A SECOND
SIGHT
Chapter 13
SCAREDY BOY
Location: STREETS
There is a sharp rap on his window, and he swivels round, a cry of fear escaping throu-ghhis mouth, his eyes wide with terror.
A traffic police officer is bent, looking in at him, his face irritated.
Wrapped ti-ghtly around the policeman’s shoulders, holding on with casual relaxation, is a whitish-grey demon with eyes as white and transparent as snow but with tiny creeping shades in them. Its tongue is a long, snake-like object that is stuck way up the left nostril of the cop.
The sight is so ugly, so fearful, that Boat feels his stomach heaving with vomit.
The policeman wrenches Boat’s car door open, his face angry.
Boat leans out, and his vomit spews out in a wild flow.
The policeman jumps back with a curse.
Boat’s vomit misses the cop’s shirt but not his boots, glistening with fresh polish.
A sizeable vomit made up of tea and undigested toast lands on the policeman’s boot. The cop’s nose wrinkles with distaste and anger.
POLICEMAN
(bellowing)
You f*¢king drunk, sir? Please step out of the car right now!
There is a short black club at his wai-st, and he pulls it out and takes a step forward. He reaches inside to take the car’s key from the ignition.
Boat rears back against the seat and kicks out with his left foot. The cop is caught unawares, but he has the instincts of a leopard and tries to jump back.
Boat’s foot slams into his knee. He yelps with pain and sits down, his hand instinctively reaching for his holstered gun now.
Boat turns the key, and the engine bursts into life.
His is face screwed up with fear, and he engages the reverse gear and backs off the street lamp. He swings the steering-wheel violently, and the tires scream with desperate agony, and then he engages the DRIVE gear, slams the car unto the road and speeds down the street as if the devil is after me.
In the driving mirror he sees the policeman standing awkwardly, his gun drawn, and speaking into a walkie-talkie frantically.
Boat doesn’t care about the fact that the cop is calling other cops and giving them his licence plate number, and that soon he might have other police troopers chasing him.
He just wants to get away, far away, where I can’t see those evil and scary demons, somewhere he will be safe, where his poor eyes will get a much nee-ded respite.
But as he speeds, flooring the accelerator, causing the damaged car to leap forward, he realizes one thing: he just cannot run from them … nor hide from them.
Wherever he turns they are ahead of him.
They are having a free rein in town, diving in and out of cars, riding on hoods, smashing into people and disappearing into them.
One gigantic three-headed creature suddenly bursts out of the street and speeds towards Boat’s windscreen, all three heads elongating straight at him.
One of its head has the face of a shrivelled woman with a gaping hole in its throat.
The middle face has one large multi-coloured eye in the middle where a nose should have been, and although it has a nose-like structure just below that eye, it has no mouth.
The third head is the most vicious, the most violent, and the most evil that Boat has seen so far. It is the face of a demon with a high forehead, bulging, de-ep sockets into which the eyes are sunk; its eyes are red orbs of manic hatred that could have frozen the heart of an ogre.
Yaw Boat is aware that he is screaming, that his foot is pressing the accelerator down with fear-factor reflex, that his screams are deafening even in his own ears.
The demon smashes into his car, filling it, sails over him, goes right throu-ghhim and then Boat’s car smashes into the back of a Volkswagen Beetle, sending it careening off the street into the path of an approaching truck.
The truck driver has no option than to spin his wheel instinctively in a bid to avoid hitting the Volkswagen.
The truck, horns blaring, ploughs into the front of a supermarket, breaking glas-s and sending screaming people fleeing.
Boat is still speeding.
He just can’t stop.
Life is taking a turn into an abnormality.
He doesn’t know how long he kept on driving that battered car along the streets of Accra.
Finally he gets to a place where there are far less traffic, far less people, and far less evil creatures.
He pulls off the street, stops, throws open his door, and leans out, keeping his face down so that he won’t have to look up to see any more evil, and then he dry-retches a couple of minutes.
His body begins to shake unbearably as he fights to remain calm and keep his sanity.
This horror is beyond him. He knows that he is walking a fine thin line between madness and sanity.
He can’t take it anymore. His br@in will snap very soon if he doesn’t get any respite, and he will be a drooling vegetable before the day is over.
He nee-ds to get control of himself, and stay sane enough to formulate a way out, the most important of all to get to Anderson again.
He had doubted and laughed at the man, but Anderson has proved his point, and that is that.
Why is it happening to him anyway? Surely it can’t be because of that bullshit talk that a demon wants to possess his body, can it?
He Is just a little unrighteous fellow who has been doing his best to break all the Ten Commandments and live life to the full.
He has been quite happy pushing drugs and getting between as many female thi-ghs as he can, whilst trying to please a father he loves, and to woo a sweet little V¡rgin called Ellaine into his bed.
That is his world, a world he loves. He doesn’t care if it is the kind of life upright folks frown on. It is his life, and he has no regrets about it.
He lives as he likes to live. Why then has this terrible thing happened? How CAN it happen? Let those Christian freaks do the fighting with those damned for-ces of evil. He doesn’t give a farthing about that side of the world, and he surely doesn’t want any spiritual gifts, especially this one.
Surely Jehovah is a rational God and will un-derstand and let him go, won’t He? Didn’t the Bible say that God always gives humans their freedom of choice? If yes, then why in the name of heaven is God trying to shove down a foul gift like this on him anyway, huh?
Yaw Boat heaves a hu-ge sigh and opens his eyes warily, although his head is still bent. He looks at his expensive shoes, resting firmly on the street, slightly spread.
He is beginning to wonder why his black shoes looks as if they have a pinky kind of hue, when, without warning, the pink hands of a demon shoots out from un-der the car, and wrap themselves around his ankles.
Boat’s heart would have failed instantly had he been a less healthy guy. Even so the pain of the shock as his heart leaps and crashes in its cavity with pure terror is so excruciating that he almost pas-ses out, and his face become drenched instantly with sweat which rans like water, and cut rivulets on his face.
They are pink hands, and seem to belong to the grave. They are puffed up and rotted, and he can see squirmy things in them, squirmy things that bubble frantically. The wrists of the demon have pink, fleshy parts which seem to be dripping.
The pink hands had only three hu-ge, webbed fingers. One of the fingers on the right hand seems to have been gnawed off by something dangerous.
As Boat watches, blabbering with horror, the hands pull on his ankles, and a head shoots out from un-der the car, a head fixed on a rotted ne-ck and pus-filled shoulders.
The head is bald, pulpy and has holes in it that shows more wriggly creatures in the cavity where br@ins should have been.
Boat loses his mind completely then.
He screams shrilly like a nun who has seen six rapists, and stamps his feet hysterically.
The ne-ck of the hideous thing between his legs begins to turn.
Its head bounces and rotates slowly on that ne-ck, as if it has ball-rings in its ne-ck, so that the ne-ck turns with the head, and soon the head has come a full one hundred and eighty degrees, and Yaw Boat stares into the face of the dreadful demon.
On its rotted ne-ck are gill-like fins that bulge and contract. Its brow is a rotted mas-s of worm-like creatures, jammed ti-ght into the cavity where the forehead should have been, wriggling violently.
Its mouth is a long, pink cavity of horror, filled with serrated, fang-like things that could’ve been its teeth. One of its hu-ge, completely pink eyes is closed, or infected, and now leaked a terrible kind of pus down one destroyed cheek.
Its single eye stares at Boat balefully, and a hissing snarl crosses its face when Boat begins to scream.
There is a violent and deadly commotion taking place in that hell-zone of a mouth of his, and suddenly thousands of black strands like angry snakes shoot from its mouth and zoom straight into Boat’s face, coiling around his head with angry agitation.
And, horror of horrors, Boat can hear the harsh, jangling sounds they are making as they swarm over his face!
Yaw Boat, the Capo de tutti Capi, the Boss of Bosses, goes absolutely berserk!
He screams like a baby and pulls at his face and stamps his feet in acute distress and fear!
And then, throu-ghall the horrors, he hears a female voice speaking to him.
A voice!
A real human voice that jostles him back to reality and resto-res some of his sanity, enough to make him stop screaming.
WOMAN
(concerned)
Hello, sir? Are you okay, sir? Is everything okay, sir?
Boat stops screaming and looks up, his face anguished, and sees a well-dressed young lady standing on the sidewalk close to him and looking at him with concern.
Sitting on top of her head, like some advanced neon advertisement, is a hu-ge-headed foul spirit, its ten-hooked tentacles fixed on the edges of her mouth, a couple drilling right into her mouth, giving her a grotesque look that churned Boat’s stomach.
A thick tongue riddled with arrow-like hooks is embedded de-eply into the lady’s nostrils, seeming to be suc-king something from within her.
And she has the audacity to ask him if he is okay?
Boat is temporarily insane and irrational, and he shouts at her in a high-pitched strident voice.
BOAT
(screaming)
Get the f*¢k away from me!!
She steps away from him, quite startled.
She wheels around hastily and walks away primly, her high-heels cli-p-clopping down the pavement, all huffed-up and puffed-up like some righteous nun who has just been flashed at.
She casts worried looks over her shoulder, and Boats sees her hand diving into her handbag, and coming out with a mobile phone.
He grins humuorlessly. She is calling the police for sure, to complain about the madman on her street. Probably concerned about her two fatherless children at home, and thinking she has to protect them from the screaming Frankenstein Boat so obviously represents.
Numb with horror, Boat stiffles another scream when he sees the hideous pink demon suddenly swimming up Boat’s body, gory eyes fixed on his face, snake tongues still busy on his face.
If this demon should have a name, no name will befit it more than HIDEOUS.
Boat is hysterical, and he feels like crying.
Can this really be true? A tough-as-nails rogue like him, who has been in countless brutal and life-threatening fights, now reduced to a whimpering, snivelling, grovelling little sissy?
And then, quite suddenly, things begin to go crazy in the land of the foul spirits!
Boat sees that, amazingly, they are fleeing!
All the demons are in panic, fleeing helter-skelter….
They are afraid!!
Something has just happened to scare them!
Boat looks around frantically, trying to locate what can cause such a beautiful terror in this horrible spiritual beings….
TBc…