mind. Is Janet even their real daughter? What could she have done to warrant such inhuman hatred? Then, seeing her completely as the black sheep of her family and the hate child seemed unbearable. However, these sort of, gave me some respite to see that Stella might not be so alone in this unreasonable show of hatred and jealousy after all. There are obviously some hidden things Janet might’ve done or possessed which others disapproved of, or perhaps a certain constant and blatant disregard of her family ideology. The bottom line is something is hidden of which no one, not even my girl, was ready to expose to me or any other outsider. At least, for now as she had severally made me believed. I was sympathetic about Janet’s situation though. In time, things started taking shapes, my confused sympathy had mixed with some emotional commitment I still find difficult to understand even till date, other than the frail explanation that it seemed to spring right from the depth of the unknown, or to be more expressive the abyss of hell itself. An abyss I can say was, no doubt, the beginning of my problems and, in fact, the genesis of this story. Why? One hot and boring afternoon, I made a grave mistake. One thing led to another and I found myself sleeping with my girlfriend’s sister. I slept with Janet Ananias after returning from an outing she manipulated for just the two of us. We returned from there, an eatery not so far from my house and instead of taking her straight to her own home, she made me drove her to mine. It was not strange for me to listen to her complain about how she detest going to her own house anyway. The weather was hot, the house was empty, we were horny and well, the rest was history. With lust searing through our souls, we made love like never before; tearing at each other like two love racoons that had been deprived of each other’s desires a long time. As an Ananias, a troubled one at that, I expected Janet to keep our raucous escapade secret enough. But unfortunately, I realized I had asked for too much, because it sooner became a routine. She was supposed to stop me, I mean our incest, even if I have lost control as a man — rather she tore me to pieces like a tigress. Yes, the tigress she was.

After this act, I lost my face in their home, more from fear of the unknown than the confidence that our little secret is kept. Strangely, I was seeing hallucinations, images I can’t define. Always seeing myself in that sinful-yet-pleasurable entwine with Janet, even when I was with Stella. Honestly, I know I’m not falling in love with Janet, in fact, far from it. But I discovered that I was in a serious mind war. A conscience war with no other person but myself, of course, I daren’t tell Stella or any other person about it. There was a disturbing secret already dangling within the Ananias’ family, and it would be plain stupid of me to dangle another. I have lived long enough to know that keeping secrets is the bane of relationships, and not keep secrets can also devastatingly ruin one. It’s better not to have started some things, especially when you simply can’t expose them, and if you eventually do... how do you stop them?

It is not like Janet and I were sexing like gibbons since then. But, once or twice, I felt utterly dismembered when Stella gave me one of those piercing stares of hers, as if she knew something I don’t and bent on emotionally killing me for it. Not having any prescient knowledge of people’s thought, especially about you is well enough death sentence when you understand they definitely know something about you which to you it’s even oblivious. But then, Janet’s silence and near-thespian sophistry seemed to take care of everything. I felt covered with her, without any forebear that she would eventually be the source of my dirty exposure. She pretended as if nothing ever happened between us. Even when both went back to their pretentious show of attitudes, I somehow always felt sheepish between these two sisters, especially whenever we are all together. As crazy as this could be, in fact, Janet continued to encourage me to be faithful to her sister; openly protecting her interest even in her absence. She once threatened me that I should make sure I fulfilled the promise I made her or else she would get really down with me. The promise to marry her of course.

Their strange attitudes, sort of, became a routine, Stella was pretending to like Janet as opposed to what she kept telling me, and by extension what I was seeing within their family. And Janet too was pretending to like her sister while seriously sleeping with her boyfriend, and of course fiancé. Don’t judge me yet. The world is one place filled with more than enough secrets already, and besides the family was one warped contraption and as for... Janet? She was so sweet a lover with enough to make a man loose his mind if care is not taken — not much of a curvy beauty like Stella though, but a behemoth of sex if I may say just that.

I can still remember the day she dragged me into a corner somewhere on their street and warned me severely, “John, make sure you marry her. Or else, I will create so much exposé on our little secret. I like you. I would love to have you only to myself, and besides you know how much hatred for me is cheap in that house. I wouldn’t want to deprive my sister this one joy she has because at home, she brightens exceedingly whenever any discussion brings you up. Without you, I can be sure she would die!” and she kicked in a troubling final statement, you may as well quote me paradoxically, honey. I had wondered what she meant by that anyway, until years later. But then, I thanked her, unclenched her fingers from my wrist and left for my own home; still wondering and like she said... turning her last statement over in my mind for long time.

Janet may not be as beautiful or academical as Stella, but she possessed her own qualities too. She was nice, insightful and succinct in a way that may be oppressive if one fails to understand her main points. I thought she would exploit and even blackmailed me into more obscenities with her. However, I must confess that although we did have some lewdly times, but at a point, she ordered us to stop even when all other times and chances in the world seemed to let their doors opened. She wasn’t selfish. I did like her for this though. Her maturity in dealing with emotionally troubling issues, adult issues, was staggering. And I began to wondered where such excuse of an allegation of witchery, or whatever, is coming from. We all have skeletons in our cupboards, and shouldn’t fictitiously cry wolf at other people’s shortcomings. Although, the sensuous contacts between Janet and I stopped, but invariably, the emotional one that started it in the first place began to develop again, and in fact this time supercharged. I was gradually reverting into my lecherous earlier days of seeing women as just about any items to be used and thrown away. Something in me was driving the course of this obvious disaster, because inasmuch as I tried to evade Janet from my mind, she kept coming as large as possible. Even as a self-tagged conceited ladies man, I was failing woefully. I remember once, when she overtly affirmed that I have to stop dragging her into what she wanted stopped. She followed this with a mild threat. She always had this way of both being mild and threatening though. But then, I took the threat with a pinch of salt with an excuse that, if I throw it at you, is it a must you catch it? As a man, mine is to throw, and yours is to catch or not. I can’t stop throwing it at her even though she has made up her mind not to catch it — I’m attached.

My thought started ringing in many mischievous and strange directions, especially whenever I’m quietly alone, that, “Why hadn’t Janet come into the picture before Stella? I would’ve settled down long ago. Perhaps, that’s the witchery her family members were referring to, and purportedly accusing her of. Who can blame a girl for knowing exactly how to treat a man in the other room, and probably snatching him away from another girl?”

I hate to say that, like a salacious arrangement from the devil himself, what was meant to end was fuelled. My nerves were at breaking point for Janet to the extent that without a thought of her, my days weren’t made. I was in lust and crazy. However, I was contented with Janet’s position just for us to still be together. I dated the two sisters with ease; becoming the stupid champion I used to be. Women were again like my properties to be used and dump, or better still, I was a property of these two sisters; with one, I was to be used and probably dumped while with the other, I was to endure a marriage that may not last, because my heart was in my mouth. Excuse me, I mean in another person’s mouth — to be masticated!

There is another secret aside the ones kept in the Ananias’ family. I came to know that secrets are bad, and keeping dangerous secrets deprived the keeper of peace of mind. I also knew that I have been fed something beyond ordinary, possibly a lust charm from the bottom of hell. Here, I believed was the witchery. I was withering within the Ananias’ mysterious circle and my parents were not seeing this until that fateful day, 15th of June 2009, when the entire family, excluding Janet, perished in a road accident. They went for a family leisure at the Kuramo, of course without Janet because they were still fanning the ember of hatred and the phenomenon of the black sheep of the family. On their way from Kuramo beach, along the Lekki-Epe expressway right in the heart of Lagos, their car skidded off the road into a ditch and that was it. That was the end of the Ananias as I believed. A family of father, mother, Stella and Paul, the last child, were gone. They left home earlier in the day for the beach, but never got back home... again.

Should one begin to imagine Janet would be happy about this, that her exclusion has become her redemption, or expect her to be sorrowful that she lost all her family members even though she has every reason not to?

I later learnt that Janet’s father and sister eventually died after been taken to a nearby hospital with a faint passing shout of the word Axa. Only God knows what that really means, but the doctors at the hospital were saying they were shouting “Ask her” like ask who anyway? Axa or Ask her? That would’ve been the last of my problems if not for Janet herself. Like someone mercilessly held in a worrisome nightmare about life and death, I began to have hallucinations about Stella. I must say here from all looks of things, Stella herself wasn’t clean. You mightn’t be surprised if she was the so-called witch in the family. I must also say here that some other things happened at the morgue where their corpses were deposited which baffled the mortuary attendants, but for now I will keep that to myself as one of the secrets I would rather not reveal now, because I would just not be making any sense whatsoever.

Like most other people close to the family, I felt bad hearing about the disaster, but foolishly putting aside some crucial signs. Pointers that I mischievously overlooked, and paid dearly for before the end of this story. Prejudice, stupidity and hatred made the family excluded Janet from the leisure outing. They didn’t even inform her they were going out, even though they reside in the same house. It was a leisure trip which turned disastrous, therefore, making a supposed black sheep of the family, the golden fleece of fate. I thought if Janet had been so bad as they made her looked, such a mysterious luck wouldn’t have crossed her path. She was well left at home, safe and sound while the others were fatally mangled in a wrecked car, death swayed past her as if she was in control of the inevitable — in control of the mysterious.

And this exactly was what I bought into, believing I can continue with her since Stella is no more, but then, the only little thing I needed to do is to see how I’m going to sell this change to my parents, especially my mother with her uncomfortably prescient feelings. How to make them accept Janet in place of Stella without querying why should my choice for future partner continue to come from the Ananias even when things seemed presumably jinxed with them.

Six months after this, she was noticeably eschewing everything about her late family. Her grief was waning, or perhaps I should be wondering if she was even in grief at all in the first place? To any reasonable mind, it would simply be a case of payback, of which Janet herself was not spared if we are to be factual about the state of life she lived with her family.

As if I was rooted to the family other than the prenuptial relationship between me and the late Stella, the whole incident became my grief and I consequently became Janet’s shoulder of comfort in all manners. Initially, everything was secrecy between us, but the fateful incident has removed every other barrier keeping us from making our relationship open. Stella with the rest of the family has been forgotten. I saw myself in nothing except the suffocating pool of Janet’s passion, and with her my soul was simply knotted without any resistance or struggle.

All through the last part of my education at the Masters’ level in a university in Europe, and the beginning of my career in managing my father’s business in the maritime industry, we became inseparable. She managed to keep me all to herself. That’s what she knows how to do best anyway, and sooner than expected, we were talking about marriage and properly starting a future together. Strangely, even when I tried not to cross the line as my mother had made it clear, I discovered my body and soul in inexplicable loyalty and guilt belong wholly to Janet. And those who had known me, for the kind of person I was, started commending me for becoming serious with relationship eventually, while some other ones disparaging me for breaking the code of manly conceit and sensibility. But then, this was my life, and I thought for all what it takes, I was making a great choice which shouldn’t be anybody’s headache after all. We continued like this for another two years of splendour, valour and lewdness.

Talking about dark nights, madness and disasters; mine started in the morning of a certain quiet Monday. I was in my private study; trying to put one or two things in place, when Janet called to tell me she was three months pregnant. This was indeed great news that should be celebrated. It was a really big one superseding whatever was on ground, which was for our families to be properly introduced and of course, we getting married. There would definitely be other extended members of the Ananias’ family that can stand for her, and extensively plan our wedding with us. These were parts of the little issues we needed to sort out before, the thought of nursing a baby, but all the same it was big news, though I was a little worried because I had other initial personal plans for our wedding. My plans were hanging on something not so elaborate, but classic, special and very expensive like a wedding within circles of elites; coupled with a honeymoon that would blow my colleagues and friends away. But then, like I said, it was a good news, after all, an engaged woman is not asked if she has seen a man in her life, just as a mother is not asked if she is still a virgin. I was elated, to mince the words. It was the best thing that would happen in my life. I was to be a father. I smiled intrinsically; wondering if the baby would turn out to be a boy or a girl, took after me or her.

In that euphoria, I asked, “Well, this means we have to hasten up our plans now, right?”

“What Plan?” She asked as if she just woke up to a strange discussion; maintaining a sort of boredom mixed with certain sincerity. I knew I don’t have the luxury of time that morning to wallow in that light-hearted joke she was dragging me.

“Honey, I don’t have all this time now. I’m enmeshed in sorting out some documents in the office. It’s a great news... agreed. And I want us to plan the next step for us now,” I drew back from more of disinterest at her joke. We were both old enough to become parents. I just don’t want to let myself down on the best I have so planned concerning the wedding.

“Yes, but I still don’t understand the plan you’re talking about, John?” She voiced curtly. And I briefly lost interest; considering the fact that she had been on me all the while for us to hasten up and get married. It sounded amusing, if not belabouring, then that she was the one dragging things with unreasonable question, even at the time when she’s with my baby. I understood the extreme joy that comes with one bearing a child of her own with the man she loves, but like all plays which must end for one to start a real life. She had always making sure she has me on a kind of near-perpetual surveillance just to keep me on track, and sometimes becoming furious whenever she saw another woman with me irrespective of what might have brought us together; official duties or not. Indeed, she was even more tenacious than her late sister, Stella — thus, I decided to leave the matter till I get home.

I have joined my father’s business and had been a marine engineer for close to three years. However, so as to always have her close to me as possible and to further cater for the business, I asked her to join me in the day-to-day running of the business, and I thank God with her rate of learning and level of improvement. Within space of a year and some months, she was already like an old hand; making key decisions and helping to actualise the difficult ones. I couldn’t have asked for a better woman, or so I thought until today.

I must say here, that through my influence and the fate that bedevilled her family some years back. My parents had sort of adopted her after realizing I can’t be talked out of loving her, and also when they noticed that her extended relatives had chosen not to involve themselves with her education and upbringing. They had practically thrown her into the gutter and made away with whatever properties of her father they could siphoned. This might generally depend on what her father must have told them before his untimely demise. It might not seems clear the type of relationship her late family had chosen to strangely maintain with her, but what is certain is that she is a blood relative, and not a bastard or adopted child. And on the properties her extended family members made away with, my father offered to get her a lawyer but she declined. She believed what is the point of trying to win back the properties of a father who never loved her when alive? But that was in the past. So much water has passed beneath the bridge, just as a lot has happened between us. I have now seen myself much as a decent young man who ought to settle down and live responsibly with his own family. But strangely, after what seemed like a speck of a period of time in our lives, my mother started getting bored and impatient with her. Something I can’t really pinpoint started pulling them apart. It is not like Mrs Osare wants all the assistance her family rendered her withdrawn. No. Not in the least. She just doesn’t want us getting married anymore; seemingly she preferred us seeing each other more like siblings — perhaps, some kind of distant siblings.

Even though, she didn’t make this open or express it in her attitude, she called me one night and gave me precise instructions, “John, I don’t want you to settle down anymore with Janet as your wife. Get someone else and help her do same.”

I don’t know how this got to Janet, but for some time it created some rifts between her and my mother. Although, Janet never lived in our house or relocated from her father’s home to any other place, but she was a steady person in my home and always welcomed. She resided in her father’s house, even though the big house reek of loneliness, she always managed to live there alone without any problems whatsoever and come to my place most frequently. And sometimes, like once or twice, she slept over and that was it.

My father and I were able to mend the rift as quick as possible before it becomes any kind of major crisis that may further tear us apart. And after this, life continued as if nothing had happened, even though my mother preferred a platonic kind of relationship between me and Janet. After all, was it not her blood sister I was engaged with before the unexpected happened? My mother never knew about our adventures before that and likewise Stella herself. We played it rough, inconspicuously and then stopped. However, that was then and this is now. She disagreed, but because of the love we had for each other; coupled with a stronger support from my father, we continued as lovers, friends and occasional colleagues in my father’s maritime business. Everyone, except my mother, knows nothing has changed. We believed that if she sees stronger reasons for us being together she would eventually succumb. This pregnancy news should be what seals the crack perpetually, and makes my mother throws in the towel. And indeed, it was. It sealed the little crack and consequently opened a crater into a world we all never see coming. The world that made me a sentenced murderer, a prisoner, with nothing anyone including my ever-brilliant lawyer can do about it!

Now, back to my story, I repeated after what seemed like ages of reluctant silence even though she wasn’t shutting down from her side, “Hello? Our plans to get married, if I may emphatically voice it now, honey.”

“Well, I have so many plans with you and your family, and almost every other person. But I don’t remember having any wedding plan with you, John,” She repeated the same way she did earlier. I was sent a little bit aback. I stared at nothing particularly in utter shock.

“Janet?” I couldn’t even recognise my own voice anymore, “Is that you?”

“Of course, sweethearts,” She blew back. I could affirm it was indeed her.

“Are you alright, Janet? And is this supposed to be funny?” I sat straight up in my study chair with a peering look for trace of insanity into the nothingness before me, if those are the words, “I don’t have all these luxury of time.”

“Neither do I, John,” she spat with a kind of seriousness that made me sprang up on my feet. With eyes that just wouldn’t stay inside their sockets.

“But you just told me you’re pregnant, Janet,” I was alarmed, “what’s gotten into you?”

“Of course, I am pregnant. Perhaps, the question you should ask is... for whom?”

I stood still waiting for the world to either crash down on me, or simply wake from my dream, this terribly bad dream. You mean you’ve been cheating on me all these while, Janet? But strangely the words refused to find their ways out of my consciousness, out of my mouth. I mumbled them or so I think. However, after what seemed like another ages of silence, I managed to ask in a voice I was certain was never mine, “What did you just say, Janet?”

“I thought I heard you said the question should have been...”

“I know what I said, John,” she stopped me abruptly, “I actually came to tell you, so that we can put a stop to all our adventures. It is in the past now, and enough. Once again, John, I’m three months pregnant and it’s not for you.”

The world summarily went out of me. I stood moping sightlessly; feeling like the biggest idiot there is. I felt the thick of the pain, because a card has been played. It is the final joker and it wasn’t played by me. I felt so betrayed, so cheated and so used before Janet as I believed she must’ve stood watching and probably enjoying what she is psychologically doing to me. I felt I should be with her and like springing and snuffing life out of her slender delicate body, but then, I understand the foolery in that too. Haven’t I cheated on Stella, while she was alive, with Janet? Now, it’s karma. Why would I want to go to jail because of a woman? And worst still, a worthless betraying heart breaker!

In spite of all, I managed to gather my thoughts together and asked her succinctly as if test-running for a certain response that may not give me a heart attack, “Then, who is responsible for your pregnancy?”

“It is your dad, Mr Osunbor Osare, and my wedding plans were with him. Not with you, John,” She said this without any iota of shame or regret, and I went blank — I mean perpetually blank.

As crazy as this was, something within me seemed to say it’s all a joke one should just laugh at. And that same crazy voice started laughing. In fact, laughing almost uncontrollably, and like some diabolic aura still from somewhere around my head, the voice suddenly stopped as sharp as it began. Somewhere within this voice’s machinations I was drifting into the same hallucination I drifted the first day I met Janet after the demise of her family. Within all these I heard another voice saying, “This is funny!” And I also heard myself answering the voice in a simply angry tone, “What in hell is funny? Amidst the grave silence that had cocooned itself around me, I was indeed seeing things, and I think within that speck of seconds I saw Janet gazed at me with a piercingly infiltrating eyes as if I have suddenly become a disgusting miry frog occupying a chair before her. Squinting her eyes in the most nefarious mien I have ever seen on her as she bent towards me slowly, she drawled almost demonically with a burst of strange giggles that are in them as cold as ice on the palm. She inquired sarcastically, “Did you just mention hell? What do you know about hell?” Even in my psychedelic confusion, I felt a sharp pang of searing fear. I doubled over on my seat; coiling away from her. Within those round eyes of hers, I think I saw hell well expressed. There is nothing more sensible I could do than to move away from her. She seemed so devil-possessed.

“I have lived all my life with a family that hated me so much, even till their death,” she suddenly snarled, “and you are here talking about hell. Please, John Osare, lecture me on what you know about hell!”

I remained glued to my seat, under the silent spell of this she-devil, if I may say. She said a lot of other things I can’t even recollect. Her voice was rumbling in my head and I don’t really know why. But one thing I’m certain about is that this craze must stop. And I must be the one to stop it. She was silently forcing both fear and unabated anger on my already weakened mind, and I hated it with passion. I mean with grave passion.

Janet had always known how to say more with nothing, no matter how nice or repugnant; her eyes and body communicate more than her words, and that’s exactly what she was doing to me as I sat there as if under the control of certain magical force field.

“Look John, I don’t really mean to hurt you, perhaps, you should hear me out first about this pregnancy and....” I realised I wasn’t listening anymore. She was playing with my mind; mocking me, and like I said earlier. I must stop it.

I remembered nodding without hearing a word she said as that seemed the only thing I can reasonably do in the eerie condition I found myself. The shock and confusion so overwhelmed my entire consciousness that I couldn’t even see her maliciously rubbing her slightly protruding tummy right in my face. I believed to spite me further.

My heart seemed to jump into my throat and back in one spasmodic speed, not actually because of the scandal or if I had believed her or not, but because of the temerity with which she flung it at me. Something in me resounded in a sarcastic spark. “All well then, let’s drink champagne to it.”

“Hun? You said what?” The mockery disappeared from her face as she stared at me confusedly. It’s my turn to fumble with her mind too. Why shouldn’t we continue, after all, madness is already everywhere?

“I believe you also heard me all well and good, Ananias,” I responded with a forced smile as I watched her snatched herself from the edge of my table and stormed out of my study.

Immediately the door closed with an annoyed bang behind her, I surged back into the reality of what just hit me. Janet made pregnant by my father. How? This indeed is a hard joke that simply refused to wane. The incongruity had so hit me hard within the minutes and I lost my senses. But deep inside me, I had this mild consolation. Why would I blame a woman who seduced, flirted and slept ceaselessly with me even when her sister was alive? Isn’t the whole charade more like accusing the Pope for being Catholic? Besides, can a stream one created really drown the creator, who already knows where there are depths and shallow waters? This is outright stupidity. I don’t need to suffer any depression over this. But then, I wondered, “Was it that her past misunderstanding with my mother over my choice of marriage partner, which we did settle brought this up or has she decidedly charmed a man old enough to be her own father just the way she charmed me from her twin sister?” So many thoughts raged in my head. I seriously need to speak with my father — a serious man-to-man talk. Within that space of time I woke to the reality of being in my study, and also to discover it was already late in the afternoon. And finally, the fact that Janet had actually called my phone. She wasn’t physically in my study!

Before the day elapsed I discovered from hearsays around my neighbourhood that she had been consulting spiritualists, and her consultations paid off as she was able to manoeuvre my father through fetish means, and therefore, securing him mindlessly for herself. Additionally, she probably has dragged the old man to the same spiritualist who had in turn conditioned my father that even his business will only continue to thrive if he gets involve with her, the she-devil, or else he would die a pauper. Though disgusting and unbelievable as it seemed, the fact that she was able to make him have sex with her and becoming pregnant is enough to convince anyone that Janet is a kind of mystical being, or perhaps, a kind of demon who knows her onions within the manipulative world of craze within craziness. I don’t know if you could relate all these with the witchery her late family used to tag her.

That same Monday; precisely in the evening, I sat facing my father in his personal study at home. For what seemed like ages we continued staring at each other and the entire room; picking into cognizance relevant and irrelevant things. It was as if we were searching for what to premise our discussion on, because it was one heck of a difficult talk. Where exactly should we start? My father didn’t really know why I had come to see him and I don’t know what his reaction would be either. I don’t want him to confront me with the expected saying; how dare you reason like that? Even if someone has slandered me thus, shouldn’t you as my son have at least known better? Shouldn’t you have known what I’m capable of and what I dare not?

We just sat there looking, until he eventually cleared his throat. He seemed to have overcome the hiatus before me. He asked succinctly, “You said you want to see me. Right?” It was not new that I was having a man-to-man talk with him. After all, ever since I had my admission into the university, he has decided to stop seeing me as that his little boy, but as a man growing in all facets of life. In fact, if I may say, all our discussions and relationship has been so succinct and formal. And as his only son who also doubled as the Managing director of his business, we do things so formal and directly to the extent that I even get a query from him if there was any form of official error or mismanagement within the company — yes, as formal as that. Although, I must confess I hated these from the start of things that I once threatened to resign from his company to start something else of my own. You must understand that my country is not the kind where you graduated from a university and expect a job lying down somewhere for you except you are born with a silver spoon like me, or your parents are highly connected. But over time as I grew in experience and maturity, I began to enjoy this to a reasonable level. We attended and organised formal dinner parties, overseas symposia and conferences together. However, that is never to say we don’t have moments we share smiles and normal fun like every other family. It’s just that when we are at work... we are at work and nothing more. But in all, it was an entirely different ball game with my mother. She still preened me, even at that age and stage of life.

“Dad, Janet told me she’s made pregnant by you?” I enquired in more of a whimsical statement rather than question, perhaps, because I still don’t want to believe such news, such warped reality. Or maybe, I should just recoil at the thought of some young women dating and having men as old as their fathers and even grandfathers as sex partners. Is it really for money or some other material things? Honestly, except I’m mistaken somehow, all I know is that it is definitely not for love. I asked my tortuous question, and like that got a tortuously rude answer. A complete shocker from my father. I couldn’t believe him or my ears.

“Janet? Wow, she is just so much a sweet pretty girl,” he smiled thinly.

For a stretch of seconds, I was so dumbfounded to the extent I couldn’t believe I was even alive.

“What in goodness’ name did I hear you say just now?” I drawled incredulously, “Are you not ashamed one bit of saying things like this?”

“Well, John. I’m sorry it happened that way.”

Even up till now, I would only be lying if I claim to fully understand what my father said that very evening. I just knew it was so awkward and a grotesque coloration of common sanity. It was a basal inanity I was mercilessly entrenched without warning. What exactly is my life turning into these few days?

“I think I’m privy to some rare as well as strange information I may not even be at liberty to explain to you now. But what do you plan to do now about this pregnancy and its sorry tales?” I asked further as simple and as expressionlessly as I can be, even though I was burning with fury inside.

“I will marry her. I think,” he managed to blurt out, after some difficulty. And continued, “You said you’re privy to some information on this matter. What is it, son?”

“Please, don’t use the s-o-n word with me now. I detest it,” I managed to say between my breath; panting hard once or twice before continuing, “Like I said earlier I don’t really think I can explain them now. But something is just not right... for you, me and mum concerning this girl.”

He gave a mildly rude chuckle, “alright, I’m all ears.”

“I want you to be more understanding and careful about these things I’m about telling you,” I continued, “it might cost you and I so much.”

“John, you’re not making any wee sense now,” he voiced in a sincere confusion, “How am I supposed to be careful of what I don’t know or see — yet?”

“I mean these things are not right. In other words, I mean they’re dangerous because of these same cogent facts. I wish to highlight.”

“And they are?” he enquired expectantly.

“Three facts actually, if you indeed really care to know them,” I responded with a certain kind of coldness. I mean unalloyed coldness towards him. I maintained all seriousness; still dragging these facts like the belief behind the Day of Judgment and the coming of the messiah. I know for sure that, one crucial thing is for one to know certain facts, another thing is to believe in them and yet another is to let them influence your varying thoughts and final decisions.

“And sir, are you ready to let these facts influence your decisions? Once again, I mean those annoying and senseless decisions you’ve been making lately?”

For once he stared at me with complete incredulity. “Don’t you think you have insulted me enough already, boy?” he responded with some level of disinterest at my seemingly presumptuous attacks on him. “What exactly are these so-called facts?”

I watched him briefly, took a mild breath like a teacher about to address a troublesome student once and for all before saying, “Fact Number one; sir, you impregnated your own son’s fiancée. Which means you have already dragged this family name in the mud; ruining our reputation... even in business, we might need to struggle now. And as for me, I don’t want to go bankrupt now because of you or that... slut called Janet!” I wanted to scream this last part of my words to his face in anger; basically, because of the betrayal. He has betrayed me and my mother. He has betrayed the Osunbor name and more because of the jealousy. I still love Janet that much and not ready for this particular set up I got today, even though I wish I could think otherwise this time.

“Fact Number two; sir, you have been charmed just as I have been too, even up till this moment. I have recently seen and heard a lot about this strange young woman, Janet. Somehow, she is a devil agent meant to crumble this family.” Shockingly, to this statement, my father stared at me with mouth agape; not from assertion, but doubt and incredulity. He believed I have coined and brought that up due to jealousy and also wondering how fast my once-beautiful Janet has suddenly become a strange woman just after the pregnancy confession. By the way, what of if she had simply being testing me... testing for true love? Honestly, about the jealousy part, he might just be right but on the other part of my statement, he believed I was just trying to be a fine storyteller which I strangely couldn’t really figure out too. I don’t want to blame him much on these beliefs; after all, I have been there myself and had literarily fought those making such claims about her too. I had laughed at a friend who once confronted me on why I have to settle down with a lady who so lost an entire family in such strange manner and wasn’t even my girlfriend from the onset. My thought drew along many paths this time... would I say Janet’s incredulous claim about her pregnancy simply open up my eyes or I have just been selfish all these while — thinking life should just be about me alone. Right? And about if she was testing me? Please... Janet can’t be testing me for whatever it is and my plain reality too will be testing me at the same time on the same issue because I’m certain I’m not dreaming, at least not this time. For what seemed like another stretch of time we were staring at each other again with each now having a different mindset about the other. One has suddenly become a fine storyteller and the other a desperate and betrayed ex-lover.

“Believe this; she is after your properties. She never loves you. She will get rid of you, mum and of course me once this nasty show is over, so as to have the entire Osare’s wealth to herself.”

He watched me like a psychiatric doctor quietly studying a troublesome patient he is neither sure was okay or not, within that speck of time he continued to look at me as if I have suddenly transformed to a certain stone idol and back. He watched me for what seemed like ages before saying cursorily, “What exactly are you saying now, boy?” He continued, “you don’t sound one bit sensible enough for even a qualified kindergarten caretaker let alone a university Master’s degree holder in advance marine engineering?”

“You won’t take me serious now. Right?” I blurted.

“Serious? Are you also listening to what you’ve been saying?”

“You won’t take me for someone under a spell now, are you?” I continued agitatedly.

“You study marine engineering under qualified professors. That I know...” he said worriedly for me, “and not under any marine spirit or spell, boy.”

“You won’t see these as being a serious issue until...”

“Until what, boy? You sound so disappointingly petty,” he continued getting tired of the discussion already, “by the way, why are you even saying all these? Because your girlfriend chose me over you?”

For the first time in all honestly, I was stunned. It’s true why exactly I’m I even telling him all these. He’s under a terrible spell of which I was too. The reasonable thing here is to see to my mum’s wellness and proper claims to the Osare’s wealth before the she-devil takes over, and of course start another life away from them. After all, I had enough savings to start whatever I decided to do because at this point, he just won’t listen. And this I know for sure.

As if striving for the last straw, I said affirmably as more of an advice than a fact, “All I’m saying here is that there is more than meet the eyes about this Janet,”

“Uhun? Well, the only thing meeting the eyes now is... my baby bump on Janet.” A quick searing heat of anger crossed my mind at that moment, not really about what he said which was meant to hurt me anyway, but the way he said it. This obviously wasn’t my father talking. It was some daemon I need to simply give some space before committing a real murder.

“You wouldn’t have listened even if a prophet comes right down from heaven before your very eyes to tell you all these,” I intoned to myself consolingly as I made to take my leave.

“And lastly, Mr Premonition, before you leave my house...” he smiled again, this time more cruel and sarcastic, “what is your Number three fact?”

“Do you remember the Ananias’ family accidents of 15th of June 2019?”

“Yes, that was a long time ago. What about it?” He asked unperturbedly, “you won’t say she caused that one too, will you?”

“Exactly sir, she caused it — killing all her entire family.”

Once again, my father was dumbfounded.

Right inside my car, outside my father’s massive house, I sat running the entire discussion over in my mind; wondering if I have even achieved any success at all or should just walked back into the house to finish it all once and for all. Could there be any other way to convince this man beyond mere talk? All what I told him are various pieces of information gotten from friends and other people around me. They’ve gone out to spiritually consult mediums and some prophets on my behalf if I may say, and the reports I got were as shocking as the way my father also received them. I have never fancied the idea of visiting mediums; besides what will the consultation about the devil from his agent profit someone? One would simply put himself in a deliberate circle of intricacies nonetheless. One would think I just got these loads of information, but on the contrary I have gotten them a long time ago, only that I didn’t believe until this Monday morning Janet called me about her terrible news... come to think of it, should we say she eventually freed me from her grip after putting my father in the same? Making him to see me as a selfish piece of shit just as I used to see my good-willed friends before now?

Another issue is that I’m not even certain my mother has heard the news yet, and if I can really fathomed her reaction to the calamity about befalling her family. How do I expect my mother to react to Janet’s pregnancy let alone my father settling down to marry her as the second wife, concubine or whatever? I spat within me as my thought started to wander again. I have to go right back to this man, my father. It was a blaring disgust. For once, I saw myself staring at the old man before me and sighed, “Can’t she just have the baby and leave? She is a typical load of bad luck one must avoid at all cost!”

It was a whole combination of highly incredible and sense-disturbing scenarios that seemed to spawn from some horrible nightmare one can hardly wake up from, than the reality it was. It was indeed some kind of wider show of occult manipulations and power display. A kind of inexplicable voodoo left to freely operate in the world. The inner world I was referring to earlier in this story — or so I think?

“John, I want to have other children aside you,” my father said emphatically.

“What in the name of sanity are you talking about, you want someone whose demise sister and herself have been my girlfriends to bear you children?” I have never been so disgusted at a human being let alone my father, someone I used to adore beyond reasonable extent. He’d stood by me, even when my mother was so annoyingly having distrust in my ability to cater for myself as a young man traditionally needing liberty.

“John, you must forget this mindless my-girlfriend-my-fiancée slogan. You’re just twenty five, handsome and of course you always know your ways around girls. Forget Janet and get yourself another woman to settle down with,” he advised percussively.

A sensitive and troubling silence enshrouded the large room; gradually turning it into a suffocating cubicle with pent-up anger, irritation and tending to burst into smithereens of regrets.

“You don’t see all these as being shameful, do you?” I probed.

“John, listen to me, for sake of Janet and her baby I can always arrange a good percentage of my property as a legacy to you and Titilayo, if that’s your fear. Okay?” He returned with a thin smile that got me even angrier. It wore off me as quick as water from the shell of an egg. I could feel my wrists trembling where they hanged beside me. It was as if I should just gathered myself at Janet; wringing life off her for causing all these misfortunes in my family, after presumably wiping hers out.

“Now listen to me, Osunbor, I will tell you this once. Get rid of that jinx or I may be forced to do just that for you!” I fumed at him.

For a couple of minutes, my father was dumbfounded. I called him by his first name? However, he responded as if he’s never heard that; measuring me up threat-for-threat, “Hey there, John, mind your words because you’re still in my house, and besides it’s my wife-to-be you’re talking about here. Never refer to her as jinx in your whole life... again!” He spat further, “what is your business by the way, after all, your mother has given her consent to the union between Janet and me, and also as a permanent member of this family. I bore you; remember... you didn’t bear me!”

“Mum would never give her consent to this madness!”

“Whatever you believe here is irrelevant. My mind is made up about Janet and her pregnancy, and that’s final!”

“Shut it up, dad, I say shut your load of shit right now!”

“What?” He was shocked, at my selection of words than the anger and big scowl on my face. He stared at me cursorily before saying as mild as he could maintained, “John, I think it’s high time you took your leave or else I get you arrested like right now....”

“May be I will have to wait for you to do just that and let’s see how it ends!” I interrupted harshly.

“...how it ends, sir?” A mild highly respectful manly voice interrupted me too. Not my father’s. He couldn’t have been that suddenly calm. Then, who is... what? Where am I?

I have been day-dreaming deep into the evening along the road leading into my parent’s estate; precisely where I parked my car. It wasn’t a live interaction I was having with my father. It was indeed a reverie... again. And yes of course, I couldn’t have called my father by his first name or talk to him that harshly. I haven’t been trained like that. And besides, he wouldn’t call me by my first name either. The old man would rather say boy or just my boy. Well, what a relief for now. I knew it’s a battle left for another day. The estate security personnel who had woken me; said I have been having a kind of bitter conversation with someone in my dream... that’s how far he knows anyway. I thanked and tipped him before driving away to my own home. It was around 8:30pm. This moody Monday was already spent no doubt.

I know as a matter of fact that the proposed discussion to iron out the worrisome issues with my father had not really turned out well. I’m already seeing bigger trouble loaming ahead in which my father had remained so unreasonably resolute and my mother not hesitating to tear them to shreds in the law court, except Janet’s magic is going to take care of that as well. This coupled with the ridiculous fact of a father first sleeping with his son’s fiancée, having her pregnant and even insisting on marrying her. However, one fact that has been established in my mind is that Janet’s spiritualist, if it had been a human after all, must be very potent in his or her trade.

The Osare I knew and of which I belong was a Christian family distantly indifferent to the ideal of spiritualist consultations. But, seeing this handsomely tall man with age gradually brewing around him in form of greying hair on his face and head deciding to get involve at this time of his life is as troubling as his adamant decision to settle down with another woman whose life is all enshrouded in such. And that is if she’s not even the spiritualist herself. However, from what I’ve seen and of course experienced, I’ve made my own conclusion that she is the devil herself or as her late family used to tag her — the witch, and a daunting one at that.

Exuberance or not, what I strongly believed is that nemesis is lurking in the corner, and she is the nemesis or should I even say a full blown apocalypses; ready the tear different worlds apart!

I have and offered to apology for my actions and thought on all these. Not even one on myself too, after all, I am the one that brought ant-infested twig into my home in the first place, thus I must place host to all manners of reptiles. If I have not dated an Ananias in the first place would there have been a reason to battle this absurdity one of them have brought into my own family? And that to me too is my bane... my nemesis!

One certainty is that the battle line has been drawn, and every one of us knew that blood will be drawn, of course Janet too. And my mum? I’m not so sure if she’s prepared or has the proper knowledge of the imminent battle her family has already dragged her. Nonetheless, I felt a surge of relief. Battles, at least the vicious ones, don’t last that long. Once we have vanquished from both ends and no other blood to spill again... it naturally ended, and with the way I’m seeing it, mine might just be the one blood that starts or ends it. Without another thought, I stared the roofing of my opulently decorated bedroom; precisely at the clock stylishly buried therein. It was already 2:35am. The darkness was still very calm and I felt there’s nothing more for me to bother myself with. The deed has been done. I sank deeper into my beddings and into another long deeper sleep. I must rest to gather enough strength for the following day.