The Ghost Man - S01 E02

Story 3 years ago

The Ghost Man - S01 E02

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 2

“Those that murdered sleep

should be ready for sleepless

nights.”

The door to Gbenga’s house was

open as I had anticipated. He

was abrace of what was going

to happen. The day I knew I was

going to be murdered, I had

gone to inform him, being a

friend, a next gate neighbor and

a man I had come to respect. He

was there with his wife

Abimbola as I entered.

“They have murdered me,” I

announced.

“So you’re now dead?” Gbenga

asked with a suppressed smile.

“Yes, dead but not burried.”

He took a glass of water that was

on the table and began to

sprinkle some water on me.

“Hey! What are you doing?” I

exclaimed.

“To see if you will disappear. I

heard that ghosts disappears if

you sprinkle water on them.”

Gbenga has a great sense of

humour. Our friendship wasn’t

instantaneous, it began after the

day we had a heated arguement

during a meeting of Landlords in

the close we lived at Ajao Estate.

It was over who was better

suited to be security operatives

of our close; vigilante group or

two Abokis.

Few weeks later we

became close friends. I called him

Onye Ofe Mmanu and he called

me Omo Ajalaokuta.

“I’m now a ghost,” I said and

made a move like the zombies in

Michaek Jackson’s Thriller music

video.

He laughed hard with his

wife.”We’re laughing but this is

not a laughing matter. How could

that woman be so wicked?”

Abimbola said.

“Is it because I’m a strong man?

You for don kill me tete,” Gbenga

teased her, “see as landladies full

all over Lagos.”

“Oriodaa,” Abimbola gave him a

little push.

Abimbola was a very robust

woman, so overweight she could

hadly get up from a seat. She

spoke english with a deep

Yoruba ascent, but a very nice

woman.

Now that I’m a ghost I have to

start acting like one. How do

ghosts act?

There are two types

of ghosts, gentle ghosts and

angry ghosts. I’m an angry ghost

with one sole mission….to

torment.

Abimbola rubbed a white

powder all over my head and

face. I put on a white jalabia and

a white hand gloves, and stood

against a white wall. To act like a

ghost, you have to look like a

ghost.

“You look like a ghost from Imo

state;” Gbenga said, laughing.

“I know, I am.”

“Are you ready?”

“I’m ready, let’s do this.”

Gbenga called Chioma’s number

on whatsapp video call and

stood before me. She picked and

starred on the image on her

screen. Confussion was all over

her face. My hands were in the

air moving like a zombie. Well, I

think zombies and ghosts are

closely related.

“Chioma, Chioma-a,” I began to

speak, “why did you kill me?”

Her mouth dropped, her face

panick striken and even more

confused. I was enjoying the

moment. It could be fun being a

ghost.

“I loved you Chioma-a, but you

killed me,” I continued, “Why?

Why? Chioma why?”

FLASH BACK

The first day I met Chioma was a

coincidence I will never forget. It

was a hurt hot afternoon in the

busy streets of Lagos, I had gone

to FHA office in Festac Town to

make enquiries about a land I

wanted to buy at Festac

Extension. On my way going back

to Ajao Estate, I noticed a girl at

the back of a danfo commercial

vehicle. She was putting on a sunshade, she was beautiful and she was crying.

The tears of a woman can melt

an ice, but the tears of a beautiful woman can melt an iron. I drove after the bus.

Don’t get me wrong. I was used

to beautiful girls, I had some at

my beck and call. Like Iniedo,

Genevieve, Chika, Aisha, Jumai….to

mention but a few. But there was

something different about this

girl. The girl stopped at Ijesha, I

parked my car and followed her.

“Hey young lady,” I called after

her.

She looked at me but continued

walking.

“It’s you I’m calling,” we were

now shoulder to shoulder.

She looked at me.

“How may I help you?” She asked.

“I saw you crying in the bus,” I

went straight to the point, ” and I want to know why.”

“I was’nt crying.”

“I know the difference between

tears and rain. And today is a

sunny day..”

“Even if I was, it’s not your

business.”

“Well, I want to make it mine

now.”

She began to walk away, I

followed.

“Stop following me or I will shout

that you want to kidnap me.”

“And you know what will happen

afterwards? People will mob me,

hang tyre on my neck and set me

ablaze. My blood will be in your

hand.”

She thought about it and began

to walk again. I followed.

“My life is about to be messed

up,” she began.

“How?”

“I’m supposed to be having my

final exams soon, but I can’t

without paying my school fees.

I’m from a poor home.”

“And?”

“I told a distant uncle who is rich,

he promised to help and asked

me to come. Getting to his house

at Satelite Town he showed me

the money but placed a

condition.”

“Which is?”

She looked at me without her

sun shade, tears were rolling

down her cheeks. She looked

more beautiful than in the bus.

“That I sleep with him,” she

admitted, “I refused and he tried

to rape me. I was able to escape.”

Wicked. Why is the world full of

wichedness and wicked people?

Taking advantage of an innocent

girl in her moment of

vulnerability should be a crime

against humanity. Punishable bu

God and man.

“How much is the school fees?”

“Eighty thousand naira.”

“Follow me.” I beckoned.

“What?”

“Follow me.”

“To where? Why?”

“Listen, I’m not like your uncle.

Just trust me.”

“All men are the same.”

“Some men are different.”

She hesitated for a moment

before following me. At a

building across the street was a Diamand bank, my bank. I went

to the ATM machine, inserted my

card and made a withdrawal. I

then went back to her.

“Open your hand bag,” I said.

“What?”

“Open your hand bag.”

She opened it and I put some

cash inside.

“In there is a hundred K.”

“What?”

“Eighty K is for your school fees.”

“What?”

“Use the remaining to help

yourself.”

“What?”

“Ok, maybe I have to repeat what

I said,” I was almost laughing,

“you now have a hundred K that

can solve your school palava. Go

and make your parents proud.”

“What? Oh my God!”

“I have to be going,” I began to

walk back to my car.

I didn’t ask her to follow me but

she did. I entered my car and she

stood beside the door.

“You didn’t even ask for my

name.” she said, “and you didn’t

tell me who you are.”

“Ok, my name is Kelechi Onuoha,

but friends call me Kacy.”

“Ok, my names are Chioma Felicia

Okoro. A final year student of

Mass comm at LASU. I live at No

13 Friday street here in Ijesha

with my parents, but I come from

Onitsha..”

“It’s a pleasure to know you,

Chioma,” I gave her my

complimentary card, “call me

whenever you want.”

“Thank you Kacy. God bless you,”

she looked inside her hand bag,

“Oh my God, Oh my God!”

I started the car and drove off. I

watched her through the mirror,

she stood there waving. And I

could still hear her voice in my

head…”Oh my God, Oh my God!”

A year and few months later we were married.

BACK TO PRESENT

“Chioma why did you kill me?”

Her confusiion turned to terror.

“No! You’re a ghost,” she cried

out, “You’re a ghost.”

Yes, I’m a ghost. A living ghost.

Her terror turned to panick

and….CRASH! She smashed her.