Afrosays to me

…random excerpts from my communions with the AfroMuse

Of Visions and Visitors July 1, 2011

Filed under: Spooky Fridays — afrosays @ 11:43 pm
Tags: , ,

Come, sit around the fire. Let’s tell you a story. Of wraiths and apparitions; of torment and confession.
Our stories become your imagination, what you imagine becomes, or can become.

We dare you! Speak the words and the ghouls shall come for you tonight.


Grandma’s Grave by darkBetty
I don’t like Aunty Biola’s house. It’s always musty and dark. It doesn’t help that we’re here for this gloomy reason.
We’re here now. Mum, Aunty Biola, Aunty Sola and Uncle Bimbo. We’re sitting around the solitary candle on the low center table. The brown cushions on the sofas are old and worn out.
I’m keeping myself busy thinking of all the insects that could be crawling under my butt and thighs.
“We should just bury him in the backyard..”
That catches my attention. “What?! Uncle should be buried in a proper cemetery!” I say with a huff in my voice. What an atrocious idea!
“See this one.. Grandma was buried right here. Under our very feet. Who has money for cemetery?”
I’m here now. Lying on the very cushions with the invisibles insects. Mum said it was too late. “We should all just sleep here.”
The youngest would sleep in the living room. How nice.
They have left the candle burning for me. It is nearing its end but it still casts eerie shadows on the peeling walls.
Grandma is here. Just under me. Just lying there. Under me.
The curtain sways. I sit up. There’s no breeze. My eyes dart around.
Grandma. I used to laugh at grandma. The way she stooped and shuffled about.
Now, she’s back for me.
A humming begins in the background.
It’s that yoruba song grandma used to sing. She tried to teach me but I had stamped my foot screaming- “I don’t wanna learn your dumb song!”
Cold fingers brush my shoulder. I bite my lips. I won’t. I won’t scream.
This is only my imagination. Grandma is dead. Dead. Under the ground.
I regret the tank I’m wearing. Mummy had asked me to change, I didn’t listen. Now, I’m so cold. But there’s no breeze.
‘Ooooomooooo miiiii!’
A shudder runs up my spine. Grandma used to call me ‘omo mi’; I’d just hiss and say- “My name is Deola!”
The humming and whispering of the words amplify and my eyes widen. I look up at the ceiling. If I don’t look at the floor, maybe it’ll stop.
“Hmm hmm mmmm…”
“Oooommmooo miii…”
I’m not alone in the room.
I won’t look. I won’t. Look.
“Oooommmoooo miiii!”
My lip is bleeding. I’m biting too hard. I sneak a peek. The arm chair isn’t empty. She’s there. She’s there!
She is sad. I can’t see it. I can feel it. It reaches out to envelope me. Her face is blank. No, she has no face. Just a gaping black hole that seemed to exhume black smoke.
I can’t hold it back anymore. I scream.
My mother comes running out. “Kilode? Deola?” She meets me in tears, my arms hugging my belly.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I’m shouting. Tears meeting my snot, caressing my face.
Aunty Biola was out now. “Deola! What’s wrong with you?”
I gulp in drags of air. “I didn’t mean to push her! She was looking at my phone. I just.. I just..”
The humming stops. The whispering stops. The curtain is still again. The arm chair is empty again.

The darkness was familiar. My eyes knew its curves so I kept them half shut.
My skin knew the cold touch of its fingers. My ears knew the participants of its orchestra. My bitter soul was at ease with it.
Slowly, I poured off my bed with a drawn yawn, dragging most of the cotton sheets along with my left foot. I left the beddings behind with a few steps as I lumbered clumsily towards the bathroom.
The alcohol from the night’s drinking guided my gait in a hellish half-dance. Hands outstretched, only to guide; head limp on my chest; hallelujah hair; breasts swinging askew, I cast a freakish silhouette against the wall, the yellow beam of the moon, my spotlight, I was a freakish masquerade.
I danced left, right, left, right in the darkness I knew, making my way for the bathroom door; the moon a, salivating voyeur.
I danced past the full-length mirror that is my talk-to companion on very lonely days, and then moon suddenly shone a fire, blinding me. I blinked twice and I danced past.
The toilet door.
I danced towards the bowl and sat for some time. How long I cannot remember. I only know that I cried out the anguish in my heart that I’d tried to drown with alcohol. When the tears were gone, the bitterness remained.
Amidst spasmodic sobs, I stood up and waltzed out of my panties. I resolved to pick them up later.
Naked, I crumbled out of the dark toilet room and the moon threw itself on me with a startle. I ignored its frenzy and began the dance back to my bed, past the closet door, past the shoe rack, past the mirror?
And suddenly I could not move. I ignored the glare of the moon but it would not let me on my way so I grudgingly tilted my limp head and looked through the open window with a side gaze.
The moon was alarmed. “There is something wrong”, it seemed to say.
Then as I slowly turned my face in the opposite direction, following the leading of the moon, a bizarre stringed harmony found me.
In my state of inebriation, I beheld a strange sight, burning colours of lights that caused to lift my hands to cover my swollen face.
Then a dull red remained with a soft glow, then it was gone.
The dirge continued as I slowly dropped my hands to see my reflection. I slowly came to myself as I lazily studied the image before me and in a sudden moment of truth, I fell on my back screaming, face-to-face with a horned nubile, grotesque beastess.
She had her back to the floor, screaming too.
And then the moon went out.
The following morning, I woke up on the floor and she was there, whatever she was, in the mirror.
And she’s been there ever since, the avatar of my soul, and on some nights, when I have peace, the music is beautiful and so is she.
You most definitely would like
*Stories of Night
*Midnight noises
*The Passenger



50 Responses to “Of Visions and Visitors”

  1. *sigh* what can I say…we all know y’all are gifted…Bankole your piece was just…*sigh*

  2. Yay I was first…hehehehehehe…*pops a fresh bottle of Zobo Imperial* Y’all can’t have any…hehehehehehe *pours it gently into his flute and sips slowly*

  3. loba Says:

    *sigh* I don’t have words. I have almost similar guilt feelings towards my grandma too. Sad memories. Bankole!!! *smile*

  4. *now clapping* Mehn! The descriptive power in the words are soo nice! I love you both. VINTAGE PIECE!

  5. missfadesomi Says:

    No I’m not scared. 😐 well I never am. Can watch the orphan and 36 case (or something like that) in one night – I guess. I was caught up in the story and I just love you guys! Okaybye. I’ll come back later – would read it again too. Kudos to Uberbetty – even with the stress and all you still write a great thriller.
    I was meant to be first but glo is just a lousy network.

  6. Jaycee Says:

    That grandma story gave me the shudders. So Deola pushed her and killed her sha?

    Keep the pen flowing, great fiction writers. Have a lovely weekend.

  7. And they’re back! Finally. I missed the old AfroSays.

  8. ie Says:

    Beautiful writing. I can’t stand scary stories, but I totally love the pictures u put in my head.

  9. obafuntay Says:

    He’s at it again!
    It’s just as if I’m watching a clip… Badt ass descriptive power!
    Cheers! Keep it up!

  10. 0latoxic Says:

    Loved this. Banx, I see clearer now what you meant the other day. Nothing do us jarey, we go make am.
    Betty, I really loved this piece, you get me everytime.
    Y’all have a beautiful synergy going here. Nice one.

    • afrosays Says:

      We have to keep writing ,and keep writing, and keep writing till we know for sure in our hearts that we’re excellent writers if there is any title as such.
      I’d be looking out for you as you do for me.
      Thanks again.

  11. d3ola Says:

    Wow … That’s all I can say!

  12. ibetapassmynebo Says:

    Wow…d first was quite scary…lol
    D 2nd….beautiful!

    Nice one

  13. So first I had to learn to read the blog… Talk about being unique! The stories…. The stories…. Well…. All I can say is that I too dey carry last 😦 everyday I pull my hair that there’s nothing to do and here’s a beautiful blog *sigh… I’m a villager now sha πŸ˜€ beautiful work people πŸ™‚

  14. foluwa Says:

    So it was deola dat did it, hiann! d woman jst wntd her 2confess dats all. Speak the truth and it will set u free!!!

  15. awizii Says:

    The first story was reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally eerie…as in my imagination captured the entire story perfectly. The second story had quite a spiritual feel to it…beautiful…

  16. TheExtrovertKid Says:

    I’m running out of superlatives to describe the writing skills of Pemi & Bankole with. Wonderful as usual. (Y)

  17. 'il Cicero' Says:

    The grandma piece is just so real… Twas like a simulation course in eerie occurrences… Nice job, peeps!

  18. 'il Cicero' Says:

    So, the ΓΌber one has a dark alter ego, eh? Maybe, just maybe!

  19. I wonder why I’m not surprised. I really dunno what to say. You guys are the best and I wish you luck at the bloggers awards.

  20. Ekwe Says:

    hello,my two wonderful writers.
    ah…the first one hit home after the third read. it conveyed an image of darkness and palpable fear. I want to assume that the girl’s last words were a sort of confession.I like it.*by all things holy,betty and banxman have to tell me blhow they create magic with such very short tales.

    we come to the second one.
    how come you used ‘…nubile,grotesque…’? aren’t they paradoxical?
    the tale hit home after the third read and the word ‘horned’ was what made it possible. apparently I had missed it when reading the story under the sun. I liked it too,because it made me think of loneliness and frustration. I really didnt understand what the moon thing was all about. I first thought it was imagery for the light bulb or something…
    I am not a great fan of the method of telling,but the concept of a soul mirror bedazzled me.
    *that will be all*

    • afrosays Says:

      Even I have to re-understand my stories after I write them and see things I didn’t see while I had the initial vision. I guess that is what makes writing beautiful, that it doesn’t have one meaning only.
      If you noticed, I employed the use of sexual sentiments in the story, the voyeuristic moon, the nubile beastess, it’s more of an allusion to the impurity of the darkness, the sinfulness of the night.

      My own method of telling swears to improve but I guess my style is how I enjoy serving.

      *That will be all*

  21. Myne Whitman Says:

    Nice one as usual, congrats on your nominations for the NBAs…

  22. alahyor Says:


  23. cikk0 Says:

    Eerie goodness…

  24. sebelle Says:

    the stories were beautiful as usual, the first was simple and straight to the point, the second, i had a bit of trouble understanding but i have come to expect that from bankole’s style of writing.Good job guys! Remind me not to go to the village and sleep in my grandma’s house.

  25. Sorry I’m late, just came back from the evil forest hunting! πŸ˜€

    I always love your stories, and you have refused to let me down again! *thumbs up*
    The first story touched me deeply, not the guilt but the vivid picture conjured in my mind, your writing fingers my imagination in ways I find intriguing.

    I’d pay to read this!

  26. Uche Says:

    Keep up the good work, guys. Pemi’s story is a definitely easier to get. Wonder why the person in Banky’s story had such an ugly avatar. Maybe I’m missing something?

  27. Brownegurl Says:

    Beautiful doesn’t quite describe wot β€Žβ€‹β€‹I think bout this. Pemi’s story just keeps u wondering till the end n u’re like “omg! For real?!! *gasp*” N Bankole’s Soul Mirror β€Žis just beautiful n artistic. Brilliant!! (Y)

  28. Brownegurl Says:

    They say beauty β€Žβ€‹is skin deep n true beauty lies within us… If only we cud actually see avatars that reflect just how beautiful (or ugly… *shivers*) we are in inside…

    • afrosays Says:

      If we could really see… It better be only us. Or else,

      We’d care about it for sometime and then we’d stop
      And then soul fashion, and then soul make-up, and then all the usual human pretenses?

      Only the soul owner needs to see inside his soul.

  29. kitkat Says:

    you both are in my top fifteen list of favorite bloggers..amazing stuff! i think the dude writes deeper and is more complex while the chick is more nollywoodish. Love it!

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