***THE GHOST MAN***
By Tiana Cole Williams.
(A true life story)
A LIVING DEAD
CHAPTER 4
“Those that murdered sleep
should be re-ady for sleepless
nights.”
The door to Gbenga’s house was
open as I had anticipated. He
was abr@ce of what was going
to happen. The day I knew I was
going to be murdered, I had
gone to inform him, being a
friend, a next gate neighbor and
a man I had come to respect. He
was there with his wife
Abimbola as I entered.
“They have murdered me,” I
announced.
“So you’re now dead?” Gbenga
asked with a suppressed smile.
“Yes, dead but not burried.”
He took a glas-s of water that was
on the table and began to
sprinkle some water on me.
“Hey! What are you doing?” I
exclaimed.
“To see if you will disappear. I
heard that ghosts disappears if
you sprinkle water on them.”
Gbenga has a great s-en-se of
humour. Our friendsh!pwasn’t
instantaneous, it began after the
day we had a heated arguement
during a meeting of Landlords in
the close we lived at Ajao Estate.
It was over who was better
suited to be security operatives
of our close; vigilante group or
two Abokis.
Few weeks later we
bec@m£ close friends. I called him
Onye Ofe Mmanu and he called
me Omo Ajalaokuta.
“I’m now a ghost,” I said and
made a move like the zombies in
Michaek Jackson’s thri-ller music
video.
He laughed ha-rd with his
wife.”We’re laughing but this is
not a laughing matter. How could
that woman be so wicked?”
Abimbola said.
“Is it because I’m a strong man?
You for don kill me tete,” Gbenga
tea-sed her, “see as landladies full
all over Lagos.”
“Oriodaa,” Abimbola gave him a
little push.
Abimbola was a very robust
woman, so overweight she could
hadly get up from a seat. She
spoke english with a de-ep
Yoru-ba ascent, but a very nice
woman.
Now that I’m a ghost I have to
start acting like one. How do
ghosts act?
There are two types
of ghosts, gentle ghosts and
angry ghosts. I’m an angry ghost
with one sole mission….to
torment.
Abimbola ru-bbe-d a white
powder all over my head and
face. I put on a white jalabia and
a white hand gloves, and stood
against a white wall. To act like a
ghost, you have to look like a
ghost.
“You look like a ghost from Imo
state;” Gbenga said, laughing.
“I know, I am.”
“Are you re-ady?”
“I’m re-ady, let’s do this.”
Gbenga called Chioma’s number
on whatsapp video call and
stood before me. She picked and
starred on the image on her
screen. Confussion was all over
her face. My hands were in the
air moving like a zombie. Well, I
think zombies and ghosts are
closely related.
“Chioma, Chioma-a,” I began to
speak, “why did you kill me?”
Her mouth dropped, her face
panick striken and even more
confused. I was enjoying the
moment. It could be fun being a
ghost.
“I loved you Chioma-a, but you
killed me,” I continued, “Why?
Why? Chioma why?”
***THE GHOST MAN***
CHAPTER 5
“I loved you Chioma-a, but you
killed me,” I continued, “Why?
Why? Chioma why?”
FLASH BACK
The first day I met Chioma was a
coincidence I will never forget. It
was a hurt h0t afternoon in the
busy streets of Lagos, I had gone
to FHA office in Festac Town to
make enquiries about a land I
wanted to buy at Festac
Extension. On my way going back
to Ajao Estate, I noticed a girl at
the back of a danfo commercial
vehicle. She was putting on a sun
shade, she was beautiful and she
was crying.
The tears of a woman can melt
an ice, but the tears of a beautiful
woman can melt an iron. I drove
after the bus.
Don’t get me wrong. I was used
to beautiful girls, I had some at
my beck and call. Like Iniedo,
Genevieve, Chika, Aisha, Jumai….to
mention but a few. But there was
something different about this
girl. The girl st©pped at Ijesha, I
parked my car and followed her.
“Hey young lady,” I called after
her.
She looked at me but continued
walking.
“It’s you I’m calling,” we were
now shoulder to shoulder.
She looked at me.
“How may I help you?” She asked.
“I saw you crying in the bus,” I
went straight to the point, ” and I
want to know why.”
“I was’nt crying.”
“I know the difference between
tears and rain. And today is a
sunny day..”
“Even if I was, it’s not your
business.”
“Well, I want to make it mine
now.”
She began to walk away, I
followed.
“St©p following me or I will shout
that you want to kidnap me.”
“And you know what will happen
afterwards? People will mob me,
hang tyre on my n£¢k and set me
ablaze. My blood will be in your
hand.”
She thought about it and began
to walk again. I followed.
“My life is about to be messed
up,” she began.
“How?”
“I’m supposed to be having my
final exams soon, but I can’t
without paying my school fees.
I’m from a poor home.”
“And?”
“I told a distant uncle who is rich,
he promised to help and asked
me to come. Getting to his house
at Satelite Town he showed me
the money but placed a
condition.”
“Which is?”
She looked at me without her
sun shade, tears were rolling
down her cheeks. She looked
more beautiful than in the bus.
“That I sleep with him,” she
admitted, “I refused and he tried
to r@p£ me. I was able to escape.”
Wicked! Why is the world full of
wickedness and wicked people?
Taking advantage of an innocent
girl in her moment of
vulnerability should be a crime
against humanity. Punishable by
God and man.
“How much is the school fees?”
“Eighty thousand naira.”
“Follow me.” I beckoned.
“What?”
“Follow me.”
“To where? Why?”
“Listen, I’m not like your uncle.
Just trust me.”
“All men are not the same.”
“Some men are different.”
She hesitated for a moment
before following me. At a
building across the street was a
Diamand bank, my bank. I went
to the ATM machine, inser-ted my
card and made a withdrawal. I
then went back to her.
“Open your hand bag,” I said.
“What?”
“Open your hand bag.”
She opened it and I put some
cash inside.
“In there is a hundred K.”
“What?”
“Eighty K is for your school fees.”
“What?”
“Use the remaining to help
yourself.”
“What?”
“Ok, maybe I have to repeat what
I said,” I was almost laughing,
“you now have a hundred K that
can solve your school palava. Go
and make your parents proud.”
“Oh my God!”
“I have to be going,” I began to
walk back to my car.
I didn’t ask her to follow me but
she did. I entered my car and she
stood beside the door.
“You didn’t even ask for my
name.” she said, “and you didn’t
tell me who you are.”
“Ok, my name is Kelechi Onuoha,
but friends call me Kacy.”
“Ok, my names are Chioma Felicia
Okoro. A final year student of
Mas-s comm at LASU. I live at No
13 Friday street here in Ijesha
with my parents, but I come from
Onitsha..”
“It’s a plea-sure to know you,
Chioma,” I gave her my
complimentary card, “call me
whenever you want.”
“Thank you Kacy. God bless you,”
she looked inside her hand bag,
“Oh my God, Oh my God!”
I started the car and drove off. I
watched her throu-gh the mirror,
she stood there waving. And I
could still hear her voice in my
head…”Oh my God, Oh my God!”
A year and few months later we
were married.
BACK TO PREs£nT
“Chioma why did you kill me?”
Her confusiion turned to terror.
“No! You’re a ghost,” she cried
out, “You’re a ghost.”
Yes, I’m a ghost. A living ghost.
Her terror turned to panick
and….CRASH! She smashed her …..
TO BE CONTINUED…
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