" One Foot In."

 

Wayne

Wayne wasn’t happy about going home for the holidays. Trouble waited there like clockwork—one misunderstanding, one spilled cup of water, and the whole house erupted. He came from a polygamous family where his mother and the other wives turned peace into a myth. Just thinking about it drained him.

He sighed, staring out the dormitory window. Could I just stay here? For two years, this school had been his real home.

A sudden bump snapped him back. Wale grinned beside him. “A penny for your thoughts?”

“Don’t be dramatic. I wasn’t dreaming.”

“Yeah, but thinking, eh?” Wale teased.

“Just a little. Nothing big.”

Wale laughed. “If I know you, that’s a lie. You were thinking something huge.”

“Not this time,” Wayne said with a sad sigh.

“Come on, man. Spill.”

“You know my house. I’ve told you enough.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I don’t want to go back. Not to that chaos.”

Wale raised an eyebrow. “So what’ll you do?”

Wayne shrugged. “Beats me.”

“How about you come to my village instead?”

“Your village?”

“Yeah. Problem?”

Wayne hesitated. He’d heard rumors—whispers about Wale’s people and their “diabolic ways.” He took rumors seriously. But staying at school wasn’t an option, and home was worse.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll come.”

The journey north was fun at first. They talked, bought roasted corn and bottled soda from roadside hawkers, laughed like brothers. Wayne never asked the village’s name. Wale just said it was “up north,” and six hours in, that still felt true.

But then the highway narrowed. They took five sharp turns, each one swallowing them deeper into thick forest. No cars passed. None followed. A wooden arch loomed ahead, vines curling over faded letters: WELCOME TO THE SPIRIT LAND.

Wayne craned his neck as they rolled beneath it. “What was that?”

Wale waved it off. “Old sign. Ignore it. Look—see that baobab? Looks like a fist, right?”

Wayne tried to laugh, but the forest pressed closer. The air grew heavy, sweet with rot. Then he saw the man.

A lone figure jogged along the dirt path—on one leg. No crutch. No limp. Just a single foot striking the earth, steady as a heartbeat.

Wayne nodded politely as they passed. The man nodded back, smiling with too many teeth.

“What the hell was that?” Wayne whispered.

Wale frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“That guy had one leg. And he was running.”

Wale burst out laughing and slapped Wayne’s back. “Bro, you high? That man had two perfect legs.”

Wayne swallowed. “And where are all the cars? We’re the only ones on this road.”

“There’s another route two kilometers back,” Wale said smoothly. “This one’s just for going in.”

Hours later, they stopped at a river. Black water slid past like oil. On the far bank, mist curled between unseen trees.

“We cross here,” Wale said. “Village is on the other side.” He pointed to a flat stone platform by the water’s edge, smooth as polished glass. “But first—bare feet on that stone. Rule for first-timers.”

Wayne stared. “You’re kidding.”

Wale grinned. “Wish I was. Should’ve seen your face back when I invited you—priceless.”

Wayne kicked off his sneakers. The stone was warm. Too warm. As his soles touched it, the river hushed, like it was listening.

He looked up. Wale’s smile hadn’t moved—but something behind his eyes had.

After Wayne stepped on the smooth stone, they both crossed the stream and started making their way to the spirit land. Wayne soon noticed that everyone they met along the road had no shoes and walked barefoot. He cringed inside, wondering what he had gotten himself into. He regretted his earlier complaint about going home during the holidays.

They walked for about four hours through that bushy part until suddenly Wale stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Over that hill is my village,” he said, nodding at the imposing hill that dwarfed them and cast a shadow over the surroundings.

“So why are we stopping?” Wayne asked, dreading what might come next.

“Well,” Wale said nervously, scratching his head, “eh… he stammered. See, don’t take it the wrong way, but before you enter the village, you need to pull off your shoes.”

“Why?” Wayne replied with irritation. “I’ve been seeing people barefoot, and now you’re asking me to go barefoot—for what purpose?”

“This is the land of spirits. Most of the people you saw are ghosts, and they don’t like it when you walk in shoes.”

“What the hell!” Wayne exclaimed. “I cover myself with the blood of Jesus!”

“Yeah, all the same, get your shoes off.”

Wayne frowned as he looked around. He saw the malice in the eyes of the people nearby—something he hadn’t noticed before because his mind was preoccupied. He bent down to unlace his shoes. As he did, he realized Wale wasn’t wearing any either. He looked up. He didn’t know if it was the hill’s shadow playing tricks on him, but Wale now had a horn on either side of his forehead. Wayne blinked and looked again. This time, Wale grinned, and Wayne could see two fangs forming on his upper teeth.

Wayne heard a sound behind him and turned to see a beautiful woman coming their way. She was so beautiful that the breeze parted for her and the shadows never touched her. He blinked in astonishment and opened his mouth to say something—then noticed her legs weren’t touching the ground. He took a step backward, stumbled over a root, and fell to the ground.

He could hear Wale saying to the woman, “That is my friend, Spirit One, and he is not to be drained. He is under protection.”

At that point, Wayne couldn’t take any more. He ran blindly back the way they had come. He heard Wale calling his name, but he never turned back. He ran with the full force of the Flash. As he neared the stream they had crossed, he saw an old man blocking the path. The man had both eyes closed, held a knife in one hand and an axe in the other, and kept his mouth open as flies flew in and out.

Wayne skidded to a stop. The old man opened his eyes with a grin. Wayne lost his voice when he saw that the eyes didn’t match—one yellow, the other green. He tried to turn back toward Wale, but the old man was there again. Wayne fell to his knees, weeping. The old man glided toward him.

“Ha, ha, ha, young man. You have to choose between the axe and the knife.”

“For what purpose?” Wayne stammered, looking up.

“You want to go back, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then choose between these two.”

“What are they for?” Wayne asked.

“To be thrown at you. If you survive, you will find yourself at home.”

“And if I don’t survive?”

“Then you’re welcome to the land of the spirits,” the old man said with a laugh that echoed around the area.

Wayne fell to his knees, weeping. The old man glided closer, the axe in one hand, the knife in the other. Flies buzzed in and out of his open mouth like black confetti.

“Ha, ha, ha, young man,” the old man rasped, voice echoing off the trees. “You want to go back, abi?”

Wayne could only nod, throat raw.

“Then choose.” The old man lifted both weapons higher, moonlight glinting off the blades. “Axe… or knife.”

Wayne’s eyes darted between them. The axe was heavy, chipped, stained dark at the edge. The knife was thin, curved, still wet with something that smelled of iron.

“Choose,” the old man whispered again, leaning so close Wayne felt cold breath on his face. “Or I choose for you.”

Wayne opened his mouth. No sound came.

The old man’s grin widened. One yellow eye. One green. Both waiting.

Axe… or knife?

The night held its breath.

What would you choose?