They Come When You Sleep: 16 Tales of Horror and the Supernatural (Stories for Late at Night), page 3
Eleko wrapped the idols and talismans in his mother’s old blue head tie and placed the bundle gently into the hole. He filled the hole with reverence, secreting away the precious items. The shaman put a small rug over the area to hide the disturbed dirt, then pushed the bed back into place. Satisfied he had done his best to hide the items, Eleko flopped onto the bed, tired from the stress and exertion of the day.
Tunde hopped onto the bedside table, his skeletal tail swaying slightly. The monkey leaned in close to Eleko, chittering quietly.
“I know Tunde.” Eleko stroked the monkey’s back. “I am afraid, too.”
Eleko was awoken from a restless night’s sleep by shouts and pounding on his courtyard door. He sat up, suddenly alert, the night air feeling stale and oppressive. There was an acrid smell of smoke in the air, and Tunde was hopping with alarm on the table.
A loud cracking noise accompanied the thumping on his courtyard door, and Eleko knew that the locking bar would fail shortly.
“Tunde, you must hide.” Eleko’s voice came out in a panicked hiss. “Now!”
The skeletal monkey scurried around the small dwelling, looking for a place to curl and secret away. Outside, the locking bar gave way with a loud crash, and Eleko heard angry voices rush into the courtyard. He was not violent; it was not in his nature; he would reason with them but not resist.
Eleko stood and flattened out the creases in his robe with sweaty hands. He looked and could not see Tunde; smiling, he said a silent prayer to Eshu to keep the mischievous monkey safe.
The shaman jumped as the door crashed open, and men rushed in the door. They were faces he recognized, knew, and laughed with, but tonight the men’s dark, sweaty faces held nothing but malicious in wide, crazed eyes. They threw Eleko to the ground, strong hands pulling and punching him. Kicks rained down on his body, and he desperately tried to cover his head. The room became a cacophony as the men smashed and splinted all they could find; Eleko gasped and grunted as they kicked and punched him mercilessly. Then all became still.
Men still held his arms and legs, but the rest backed away. Eleko spit out a mouth full of blood and looked toward the doorway as Bola entered the room. The man’s white shirt was soaked red with blood, and he carried a thick, two-foot wooden cross in his hands. Blood and gore darkened the cross’s wood and dripped onto Eleko’s floor.
Bola’s eyes stared hatefully at Eleko as he slowly approached.
“This is the home of a blasphemer and idol worshipper.” Bola addressed the mob of men. “Burn it all!”
The men cheered wildly, and Bola grinned at their adulation. He stood directly above Eleko and stared at the shaman, his eyes wide and nostrils flaring. Eleko met his gaze defiantly; he would not give Bola the satisfaction of seeing any fear in his eyes. Bola gave a feral scream as he raised the cross high above his head, bringing it crashing down on Eleko’s skull.
Eleko felt the jarring blow echo through his head, and his vision swooned before all went black.
Consciousness came slowly back to Eleko, his head throbbed, and his eyes failed to focus correctly. He could not move his arms or legs, and the shaman struggled to fill his lungs with air.
Eleko heard someone calling his name from far off and turned toward the sound. After blinking several times, the battered face of the elder Oluwole slowly came into focus. The man was mouthing something through bruised lips, and after several moments Eleko realized the man was saying his name. Incomprehensibly, Oluwole seemed to be flying, soaring like a bird with outstretched arms.
“Eleko, can you hear me?” Oluwole’s voice was a desperate whisper.
“Oluwole?” Eleko’s voice sounded weak and faint in his ears.
“Yes, Eleko, it’s me.” The man’s face was swollen and bruised. “Do you know what happened to Abagda?”
“Abagda? No.” Eleko struggled to shake his head; then he peered groggily at the elder. “Oluwole, am I flying, too?”
“Flying? Eleko, wake up! They are crucifying us like their nailed god.” Oluwole’s words finally jarred Eleko back to full consciousness.
Eleko blinked and saw the sun was low in the sky, early evening by his account. He looked at Oluwole and realized the man was bound to a large wooden cross several feet off the ground. Thick ropes tied Oluwole’s outstretched arms to the cross and his feet to the lower portion.
The shaman saw that his arms and feet were similarly affixed to a cross. With some effort, Eleko could lean his head forward far enough to see a dozen crosses standing before the marketplace, where villagers were busy placing large plates of food on a long wooden table. Some cast furtive glances toward the men and women on the crosses, and others sneered and laughed at the crucified figures, but most averted their eyes. Eleko saw Ademola, dressed in a European coat and trousers, glance toward Eleko and quickly look away.
Eleko’s cross was closest to the woods at the end of the twelve crosses. Thoughts of escape quickly faded as he heard a mixture of laughs and cries emanate down the line of crucified villagers. He craned his neck, and he could see Bola, a long spear grasped in his hands, making his way down the line of crosses. Bola would thrust the spear into the crucified villager, and he would laugh cruelly as they cried out. Eleko watched the twin make his way down the line. Thrust. Laugh. Move.
“Bola, how could you do this to your own people?” Oluwole stared down at the man, shaking his head.
“Thou shall smite every male thereof with the edge of the sword,” Bola spouted with fanatical zeal as he thrust the spear into Oluwole.
The gore-slick spear slipped in Bola’s hands, the pointed tip grazing Oluwole’s chest, leaving a bright red line and sliding into the elder’s eye. Bola frowned as he pulled the spear free with a sickening sucking noise, and Oluwole’s head lolled forward lifelessly.
“That was not supposed to happen.” Bola shrugged and grinned at Eleko. “Our Lord and Savior was pierced as he suffered on the cross. Minister John wishes you heathens to feel that pain.”
Bola thrust the spear upward, and Eleko grunted as he felt the tip slide into his left side, just below the ribs. Eleko gritted his teeth, waiting for the pain to subside into a mind-numbing throb.
“I had you placed here last, Eleko.” Bola’s grin was broad and filled with malice. “I wanted you to have the perfect view of the feast.”
Bola laughed as he joined the others around the large table. From the corner of his eye, Eleko saw Ademola watching the exchange and turned toward the chieftain. Their eyes met momentarily, and Ademola’s mouth moved as if he was going to speak; then he hung his head and turned away.
As his lifeblood leaked from the wound in his side, Eleko watched the villagers assemble around the table. Had it not been for their dark skin and black hair, Eleko imagined this was how European church gatherings likely looked—the men in their fine black jackets and pants, the women in long dark dresses.
A hush came over the villagers as Ajayi led a tall blond man dressed in a white shirt, black trousers, and wide-brimmed black hat into the village. Eleko knew this must be Minister John; the man was tall and lean with beady blue eyes and a sharp, pointed nose.
“Praise the Lord, you his angels, you mighty ones who do his bidding, who obey his word!” Minister John raised his hands skyward as he greeted the assembled villagers. “For the Son of Man is going to come in his Father’s glory with his angels, and then he will reward each person according to what they have done.”
Many villagers raised their arms in imitation of the minister, while others knelt and clasped their hands together in prayer. Several shouted, “Hallelujah!” and other praises that Eleko could not hear clearly.
“Human beings ate the bread of angels; he sent them all the food they could eat.” Minister John gestured to the bounty of food the villagers had assembled.
Ajayi and Yemisi stood behind Minister John as he extolled the goodness of the villagers, the bountifulness of their feast, and their devotion to the one true god.
“With the assistance of Brother Ajayi and Sister Yemisi,” Minister John gestured to the two, who bowed their heads deferentially to the man, “I have chosen this village amongst all the Christians in the land to host the angel’s feast.”
Ajayi and Yemisi gave smiles that did not reach their eyes as the villagers cheered at the minister’s words and sang the praises of their new god. The minister began to stomp his feet and flail his arms in a chaotic dance, shaking his body wildly as he chanted and called out to god and the angels. Eleko saw many of the villagers imitating the same mad, frenetic dancing.
“He will send his angels with a loud trumpet call, and they will gather his elect from the four winds, from one end of the heavens to the other,” Minister John shouted above the din of the feast, and Ajayi raised an ivory horn to his lips and blew a loud clarion call.
A thunderclap overhead answered the horn call, and Eleko raised his head to see clouds swirling over the village, moving in a circular pattern unlike he had ever seen before. Many of the villagers looked skyward in awe.
Eleko felt something thump against his outstretched arm, and with great effort, he turned to look. Tunde’s hollow eyes stared back at him as the creature chittered at him.
“Tunde,” Eleko smiled through the pain of his injuries at the sight of the skeleton, “you are alive; I was so worried about you.”
The monkey’s head cocked this way and that as he surveyed the ropes binding Eleko; then he scampered down the length of the cross, and the shaman could feel the monkey’s skeletal claws against his feet. With fierce determination, the small monkey sank its teeth into the rope binding and began to tear at the strands.
“But you have come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem. You have come to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly.” Minister John had stopped dancing and thrust his arms heavenward. “Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders.”
The villagers stood transfixed as the swirling cloud took on the shape of flying forms, dozens of human-like creatures; they were snow white with broad feathered wings and long, flowing hair of golden blond. To Eleko, they circled the village like vultures over a carcass. Men and women fell to their knees praising the nailed god, some weeping uncontrollably.
“Then I saw another angel flying in midair, and he had the eternal gospel to proclaim to those who live on the earth—to every nation, tribe, language, and people.” Minister John’s voice sounded loud, shrill, and maniacal as he looked from the flying angels to the villagers. “It was time to feast.”
Eleko saw the feral grin on Minister John’s face as the first angel dove from the sky, the soft white skin of its face stretched wide as the creature crashed into Ademola, driving the chieftain to the ground, its mouth full of jagged teeth sinking into his face. The angel raked long, sharp talons across Ademola body, spilling his innards onto the earth in a rush of hot blood.
Voices raised in praise, and worship turned to screams of pain and terror as the angels swooped from the sky and tore into the villagers, feeding upon them in a blood frenzy.
Eleko felt the ropes around his feet slacken as Tunde climbed back up the cross and began working on the bindings around his right hand.
“Hurry, Tunde.” Eleko looked from the monkey to the angels darting from the sky in terror.
Minister John surveyed the scene, grinning and laughing, as Ajayi and Yemisi smirked behind him as the villagers called out to save them.
“Eat, my angels, eat.” Minister John laughed and clapped his hands.
Eleko saw Yemisi watch impassively as one of the angels fell upon her brother, tearing his face from his skull before sinking its long teeth into his neck, Bola’s red blood splattering the pure white wings.
Amid the carnage, a tall man stepped from the shadows, and Eleko quickly recognized Adagba. The hunter bore a long spear in each hand. Eleko did not know if he was more amazed that Adagba had survived the purge of non-Christians or that the man had returned to aid those that had forsaken him.
Eleko watched as Adagba reared back one mighty shoulder and let one of the spears fly. The long shaft sailed through the air and pierced the chest of one of the angels; the creature pirouetted out of the sky like skewered meat and crashed to the ground in a pile of broken wings and bones. The hunter raised his fist triumphantly and readied another spear just as three angels fell upon him, teeth and claws tearing at the valiant warrior. Eleko turned away from the grisly scene but could not block out the anguished sounds of Adagba’s dying screams.
Tunde freed the shaman’s right hand, and Eleko silently prayed to the gods that the monkey could free him before an angel spotted him. However, for the time being, the angels seemed fully occupied, feasting upon the villagers. The night carried the iron-like scent of blood and the terrified and pain-filled cries of the village converts as the feast of angels continued unabated.
Eleko groaned as pain shot through his wounded side. The monkey freed the shaman’s left hand from the bonds, and his body tumbled from the cross to land hard upon the earth. Tunde hopped down, landing beside the shaman, his skeletal face closely inspecting Eleko’s dark features.
“I’m okay, Tunde.” Eleko grimaced and placed a hand over his wound. “We need to get to Abeokuta; the city is fortified. They will be able to stand against these Christians and their angels.”
Eleko got slowly to his feet, still numb from the bindings, and swooning, realized how significantly weakened he was by his wounds.
“We do not have much time, Tunde.” Eleko pressed a hand firmly against his wounded side. “I fear my life force is draining from me like the sands of an hourglass.”
Tunde hopped onto his shoulder, and the shaman ran a loving hand over the creature. He half ran, half stumbled into the forest’s darkness, leaving the dying cries of his village behind him.
They stuck to the cover provided by the canopy of trees to hide from any angels searching the woods overhead for more victims. Beads of sweat dotted Eleko’s forehead and bald scalp like glistening pearls when he finally stopped against a tree to catch his breath. Tunde hopped from his shoulder and scurried into the underbrush as Eleko stared after him. The shaman noted that the edges of his vision were black, a further sign that his body was quickly failing.
“Tunde, have you finally run back to Eshu?” Eleko called after the disappearing form of the skeletal monkey.
However, when Tunde returned moments later, the monkey gripped large handfuls of green leaves and bright red flowers in his boney fingers. Eleko watched the monkey shove the leaves and flowers between his bone-white jaws and teeth, grinding them into a mushy red-green ball that he spat back into his paws. The monkey’s hollow eye socks gazed up at Eleko as he held out the ball to the shaman and placed it in his palm.
“What’s this?” Eleko sniffed the ball and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “The flowers and leaves of a Roselle plant.”
Tunde pointed to the wound on Eleko’s side; the shaman nodded and winced as he packed the ground mixture into the wound. The wound was raw and painful, but the medicinal plant took some stinging away within a few minutes.
“I am ready.” Eleko nodded to Tunde, and the little monkey hopped back onto his shoulder.
The two pushed on through the night, stopping only once more for Eleko to drink cool water from a stream. As the shaman knelt to drink, he spied two piercing yellow eyes staring at him through the darkness. He could smell the stink of the beast’s breath on the night air, and the guttural growl of the lion knotted Eleko’s innards with fear.
To come all this way, only to be eaten by a lion. The thought almost made Eleko laugh.
Tunde stepped forward, placing himself between the lion and Elku. The small monkey silently stared at the lion, the dark hollows of his eye sockets meeting the lion’s gaze until the beast receded further into the forest’s darkness and troubled them no more.
Eleko rose and staggered into the night, with Tunde following behind.
The night was giving way to sunrise as they approached Abeokuta, the horizon glowing a golden orange as the sun rose behind the fortified city. Eleko’s steps had become labored from blood loss and exhaustion as he emerged from the forest. His body swayed precariously in the morning light as he peered at Abeokuta.
Eleko let out a deep breath that turned into a mewling sob as he sank to his knees. The shaman’s shoulders slumped as he gave in to despair. Tunde hopped onto Eleko’s shoulder, placing a boney paw on the man’s head. The monkey turned his skull toward Abeokuta, and the creature’s hollow eye sockets stared at the long, dark shadow on the ground. Tunde followed the length of the shadow up the city walls to the large wooden cross that stood upon battlements in the morning sun.
The Heart of the Island
“Nearly two hundred years ago, the Rasphuis was a convent before it became a prison for men in 1596.” The white-haired sergeant-of-the-guard looked over his shoulder at Daan Heppostall.
The Dutch lawyer followed the sergeant-of-the-guard up the torchlit stone stairway, his buckled shoe sending a small rat scampering down the stairs. Behind him, two men followed, carrying a short wooden stool and a small writing desk. Each man wore the black prison guard uniform of the Rasphuis, with white-frilled collars and long, thin rapiers.
“Our prisoners shave wood from Brazilwood trees and make a powder used in red pigment for paint in Amsterdam. It keeps the prisoners occupied, and it’s very profitable for the prison.” The sergeant sounded disinterested, as if he was reciting the words from rote memorization.
“Mr. Van der Sloot does manual labor here?” Daan could not hide the surprise in his voice.
The sergeant stopped his ascent up the stairs and turned to face the young attorney. Pale blue eyes stared coldly at Daan as the man’s white forked beard surrounded lips drawn tightly together.
