Dem Dey Your House

 

Listen.

You think you dey live alone because rent dey your name and NEPA light dey off again. But something dey waka for your house with you. E no full foot touch ground. Only toes. Soft-soft, like person wey no want make floor betray am.

I don see am before.

Small-small signs first. Your remote go enter inside sofa like spirit swallow am. Breeze go blow your neck for corner wey fan never reach since January. Your shoe wey you drop dry-dry for evening go wake up with dew like say e follow person trek from grave. And your money... ah, that one na the sweetest part. E go reduce small-small, like say the thing dey pay tithe to the other side.

Dem call am "living with the dead." But the dead no dey live. Dem dey survive through you.

Cherish know this thing now. But before the knowing, she just be small girl wey vex her papa.

Her papa, na proper Port Harcourt man. White shirt, tie wey tight like rope, and mouth wey no sabi rest. "Office management? Cabbage course!" he thunder the day admission list drop. "You wan waste my money on paper wey no fit cure malaria? Nurse! Follow family line!"

But Cherish stubborn like okro soup. "Papa, this one na my passion."

"Passion?" The man laugh like hyena wey smell blood. "Passion no dey pay light bill. Passion no go buy generator when PHCN ghost your house again."

Mama come rescue am with soft voice: "Adam, leave the girl. No be everybody go carry stethoscope."

So Cherish enter the "cabbage course." Graduate. Land small clerk job with accommodation wey come with one old house from 1770 — the kind wey colonial masters abandon when them run from mosquitoes and ancestors.

That house dey breathe.

Stairs dey sing every night like old woman wey get plenty story. Water from tap go first come out brown like palm oil, then red like sacrifice blood, before e finally pity you and turn clear. Bed go cold like mortuary, then suddenly warm like person just leave am. Dust go dey your hair every morning even when you sweep till your hand pain. And footprint... footprint wey no be your size, wey no be your toe pattern.

But you go tell yourself, "Na my mind. I too dey watch too much film."

Until one evening.

Cherish dey waka go her friend Brenda house. One young guy wey sell bangle — wood and red thread, the kind wey old women tie for waist — block her road.

"Fine girl," he talk low, eyes sharp like razor. "White mist dey your head. Black shadow dey drag behind you like loyal dog."

Cherish hiss. "Oga, abeg. I no get time for scam today."

He bring out small mirror. Hold am up. The mirror turn black like night wey no moon.

"You dey live with ghost. Dem dey chop your life force small-small. Like person dey sip garri from your cup without you know."

She freeze. Because how this stranger know about the dust? The footprints? The moist shoe?

"My name na Seeker," he say as she dey hurry commot. "When the thing reach your neck, find me here. The bangle fit help... if you no too late."

She laugh am off. Reach Brenda place. Chat about useless boys, laugh till belle pain. Then sleep take her.

But inside sleep, the real story open.

The house turn to bone. Black circle for center. Hundred black and red candle dey burn with flame wey no dey move. Thirty people stand like statue, eyes hungry. And Brenda — sweet, soft-hearted Brenda — dey bend over her, tugging at the bangle on her spirit wrist. The bangle dey burn Brenda hand like hot iron, but she no gree stop.

"Remove am now, Brenda!" one voice shout from the circle. "Na now or never!"

"I dey try, Mama... e dey burn me!"

Cherish open eye small. See Seeker for corner, eyes full of every color wey rainbow ever dream. He just sit dey watch, calm like person wey don see worse.

"They wan initiate your soul," he whisper for her mind. "Make you join their demonic family. Innocent soul sweet pass everything for devil menu."

"Why me?" she ask.

"Why rain fall? Why mosquito bite? Devil no need reason. E just like to spoil wetin God create clean."

She jerk awake.

Brenda dey stand over her, smiling that same soft smile. But one hand dey hide behind back. Burn mark dey there — fresh, red, angry.

Cherish heart begin hammer like talking drum.

"Brenda... wetin be that for your hand?"

Her friend smile wider. Too wide.

"Nothing, my sister. Just small kitchen accident. Lunch almost ready."

But Cherish don see. The soft heart get teeth now. The friend wey "get your back" don already sell am to the other side.

She stand up sharp.

"I go quick reach somewhere."

As she dey waka commot, the question dey burn her mind like the bangle burn Brenda:

Who she go trust now? The Seeker wey eyes dey change color? Or the house wey still dey br

eathe behind her, waiting with wet toes on her floor?

Because the dead no dey walk alone again.

Dem don get friend.

And the friend get your name.

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