Cuffs for the priest.



  CUFFS FOR THE PRIEST,

  and other stories.

  By

  Brian Elvis.

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Cuffs for the priest.

  Copyright © 2013 by Brian Elvis.

  This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be scanned, reproduced or distributed for any commercial use without the authors consent.

  *****

 

  Table of contents.

  Till death.

  Full circle.

  The warning.

  Poachers night.

  Cuffs for the Priest.

  Appreciation.

  TILL DEATH.

  *****

  Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the phone’s keypad trying to type in her husband’s name. She had just scrolling through the Hs for ‘hubby’ when it occurred to her that she would like to see the expression on his face when he gets the news. Evening would be as good a time as any, she decided. As she placed down the handset memories of that fateful evening came rushing back. They were so vivid, she felt like she was reliving the experience once again. She threw herself back to bed and covered her whole body including the head and yet closed her eyes tight inside there in a half hope that maybe the darkness would blur the images in her head.

  It was four in the evening when her husband’s white sedan pulled into the driveway. She sighed and pulled herself out of bed and headed downstairs to meet him. Brad was locking the main door behind him when he noticed his wife on the top most stair. He looked at her once and immediately knew that something was up. After twenty three years sharing his life with this woman, he came to know her just like the back of his hand. He still loved her more than anything in the world. To this day it pained him even more when his lovely wife was in any kind of distress. He felt it in the air, he knew she had something in her mind. Something was bothering her. In the morning, Nancy was glowing in an absolutely beautiful red dress as he recalled. Now she is home earlier than usual and in her pajamas, a sweater and slippers on her feet. She just stared at him with a glam face, her arms folded on one another.

  “Honey are you alright?” She started towards her having put his briefcase and coat down. Nancy thought that she was not going to beat around the bush with her news, he was her husband. They had been through a lot together, and she hoped that this was just another hurdle they would jump over together.

  She dropped it. “Brad I am pregnant.” She murmured.

  For a moment, Brad thought he heard her wrong.

  “What?” he gasped.

  “I have a child growing In my womb.” This time clearly audible.

  The news hit the old clergy man like a shock wave, and for a while, he stayed mute. A million thoughts should be going through his mind, but he wasn’t even thinking. Nancy came down, and as she got close, he asked her, “Are you sure?” She did not reply; instead she reached into her pocket and handed him the home testing kit. Indeed it was positive. He did not utter a word; he just pulled her closer and held her. Nancy burst into tears as his eyes welled up. Man and wife went to the mezzanine on their knees in each others' arms. Her tears flowed freely, remembering the events that brought her to the current embrace.

  About seven weeks before, one of the students came to her counseling office at the university. She was obliged to listen to him. Nancy took her job as more of a calling rather than a means to a pay cheque, and as so she would sometimes meet students past her official, working hours. That evening she was talking to Obrien, a student who had his fair share of family problems. Nancy knew very well that this was affecting his grades in school. She listened patiently, and the session was rather beneficial to both of them.

  The boy left her office, but she did not want to go home early because she had a painful argument with Brad in the morning over their inability to sire children of their own. The thirty-eight year old said things about her husband’s masculinity that touched a raw nerve. Brad being the ever calm gentleman just walked out on her, and she remembered how mad it made her.

  She left the university at seven thirty in the evening. Brad had left in his car in the morning, and she knew they would not be commuting together that day. For once she really felt lonely and sorry about what she had said in the morning. She loved him so much, and she was now mulling over how to break the inevitable silence that was waiting for her at home. As she drove home, she replayed her apology in her mind.

  The familiar din of the Nairobi traffic police siren brought her out of her musings . An instruction for her to pull over. This was supposed to be a routine police check, so she did not switch off the engine. She looked at the officer via her side mirror as he was striding over to her car. His face was silhouetted by the street light behind him, and she could only make out an eagle tattoo on the side of his palm. She thought it strange that he had no partner, but it was just a passing thought. He approached, his flash light pointed directly at her face. Instinctively; she realized that she was in deep trouble when he instructed her to switch off the engine and step out of the vehicle. Nancy then remembered the busted tail lights her husband had kept promising he would get fixed. She took a deep sigh and did as she had been told while inwardly cursing her husband all remorse for him totally erased from her mind. She attempted to reason with the police officer and explain herself out of her perceived predicament when he suddenly reached for his holster and drew his gun.

  The psychology lecturer was stunned beyond her wits. “Any sound and they will be picking your brains off the cold tarmac tomorrow morning.” Bellowed the man with a gun pointed to her head. Nancy felt her heart race and her brains stop. It all seemed like a bas dream, but it was so surreal there was no waking up from this one. She then realized that they were just the two of them in that street, and she knew it was not going to end well for her. “Now walk.” He ordered her in a husky baritone that sent shivers down her spine. She wanted to oblige if only to save her life, but her limps just couldn’t comply. His captor then grabbed her by the shoulder and led her to the park at the end of the street. As they neared its entrance, she contemplated fleeing when she felt a sharp pain just behind her right ear. She fell to the ground under the weight of the blow and tasted the sand as her body rolled under the shadows of nearby trees. He pulled her pants off and the evening wind brushed her legs as if to make her aware of it. As she lost her consciousness, she felt her nemesis force himself on her.

  Brads thoughts also went back to that day that forever changed him. It was already nine pm and his wife was not home yet. He fought the urge to call her because he thought she was still mad at him because of the things he had told her in the morning. Still it was so unlike her. “She is probably at a friends place whiling the time away.” He thought to himself. Immediately his phone bust to life and he reached for the remote control; to turn down the volume on the television. The call was from a pay phone. As a senior member of the church, many strangers had Brad's cell phone number, and so he did not hesitate to pick it up. “Brad. . .” the earpiece crackled. It was the unmistakable voice of his partner. Nancy sounded shaken and distraught. “. . . I am at the freedom park.” She finished her sentence. He did not need any more prompting. She was not okay, that he knew just how bad, was a still a mystery. He rushed to the garage his mind a raging sea of thoughts and questions.

  The man of God probably broke every traffic rule in the book that night, but get to the park fast he sure did. Nancy was seated at the foot of the only pay phone there. Her legs were crossed like a meditating monk. She was disheveled, and he noticed that his wife had been crying her tear glands dry. Nancy did not want to look at him; she was ashamed; perhaps angry at herself a
nd a little at him. He, on the other hand, had no idea what could have made his wife pig herself out that much. She was a complete mess. All Nancy wanted was to be taken home. Brad carried her to the car, and they drove home in what was the most frustrating time of his life. Any question he asked was met with deathly silence and he just did not know what to think. Clearly she was not in any mood to talk and he just kept on driving. The vehicle backed up into the garage, and Nancy could not wait to get out. She did not want to be within touching distance of any man at that moment. Brad was going to switch off the engine when his lady yanked the door open and ran straight to the bathroom. He did not know what to make of his wife’s demeanor. His hazel eyes sank even deeper behind his brows as he helplessly watched the love of his life disappear behind the main door. He switched off the headlights too and slowly followed her into the house. He heard the shower and knew where she was. He got there pulled the blinders back and witnessed an absolutely pitiful site. She was on the floor fully clothed as the water drenched her. The usually sparkling clean, white floor tiles were now murky with mud. However, it was the profuse crying that concerned Brad. He just followed his instincts and got in to hold her. He felt the water in his socks and in his shoes, but he did not care an iota about it. He held her just as he is holding her now. That was what he promised her. To be there for her for better or for worse, until death.

  “He. .. he . . .he raped me!” Brad heard his wife force out the word in between sobs. He knew he heard her right. Shocked, his eyes widened and he impulsively pulled himself back to look at her. The area behind her left ear was red and sore. Brad felt a crazed anger fill up his heart. He was angry at himself; he should have picked her up like he always did. He felt angry at God for failing to protect his love the one evening he did not live up to his promise, for better or for worse. He felt extremely mad at however had the mind to commit in an act so heinous. He felt robbed and weak. Despair showed in his face, and he could not bear to look at his wife. Brad had been through many lows in his life, but this was surely the rock bottom. He immediately turned off the shower. He felt that justice for them was of utmost importance at that moment. He pulled her out of the shower, if only he could save the tiniest bit of evidence. He immediately changed her into dry clothing and drove her to the hospital having already alerted the police.

  At the hospital, the nurses took Nancy in while he had to wait at the visitors lounge. He was livid, contemplating and planning how he would get back at however raped his wife. He did not care much about the forgiveness he had preached all his life. Nothing else mattered now. He was emasculated and defiled too. He came back from his world of rage when a woman tapped him on the shoulder. She identified herself as doctor Cho. She was the doctor attending to Nancy. Cho assured him that Nancy would be okay and that they were lucky enough to collect traces of semen and hair samples around her pelvis area. Police arrived just as the two were conversing. An inspector Rodriguez Coelho, and his colleague sergeant Hannah Robinson. They would take up the case, and it seemed they already had a suspect in mind. They briefly questioned the two and were later led to Nancy’s room. After around half an hour, as Brad recalled, they came out and left with the samples. The couple was registered on a counseling program and later allowed to leave.

  They had barely gotten home when Rodriguez called them for an identification parade. Nancy felt nervous; the thought of having to face her aggressor again, had her in naughts. Brad saw a chance of redemption. He immediately turned and sped towards Rutenberg police station.

  At the station Nancy sat behind a one way vision window, as three men walked into the room she was looking into. She tried very hard to remember his countenance, even one feature but she could not. She sighed and looked at Hannah and shook her head. She did not prod her any further; she had investigated far too many such cases to know better. She gestured at the sentinel to let the men out. It was as they were leaving that Nancy caught it by her peripheral. It was the eagle tattoo on the last man’s left palm. She immediately jumped on her feet and pointed at him repeatedly. Hannah asked her if she was sure and she replied in the affirmative. He was immediately cuffed and led away. It turned out he was one of them, in the department. Inspector Rodriguez and Sergeant Hannah had been secretly making up a case against him. Nancy was his eighth victim over a period of thirteen months. All the other seven women had been raped in a similar fashion, but they quite could never identify him. All showered immediately hence erasing all incriminating evidence. Kevin Hart was his name as Hannah would later come to tell them. Her case was a “slam dunk” in police jargon. Someone had reported an abandoned squad car on a lonely street. The same one registered to traffic commandant Hart. The DNA samples matched his, making a compelling case against him. The case is still in court but it is almost a foregone conclusion that the police will get a conviction.

  Brad realized he was holding his wife a little too tight, maybe because of the anger towards Kevin or the sorrow that was all coming back to him. He desperately wanted to move on, but now his wife was carrying the baby of the one man he detested the most. He let go of the embrace and held her teary face in his cusped palms. They both knew what the other was thinking. One glance at her eyes and he knew she desperately wanted to keep the baby. He too longed for a child, but never had he thought that God would work this way. His emotions were mixed, but he excellently hid them from his wife. Brad decided he was going to stand by her and support her like always. It was the least he could do. It was still not lost on him when Nancy decided to stay married to him when their doctor told them that he was impotent. Over two decades down the line, she had not as much as suggest an adoption or any other way around the problem. On that floor, they made joy come back to their house. Joy born out of so much pain. A wry smiled etched on Nancy’s face, “honey, let its sex surprise us.” And she looked at him pleadingly with the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen. Brad just nodded, overcome by emotions and he let a tear drop roll down his cheek. He held her once again as their knees gave in and they went to the floor still in each others’ embrace. A deep, peaceful silence ensued the peace both hard sort for over the past seven weeks.

 

 

  FULL CIRCLE.

  I lay on the cold steel stretcher as the ambulance sped towards the city. My consciousness kept coming fleetingly, and I would relapse into a dark abyss. In there I felt lonely just like most of my life had been. For the umpteenth time, I came forth, and my hazy vision could only make up a desperate nurse increase the charge on the defibrillator which he would press on my chest jerking up my torso. Interestingly I was not much concerned about it. I reckoned that perhaps the pain was numbed by the extreme focus I had on the second nurse. She was on the van’s phone with someone I made out to be my mother. She sounded frantic, and for a moment, I was surprised that she was the least bit concerned after all the pain and shame my existence had brought upon her. Mum was a dedicated woman of the church. Ever since my father walked out on us, she lived her life for God. It always bothered me why God never rewarded her efforts; little did I know that God works in ways the spiritually blind can not see. I refused to follow her ways. In my naive anger, I felt that God was thankless and irrational in how he handled people. Those who showed scant regard for him got along just well while my mother and I languished in poverty. For all his power and majesty, he could not do something as simple as keep daddy home. That is all I ever asked of him, and he never answered. Sundays were always heralded by arguments between my mother and I. Because church was a pariah zone for me, not once did I ever set foot there. This caused my mother great embarrassment among other women. I remember a time she was once ousted from a church committee for failing to lead her family in the “path of light”. Nevertheless it did not concern me.

  I was always up to mischief and constantly in trouble. My demeanor earned my mother countless sermons to the elders and sometimes to the chief. Her health started deteriorating due to the stress I caused her. I was
too mired in my own world to notice that, and it had to take my uncles intervention to save her from her misery. He sent me to a boarding school, and I had to spend most of my holidays at his place. Thanks to his tough love I managed to get to college. On my death bed, I now get the gravity of the folly of my ways. I know why mama never touched anything I bought her. She knew it was the proceeds of all the evil I was up to in the city. Karma has caught up with me, and I am dying before her. I am leaving her in the very shack I grew up in because she refused to move into the house I bought her. Maybe I should have had the fear of God. I would be wiser, perhaps happier. Maybe I should have respected my parent, I would have lived longer. I am rueful as the only bible verse I know keeps repeating in my mind. My whole life was always planned around me regardless of who else suffered in my endeavors.

  In the ambulance, I could not feel any part of my body except the warmth of my blood oozing from my left thigh on to the cold stretcher and dousing my back for the vehicle was racing downhill. From afar, I could hear the din of the ambulance’s siren as it cut through the evening atmosphere. As I lay there, I felt sorry for the two nurses tirelessly trying to keep me alive because I knew my time here was over. This was partly because; I did not want to live my life anymore. I had done enough damage down here. The lies, greed, deceit, backstabbing and corruption had made me weary. I just did not realize it up until this moment. And partly because I felt I deserved to be in my current situation, I always had it coming. As I prayed for the creator to look not upon my sins, my whole life proverbially flashed before me. My mind raced to my furthest memory as a kid. Mama had sent me to the pump station for the kerosene we would use that night. We lit our home using kerosene tin lamps. For me; it was normal, and I was totally oblivious of our poverty. That evening, however, I was awoken to the concept of poverty and class differences.

  Rushing back home with the much needed kerosene; I heard the sound of a siren. This startled me for it was the first time. It was very similar to the sound that filled the air around me presently, and now I realize just how far I have come. I watched in awe as the lights atop the van lit my face when the ambulance raced by. So fascinating was the site; that it did not occur to me that probably somebody was breathing their last inside there. I guess I have always been attracted to the bright lights and shiny things since then. Perhaps my advancing age made me less aware of it. It is the main reason I bought that BMW. It had been delivered straight from the showroom only ten days earlier. A machine so magnificent to behold filled with all sorts of lights. Not for once had I imagined that a vehicle so sleek and perfect in design could end up so mangled in the ditch that I found myself in that night. It actually is true that one for the road is a tad bit too much. I did not notice the young couple crossing the road until it was too late to slow down. It was either them or me, and I just could never live with myself if I ran them over. I opted for the ditch.

  So vivid are the memories of the day I chose my path in life. I recall as I handed over the kerosene to my mother, I described to her the amazing automobile I had seen on my way back. “My son that was an ambulance, only rich people can afford to be carried in one. If you fall sick here, we will just have to carry you on foot to the health center.” She retorted. “But if you work hard in school my son, you can free yourself from this life.” That evening I decided that I am going to be rich and successful whatever it took me. Now I regret living life in a no holds barred manner. I have been so naive about how life really worked, and I had gone too far down the wrong path to turn back now. I had wronged more people than I cared to remember, but most importantly I had wronged my mum with everything I did since that day. I dreamed of the good life, the big houses, the fast cars, the mind boggling medical covers and pretty much everything material. Indeed I worked my way up the social ladder, and as I got older and more “enlightened” I got even more incentives to be the big shark in the sea. I pushed my way through life. In school, I would put in the hours, and when I felt it was not enough I cheated and copied. I wanted that college scholarship so much, I actually lied in the application form that I was a total orphan. At work I wanted that project fund so much, I stole a colleague’s idea. In business I wanted those tenders so bad; I paid hefty bribes for years. I wanted the money so bad I actually worshipped it. I liked the women so much I never settled down. In this ambulance, I realize I actually got my wish. I am in the very ride that set me on my path. It was all an empty pursuit. Deep inside my single thought is that maybe a kid whose life is just starting has seen “my” ambulance rush past him or her. If “my lights” awe them, oh God; please let it be in the right direction. I know I will not make it past today. My last act on earth is to be rushed to a hospital, and I hope someone gets inspired just as I was. Only that it be to a good end. It will be the only meaningful thing I have done all my life.

  THE WARNING.

  Chelsea loved it when her grandfather tucked her in bed. She was convinced that he was the best story teller, and she always looked forward to bed time whenever grandpa Joe came visiting during fall. Most of his tales were actual life experiences he lived through or had heard unlike her dad who read from a book; often breaking the prose. One October night Joe followed his granddaughter to her bedroom as he customarily did. Soon as she was safely tucked in he asked her, “What kind of story do you want to listen to tonight now that Brad is fast asleep?” “I do not know, grandpa, tell me anything nice.” She implored him. “Okay then dear.” The old man answered. “Tthis actually happened when I was a young boy growing up in Tottenham South of Chingford. There lived a lady in our neighborhood, a lone child of an aristocratic steel industrialist. No one knew much about her because she was very reclusive and spent all her time in the house. Her name was Ann Sexton. She lived with a young African immigrant servant whom she would send on supply errands. We called him Hausa, and he was pretty much the only soul she ever talked to. Hausa himself was an enigma, some thought he was mute while others swore that they had heard his voice sometime or another, for he only spoke when it was necessary. His handshake was firm and slightly painful as his seemingly dead eyes stared right into ones soul. Whenever Ann sent him to pick up something or buy anything he went to specific shops and rarely talked to the attendants. Instead, he just pointed at whatever it is he needed. After his errands, he would hurry straight back home never changing his route. A man of habit and strict routine, it was easy to predict what he would be up to the next week. His countenance was dark and stern. His hulking body resembled a chiseled out sculpture an illusion further enhanced by his labored walking manner.

  If Hausa were too much, then the site of Ann Sexton would make a coward flee. ‘Even the brave felt the hairs on the back of their neck stand up whenever one got up-close’ as the erstwhile Mayor of London once put it, after a brief visit to her house. Nancy Sexton Rothschild was a middle aged woman, but her skin was so rough, scaly and pale it was disturbing to behold. Long brown nails projected from the tip of her fingers and bent over downwards in a complete circle to touch her wrist. She could not grasp items with her palms. Those who had seen it said her hair was were actually short grey tufts that seemed to have a life of their own. No one dared look at her in the eyes for rumors had it those who did lost their site within months. I think she was heathen or mystic. I always saw her from a far in a dark cloak the few times she ever stepped out. She never ventured a few yards from the house as far as I could remember. Her lawn was never mowed rodents and serpents moved freely around the house. All the land around her home was worthless for no one would buy it nor settle there for free. Those who did out of ignorance or sheer bravado would soon move out complaining the area was haunted. ‘I felt things; I heard things, but my eyes could not behold what my other senses were picking.’ A local newspaper quoted one lady saying as she moved out of an adjacent house she had barely spent a week in. This prompted the mayor and the council men to pay her a visit in a political move aimed at showing leadership and servitude to the people
of London. They proceeded to the pariah house in a brave attempt to convince or even force her to leave.

  When they arrived, Hausa was on hand to open the wooden gate for them. One tagged along with a dog. The enormous canine started barking incessantly at the site of Hausa though he seemed the least bit concerned. The obviously agitated dog somehow wringed itself free of its leash, and raced towards Hausa. The dark, tall and bald Hausa did not move an inch. He stared down the dog and for no explainable reason the loud barks turned into whimpers as the dog scampered into the tall compound grass never to be seen again. On witnessing that, its handler turned back at the gate. The other three soldiered on into the house in total silence. The front door was rickety, yet it somehow held. They were now entering the oldest structure in all of London with completely no idea of what to expect. The mayor was first in line and he peeped in nervously before entering. Hausa passed them from behind and proceeded to notify the lady of the house who was in a different room that the mayor had arrived. It was 10:00 AM yet the house was so dark, and they could not make out their surroundings. A strong musky smell filled their nostrils as their lungs rejected what they were inhaling, prompting ceaseless coughs.

  The stooped silhouette of Anna appeared through the door Hausa had disappeared into. On one hand, she carried a tin lamp while the other held a walking stick that looked more like a broom stick. Behind her a dozen or so cats followed, all of them menacingly big. She moved ever so slowly towards them, and the cats followed. Anna could tell that her guests were uneasy, and she seized the moment. ‘I know what you lads want, and that is not going to happen if I am s still alive. My father bought this land from the council, and I have the papers to prove it. He was exempted from all rates applicable for 99 years because of his exemplary service to this city. As far as I am concerned 99 years are not over yet. I am sure you can find the certificate of exemption in your files, or you could take a look at the original copy I have here.’ They were now totally disarmed and at a loss for words as she engaged them in a monologue, her voice shriek yet firm and convicted. She waved her index finger and the room fell into a deeper darkness. They could not see her anymore but just the outline of her form and a pair of eyes that seemed luminous. Suddenly the room lit up so brightly it momentarily rendered them blind, yet there was no discernible source of light. Little goblins scampered from site like roaches. They could not believe what they were seeing, the room, was spooky in every sense of the word. Human hair hung from every inch of the ceiling while strange artifacts hung on the very dirty walls. A thick yellow liquid oozed from holes in the walls, and it was like the wall itself was excreting yet strangely enough the floor was not touched by any of that matter. The men were scared beyond their wits, and they remained motionless. ‘Unless you gentlemen have anything else Hausa will show you the way out.’ They could not have been more pleased to hear those words. Ann turned towards where she came from and as if on cue Hausa appeared. All the cats turned in unison with her and followed the creepy woman back to the inner rooms. They all rushed out of there and, no government representative has ever gone back to that house to this date. Normal civilians also avoided her environs like the plague. Over years that part of London has been unattended, oaks have grown blocking the building from visibility.

  People who were older than me told tales of how she used to be the fairest of maidens in all of England.” The daughter of a knighted steel industrialist called Sir Alex Rothschild. She was the aristocrat’s lone daughter, and he surely raised her like one. When Sir Alex passed away, Ann liquidated all his businesses for she could not run such a complex empire and put the proceeds in a fund. All the workers left, but for Hausa, his father’s freed boy slave. Tales have it that a man named Terry Huddlestone moved to Tottenham a few years after Sir Alex’s demise. A guy termed as ‘disturbingly’ handsome, tall in stature, easy going and absolutely charming in his ways. To the untrained eye a perfect gentleman. He opened a lumber workshop in Northern Tottenham close to where Miss Ann had retired to a life of seclusion. She would go to his post to acquire new items or invite him over to install new items like drawers and shelves. Hausa had his reservations about the man everyone loved, but he kept it to himself. Meanwhile, Terry and Ann grew fond of each other; their relationship blossomed so fast in no time they were an inseparable couple. Their relationship was so public they were known as ‘The Tenn’. It was derived from their names, to symbolize the perfectness of the number ten. Secretly people hoped they would marry if only to get Miss Sexton out of her lonely lifestyle. However, Terry never committed to her, and he would joke and laugh about it with other men at the bars. He controlled her by dangling the wedding ring just out of her reach. One Halloween night Terry staggered home, where he had been housed by Ann. On his way, he bragged in song to anyone who cared to listen how a lowly newbie carpenter managed to seduce and land the most sort after lady in London. ‘Terry the conqueror’ he would call himself, ‘greater than the noblest of the English men.’ He disgusted all and sundry by his of self grandeur, Ann on her part was utterly riled when she heard him walk up the alley to the house. One witness said that he saw Ann walk out of the house and approached the drunken man. Her nails grew into about a meter long claws and she sunk them into the terrified Terry’s collar bone. Of course, no one believed him, but Terry has never been seen since then.”

  Chelsea jumped out of bed, it was evening already, and she thought that she must have slept the whole day. She could not clearly remember how Grandpa Joe’s story ended. Her younger brother Bradley bust into her room clad like the headless horseman, a plastic pumpkin mask covering his head. “Hey sister it is Halloween lets go trick or treating.” He beseeched her. Chelsea saw how much her brother was excited about his first real Halloween experience and agreed to take him along. “Okay young man tonight we are going tricking or treating.” Chelsea assured the excited lad. She took a quick shower, and they both headed out. As they walked to the first house, Brad noticed a strange cat. It was unusually big and certainly not one of the neighborhood cats as he reckoned. Chelsea also noticed the feline on realizing that her kid brother was so fixated on it. It stared at Bradley directly in the eyes for a few moments and abruptly turned and walked towards a nearby thicket. Like a hypnotized person, the boy dropped his basket and followed the animal. Chelsea tried to call him back, but he kept on going. She began to freak out and ordered him back in desperation to no avail, he was deaf to her. She rushed to grab his as the hood of his jacket disappeared behind the thicket. She tripped over the pavement as her hand reached out and fell towards the bush. She was, however, surprised by how soft her landing from the fall was as she opened her eyes to find herself in an entirely new world

  “That bush must have been a passage way of sorts”. She thought to herself. The whole area way she laid was covered in about a meter tall grass. They sky looked brown, and the horizon was dark and misty. Chelsea scanned the area for her little brother, but he was nowhere to be seen. Bradley had vanished into thin air. She got up to her feet, now totally distraught and desperately shouting her brother’s name. She turned and noticed a wooden gate behind her that was barely holding on it hinges that opened to an unkempt pathway leading to a very old house. The gate was not locked, and so Chelsea slowly opened it. She then noticed Bradley’s jacket on the grass a yard into the compound. Panicking, the poor girl, immediately rushed to pick it fearing for the worst. She bent down and grabbed the jacket revealing the mystic cat right underneath. Chelsea fell back and tried to crawl away. She watched in horror as the Cat morphed into a steely black bald man. His eyes, however, were still cat like, a window to a very cold soul filled with darkness. He was heavily built and clad in what looked like reed strands that ran from his torso to the toes of his feet. He had no footwear and snakes coiled around the ground that he stood on. A sense of Déjà vu came over her. “Are you Hausa?” she stammered.

  The man did not utter a single word, but instead motioned her to go into the house. Immedi
ately she felt an unexplained force lift her from the ground, and she levitated to the house the strange man was pointing at. Soon she found herself in what she made out to be the living room. It was dark inside, but she could make out the form of a table and some chairs. The air was musky, and she felt a deep urge to cough her lungs out, but all she wanted was to remain as silent as she could be at the moment. Fingers snapped on the far left side of the room, and it lit up so brightly she was momentarily blinded. There sat an old lanky woman in a black cloak and a long, pointed hat atop her head. Innumerable cats surrounded her. The site of the old geezer was intimidating to behold. Her eyes were blood short. The veins looked like small millipedes doing rounds on the white of her eyes.. Whenever she blinked; they made a popping sound that totally freaked out the poor lass. The skin on her fingers was perched and scaly, and her cartilage was more of talons rather than nails. All she wanted to do was to make a dash for it but her legs were so weak “Do not worry my child.” A squeaky voice came from her mono toothed mouth. “I brought you here to set the record straight. Yeah I know what you are thinking, I am Ann Sexton Rothschilid. I had to punish Terry Huddlestone because he was only after my fund. None of all those people knew that. No one slanders my name like that and goes unpunished.” Her voice grew angrier. “But my heart truly loved him”. She pointed to a door on her left side and it opened by itself revealing a bedroom of sorts. On the bed lay a headless skeleton on one half of the bed. “See, I deeply loved him, eighty seven years later I still do.” She then turned towards Chelsea and pointed behind her. There was a partially open drawer, inside it there was a mangled skull.. “That is Terry’s” She pointed out nonchalantly. Her walking stick extended itself from where she stood, past Chelsea and fully opened the drawer. The image was terribly affrighting. “That is what is going to happen to your brother if he does not stop his tricking people for gifts today or in the future.” Chelsea screamed her lungs dry, and she woke up to find herself in her grandfather’s embrace. Do not worry my dear; it was just a terrible dream, nothing real, just a dream. Grandpa and Jesus are here to guard you. She held him all the while sobbing uncontrollably. “I was in the middle of my story when I noticed you were talking in your sleep. You said, okay young man today we are going tricking or treating.” Anyway you are going to be just fine.