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Onyi J Writings, gwagwalada, Abuja (2025)

06/06/2025

If Satan decides to share money right now. Some girls will be like; Satie Babe, my Sanito, Satix my Love
🙈😂🙆😆

02/06/2025

As a lady if you have opportunity to make one person rich, between your brother and your husband who will yu make rich

02/06/2025

Names of useless boyfriend
😏😏😂😂😂😂😂😂

29/05/2025

I want to marry a woman that will come back home from work and see me with a girl ontop bed and say honey u are enjoying oo

29/05/2025

DON'T LEAVE YOUR SLIPPERS OUTSIDE AT NIGHT
Episode 12: The Gatekeeper Next Door

Amara couldn’t sleep. Not with the realization burning in her chest—

Madam Ifeoma wasn’t just a harmless old neighbor.
She was the one holding the door open.

By morning, Amara and Mama Nkechi stood outside the quiet, crumbling house next door. Its windows were fogged from within. The garden was overgrown, yet not a single blade of grass dared touch the narrow, stone path leading to her door—two neatly placed children’s slippers flanked the entrance.

Amara’s skin prickled.

“She’s daring us,” Mama Nkechi said. “Mocking us. She knows we know.”

Amara knocked.

No answer.

Then a voice croaked from inside:
“She’s awake now. You should’ve let her sleep.”

The door creaked open on its own.

They stepped into darkness.

Inside, time felt... wrong. The air was thick, like soup. Dust didn’t float—it hung still, suspended midair. Old clocks ticked backward. A cradle rocked in the corner, though no wind moved it.

And sitting in the middle of the room, smiling—

Was Madam Ifeoma.

But her eyes were solid white. No pupils. Just endless, spinning fog.

“I kept her safe,” she whispered. “When the world tried to forget her, I remembered. I kept her foot warm... with every child’s slipper they left outside.”

“You’re feeding her!” Amara shouted. “With babies’ souls!”

Madam Ifeoma laughed. “I don’t feed her, child. I house her. I wear her like skin.”

Suddenly, the walls pulsed. From behind the wallpaper, hands began to press through—small, childlike hands, clawing from the other side.

Mama Nkechi started chanting in a language older than language. Her staff burned bright.

The house screamed.

Madam Ifeoma rose—but her body peeled apart like layers of cloth. Underneath was another body—thin, twisted, tall. A creature of bone and shadow, stitched together with shoelaces.

The witch had never truly left.

“She only needed a gatekeeper,” Mama Nkechi cried, “to keep the curse alive. And we’ve just stepped into her nest.”

Suddenly, the house door slammed shut behind them.

The windows blacked out.

And the slippers by the door vanished.

From upstairs, a child’s voice began to sing:

“Slippers by the door, slippers in the night,
One for her left foot, one for your fright.
Step too close, and she will crawl—
One by one, she’ll take you all.”

Amara turned to Mama Nkechi, tears in her eyes.

“What do we do now?”

The old woman’s face was grim.

“We don’t run anymore.”

She held out a vial of crushed bone dust, oil, and ash.

“It’s time to end the gatekeeper... and seal the door forever.”

To be continued...

29/05/2025

Don't Leave Your Slippers Outside at Night
Episode 11: Her Foot Is Still Here

The slipper was lying in the garden, half-buried in the soft, wet soil behind the house.

Amara stared at it.

It wasn’t from their home. It was too small, too worn—stitched at the edges with red thread, the fabric frayed and darkened with age. But what chilled her blood was the fact that it was wet… and the skies had been dry for three days.

She picked it up. Instantly, her palm burned—blistered as if she'd grabbed hot coal.

She screamed and dropped it. Mama Nkechi came running.

“That slipper,” Amara gasped. “It wasn’t here before.”

Mama Nkechi’s face turned pale. “That’s not just any child’s slipper,” she said slowly. “It belonged to the first child she ever took. The one we found in the cradle.”

“But we destroyed the cradle—burned the bones—”

“We destroyed her anchor. But not her curse.”

Amara’s hands trembled. “So she’s not gone?”

Mama Nkechi shook her head. “No. She left a footprint in this world, Amara. And as long as it remains, she can return. The slipper is her footprint.”

That night, Amara buried it.

Deep. Wrapped in cloth soaked with salt, camphor, and blood from a white goat. She said the prayers. She sealed the earth.

But at 2:13 a.m., Kamsi cried out again.

And when Amara ran into the nursery…

The walls were smeared with muddy footprints.

Tiny.

Childlike.

Leading from the window… to Kamsi’s crib.

The baby was sleeping. But her eyes were open.

Staring blankly at the ceiling.

Tunde was losing his mind. He refused to sleep. Sat in the living room all night, holding a machete.

“I won’t let her take my daughter again,” he muttered.

But Mama Nkechi pulled Amara aside.

“She’s not trying to take your daughter anymore,” she whispered. “She’s trying to enter through her. That slipper you found? It’s not an object. It’s a summon. Someone placed it there.”

Amara’s heart skipped. “Who?”

And Mama Nkechi looked her straight in the eyes.

“You have another neighbor, don’t you? Someone who’s always watching. Who never talks. Never leaves footprints...”

Amara’s thoughts flew to the woman next door.

Old Madam Ifeoma.

Quiet. Always in black. Windows always shut.

She never smiled.

Never spoke.

Never came out.

Amara’s blood went cold.

“She was the midwife,” Mama Nkechi whispered. “She helped deliver the witch’s first child. She was the one who kept the slippers.”

“She’s not just a neighbor, Amara.

She’s the gatekeeper.”

To be continued...

29/05/2025

DON'T LEAVE YOUR SLIPPERS OUTSIDE AT NIGHT
Episode 10:

The house was dead silent—except for Kamsi’s breathing, sharp and quick in Amara’s arms.

Tunde stood frozen, staring at the red writing on the wall.

“You burned the path... now I’ll walk through blood.”

Amara backed away, her body trembling. “She’s changing tactics. If she can’t follow through the slippers, she’ll take another route.”

Mama Nkechi’s voice was low and tight with dread. “She’s preparing for possession. Full possession. Not just of your child—but this house. This family. The blood she speaks of… could be any of yours.”

That night, no one slept.

They kept every light on.

Salt across the windows.

Palm fronds over the doors.

Ash from burnt slippers lining every threshold.

But at 2:13 a.m.—again—something broke the silence.

A knock.

Not at the front door.

Inside.

It was coming from the wardrobe in Kamsi’s nursery.

Slow. Measured.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Tunde grabbed a Bible and stepped forward, but Kamsi suddenly screamed—her eyes rolling back in her head.

“She’s here!” Amara cried, dropping to her knees. “She’s inside the room!”

The wardrobe door burst open on its own.

And stepping out—was Kamsi.

But the real baby was still in Amara’s arms.

The other Kamsi smiled.

Then spoke.

In the witch’s voice.

“You opened the door when you named her. You gave her a name I could hide inside.”

Mama Nkechi gasped. “She’s using the baby's name as a vessel. Names are power. She wasn’t trying to steal the child. She was trying to mirror her—to be born as her.”

Suddenly, the real Kamsi stopped crying.

Her eyes went completely white.

She floated from Amara’s arms, limbs limp.

Tunde screamed and reached, but a black wind exploded through the room, slamming him into the wall.

The false Kamsi stepped forward.

She was growing. Her body shifting. Aging rapidly, transforming from a baby into a toddler, then into a child...

Then into a woman.

The witch’s true form emerged—cloaked in the illusion of innocence.

“I was never after just one life,” she whispered. “I was building a door. One child. One step. One soul. And now it’s open.”

Mama Nkechi raised her staff, chanting.

The witch screamed—but laughed through it.

“Burn the slippers. Burn the bones. It won’t matter. I’m already here. I’ve tasted the name. Now I want the soul.”

Just as she reached for the real Kamsi—who was still floating, unconscious—Amara stepped in front of her.

“No,” she said.

Then she whispered her daughter’s name backward.

“Ismak.”

The witch paused.

Stumbled.

Cracked.

“You—what did you—?” she growled.

Mama Nkechi gasped. “She reversed the name... She’s undoing the vessel!”

The room exploded in wind and screams.

The false Kamsi shattered like glass.

The real Kamsi fell gently into Amara’s arms.

It was over.

Or so they thought...

Until, days later, Amara found another slipper.

Not hers. Not Tunde’s. Not Kamsi’s.

A child’s slipper.

Old.

Dirty.

And still wet.

To be continued...

29/05/2025

DON'T LEAVE YOUR SLIPPERS OUTSIDE AT NIGHT
Episode 9: The Slipper That Waited

Amara stared at the slipper on the riverbank.

It was hers—left behind weeks ago, the night she first ran out with Kamsi in terror. She hadn’t even noticed it was gone. But now, here it was... clean, dry, and deliberately placed.

“Mama Nkechi,” she whispered. “It’s my slipper.”

The old woman’s face paled.

“She didn’t leave it by mistake. That’s a marker. A claim.”

“But I just gave the spirit back to the river—”

Mama Nkechi cut her off. “The river only traps. It doesn’t destroy. And if she left your slipper... it means she’s not done with you. Not yet.”

Amara picked it up, hand trembling. The second her fingers touched the sole, a chill ran through her body—then a voice echoed in her ears.

Not a scream. Not a whisper.

A lullaby.

Soft. Sweet. Rotten.

“She’s trying to re-enter you,” Mama Nkechi said. “Not through your womb this time—but through your steps. Your journey. She wants to follow wherever you go.”

They returned home before dawn.

Tunde met them at the door—Kamsi in his arms, quiet and wide-eyed.

“Where were you?” he asked, his voice tired. “I had a dream... you drowned.”

Amara took Kamsi without answering. But the moment their eyes met, the baby flinched.

And cried.

That night, things began to change.

Mirrors in the house started to fog on their own.

Windows creaked open, even when latched.

And worst of all—Kamsi began to sleepwalk.

At exactly 2:13 a.m.

The first night, they found her standing in the kitchen, barefoot, whispering, “Find the other slipper... find her foot.”

The second night, she stood by the front door, holding Amara’s matching slipper in her tiny hands.

Tunde panicked. “This is not normal. Our baby is only nine months old. She can barely stand, let alone unlock doors!”

But Mama Nkechi only muttered, “The witch is walking again. Not fully. Not yet. But each time Kamsi takes a step, she’s borrowing her legs.”

That night, Amara burned the slippers.

Every pair in the house.

But it didn’t matter.

At 2:13 a.m., the sound returned:

Slap. Drag. Slap. Drag.

Only this time—it came from inside the house.

They followed the sound to the bedroom.

And froze.

On the wall, drawn in thick, dark lines, was the outline of two feet. One whole. One half-dragged.

And written above them, in something red and sticky:

“You burned the path. Now I’ll walk through blood.”

To be continued...

29/05/2025

DON'T LEAVE YOUR SLIPPERS OUTSIDE AT NIGHT
Episode 8: The Child That Never Was

Amara didn’t sleep.

Not that night. Not the next.

Something lived inside her. Something that moved when she was still, kicked when she prayed, and whispered when no one else was around.

She hadn’t told Tunde—at least, not all of it.

He had returned to his senses after the cradle was burned. But he was... distant. As if pieces of him were still missing. Sometimes, he would pause mid-sentence and look at Amara like she was a stranger.

And sometimes, when he looked at Kamsi, his eyes would flicker black—for a second.

Mama Nkechi came every morning now, sprinkling cleansing herbs and muttering under her breath. But even she looked afraid.

“You said the witch is dead,” Amara whispered.

“She is,” Mama Nkechi replied. “But what she left behind is not her... it’s worse. It’s what she used to be. The spirit before she became human again. It has no name, only hunger.”

One night, Amara woke up to a voice in her stomach.

It wasn’t a cry or kick.

It spoke.

“Ma... ma...”

She screamed and ran to Mama Nkechi’s hut.

The old woman laid her down, placed a calabash of water on her belly, and whispered, “Show yourself.”

The water turned black.

Then... a face rose from within it.

A baby. But its mouth was full of teeth.

Its eyes were solid white.

And it grinned.

“She’s being reborn,” Mama Nkechi said, stepping back in fear. “Through your blood. Through your child’s shadow. She couldn’t wear your husband—so now she wants to be your daughter.”

Amara trembled. “What do I do?”

The answer was not kind.

“You have to choose. Carry this child to term—and risk losing Kamsi, your husband, and yourself. Or... go to the river. To the place where witches birth their kind. And give her back.”

Amara stared at her. “You want me to kill my unborn child?”

“No,” Mama Nkechi said. “I want you to stop a witch from returning.”

That night, Amara packed a bag.

29/05/2025

Don't Leave Your Slippers Outside at Night
Episode 7: The Cradle of Screams

The door behind Amara and Mama Nkechi slammed shut with a force that rattled the old wooden walls. Dust rose from the cradle like smoke, and the air turned thick—every breath felt like inhaling something alive.

Amara clutched her shawl. “We need to leave—now.”

“No,” Mama Nkechi said firmly. “We’re here. And she knows. That skeleton in the cradle—it’s not just the first child. It’s her anchor. The last part of her that’s still real. If we destroy it, the witch’s power will unravel.”

They moved closer to the cradle. The tiny skull stared back at them, mouth open in a silent scream, as though it had been crying out even in death.

Just as Mama Nkechi reached for it, the ground groaned. The floorboards warped—twisting upward like hands trying to grab them. A shriek filled the room—high, female, and full of pain and rage.

Then she appeared.

Mama Ojiugo.

But not as they’d seen her before.

This time, she had no face. Just smooth skin, stretched where her eyes and mouth should be. Her arms were long, her fingers sharp and black, and she hovered above the floor, her single slipper dragging behind her like a curse.

“You found my child,” she hissed—without lips. The voice came from everywhere.

“You want your man back. Your baby whole. You want peace?”

Amara stepped forward, shaking but resolute. “Yes. I want my family back.”

“Then take mine,” the witch said. “Put her in your arms. Carry her bones. Bury them in your baby’s name. Let me live again.”

“No,” Amara whispered.

The witch let out a banshee-like wail that shattered the glass windows.

Mama Nkechi threw a pouch of black salt at the cradle. The bones ignited instantly—flames licking up, bright and unnatural. The witch screamed louder, her body tearing apart like smoke caught in the wind.

But as she vanished, she shouted one final curse:

“If I cannot wear him... I will be born in her!”

Suddenly, Amara clutched her belly in pain—not Kamsi, but herself.

“I—Mama Nkechi—I think something’s inside me—moving!”

The old woman’s eyes widened in horror.

“She planted a seed in you. A spirit-child. You’re not just a target now, Amara. You’re a vessel.”

The cradle burned to ash.

The house collapsed behind them as they fled into the night.

But inside Amara... something shifted.

A heartbeat.

That wasn’t hers.

To be continued...

28/05/2025

Episode 11(Final)

I SAW MY GRANDMA TÚRN INTO A CÁT AT NIGHT😳

I went on my knees, and started gathering the broken pieces of the pot together, tears streaming down my face.

“God, what have I done?”. I cried.

But then, I noticed something else. The room was in disarray. All the pots I saw sitting on every corner of the room when I first entered, all of them lay shattered, their contents spilling out. The stones and beads too have fallen off the walls to the floor. What was even stranger was the fact that I didn't even hear a single sound from them.

“Kpokuochukwu!”. A familiar voice called.

I turned around sharply. Dad was standing by the door, confusion evident on his face. My heart leaped with joy.

“Daddy!”. I exclaimed.

Quickly, I threw the broken pieces away, and ran to meet him.

“Daddy, I have missed you so much”. I exclaimed, burying my face on his stomach in a tight embrace.. This story belongs to Joy Ifunanya.

“What is going on? Why is the room in a m£ss?”. He asked, his voice troubled. ..

But I ignored him and went ahead to ask after my mum.

“Where is Mum?”. I asked, looking towards the door, expectantly.

But before he could respond, his gaze fell upon grandma who was still on the floor trembling.

“Ahhh ah! Mama! What is wrong with her?”. He panicked, as he gently pushed me away, and rushed to her.

As he was attending to her, I quickly ran outside, excitedly calling out to my mom. I couldn't wait to let her know about the old man and grandma's secrets.

“Mummy, mum!”.

But she neither responded nor was she in the car, in the room or anywhere in the compound. Fear gripped me once again as I reflected on grandma's word to me earlier 👇

“Yes. Inside this pot lies your mother's fate, D£ath or Life. Set the birds free and lose your m0ther forever Or hand the cage back and have the pot”.

“No, no!”. I screamed, and ran back to grandma's room.

By now, Dad was kneeling beside her.

“Dad, where is my Mom?”. I cried

“Kpokuochukwu, get a wrapper, let's take grandma to the hospital!”. He screamed.

“No, where is my mummy?”. I asked again.

He made an attempt to sweep her up the floor. But grandma raised a weak hand up, and held him on the jaw, hesitantly.

“Hmmm, mba, mba(no, no,no)”. She muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Not again, mama. Don't tell me ‘no’ this time. I'm taking you to the hospital right away”. He said.

“It's already too late”. She added, her breath, ceasing.

“Too late for what?”

Just then, we could hear the sound of a crowd of people approaching the house. Dad and I exchanged worried glances.

“They are here for me”. Grandma muttered.

“I don't understand. Who is here for you?”. Dad asked.

She began to cough out her words. .

“I…I…I k¡lled your father!”. .

Well that was not news to me. The old man already told me of how all the members of the wounded sisters have this tradition of sácrificing their husbands at a certain age, of which dad wouldn't have been an exception, had it been he agreed to marry Akuabata..

But dad didn't take her confeso seriously. It was surprising how he still didn't believe his mother was capable of doing evul, despite all the f£tish items he was seeing scattered all over the room.

“Please, stop. You don't even know what you're saying. Allow me to take you to the hospital”. He pleaded.

By now, the crowd was already inside the compound. The sound of wâr song, plus the sound of wooden and metallic objects on the walls filled the air.

“I'm sorry, son. Please, forgive….”.
Grandma cried, tears streaming down her face..

“Mama, biko, stop this. You k¡lled papa as how? As who?...”. He argued.

“As a w¡tch!”. A hoarse voice said from the door.

Dad and I turned as three able-bodied men walked into the room.

“Are you… are you alright?”. Dad asked, his anger evident.

******Now, it happened, that as the deliverance session was happening in Grandma's room, the other w¡tches gathered in the village square, planning to launch a counterâttack. However, they couldn't withstand the divine power that was unleashed. One by one, they began to fall, some dy¡ng instantly while others were left confessing their evul deeds to a gathering of shocked villagers.
*****************

“Onyedikachi, you have to accept the bitter truth. Your mother here is a w¡tch. Shehe and her fellow c0ven members had done a lot of dámages to this village. We have been in their b0ndage unknowingly for years. And we are….”. The one with the hoarse voice was explaining before dad's voice cut him off.

“Enough!. He screamed.

For some seconds, the room fell silent.

…. How dare you? What makes you think you can walk in here and say trâsh about my mother? In my presence?” He roared.

Grandma held him to calm down.

“I did it, Onyedikachukwu, I did everything”. Grandma muttered.

“What's that? You did what”. Dad asked.

“The m¡scarriages, the fire in your shop, the bl££ding...I'm responsible…”. She continued.

Dad let go of her instantly.

“What? Are you being serious, Mama?”. He asked.

“I’m sorry, my son”. She cried.

"You k¡lled papa? You k¡lled papa? You k¡lled…Wait! You're responsible for my wife's…YOU KEELED MY WIFE?....”. Dad asked, eyebrows widened.

And that was it. Every other thing he said after that sounded distant, like a buzzing in my ears. The world around me began to spin, and I felt like I was losing my grip on reality.

"No, no!" I screamed, dashing out of the room in a state of panic.

Outside, a mob of angry village youths stood, their faces twisted with rage.

"Stop, stop, stop that little boy!" Someone shouted.

But I was too fast. I dodged and weaved through the crowd, running into the nearby bushes where I collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

The sounds of chaos and confusion faded into the distance as I buried my face in the dirt, overwhelmed by the weight of what I had just heard.

“My mother!”.!Tears streamed down my face, and my body shook with convμlsive sobs. This story belongs to Joy Ifunanya.

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Just then, I felt a cold touch on my neck. I lifted up my head to behold my friend… the mysterious old man. He wore the same outfit, but he looked a bit brighter than the last time.

“Victory at last! The village of Eziama is now free from the bo***ge of darkness”. He exclaimed in excitement.

I shook my head.

“My mom. I sobbed.

…..I saved everyone, but I couldn't save my mummy!”. I cried.

His countenance changed instantly.

“Yeah, we save some and we lose some”. He muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

I didn’t understand what he meant, and I didn’t care. All I knew was that I wanted my mother back.

“Sir, my mummy. I want to see my mummy!”. I continued crying.

For a long moment, he said nothing, letting me cry out my grief. I cried until there were no more tears in my eyes. He made me sit on his lap, and began to say soothen words to me.

“There is a purpose for whatever the lord allows to happen”. He began.

Though I didn't see any purpose in my mother's death, I kept calm, listening to him.

He went on and on to make me see why I should be happy even in this difficult moment of life.

….Your mother may be dead here, but not on the other side. And she is proud of you”. He concluded.

When he was done, he kissed me on the forehead and disappeared before my eyes. And that was the last I ever set my eyes on him. I got up and returned home.

By now, the village youths were carrying grandma away on a wooden stretcher, her frail body still.

“We are taking her to the evμl forest where she bel0ngs”. I overheard someone from the crowd say.

I found Dad standing nearby, his eyes red from crying, his body shaking with sobs.
I rushed to him, throwing my arms around his waist. He held me tightly, his tears falling onto my shoulder.

“We lost her, my son. We l0st your mummy”. He whispered.

“I know. I muttered, tearfully.

…We will be fine”. I said.

CONCLUSION

Grandma, alongside the other w¡tches, about seven hundred and fifty of them, were taken away from the village to the heart of the evil forest.

Akuabata was not found until the next morning. She was found crossing the village stream into a neighboring village. Before her ex£cution, she had narrated everything that she witnessed in grandma's room that morning to the villagers.

“That boy, Kpokuochukwu, is not little. There is something about him”. She had testified.

That same mori, dad and I were preparing to go to the m0rtuary when the villagers stormed the compound, singing songs of praises.

“What again?”. Dad asked, his voice weak.

…You have taken away the w¡tch you s0ught, what else do you want from us?”. He asked.

For a response, someone, a giant young man, stepped forward from among the crowd, and before I knew it, he grabbed me and made me sit me up on his shoulder. He then started running around the compound. The others, clapping and singing 👇

“Kpokuo,Kpokuo, Kpokuo ka anyi ga-eso! Ma o na eje eje, ma o na-ana ana, Kpokuo ka anyi ga-eso!”

It's just a song that portrays me as their hero.

I rejoiced with them, quite alright, but after I was brought down and granted an opportunity to speak, the strange Spirit took over me again, making them understand that I was not God, but a vessel in His hand. Furthermore, I ceased the opportunity to preach to them, pleading with them to turn away from their wicked ways, and embrace Christ wholeheartedly. I spoke at length until the small gathering suddenly transformed into a crusade ground. The villagers listened intently, some with tears streaming down their faces, others with looks of admiration.

Dad stood at a corner, watching me with a mix of awe and fear, as if seeing a different person.

"God is calling you!. I continued, my voice filled with emotion.

….He is calling you to repentance, to forgiveness, and to salvation. Do not let the enemy hold you captive any longer. Break free from the chains of sin and darkness. Let Christ set you free”. I concluded.

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, some crying out to God for mercy and forgiveness. It was a moment of divine intervention, a turning point in the lives of the villagers. And I was humbled to be a part of it.

A week later, mom was laid to rest in a quiet, traditional ceremony, honoring her memory and legacy.

I was initially slated to be the king, but due to my age and Igbo tradition, which dictates that a child cannot rule over their father, Dad was crowned the king of Eziama community👑.

Initially, he vowed never to remarry after Mom's passing, but when he realized I had a different plan, he eventually married a beautiful young woman who works as a teacher in the neighboring village. Coincidentally, she was of the descendant of Oduduwa. And together, they had two children.

As for me, Reverend Father Prince Kpokuochukwu Sindara Onaga, I've found my calling in Italy, where I pastor and serve the Lord.

It was bittersweet that Mom, who fought tirelessly for her love and our family, didn't live to see this glorious day. Yet, I found solace in the knowledge that she's in a better place, watching over us with joy.

It's been 20 years working in the Lord's vineyard, and I'm humbled by the opportunity to spread His message of love and redemption. Peace 🙏 🙏

Thank you so much❤️❤️❤️ for reading

22/05/2025

DON'T LEAVE YOUR SLIPPERS OUTSIDE AT NIGHT
Episode 6: Wearing My Husband’s Skin

The morning after Tunde collapsed, he woke up with no memory of the night before.

But something was off.

He didn’t smile.

Didn’t yawn or stretch.

He simply sat up, looked around slowly, and said, “It’s morning. Feed the child.”

Amara froze.

That wasn’t her husband’s voice.

It was deeper, colder—like someone speaking through him from behind a curtain of shadows.

She called Mama Nkechi immediately.

They stepped outside, leaving Tunde inside with Kamsi for just five minutes.

When they returned, the room was freezing cold, and the baby was crying uncontrollably.

Tunde was standing by the crib, staring down at Kamsi with a blank expression.
“She doesn’t recognize me,” he said slowly. “But I know her.”

Amara ran to the baby, scooping her up. “Tunde! You’re scaring me!”

He blinked.

Then smiled—slowly. The kind of smile that had too many teeth.

“I’m not Tunde.”

Mama Nkechi raised her staff of herbs and began to chant, but Tunde laughed—a sound that echoed unnaturally against the walls.

“I wore him like a robe. He left the door open when he stepped into the spirit. One slipper... was all I needed.”

“You can’t have her!” Amara shouted, holding Kamsi tightly.

“Not yet,” the voice replied. “But every day I stay in him, she weakens. His blood is linked to hers. The longer I wear him, the more of her I take.”

Mama Nkechi threw a handful of white chalk dust into the air. It shimmered, then burned red as it touched Tunde.

He screamed—half his body shifting, cracking, bones warping. For a moment, his face split—one half his, the other... hers.

“You want your husband back?” the witch's voice growled. “Trade me. A body for a body. You give me the child, I give you the man.”

Then—she vanished.

Tunde collapsed again, this time bleeding from the nose, shaking violently.

Mama Nkechi knelt beside him. “She’s made a blood bridge now. It will get stronger by the hour. If we don’t cast her out by the seventh night, his body will belong to her... forever. And your baby will die with him.”

Amara whispered, “What do we do?”

“We go to her house,” Mama Nkechi said. “The original house. We find what’s left of her true body—and burn it. That’s the only way to end the link.”

That night, they crept into Mama Ojiugo’s abandoned compound. The door creaked open on its own.

Inside was nothing but dust, cobwebs, and silence.

But at the center of the room... sat a wooden cradle.

And in it... was a tiny, shriveled skeleton.

Wrapped in a pink shawl.

The same shawl Amara had wrapped around Kamsi on their first day in the neighborhood.

Amara staggered backward.

“That’s not her body,” Mama Nkechi said, voice trembling.

“That’s the first baby she ever stole.”

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind them.

And a voice filled the room—

“No slippers here...
So you walked in with your soul.”

To be continued...

Onyi J Writings

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