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Judy's Tales, Delta (2025)

21/07/2025

THE GIRL WHO RETURNED AFTER HER BURIAL

PART 8: Ada’s Goodbye

After Obinna’s body was found—his mouth filled with soil, his eyes wide with terror—Umuolu fell into uneasy silence. No one dared speak ill of the dead anymore. Not when the dead could still hear.

The villagers returned to their homes early each evening. Drums no longer played. Fires burned lower. The name “Ada” was now spoken only in whispers, followed by a quick prayer for forgiveness.

But something had changed.

The air no longer felt heavy. The wind no longer carried cries. The whispers had stopped.

Only Mama Njideka heard the final message.

She said it came in a dream.

She was standing by the stream, the same stream where Ada used to fetch water. The air was calm. The water still. And there, on the opposite bank, stood Ada—glowing, barefoot, dressed in the same white cloth she was buried in.

She looked peaceful.

“Mama,” she said, smiling softly. “I can rest now.”

Tears rolled down Mama Njideka’s cheeks as she reached out, but Ada stepped back gently, her anklet jingling one last time.

“Thank you for hearing me,” she whispered. “Thank you for fighting for me.”

And then, she was gone.

The next morning, Mama Njideka rose early and walked to the grove. She placed the anklet under the baobab tree where Ada was supposed to rest.

And from that day on, a small white flower began to grow there—one that had never bloomed in Umuolu before.

They called it “Ada’s Peace.”

The village slowly returned to life. The drums played again. Children laughed. But the grove remained sacred—untouched, undisturbed.

And sometimes, when the wind passed through the trees, it carried a lullaby only a few could recognize.

The song of a girl who returned after her burial… to find peace.

---

THE END

21/07/2025

THE GIRL WHO RETURNED AFTER HER BURIAL
PART 7:

Umuolu had never known this kind of silence—the kind that squeezes the air and makes every heartbeat feel like a drum. The secret was out. Ada had not died naturally. Her body had been taken.

Mama Eche had confessed.

But she hadn’t said the name.

Yet everyone now looked at each other with suspicion, wondering who among them had dared to sell the girl’s body for a ritual. Who among them had stained their hands with blood so sacred?

Then, one of the younger boys, Ugo, came forward.

He had been sweeping outside Mama Eche’s hut weeks before Ada’s death. He’d seen a man there. A tall man, with a crooked walking stick. He didn’t remember much—just one thing:

The man had called Mama Eche “Sister.”

Only one person in Umuolu called her that.

Uncle Obinna.
Mama Njideka’s brother-in-law.
Ada’s uncle by blood.

Gasps filled the air. People turned to look at him, and for the first time, his confidence cracked.

The Dibia didn’t even wait.

“Obinna,” he said, “why did you do it?”

Uncle Obinna tried to deny. He shouted. He cursed. He blamed the midwife. But the Dibia struck the earth with his staff, and the ground shuddered slightly beneath them.

“She knows what you did. The dead do not forget,” the Dibia warned.

Finally, Obinna screamed. “It was the land! The land my brother left for her! I needed it! I needed everything! She stood in the way! I didn't kill her—just helped her death come quickly!”

The crowd froze.

So he had poisoned her.
Then sold her body.
To gain the inheritance left in Ada’s name.

Mama Njideka fell to her knees. Her own husband’s brother. Her child’s uncle.

The Dibia turned to the villagers. “The gods do not sleep. He will not see the next moon.”

That night, Obinna disappeared.

By morning, his body was found by the grove. His face twisted in terror, mouth filled with earth, fingernails torn from scratching the soil.

He had been buried alive.

But no one had done it.

The Dibia only said:

“She took her justice.”

To be continued...

21/07/2025

THE GIRL WHO RETURNED AFTER HER BURIAL

PART 6: The Secret of the Midwife

The discovery of the goat bones shattered the silence of Umuolu. No one walked alone anymore. Every whisper was filled with suspicion. Every eye held a question.

Who took Ada’s body?

The Dibia said it wasn’t an outsider. No—the betrayal came from within the village.

The elders began asking questions, starting with the person who last touched Ada’s body before burial: Mama Eche, the midwife.

She was old, respected, and known for preparing the dead. But when she heard the Dibia was calling for her, she stopped eating. Her lips trembled when she tried to speak. Her hands shook when she tried to hold her staff.

Finally, after a long silence in front of the council, she broke down.

“I didn’t mean to,” she wept. “I didn’t know what they wanted her for. I—I only did what I was paid to do.”

The villagers gasped.

“Paid?” one elder shouted. “Who paid you?”

Mama Eche sobbed harder.

“They gave me coins. Said the girl’s body was needed for a ritual in Okpanam. I was told to replace it with goat bones. They said no one would know. That the mother would never find out.”

“You let her be buried without her child?” Mama Njideka screamed, collapsing in grief again.

But the Dibia’s voice cut through the chaos like a knife.

“Who paid you, Mama Eche?”

She hesitated. Then whispered, “Someone close. A man. Someone who knew her well.”

But she did not speak the name.

Not yet.

The Dibia looked at her for a long time, then nodded. “The gods already know. Now the earth waits for the truth.”

And as night fell on Umuolu, the air grew thick again.

Because the name she refused to say…
was walking among them.

And Ada’s spirit was watching.

To be continued....
A story by Judy's Tales

20/07/2025

THE CIRCLE ⭕ OF NINE
PART 2

20/07/2025

THE GIRL WHO RETURNED AFTER HER BURIAL
PART 5: What the Dibia Found

The morning after the knock, Umuolu woke in confusion. News of the anklet spread faster than wildfire. Some said it was a trick. Others swore it was a sign. But one thing was certain—Ada’s spirit was not at rest, and something unnatural had happened to her body.

The Dibia, Ogbuefi Anene, summoned the elders to the grove. He said nothing at first, only poured libation into the earth, eyes shut, listening.

Then he spoke:
“She was taken. The ground did not swallow her. The gods did not claim her. Her body was removed—and replaced.”

Confused murmurs rippled through the crowd.

The Dibia walked a few steps away from the empty coffin and paused, his staff hitting the ground three times.

“Dig here,” he commanded.

Young men obeyed. They dug slowly, nervously, until the shovel struck something soft. Then something hard.

Wrapped in a burial cloth were bones. Not human.

Goat bones.

The villagers gasped.

Goat bones, tied in white fabric, smeared with dried palm oil, stuffed in Ada’s burial space like an offering. Someone had swapped her body—and deceived everyone.

A sacrilege had occurred.

“Whoever did this has stolen a child not just from her mother, but from the land,” said the Dibia. “And her spirit will not rest until the truth is revealed.”

Mama Njideka collapsed in grief and rage. “Who took my child? Who dared to trade her soul for a beast’s bones?”

No one answered.

But every face in the crowd wore guilt, fear, or suspicion.

And in that moment, they all understood something chilling:

Ada did not die by accident.
She was taken.
For something… else.

And now, the one responsible would pay.

Because the dead girl had returned—and she wanted justice.

To be continued....

20/07/2025

THE GIRL WHO RETURNED AFTER HER BURIAL
PART 4: The Night Knock

After the grave was found empty, Umuolu was no longer a village—it became a heartbeat of fear.

Children were not allowed outside after sunset. Mothers tied red cloths to their doors. Even the c**k that crowed at dawn grew quiet, as if afraid to disturb the spirit that now roamed freely.

Mama Njideka did not speak much. She sat by her fire, staring into nothingness, whispering her daughter’s name over and over like a prayer. Ada. Ada. Ada.

Then came the night.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Not even the crickets sang. The wind moved with a strange rhythm, like footsteps in dry leaves. Mama Njideka lay on her mat, eyes wide open, listening.

Then it came.

A knock.

Soft. Gentle. Too polite to be a thief. Too late to be a visitor.

Knock… knock…

She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe.

Then came the voice.

“Mama…”

It was faint. Familiar. And so painfully sweet.

“Mama, it’s cold. Let me in…”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She knew that voice. It was the same voice that used to call her from the kitchen, the same voice that laughed under the mango tree. Ada’s voice.

But Ada was dead.

Still, Mama Njideka stood. Slowly. As if pulled by something greater than fear.

She opened the door.

No one stood there.

Just wind.

And lying gently on the mat in front of the door was a single object:

A silver anklet.

The same one Ada was buried with. The same one that never left her ankle.

Mama Njideka picked it up with shaking hands. And for the first time in days, she smiled through her tears.

“My daughter,” she whispered, “you are trying to come home.”

But deep in the darkness, someone—or something—was watching.

Ada had knocked.

And now, she was waiting to be let in.

To be continued....

19/07/2025

THE CIRCLE ⭕ OF NINE
PART 1
Story by Judy's Tales
Grab your chair 🪑 and popcorn 🍿 it's about to go down, and don't forget to follow for more
Famous Judy Udealor Ifeylizzy

19/07/2025

THE GIRL WHO RETURNED AFTER HER BURIAL

PART 3: The Stranger’s Message

The village had become restless. Women lit candles at their doorposts. Men whispered prayers under their breath. And yet, every night, Ada’s presence grew stronger—like a shadow refusing to leave.

Then, on the seventh morning after her burial, a stranger entered Umuolu.

He was blind. His eyes were pale like river stones. A boy guided him, silent and thin, holding a carved walking stick shaped like a crocodile. They stopped at the village square, and the man sat on a flat rock as if he had been there before.

“I seek Ada,” the blind man said.

The villagers froze. How did he know her name?

“Who are you to speak of the dead?” one elder asked cautiously.

But the man only smiled.

“She came to me,” he said. “In my dreams. She walked barefoot, anklet shining, and said, ‘Tell them I was buried wrong. Tell them I want to come home.’”

Mama Njideka, who had been sitting quietly with her head wrapped in black cloth, stood up slowly. Her voice cracked as she asked, “What did you say?”

“She says she was buried wrong,” the stranger repeated. “And she cannot rest until it is made right.”

The villagers murmured among themselves. Confusion. Fear. Doubt.

But then the Dibia, who had been silent through it all, finally spoke.

“If the spirit is restless, the earth will reject her,” he said.

He pointed toward the grove.

“We must open the grave.”

There was protest. Warnings. Some called it madness. Others feared it would anger the gods.

But curiosity, fear, and guilt pushed them forward.

They returned to Ada’s resting place that evening, digging with trembling hands.

The coffin was still sealed.

But when they opened it—

It was empty.

Not a bone. Not a cloth. Not even the anklet.

Ada had not been resting. She had never been there.

To be continued.....

18/07/2025

THE GIRL WHO RETURNED AFTER HER BURIAL
PART 2:
By the fourth day after Ada’s burial, the air in Umuolu no longer felt normal.

Children stopped playing near the grove. Dogs barked at nothing. The evening wind carried whispers—soft, mournful, almost like someone calling a name that no one could quite hear. But those who listened closely knew.

It was "Ada."

Then came Nnenna, Ada’s closest friend. She arrived at Mama Njideka’s compound trembling, her eyes wide with fear.

“I saw her,” Nnenna whispered. “By the stream. She was combing her hair with a bone comb. She looked... pale. But it was her. I swear, it was her.”

The villagers were uneasy. One sighting might be madness, but two? So soon?

And then came the third.

Ogbonna, the palm wine tapper, said he saw someone standing beside Ada’s grave just before sunrise. A girl in white, facing away, motionless. When he shouted, she vanished. No footprints. No trace.

Mama Njideka hadn’t slept since the night of the burial. Her eyes were sunken, her voice weak. But when she heard the stories, she simply nodded, as if she already knew.

“She is not at rest,” she said softly. “My Ada is trying to come home.”

The elders held a meeting at the village square. Some wanted the Dibia summoned. Others said people should stop spreading fear. But deep down, they all felt the same thing:

This was not normal.

That night, the whispers grew louder.

And just before midnight, a song drifted through the air. A lullaby. The one Ada used to hum when pounding yam. The same one her mother sang to her as a baby.

But no one could find where it was coming from.

Just... everywhere.

Ada was gone.
But Ada’s voice was still singing.

To be continued....

18/07/2025

THE GIRL WHO RETURNED AFTER HER BURIAL
PART 1:They said Ada died in her sleep.

The whole of Umuolu village was shaken. Ada, the only daughter of Mama Njideka, a girl known for her kindness and beauty, was found lifeless on her mat just before dawn. Her eyes were closed, her hands folded peacefully, but her skin was cold—too cold.

There had been no sickness, no cry for help, no warning. One moment, she was laughing and pounding yam with her mother. The next, she was gone.

The elders said it was a spiritual attack. Some whispered it was jealousy. Others said the gods had chosen her. But Mama Njideka said nothing. She only wept, clutching her daughter’s favorite wrapper to her chest.

They buried Ada quickly, as tradition demanded. Her body was wrapped in white, a single anklet tied around her left ankle—the one she never removed. Her grave was dug near the ancestral grove, where the land was sacred, and the silence was eternal.

For three days, Umuolu mourned. The drums were silent. Children stayed indoors. Even the birds sang quieter.

But on the third night, something strange happened.

Old Papa Chukwuma, whose compound faced the narrow path to the stream, swore he saw a girl walk past his hut. Barefoot. Her hair loose. Her eyes wide and empty.

He called out, thinking it was one of the village girls. But she didn’t turn. She just kept walking, slowly, disappearing into the darkness.

When he told others the next morning, they laughed gently, blaming his old eyes and age. “You must have dreamt it,” they said.

But Papa Chukwuma didn’t dream. And the next night, he wasn’t the only one who saw her.

Something was wrong.

Ada was gone…
But Ada had returned.

To be continued.....

Copyright ©️ Judy's Tales

17/07/2025

The Goat That Spoke My Name
Part 8
Fanial part

17/07/2025

A KNOCK AT 3:17 AM

PART 8 The house was quiet.

For the first time since Adanna moved in, there was no tension in the walls. No cold whispers trailing behind her. No shifting objects. And for three nights in a row, there had been no knocks.

It felt over.

She had opened the sealed door.
She had read the letter.
She had seen the drawings.
She had acknowledged Ikenna.

It should have ended there.

And for a while… it did.

She started sleeping again. Deep, dreamless sleep. The kind she hadn’t known in years. She even began to clean out the sealed room—not to forget, but to restore it. A space once filled with sorrow now felt like it could breathe again.

She hung Ikenna’s favorite drawing on the wall. The one with a bright sun and the words: “Me and mama when we were happy.”

She whispered a prayer for him every night before bed. She spoke his name. She honored his memory.

But on the seventh night, something strange happened.

At exactly 3:17 AM, she woke up—heart pounding.

Not from a knock.
Not from a whisper.
But from silence that felt… wrong.

She sat up.

Then she heard it.

Knock.

Once.

She froze.

Knock.

Twice.

Her blood ran cold.

And then…

Knock.

A third time.

The first time in all these weeks that there were three full knocks.

Not on the sealed room.

Not on the front door.

But on her bedroom door.

She didn’t move. She barely breathed. Slowly, she turned her head toward the door.

It was closed.

But the handle… began to turn.

No wind. No earthquake. No dream.

Just the slow, deliberate twist of the k**b.

And then it stopped.

And a letter slid in through the crack beneath the door.

Adanna hesitated. Then she reached for it.

There was no name. No seal.

She unfolded it with trembling fingers.

Inside, a single line was written:

> “You opened his door…
But did you ever wonder who taught him to knock?”

Her breath caught in her throat.

She dropped the letter.

From the hallway came a sound she had never heard before.

Not a knock.
Not a whisper.

Breathing. Heavy. Slow. Inhuman.

Something had been behind the knocking all along.

And it wasn’t Ikenna.

THE END

Let me know in the comments section if we will continue with Episode 2 of this story

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