On A Dark Night

Aṣàbí was angry at herself for deciding to come home that night when she could have slept in Adebisi’s house. She would have saved herself this much stress and trepidation. She had just alighted from the bus and was walking down the dark street of Awo with two other guys and an elderly woman; they had all alighted from the same bus.

It was pitch black and the sky was void of moon and stars. The trees ahead were dimly outlined. They stood as ghosts and as the evening breeze blew, they swayed to the side, causing fear to rush down her spine as she walked quickly. The crickets were chirping at the top of their voices and the croaking of the toads was very loud. All these added to the eeriness of the night and Aṣàbí could not wait to get home.

Her phone was off so she had to rely on the faint light coming from the little torch one of the men was holding. Aṣàbí was torn between running ahead till she got home or walking with these strangers despite the darkness. If anything were to happen, wouldn’t it be better to face it with three others rather than alone? Aṣàbí had heard many stories of the night; she hoped and prayed that she would not encounter any that day.

They walked in silence: their steps echoing in the silent night; their shoes raised dust as they made it down the dusty path. A strong smell of smoke settled in the air and Aṣàbí heard one of the guys asking the other who was burning something at that time of the night. Aṣàbí remained quiet, trying to look ahead to see if she was almost home but she soon sighed when nothing but thick darkness and black images greeted her.

Aṣàbí’s fear intensified when the elderly woman took a bend and left her with the two guys. She wanted to call out to this woman and beg to spend the night at her place but Aṣàbí was too shy to ask. Besides, the woman was a stranger and could just as well be evil. At this point, Aṣàbí felt like she was between the devil and the deep blue sea.

But she continued her journey; she had no choice. She folded her arms below her breasts, looking behind her shoulders intermittently as she quickened her pace. The evening breeze was chilly and Aṣàbí wished she had something more comfortable on than her thin linen dress that clung to her body like a second skin.

“We are taking this bend. Where do you stay? It’s risky for you to go on alone. Would you like to spend the night with us and continue tomorrow?” One of the men asked her after a few minutes.

“I’m fine.” She promptly replied, walking hurriedly even when the men were not coming after her. The men had been quiet all through and had not tried to do anything to her but she had to be careful. They were strangers. Besides, she was almost home. She could now see the small kiosk of Iya Kosoko.

“But it’s risky.”

“I’m fine. I’m almost home.” She told them.

“Take this then. You will need it.” The other guy handed the torch over and Aṣàbí contemplated for a slight moment if she should take it.

“Thank you.” She accepted it, hurrying away.

Now alone, Aṣàbí’s fear multiplied. The hairs on her skin stood in fright and her heart jumped at any movement or sound. Even the swaying of the bushes on both sides of the road scared her. She began to run, telling herself that she would share the testimony if she got home safely.

As if her prayers were being sabotaged by unseen forces, Aṣàbí began to hear voices and the sound of drumming. The noise was coming from a distance but it was loud enough on this silent night. Aṣàbí’s heart started pounding fast and she began to sweat despite the chilly wind. Sweat creased her brows and broke out from other parts of her face, forming tiny beads on her nose and below her lower lip.

Aṣàbí stopped running now. She would hate to draw their attention so she settled to walk instead. She held the torch tightly, struggling with the decision of turning it off or leaving it on.

Now, the singing grew louder and more pronounced as she advanced. The voices were male and were singing a song she had never heard before- one with a creepy tune that made her shudder in fear.

She was the only one walking down the dark street; not even an animal or insect could be seen. Aṣàbí found herself wondering who they were and why they were singing.

She tried to listen to the lyrics of their song but it sounded like hastily muttered words or gibberish. Aṣàbí decided to ignore the singing but when she heard a strange whirring roaring sound, she froze at the spot.

She knew this sound.

She had heard it countless times and every time she did, she had curled up in her bed, pulled the blanket over her head and hoped the procession would not march past her window.

Were they the ones now?

Aṣàbí suddenly felt weak in the knees as the realization dawned on her. How could she have forgotten about the death of the oba and that his burial would be accompanied by an Orò festival? How had she forgotten that women were expected to stay indoors that night?

Aṣàbí felt dizzy now and prayed desperately that the singing didn’t belong to the group she was thinking about. Now the singing was louder and she could hear the sound of their footsteps stomping the ground. She could smell the smoke strongly now and could see their shadows.

Her fingers trembled and the torch she had been holding fell but she did not wait to pick it up. Rather, she dashed into the bushes by her side, ignoring all possible risks of snake bite. At this point, it was better to die by a snake than to be caught by these men. She had heard too many stories about what they did to trespassing females; she would not like to be a victim now.

Their footsteps were now very loud; they were walking down the road, singing in unison as they held sticks of fire. Aṣàbí knew she should not look at them — it was believed that a woman who saw these men would die a painful death even without being touched — but curiosity was having the better of Aṣàbí.

Orò festival was a cultural practice in honour of the orisha Orò, a deity she had heard about while growing up. Many people had tried to describe the looks of Orò and his followers, but none of their descriptions satisfied Aṣàbí’s curiosity. She had always wondered how they looked and each time they marched past her window, she had been tempted to peep at them. Once, her elder brother had peeped from the window and had told her that the men were scantily clad with leaves. Another time, he had said they were naked. The last time he had peeped, he had said they wore clothes.

It felt like she was being told fragments of the truth and Aṣàbí was not satisfied with fragments. It was finally time to see for herself the infamous Orò and his followers, so Aṣàbí raised her head, ignoring the inner voices. Her heart was pounding loudly and she was now sweating profusely but summoned courage to look.

Immediately she looked, she wished she had not. A tall creature, dressed in a long robe hung with shells and a wooden mask (which was painted white with its lips smeared with blood ) whirling the bullroarer — a musical instrument for ancient rites made from a piece of wood attached to a string —paraded the streets with about twenty men, dancing, singing, and beating their drums. The followers, dressed in white gowns laced with a red veil, chanted ritual songs in a very eerie manner as they moved along.

Aṣàbí wanted to scream but knowing the consequences of this, she placed her palm over her lips and lowered her head. She knelt on the wet grass, her heart beating loudly while she waited for the procession to fade away. When they finally did, their voices sounding quite distant, she got up, dusted her dress and stepped out of the bushes.

However, what she saw upon her emergence released the very scream she had been holding back for a long time.

He was wearing the same white gown the Orò Procession had been wearing and his face was smeared with blood. From the look of things, it felt like he had been waiting for her all the while.

Aṣàbí screamed again.

Check out the next story from our finalists in the Short Story Challenge#1