The Second Sight starts now…here lies your fear!
THE SECOND SIGHT:
SEASON 1: THE CALLING
A paranormal Thriller
Not for the squeamish!
THE NAKED WOMAN
Location: BOAT’S APARTMENT
Yaw Boat wakes up in the middle of the night on a huge, comfortable bed, the room cooled by the air-conditioner to dispel that tepid October heat in Ghana.
As he tries to come fully awake, he becomes aware that there is a naked woman in bed with him.
He goes rigid, lying in the darkness in some kind of perplexed terror.
He can feel her hand on his naked thigh, inching up slowly, lingering around his right inner thigh sensuously, and then moving upwards gently and purposefully.
It is her persistent touches that had woken him up from what had been an obviously restless sleep.
The room is dark, the only source of light coming from the display screen of the huge Sony music player way down against one wall, and the soft blue lights surrounding its various knobs. Soft music comes out of the advanced speaker system he has fixed around the room.
He can feel her alive, a sinuous fluid mass of soft tender curves that keeps moving, and his body sort of shudders with a touch of horror when he suddenly feels her hot lips on his left ear, and then a tiny moan of disbelief shoots out of his lips when her wandering hand finds and grips the suddenly inflamed reckless erection between his thighs.
He cringes with a muted cry of horror, and almost knocks her hand away as it suddenly dawns on him, with the force of an enraged mule’s kick, that he doesn’t know who she is, and how she had gotten into his bed!
Boat is in his room, in his bed, in darkness, and a woman he doesn’t know and can’t even see, is lying beside him, exploring his body with sweet little fingers, finding spots of dead fire and rekindling them with maddening sweetness, playing so sweetly with his erection.
As her fingers float on his body, bringing him up higher and harder into that lustful haven, he feels the muscles of his belly knotting up with something close to terror and he tries, tries, tries to remember who the hell she is and what she is doing in his bed!
She is not allowing him to focus, though, and slides a thigh that feels as smooth as fine silk across his hips, and moans again.
She seems to glide in the darkness, a heated flow of passion that knocks his silent pleas out the door and replaces them with inflamed passion.
Who are you, lady? Who the hell are you?
He opens his eyes so wide that his eyeballs hurt, trying to make out her facial features in the gloom, praying to see a tiny distinguishing feature that will help him recognize her, but he sees only faint smoothness, and then she glides on top of him, a dark silhouette that looks almost spectral as tiny shafts of light filters in from the edges of the drawn blinds and play silvery dots of irregular rhythm on her body.
She leans forward and her hair cascades into his face in a wavy mass, and her lips find his. She kisses him deeply, lustfully, almost brutally. Her lips are full and moist and sweet, her tongue a restless seeker that wakes up every primitive desire in him.
Boat groans with unrestrained pleasure and lust as his hands roam over her body, hesitant, unsure, seeking answers. She feels smooth, finely-moulded, with all the rises and grooves of an exotic beauty.
Dude, that lass is finely-bended! She is so curvy!
She rears up with a frenzied little moan, angles her lower body up, and lowers herself down slowly but firmly on his erection.
Boat gasps at the sudden pleasure, and his hands seek her waist and holds her, revelling in the waves of pleasure engulfing his body.
And thus, in darkness, she writes a special brand of erotic music on him, expertly pulling both of them towards a mutual climax.
Who’re you? Who the hell are you, lady?
In the darkness she does not speak, only increases the thrusts of her waist, riding him with frenzy now, her breathing laboured, the tense muscles of her body bracing all around him as she races forward.
Her fingers sink into his chest and grip fiercely, her thighs gripping tighter, and then the breath explodes out of her lips in a guttural jarring chord of pleasure, and then he is also breathing out his pleasure in choked grunts.
She falls on top of him, holding him fiercely with arms and thighs, trembling almost as violently as he is in the throes of their mutual orgasm.
Her breath is hot and harsh in his ears.
He wants to speak to her so badly, to ask her only one question:
Please, tell me, for the love of hades, who the hell are you?
Her back is slick with perspiration even though the room is icy cold from the gently-whirring air-conditioner. Her heavy breathing slowly returns to normal.
He pats her back gently in the darkness, and wonders, in a moment of idiotic irrelevance, how her face looks like.
She makes a contented purring kind of sound, and she is becoming quite heavy as she begins to drift off to sleep, so he gently eases her down onto the bed.
She makes a little protesting sound and turns on her side. Her hand came back and takes his right hand, and then she pulls his arm around her.
They lie there in the darkness, her back curled into his body, her legs angled to take his form. He roams his hand across her side, down the groove of her waist and up the smoothest hip he has ever felt.
Absolutely bended right, he thinks in another explosive moment of idiocy, and almost giggle. She grabs his hand and plants it on her right breast. He grips it gently and rubs a thumb across her nipple.
She shudders and a small sound escapes her lips.
A few minutes later she begins to breathe gently and he knows she is asleep.
Boat’s eyes become heavier, and soon he drifts back into a restless sleep.
Who’re you? Who the hell are you? Damn it, what’s happening to me? Who are you, lady?
For a very brief moment Yaw Boat seems to come to the present, and it dawns on him that something really bad is just around the corner…
Location: BOAT’S APARTMENT
Yaw Boat comes awake with a splitting headache.
His head feels as if somebody is trying to rip it open with a blunt hammer.
Sunlight filters in through the partially drawn blinds. He feels ravenously hungry, and cannot recollect the last time he had taken a meal.
The girl is gone.
She had probably left in the morning whilst he slumbered on, leaving only a trace of faint perfume on his bedsheets.
Now that the effects of drugs and booze he had taken in have worn off a little, he faintly remembers chatting up a girl at a party he had attended the previous evening.
Had he brought her home? Possibly, but he still cannot remember anything about the previous night. With a grimace he gets off the bed, shutting his eyes tightly because of the headache and the face that he feels suddenly very dizzy.
After a while the faintness passes, and when he opens his eyes he sees the crow for the very first time.
It is a black crow with very black eyes.
Truthfully, it seems a little too huge for a normal crow, or so his mind tries to tell him.
It is perched on top of one of the tall speakers against the wall.
For a very split second his heart stops beating. Yaw Boat cannot remember the last time he had seen a crow, especially one this black and this huge.
Not in the sky, not anywhere, but in his bedroom! He can see specks of fine dust on its feathers, as if it had come from a long way.
Boat stares at that crow and for a long time he cannot formulate a single thought. He looks from that bird to the locked door to the locked windows, and he just cannot see from where it has materialized from.
The crow just stares at him, immobile, with its black eyes. It does not twitch, or bat an eye, or sway. It is just there, a huge black crow, perched still, glaring at him.
And where the hell did you come from, you vile bird?
The sound of his whispering voice seems to break the bizarre spell that the crow seems to have woven in his room.
The moment Boat whispers the crow flaps its dirty wings and takes off towards the huge French windows to the left of the bed which leads to a protruding balcony outside.
Boat’s eyes are riveted on the faint plume of dust that shoots into the air when the crow takes flight.
He turns his head, and sees that the crow is almost at the windows, and for a moment Boat expects it to smash into the glass with a thud, but it just seems to glide through the glass, and its head turns, and its dark eyes fix Boat in a stare once more, as if it is sending a final message.
Boat is stunned.
Has the damn bird flown through the glass?
Shivering, he moves towards the window, and finds to his relief that the glass is partially open, and the strange crow had flown through the space.
He gives a shaky laugh.
That had been scary, he thinks.
That had been damn scary!
He trudges into the bathroom, and by the time he finishes emptying his bladder, brushing his teeth, shaving and taking a cold shower, he had put the appearance of the crow out of his mind.
Boat returns to the bedroom and notices for the first time that his clothes are sprayed around the room, and that an almost empty bottle of wine is lying on its side on the rug, and the last drops of its content had drawn a big patch of red wetness on the beautiful floor mat.
He looks away from the small empty packet on the small table beside the bed with the tell-tale white smears around it.
Damn, he had obviously used that drug with the mystery woman of the night, mixed it with wine, and that is why he simply cannot remember a thing about her!
He sits on the edge of the bed, and for a moment that voice deep down speaks again, in a firmer voice, reminding him that he is living in abject debauchery, wallowing in the mud once more, living a life not befitting the only son of a God-fearing businessman.
Yaw Boat is twenty-two years old.
He is really living life in the fast lane. his father is the founder of GOLGOTHA HEIGHTS INTERNATIONAL, a multimillion giant company that rakes in millions of cedis across Africa, with a solid two-prong focus on oil and mining.
Golgotha Heights International also has tentacles in other profitable ventures in real estate and telecommunication.
Boat has never really bothered to get into the hum of his father’s company, but I know that his father is one of the richest men on the globe.
Pampered from birth, respected as a wealthy Christian’s son, school had been a mere formality, but surprisingly Boat is a bright student, and presently pursuing a degree in engineering at the SPECTRUM UNIVERSITY, one of the best private Universities in the world.
The only sad blot in his life is that he had not met his mother. Portraits of her hung on every wall in his father’s mansion. They all show one constant thing: she had been a beautiful woman!
She had died within an hour after giving birth to Yaw Boat. Her death had been bizarre, to say the least, something that had haunted Boat’s father for a long time.
She had been in hospital, cared for by the best doctors money could afford, and she had gone through the pregnancy as strong as an ox.
She had gone through delivery smoothly, almost happily. And then had been wheeled to the ward and had been waiting happily for them to bring her new-born baby to her.
Mr. Joe Boat, her husband, had been at her side, talking gently to her. She smiled into his eyes, closed her eyes… and she was gone.
It is a story Boat’s father used to tell him a lot when Boat was growing up. Maybe narrating it to his son brought him some inner peace.
Boat grew up loving her with fierce passion, and wished above all else, that he had known her.
The culminating effects of the good looks of his parents ensured that Boat is a very handsome young man.
Standing well over six feet, with a well-toned body to match, carefully achieved through dedicated workouts and measured body-building, he is a sight that has thrilled many a female eye.
His father had tried his best to bring Boat up as a Christian, but his dream had however received a poisonous injection in the bud because, at the age of sixteen, Boat had been introduced to the pleasures of the flesh by their housekeeper, who had been thirty or so years at the time.
She had entered Boat’s room one weekend – when Boat’s father had travelled on one of his business trips – and she had seduced the innocent teenager, taking him through one hell of a sexual adventure.
I convinced himself, as the years passed, that she had probably been sexually frustrated, and that she was probably one of those women who found joy in seducing younger boys.
Whatever her reason, she permanently changed Boat’s life that weekend.
She took him on an erotic sexual adventure, and inducted him into the world of lust with relentless dedication.
Boat had not wanted that weekend with Miss Naana to end, but it had ended rather badly. Mr. Joe Boat had returned home quite unexpectedly and found his son in bed with the older house-help.
Neither of them had heard him entering.
And there was Yaw Boat, lost in the thighs of a full-blown woman, working away in absolute abandon, whilst Miss Naana was making those explosive throaty groans adult movie actresses made, and Boat had felt like a legendary conqueror because he could give such a mature woman that extreme feeling of buoyant joy, and then suddenly he became aware that she was quiet and staring over his shoulders as if she had just caught a glimpse of hell.
Boat had turned his head, and there was his father, standing huge in the doorway, his face shell-shocked at first, then quickly changing into the most fearsome mask of fury Boat had ever seen.
That was the one time that Boat saw his father really in a rage.
It also was the first and only time that Boat had seen him reacting violently to any situation.
Mr. Joe Boat’s fist had flown, straight against Boat’s right cheek, the blow flinging him off the woman’s body. Mr. Joe Boat had then back-handed Miss Naana, and the slap had torn the poor woman’s lip and broken her nose.
The enraged father had screamed at her with such thunderous and vociferous fury, and cursed her with such base language, that she had fled naked from the room in tears.
The last view Boat ever had of her was the delicious twin mounds of her derriere wriggling enticingly out the door.
The old man had glared at his son, and in that brief instant the young man had seen a disgusted disappointment in the depths of his father’s eyes, a look of rejection, a look filled with the dirtiest shade of revulsion, and that look had cut Boat to the bone.
That was probably the only thing Boat regretted about the whole incident. He loved his Daddy very much.
His father’s opinion was the most important thing to him, and to see that look of loathing on his face had almost caused Boat’s tears to flow.
Almost, but not quite.
The words that followed however, had done the trick.
You’ve disappointed me, son.
He had whispered, and yet to Yaw Boat’s ears it had sounded like a million stampeding buffaloes.
The floodgates opened, and that had been the last, sincere bout of tears Boat remembers ever shedding in his life.
In the end Mr. Joe Boat had thrown out the housekeeper, and began the arduous task of spending preaching time with his son, in an effort to drag young Yaw Boat into a Christian life.
It had all been in vain.
Miss Naana’s erotic tutorials had driven a mighty hunger into the young man’s loins, and all he could think of was sex!
This urge has stayed relentlessly the last couple of years of Boat’s life. He is now addicted to women, and never tries to cure himself of the uncontrollable urge.
It is an integral part of him now, a relentless craving of his body, a bottomless cesspit of craving that cannot be filled, a demanding thirst that cannot be satiated.
At first Boat had tried to curb this terrible urge for sex, for his father’s sake.
His father is rich and a respected Christian. Boat did not want to disgrace his father, and so he tried to live the urge for sex down, to lie low and protect his father’s reputation.
But all to no avail, especially when he started using drugs and alcohol too.
On one level he is the pious son of a wealthy Christian, and on the other level, he is the fornicating, drug-using, alcohol-drinking Master of the Town, a complete contrast to what his father knows.
It is a seedy double life which has held Boat so violently in its grasp that there seems to be no escape for him.
Location: BOAT’S APARTMENT
Boat has two devastating tools that allows him to live his life his way: money and good looks!
He has both in abundance, and he is the king of the town.
And then he met Bob Sarpong.
Bob is a dapper entrepreneur, but under the façade of his legal businesses, he also deals in drugs, and although the cops had been after him for ages, he had never been caught.
He is shrewd, and knows the people to buy off in an environment where corruption and greed reigns supreme.
Bob is one hell of a man, and has convinced Boat to supply his drugs to a very select clientele, and Boat gets a handsome commission on the side for selling Bob’s cocaine.
Boat agreed to it, not so much for the money, but for the chance to get hold of grade-A cocaine whenever he needed it.
When Boat was admitted to the University rented an apartment outside campus and it serves him well.
Everything is fine, and Boat has been a happy young man, until that night he slept with a woman he did not know, and then the crow came into his room.
And two nights after having sex with the woman in the dark, Boat starts to have the nightmares.
Actually it is the same nightmare, just that he had it every night for seven days! It is the same nightmare, the same details, continuously for seven days.
There is something else about that nightmare.
Each night Boat had it, he came awake screaming at exactly 1.00 A. M. in the morning!
Location: BOAT’S APARTMENT
The uncanny horror of the nightmare is the exact detail, from beginning to end!
It scares Boat very much, and it is beginning to drive him insane.
People have dreams, and people have nightmares.
There is nothing strange about that.
But to have the same dream for every night, exact in detail, is really strange, to say the least.
Boat tries sleeping at varied times and in varied modes – drunk, sober, high on drugs, alone, with women – but he soon realizes that it really does not matter in what state of mind he goes to bed… the nightmare continues to haunt him.
Perhaps what scares Boat the most is the fact that he always wakes up screaming from the nightmare at exactly one o’clock in the morning!
Exact nightmare… exact way of waking up screaming, exact time of wake up!
That is very scary.
Boat does not know how that can happen. The same dream, the same stretch of time, the same hour of wake up. It is something that fills him with fear.
Sometimes he tries to stay up late. He tries to make love to a woman, or watch a movie that will take him after one o’clock, but somehow it never works.
Without knowing how, he always goes to sleep, and the nightmare will come, and he will wake up screaming at one o’clock at dawn!
Whenever he wakes up screaming, his eyes will automatically search for the time, even though he tries hard not to… and it will be exactly one o’clock by the luminous clock he keeps on the bedside table!
In the nightmare he will see himself walking along a narrow stretch of road, ascending a little hill. On each side of the road is absolute darkness, although the moon casts a soft, eerie, blue sheen on the road itself.
The terrible effect is that it seems like he is walking on a suspended road, a road without ground, a road spanning a great void.
He can hear faint giggling and tittering on each side of the road, but he can see nothing no matter how hard he peers into the gloom. Whatever presence is hidden in the darkness does not want Boat to see them.
The nearer Boat gets to the top of the hill the more he becomes aware that there is something awful below that hill… something bad, something to flee from…
And yet his legs move along, not heeding his sudden frantic urge to turn around and get out of that horrible place…
And then, half-way up the hill, Boat will be aware that something evil is just behind him, breathing down his neck, climbing slowly, slowly, smiling an all-fangs kind of smile, icy fingers wriggling in anticipation, just inches from his nape…
Something that comes forward with a squishy, dragging kind of footstep, and he will know that whatever is behind him is limping…
And on each side of the road, in that blanket of blackness, Boat can hear the evil drone, the scary million voices of a million watching evils, now growing increasingly ominous as if a great evil climax is just around the corner.
Boat wants to turn round, but the crippling fear of that evil thing following him prevents him from turning round, and then just before he gets to the top of the hill he will see the signboard!
It is a white grinning skull framed by crossed bones on a red background. Boat will begin to halt, and then the skull on the signboard will open one eye and wink at him, and immediately words will appear below the skull:
And then Boat will be on the crest of that hill, and below him will be a cemetery filled with cold stones and slabs, bathed in skin-crawling moonlight, looking so ugly and inevitable…
Boat will see a headless little girl standing just below the slope, one rotten finger pointing at something behind Boat, urging him with devilish innocence to turn round and look at something sexy behind him, but by then Boat can feel the pain in his throat, the pain of choked tears, of panic, mingled with the stench of cowardice.
And then the first tombstone will break down there in the cemetery, and that slushy fiend behind him will touch his neck for the first time, and that is when the scream will begin in Boat’s throat!
He will rush down that hill, aware of the sloshing, squishing limping thing behind him, keeping in touch, limping rapidly in ascending discord klooo-ka, klooo-ka, klooo-ka, kloo-ka, kloo-ka, kloka, kloka, kloka…
Then the tombstones will break one after the other with soft splattering sounds, and rotten bodies will begin to appear from the ground…
Boat will see a a worm-infested arm here, a pus-filled half-head there, an open torso with squirming things there…
Boat will suddenly stop running and whirl around, and scream at the ugly sight of the Limping Devil behind him.
“Do yoush remembersh meesh?” the Limping Devil will ask.
Then something wet and slimy will shoot up from the ground and hold Boat’s ankles, and he cannot move, and then the horrible creatures will begin to creep towards him, silently, fangs rattling in their mouths savagely, long poisoned tongues thrashing violently, coming for him, for his neck…
And then the first one will touch his neck from behind, and begin to bite…
That is the point Boat always wakes up screaming…
And the time will read 01:00 hours.
Always the same.
The same nightmare.
Same wake up time 01:00 hours!
That is the nightmare Boat has had for one week running, without break.
It is driving him mad!
He is scared. He is very scared.
Boat knows he needs help.
Something bad is happening ever since he slept with that woman in the dark.
He does not believe in the supernatural, so at first he thinks it has something to do with the cocaine he has been using, and so he stops using cocaine, but the nightmare still haunts him!
Finally admits that his brain is messed up somewhere. Some psychological threads are seriously intertwined somewhere, and needed to be untangled, but then again where can he really start to get help?
There is nowhere to turn, and Boat lives with the fear whilst being aware that something terrible is approaching him, and he needs help very quickly…
Yaw Boat has had a lot of women.
He has never had time for a stable relationship, and he does not want one anyway. His philosophy has been simple: why settle for one when you can have the rest.
That has been the case, but then he met Elaine.
She is twenty years, and as sensational as an angel.
She is a second year student of Business Administration at the CHRISTIAN HUB UNIVERSITY.
Her class had come to Spectrum University to attend a symposium of sorts.
Yaw Boat had seen her in the garden, standing by the pool, smiling radiantly at the swans gliding gloriously on the man-made lake.
Boat had been in the garden by accident. He had been trying to chat up a cute Korean student who had taken a detour into the garden, and he had followed discreetly, weighing-up various pick-up lines to use on the Korean.
And then, there she was standing by the pool, a girl so beautiful that it was almost violent, wearing a grey knee-length dress, leaning across the protective railing and smiling down at the swans.
Boat had forgotten the Korean immediately and stared at the angel with frank eyes. He had never seen anything as pleasing to the eye as her.
He walked up to her, and she turned.
The smile didn’t exactly disappear from her face, but it was gone, leaving only faint dancing lights in her eyes. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head gently.
I think you’re raping me with your eyes.
Those words could have floored anybody, but Boat looked right at her without batting an eye.
I don’t ever wanna rape you. I don’t even wanna touch you.
Her lovely eyebrows rose a little bit, almost mockingly.
The lights in her eyes now shone a bit brighter, and the corners of her beautiful lips twitched a bit.
Worship and adore, that’s all I wanna do to you.
The words sounded silly once they were out, although they had sounded cool in his head. He felt like an oaf the moment he gave voice to them.
She chuckled then, and shook her head, and turned her face away and regarded the swans once again. She spoke without looking at him.
That’s a wack. Wackiest pick-up line I’ve ever heard so far!
Boat stared at her.
The gently-sloping creamy shoulders, the amazing tone of her skin, the gentle swell of her breasts, the flat stomach, her magical waist, the incredible hips, and – oh, his God – those long, sleek legs!
For the first time in his life Boat felt pretty stumped, really like an oaf.
There were two choices left.
Either try another angle, or walk. It had seemed to him that whatever he said would come out sounding like “wack” like she put it.
He turned away from her, took three steps.
Oh. Giving up so easily, are you? I’m Elaine.
Boat didn’t smile.
He walked back to her, stood very close, stared into those dancing eyes, that ethereal face, and suddenly it seemed all natural to reach out and take her hand.
I’m Boat. Yaw Boat.
Glad to meet you, Yaw.
And that had been eight months ago.
She has no boyfriend because she is convinced men want her for her body and nothing else.
Of course she was right, Boat thinks; what sane man needs anything else when he has that kind of body to gloat over all day long?
Boat has been trying to keep his lust for her away in his furious attempt to court her.
He has been playing it cool, going out on dates with her, being her friend, making her laugh, making her like him.
And then, when she has become comfortable with him, he tells her of his crushing love for her.
Considering the effect she has on him, he knows deep down that he is leaning more to the truth than towards flattery.
He has never had a long relationship with any girl he is not sleeping with. He didn’t believe in love, and all his relationships had been sexual.
But not so with Elaine.
He has known her for almost a year, and they had not had sex yet, and still he wants to see her and be with her.
It baffles him sometimes because he had not been in any relationships for that long. His way is the craving of the primeval animal, the lust that needs to be slaked fast and urgently, a clear and present danger that needs absolute attention.
If it turns out he cannot have sex with you, Boat always moves on. He has no time for falling in love. But with Elaine he has gone the journey of the gentleman charmingly wooing the damsel.
Unfortunately, although she has shyly expressed a strong feeling for him, she has turned out to have one of those strong Christian beliefs that sex should be between married couples.
Boat had pursued her harder, convinced that she will give in eventually to his charms, but she has not budged.
This has confused Boat. He has never faced such great stubbornness in any girl he wants.
One night though, barely a month ago, whilst he was walking her home under the moonlight, she had allowed him to kiss her.
Her lips had been so soft and warm, so different, so centred. He had felt her breasts firm against his chest, her mint-flavoured breath exploding through his head.
That had been her first kiss, and that night his hands had moved up her arms, and he had felt the goose-bumps.
She had let out one of those deep sighs as his lips touched hers a second time. She had tried to draw away quickly, but when his tongue explored she had almost stopped breathing, and her lips had opened, flush against his lips, soft and so sweet.
Elaine had stuck that sweet tongue tentatively back against Boat’s, pushing against him, and her right hand had curled around his nape tenderly.
It had been as if time stopped, as if they were alone in the world. He could have gone on kissing her like that until the end of the world.
She had moaned and strained against him. His hand had been lying against her waist, on that small part between edge of blouse and tip of skirt. There is always something special about having your hand against a girl’s back like that, just above the swell of her buttocks, but on that occasion it had been something much, much more!
Her skin had felt like polished silk, warm and smooth. Boat’s hand had disappeared under that blouse in a flash, and he had felt the silky edge of her bra.
His thumb flicked one taut nipple, and a shiver the size of the Atlantic ripped through her.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, she tore herself from his arms and fled into her house, leaving him with a myriad of conflicting, confusing and bittersweet emotions he had never known he was capable of feeling.
She had been to his apartment twice after that sweet night, and things had gone on smoothly, although he had failed in all attempts to get between her legs.
Apparently those kisses had warned her, and she strictly forbid any more until he marries here.
Boat cared for her, though. He is convinced that they will end up together eventually if I he decides to get married one day.
Elaine always gives him me love and peace… that is why he always wants to be with her.
And so when the nightmares started, and his fear started, he calls Elaine and plans to meet her. He wants to tell her everything that is happening to him.
The crow, the nightmares, the strange waking up time. But of course he cannot tell her about the unknown girl he has made love to.
Boat makes the arrangement to meet Elaine on Friday.
It is the eighth day, and yes the nightmare has come again on Thursday night.
Maybe talking to Elaine will ease his heart, fill him with more of her love, and maybe, just maybe, keep out the nightmares for just one night.
He needs peace.
He is going to meet Elaine Blankson.
That is the day the man in black happened!
THE CROW RETURNS
Location: APARTMENT GARAGE
Yaw Boat is alone in his apartment, getting ready for his date with Elaine.
She wants to be with him in his apartment again.
Boat is all excited like a teenager, certain that it is the night he will finally make love to her, and the anticipation alone is driving him nuts.
He has not used any cocaine, and he has not drank any alcohol. Elaine has made it clear that she abhors alcohol and drugs, and so Boat has been hiding the face that he uses both from her.
A Friday night.
That is the night!
He gets dressed carefully.
After all, it is Elaine he is meeting, the most beautiful girl in Africa; he has to look good.
She is that special to him!
Yaw Boat admires his reflection in the mirror when he finally steps up for a final appraisal.
It is going to be a night to remember!
He stares at the bed reflectively.
He has cleaned the room, as he always does when Elaine is coming around. Also, he has gotten rid of all incriminating evidences which might arouse her suspicions.
Boat has changed the sheets, and the bed looks really inviting. This is the night that bed is going to experience the pleasure and honour of having Elaine naked on it, hopefully.
Tingling with anticipation, Boat steps out of his apartment and locks the door. He looks down the corridor warily at the other door down the hall, and breathes with relief when he sees that Mary is nowhere in sight.
Mary is a beautiful twenty-five year old woman who lives in the same apartment block with her brother and his wife, and one of her cousins called George.
She is five years older than Boat, and she is an exotic dancer at one of the numerous night clubs littering Accra.
Her greatest assets are her great body and her fierce passion.
Boat had met her in the corridor when he moved in as a new tenant. They had exchanged a few pleasantries, and she had helped carry some of his luggage into his room.
Ten minutes later, as he was thanking her, she had moved into him with lust in her eyes, and soon they were naked on the floor, grinding away with furious abandon, her teeth clenched together, tendons standing out huge on her neck as she made love to him with the ferocity of an amazon goddess.
Some women do not even hold hands on the first date, but within thirty minutes of their meeting Mary had made crazy love to him.
She loves sex, and claims she has fallen in love with Boat on first sight. Boat didn’t believe that, of course. That kind of animal lust just couldn’t be love.
Love is the sweetness he feels when he is with Elaine. He loves Mary’s availability, though.
Sometimes Boat craved a rough-shod ride, and with Mary, lovemaking is always hot, rough and explosive. She holds nothing back, and knows how to please a man.
She is not the jealous and fussy type of girl, and does not throw any tantrums when Boat brings other girls to the apartment.
As long as she can have her time with Boat whenever she wants, she is okay.
Underneath that passion and that insatiable little spot of hers, however, she is a great woman to be with. She has a great sense of humour, and she is amazingly respectful.
Boat turns to leave the apartment quickly, and then finds Mary standing just behind him, grinning mischievously.
Boat comes to a frustrated halt. She can always do that… creeping stealthily up on him, soundless, dangerous.
I wish you’d stop doing that, Mary. You’ll give me a heart attack one of these days if you continue creeping up on me like that.
She smiles and glides up to Boat.
She is in a blue skirt that stops somewhere immediately after the edge of her panties. Her pink shirt is tied below her firm breasts. She is tall and graceful, and Boat’s eyes feast on her generous curves and taut belly.
Now this is a woman who is nicely bended! Boat feels the first tingling of arousal in his groin.
Where are you off to all dressed up like a Hollywood star?
She presses close against Boat, her arms sliding around his neck. Mary presses a hot kiss on his lips, exploring deeply with a luscious grunt. She looks up at him with eyes glazed with passion.
Boat wants to shove her aside and move on. When he has a date with Elaine, he hates distractions. But he does not push Mary though.
She is cool and respectful and a great all-round woman, but she has one mighty temper, and it will be bad to make her angry that night.
She will surely compromise his day with Elaine if she gets mad.
Make sure you don’t bring any of your whores home tonight. I feel so horny today, Boat his love, and I want you all to myself.
Her right hand goes down, brushing over his groin, diving between his thighs, curling around the fully-erect member and squeezing gently, and much against his will Boat feels himself responding to her caresses.
Sorry, Mary, but not tonight. I have other plans for-
Her face hardens, the beginnings of anger flashing in them.
I heard you last night with that ugly bitch. I don’t see what you get from them that I can’t give you, but I don’t complain, do I? Whoever you’re seeing tonight, don’t bring her here. If it is that nun slut Elaine, keep her out of here!
With that she turns and glides down the corridor to their front door.
Boat says nothing. He knows how impossible it is to reason with Mary when she is in that kind of mood. She has been like that each time Elaine visited Boat.
She really has an unhealthy dislike of Elaine, and Boat does not understand it because she knows he has not slept with Elaine yet. There are other women she knows Boat sleeps with, but she is never filled with wrath for them.
It is only Elaine she cannot stand.
Boat sighs heavily and walks to the elevator. He knows he cannot bring Elaine home now, not when Mary wants to have her wild night.
He is not overly disturbed, though. Simply, he will take Elaine to his old man’s place where he still keeps his room. The old man will be busy in his study, and will not disturb him in his detached part of the house.
The parking space of the apartment is street-level, and when he gets out of the elevator Boat comes out through the huge glass-fronted doors, takes a turn to his right and enters the parking lot with his car remote control out.
He sees his Mercedes Benz S-Class, begins to walk towards it, and then he comes to a shocked stop.
His heart does a mighty flip, and for a moment he cannot move a muscle.
Perched on the hood of his car, and watching Boat’s approach with deep black eyes, is the crow!
That it is the same crow which had been in his room he has no doubt. Same steely eyes, same faint dislike in those black eyes, same fine dust coating.
It is just perching there, staring straight into his eyes. It is immobile, watching him approach with a steel gaze.
That is why Boat stops and looks at it with conflicting emotions.
As far as coincidences go, how does this one strike him?
It is almost unthinkable that the crow he has seen in his room a week ago has come back to perch on his car!
That, indeed, is very scary. He tries to convince himself that it is a coincidence, that it is nothing unusual. Maybe it is not even the same crow.
But deep down Boat knows better. It is the same crow! It is no coincidence! Somehow, it has got something to do with that nightmare!
The crow takes off suddenly without a sound, flapping once, and then gliding lazily into the darker recesses of the garage.
Boat walks forward cautiously to the car and stands gazing at it for a long time.
Something is not completely right, he thinks, but then again, it can just be a coincidence.
The damn bird had flown out of his apartment ten blocks up, and straight into the garage. Maybe it has a nest somewhere in the garage, and maybe it is not the same crow.
Maybe there are a lot of displaced crows in the country, just that he has not noticed yet.
Coincidence. Just coincidence.
Boat gets into his car and drives out.
After a moment of driving through the streets of Accra, he slowly forgets about the strange crow.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Location: SOMEWHERE ON THE MADINA-37 HIGHWAY
Yaw Boat hits the streets of Madina.
He smiles as he cruises along in the late evening traffic, funky nightmare and dusty crow forgotten.
It is Friday night, and the city is beginning to go into overdrive.
He is not irritated with the traffic that Friday. In truth, he is taking it cool, focusing on that eventual ending with the voluptuous body of Elaine in his arms.
His heart does mighty flips when he conjures up an image of Elaine’s naked body, and the front of his trousers begins to bulge with unbridled lust.
Eventually Boat swings out of the heavy traffic and stops in front of a florist. He spends some time picking up a beautiful bouquet for her.
It seems dead right. He is planning to be very tender with Elaine, maybe even propose to her, and he knows it will sound nicer and more romantic with a bouquet of exotic roses.
Not that proposing to her means he is going to get married to her any time soon. It is just meant to speed things up a bit, but the thought of being tied down to that lady isn’t a particularly horrific idea. He knows he will enjoy being her husband, but there is no rush yet.
But one step at a time, yeah, that is the game plan.
When he comes out of the store the traffic has come to a virtual halt around the Atomic Junction roundabout, and he winces. The rush hour is on full time now. He looks at his wristwatch. He will be extremely late if he gets caught up in that traffic.
Boat gets into the Mercedes and executes an illegal U-turn. Other motorists honk angrily and gestures at him with balled fists.
He just smiles and sticks his middle finger at them.
He swings unto the sidewalk, and pedestrians jump out of the way with cries of anger. Boat really doesn’t give a damn; nothing is going to stop him from getting to Elaine on time.
He always waits for her anytime he gets to their meeting place first. However, on the rare occasions that he had been late, she had left before he got to her, without even calling to find out where he was. Sometimes it makes him mad, but then again it all comes with the thrill of the chase.
This the one night he wants her to be around. It is going to be their night, and nothing is going to stop that.
The route he takes is longer, but it is relatively free of traffic. Finally he leaves the crippling traffic behind and slams up the highway towards 37 Military Hospital.
Boat moves into the speed lane and puts his foot down on the accelerator. The pin creeps upwards rapidly on the speedometer as the powerful car leaps forward.
He is doing almost two hundred and twenty kilometers per hour now, zipping past cars. He is exhilarated. Everything is going to be fine. This is his night, and he is the Prince of the Town.
He swings past an SUV in a curve and suddenly finds himself almost smashing into the back of a slow Chevrolet.
You foolish driver!
He hits the brakes, swinging fast into the second lane just in time, a hair’s breadth away from smashing into the car’s back. The driver honks long and hard with shocked panic.
Boat sees two little faces, twins probably, pressed into the window of the passenger side of the Chevrolet, peering out at the world with innocent awe.
He stares at the twins, fascinated by their innocent, uncaring eyes… and when he finally returns his attention to the street, the man in black happens!
Boat is passing under the Tema Motorway bridge towards the Airport road when the strange man appears.
Boat doesn’t not know where the man emerged from.
One moment he is levelling the car from the curve and preparing for another burst of speed, and the next moment the black-robed man is moving bang into Boat’s lane.
The strange man is moving from the left shoulder, where the railings are low, cutting across the first lane, walking almost leisurely towards the second lane, where Boat is burning rubber.
The man is wearing a black suit with a huge overcoat which billows out behind him in amazing slow motion. A black hat is crammed on his head. He is a tall, willowy man, showing Boat the profile of a long, aquiline face.
For a moment, as he cuts across the street, Boat thinks the man just wants to commit suicide by throwing himself under a speeding car.
The man in black takes no notice of Boat’s car as it bears down on him.
Boat’s palm is on his horn as he blasts away: “PAAAAAANNNNNN-PAAAAAANNNN!!”
The man could have been taking a leisurely walk in his garden for all the notice he gives Boat.
Other motorists have joined in, blasting away at their own horns, a deafening explosion of cacophonous disaster that could have awakened the dead.
The man in black continues to walk forward, still oblivious to the danger he is in… or just not caring.
Apparently he either wants to kill himself, or he is a bit mad.
Boat is still speeding well over two hundred kilometres per hour, and applying the brakes will turn the car into something like a vehicular rocket.
Desperately Boat looks to his left. The Chevrolet has turned into the first lane, just outside of his tail, and to his right is a mean-looking DAF truck, its twin trumpets letting out one hell of a din as its driver honks stridently.
HIGHLY FLAMMABLE is printed on the tank of the DAF truck, this is a sort of warning to Boat to keep out of its lane.
For a moment it seems the man in black is headed for the third lane, intent on throwing himself under the DAF truck.
Boat is mentally praying for the man to jump into the third lane in front of the DAF truck. The only danger is that the truck driver might be tempted to apply his brakes, and maybe swing the wheel to avoid smashing that madman.
If that happens the tank can swing round and smash into Boat’s car and possibly cause the petroleum in the tank to explode and kill all of them.
There is only one way out for Boat: he steps on the accelerator, intending to speed away before the man in black turns himself into a corpse.
The man has no intention of crossing over to the third lane. In fact, he stops in Boat’s lane.
Oh, Jesus! Oh, my dear sweet Jesus!
Braking is out of the equation now. It is quite too late for that.
Boat tries to move to the left, and the Chevrolet driver blasts on his horn shrilly to warn him off. Boat thinks of the two little twins in that car. He will probably kill them if he moves into that lane.
Boat chances a quick look to his right. No help there either; the DAF truck is now next to him and there is no space left.
Why me, you loony bastard?
He tries to pump the brakes, and the huge car bucks and shudders, the tires wailing with distress, the engine screeching with torture.
Boat sees the figure in black looming larger and larger, nearer and nearer!
And then the man in black begins to turn, ever so slowly, to face Boat.
And then Boat gasps with shock, the breath catching in his throat.
There is a white collar at the man’s throat.
A clerical! A man of the Word!
The man in black is a pastor!
Boat watches with mounting horror. There is nothing he can do. The car was going to hit that crazy pastor, and kill him.
There is no doubt about it. The pastor is going to die if the car hits him at that speed.
The pastor’s head is bent a little, so that Boat can barely see his face.
Suddenly his head comes up fully.
He straightens his whole body, almost violently, and his right hand comes up, palm pointing down at first, arm perfectly straight, and then his wrist snaps up, palm suddenly staring Boat in the face.
Boat’s eyes are fixed on the pastor, and his body braces itself for the final impact that will break all the bones in the man and kill him instantly.
And then Boat’s suddenly stops dead!
Just like that.
The engine just goes silent and the car stopped comes to a sudden stopd.
Boat’s eyes fly open just as the Chevrolet zooms past. He catches a brief look at the tiny faces of the twins, pressed tight against the windows, eyes bulging open with stupefied horror as they watch what has just happened.
The driver of the DAF truck is leaning out of his window, watching what is happening with incredulous eyes.
Boat’s car has come to a halt just inches from the pastor’s kneecaps.
The engine is dead cold, the dashboard black and lifeless.
What the hell just happened?
His whole body is trembling rather badly.
Still in shock, he watches as his passenger door opens and the pastor gets into the car. He sits down on the passenger seat and fixes calm eyes on Boat.
MAN IN BLACK
(in a deep calm voice)
Hello, Yaw Boat. We’re going to have a little chat. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time. Your appointment with the girl you want to have sex with can wait. Are you with me?
Just like that!
Boat stares at the pastor with absolute shock.
Suddenly, Boat is afraid …very afraid!
Location: MADINA-37 HIGHWAY
Alright, so the strange pastor knows his name.
That is no big deal in itself because Boat is the son of a wealthy man, and he has had his fair share of public attention.
The name Yaw Boat is as common as confetti, and pictures of Boat has been splashed in magazines and other publications since his birth, all because he is the son of a man many considered a modern-day business genius.
The rest of what the strange man in black had said, however, are big deals. Real big deals!
He knows Boat is on his way to see a girl he intends to sleep with. Secondly, the man said he had been waiting for Boat under that bridge for a long time.
That is scary … really scary.
Boat had only chosen the highway because he had been caught up in traffic. But one thing tips the scales: by some means beyond Boat’s comprehension, the strange pastor had been able to COMPLETELY STOP a car travelling at two MORE hundred kilometres per hour!
It doesn’t make much sense. Weird stuff like that normally happens in books and in movies, but it is happening to Boat now, and it is scaring him.
Boat does not like it one bit.
He knows that if he does not deal with the present situation quickly it just can spiral out of control, and he hates being forced into situations he has no control over.
Boat turns on him with a tight face, trying to hide his fear and force his anger.
Look here, preacher man, I don’t know who you are, and I don’t give two hoots about what you want from me. Just get yourself outta my damn car!
The man looks at Boat for a long time, his eyes seeming to dig deep into him. There is no expression on his face now, but his eyes hold a hint of mild puzzlement, and then he exhales, as if he has been holding his breath.
My name is Paul Anderson. I’m the pastor of a small church in Takoradi.
I don’t give a shitty damn. Do I look like I give a hoot if you came from Pluto? Just get the hell out of my car, will you?
Listen, young man, I don’t have time, nor the energy, for your nonsense. I came here for a purpose, and as I said, I have been waiting here for you for a long time.
Cut out that crap, will you? Are you trying to tell me that you knew I was going to use this highway today? If it hadn’t been for the damn traffic I would’ve been miles away from here! I don’t want to listen to any bullcrap you want to tell me. I think you’re suicidal, and I think you need help. Just get out of my car, or I promise I’ll throw you out.
For one brief moment the pastor looks utterly confused, and his eyes look at Boat carefully, as if he is trying to convince himself of something.
After a while the hardness comes back into his eyes, and his jaw hardens perceptively.
You’re rude and uncouth. I find your choice of words utterly disgusting, but I don’t blame you. You have no control over yourself. This utterly base and dirty character has been woven on you, and you’ve had no chance of escaping the web. But you’re going to listen to me, so you better shut that big mouth of yours and listen.
Boat stares at him like a moron.
He is totally convinced now that the man had probably escaped from a mental institution somewhere.
For a moment Boat is tempted to hit the man, and then he shakes his head and turns to the door.
He has decided to get out and drag the pastor out of his car. He is so furious now, and he tries to calm himself so that he does not attack the man and possibly kill him with his bare hands.
And then Boat realizes that the door is not opening.
It is a fairly new car, and the door has never jammed before. He pulls the release lever over and again, but the door just will not open.
Frantically he pulls and pulls, trying to convince himself that it is a mechanical fault, and doesn’t have anything to do with the strange powers of the man by his side.
That door is not going to open until you hear me out.
Boat suddenly loses control.
He spins on round, his face filled with sudden hatred and fear.
A damn magician, are you? Want to try your little tricks on me, right? Mister, you’re about to get your nose flattened and your scrawny neck snapped if you don’t get out of my damn car right now!
I’m sorry it has to be like this, son. There was no other way. If I had approached you anywhere else I would’ve risked killing us both. This is the only way. Would you please just listen to me for a few minutes?
No! Risked killing both of us? What kind of nonsensical drivel is that? You’re one messed-up guy, aren’t you? I’m done playing with you, Mister. If you don’t get of my damn car I’ll drive to the next police station and let them lock you up!
He looks at Boat sadly.
How can you drive to the police station if your car won’t start up, Mr. Boat?
Boat gives him a fiendish grin, turns, and turns the key in the ignition.
The engine doesn’t even kick.
Nothing happens. The key turns in the ignition alright, but nothing clicks. It is the kind of dead reaction that happens when one or both of battery terminals came loose.
Boat feels the heat of panic rising in him. It is no ordinary panic; this is a terrified explosion which is building up fast like a volcanic eruption in him.
Whatever is happening needs to be stopped immediately. Already that fear is coming back, that irrational panic scares the hell out of him anytime he wakes up from the nightmare.
The agonized terror is roaring deep in his veins now, threatening to suffocate him. He needs relief bad, and needs to get rid of the man beside him quickly and efficiently.
Suddenly Boat wants to hit the man.
He wants to take the pastor’s thin neck in one hand and pummel his face to pulp with the other hand.
The pastor is freaking him out, driving him close to madness, forcing him to the edge of panic. No one ever does that to Yaw Boat, and gets away with it.
Boat’s fists clench on his thighs, ready to explode.
He turns on the man, drawing his fist back to hit him hard in the face.
He freezes suddenly.
There is a gun in Pastor Paul Anderson’s hand now, held quite steadily, and the cold, round hole in it is pointed unwaveringly in the general direction of Boat’s heart.
The pastor’s eyes are cold and hard again.
I won’t say I’ll kill you, Yaw Boat. However, if you force my hand, I won’t hesitate to maim you.
The man of God looks ridiculous, and sounds silly, but Boat knows that he means every chilling word.
Boat stares at him with impotent rage, suddenly aware that he has no choice than to listen to this mad man.
He shivers with rage, but deep down in his soul he can feel the cry of terror and feel the bitter taste of fear in his mouth.
(in a whisper)
You crazy bastard!
Now you will listen to me.
A CRAZY KIND OF TALK
Location: MADINA-37 HIGHWAY
Although the pastor has dropped the gun to his thighs, Boat notices that the muzzle is still pointed at him, and the man’s finger is still curled around the trigger.
The strange man sighs.
It is a long, exhausted sigh, and he gingerly rubs the back of his neck, and all the time his eyes never leave Boat’s face.
What’s this, pal? Cat got your tongue now? Thought you were going to talk, so what’s with the mummified silence?
The pastor makes no reply.
He takes his eyes off Boat briefly to look at a Volkswagen beetle in the last lane, chugging past and honking loudly, the driver drawing rings around his temple with a forefinger in a gesture that states they are quite mad to be parked right in the middle of a speeding lane.
I hope you know it is illegal and dangerous to park on the highway. Very soon the cops would be here so you better think about preparing a surprise for them too.
No cops will show up. In my ministry I’ve done things for Jehovah I had not understood, but this moment just about tops them all. Here I am, about to tell you things you certainly wouldn’t believe and would make you think I am some sort of crazy man giving you a crazy kid of talk. And yet I must say them to you because I can’t disobey Jehovah. Believe me, Yaw Boat, this is really a trying time for me. But who are we, mere mortals, to question Jehovah?
Once again Boat gapes at him, and had to snap his mouth shut suddenly to stop himself from drooling from the sheer weight of the idiotic speech he has just heard.
Wait. Let me get this straight. Are you trying to tell me that Jehovah God, the supposed Creator of Heaven and Earth, sent you to me?
That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Mr. Yaw Boat.
Boat no longer has any doubts.
The laughter swells up from somewhere deep in his guts and explodes out of his throat violently.
He literally bellows with laughter, a braying sound that is an embodiment of the profound relief he feels, and doesn’t seem to be able to stop.
He laughs so hard that he feels a stitch in his side.
(gasping for breath)
You’re mad, you know. You’re an absolute mess, man. However, before you go on, I think it is befitting to tell you that I don’t believe God exists. I’m an ordained pagan, so please don’t waste your time. Just spare me any crap you have in your sick mind to tell me, pastor.
Once more his face is a picture of indecision and faint alarm, and his brow furrows slightly.
However, as Boat still continues to giggle, the pastor’s confusion clears, and he nods once to himself, his eyes softening as if an understanding has just caught up with him.
And then he comes back with the sucker punch. He delivers it softly, coolly, his eyes roving Boat’s mirth-twisted face.
Do you have any idea who that woman you had sex with in the dark a week ago really is?
Boat actually chokes suddenly, the laughter sort of turning into bile in his throat, and his expression is that of sudden absolute panic as he looks at the man.
What? What did you just say?
Boat’s throat is as dry as the depths of the Sahara Desert.
You know a dynamite explosive, don’t you, son?
Don’t you fucking son me! Who the hell are you? What the hell did you just say?
The pastor’s voice is calm and concerned when he speaks.
The woman, that strange person you had sex with in the dark a week ago, boy. As I was saying, a dynamite explosive has a fuse that when lit eventually burns down to the dynamite, and it explodes. That woman you slept with that night lit the fuse of the dynamite that is going to obliterate you.
You damn stupid bastard! Who was she? Tell me, who the fuck was she?
Don’t worry about that for now, boy. You will know who she is eventually. Of course it is no surprise that you don’t believe in Jehovah. Your miserable life, since the day you were born, has been carefully manipulated and controlled by forces of evil to achieve just that effect on you.
Suddenly Boat’s head is pounding, and sweat breaks out on his face. He feels a heavy, bad feeling deep in his guts, as if someone has dropped a pound of ice in there.
Who the heck was she, man? What did she do to me, and what at all do you want from me, preacher? What kind of evil game are you playing with me, man?
Evil, yes, but no games, Yaw. Do you believe in Jesus Christ, son?
I don’t, dummy! I already told you that I don’t believe in God or His Son or His Holy Spirit! So just leave me alone! What you’re doing is not only creepy, it’s damn scary. So lay off, would you?
I wish I can do that, son, but I can’t. I have to obey Jehovah. He sent me. There is a verse in the Bible, Yaw Boat. EPHESIANS CHAPTER SIX, THE TWELFTH verse. It says, ‘For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.’ Unquote.
And what the fuck was that?
(in a serious voice)
A Bible quotation, son. It simply says there is another world out there, a spiritual world filled with the most vicious ancient powers of darkness, elements that are able to control destinies and able to wreak the most horrific destruction beyond any you can imagine. This is a spiritual warfare kind of world, and you cannot see it with your ordinary eye.
Everyday life goes on. We marry, we give birth, people die, people are born, we go to work, we come home … ordinary safe life. But, beyond this normal order of things, evil lurks in the spiritual world, manipulating and destroying people. These are agents of Satan who are bent on causing mayhem to people because they know that soon God will sit in judgement of them!
Boat shakes his head numbly, more confused than ever.
Why are you telling me all this? To make me change? You’re not making any sense! I don’t believe in all that caboodle! Do you want me to repent? Is that it? Repent and get baptized and all that shit?
Pay attention! Focus! The time is short for you, but you don’t know it yet! There is a war going on in the spiritual world. Satan’s cohorts – demons, principalities, all forms of wicked spirits – are moving around the earth, destroying poor innocent people. They are a vindictive, terrible army just bent on destroying people. These demons can possess people. However, some humans can be moulded from birth and prepared to be inhabited by some particularly fiendish demons.
Such human beings who are prepared to be inhabited by the demons are kept away from the word of Jehovah. They lead a life of wanton sex, drugs and committing foul sins everyday. When such a human host is totally filled with debauchery to the extent that he, or she for that matter, no longer believes in the existence of God, he is then possessed by the high-ranking demon he has been prepared for. When the human has so been inhabited, he receives a mark on his forehead, the mark of The Beast, Six hundred threescore and six. The numeral is 666.
Boat sits and stares at the man, his mind blank, alternating between formless thoughts.
He tries to convince himself that the pastor is a madman, and his words barely make sense to him.
However, on another level, his words are forming a little cold area Boat’s guts, a cold area that warns him of danger, of a terrible reality that can just blow his mind.
The pastor dabs at his forehead gently with a carefully-folded white handkerchief, and then he turns his eyes on Boat again.
When such a person is occupied by the Demon, he will become a very powerful person society, rich and feared, empowered by the demons in him. These persons are controlled by the spirits that have taken over their souls, and they cause a lot of havoc and destroy a lot of Christians. When a human vessel has been so well-prepared and inhabited by a demon, the chances of the human being ever being saved is almost zero. They continue in their evil, and die in their evil. Yaw Boat, I hope I’ve been able to show you a picture of how terrible it will be for any human to be subjected to such a terrible treatment by demons.
Yaw Boat is now trembling badly.
The chill of terror has gripped his spine, and is having total control of his body and movements.
He can barely look at the man. The question is trembling on his tongue, but he just cannot ask it, because he is scared of the answer, and he does not want to know.
Mr. Yaw Boat, you’re one of the human vessels.
Location: MADINA-37 HIGHWAY
Although the pastor’s voice is soft, the words seem to have an echoing quality that bursts through Boat’s ear-drums, making him screw his eyes tightly.
He fights the panic assailing him. This is madness. Sheer madness! He has to fight it before this crazy man turns him into a drooling vegetable.
The truth is that you’re a very special vessel, Yaw. Your body is about to be possessed by one of the most vicious and oldest demons ever. You’re going to receive terrible and amazing powers from this demon to persecute the people of God. You’re going to be initiated into the war between darkness and light, between good and evil, between Jehovah and Satan.
You’re stark raving mad! You’re mad, totally mad!
The man in black glares at Boat, his eyes flashing with fire, impaling Boat with terrible intensity.
His free hand shoots out and grasps Boat’s wrist quite hard, but Boat can feel the slippery nature of his palm. He is sweating, and Boat feels a faint tremor in his hand.
Boat looks at the man of God intently, and he is quite shaken to realize that there is a hint of fear in the depths of Anderson’s eyes, which shifts fractionally from Boat, and gazes with haunted intensity at something behind Boat.
His eyes came back slowly, almost as if he has to physically drag them away from whatever he had been looking at behind Boat.
You think I’m mad? Explain how I stopped your speeding car! And then explain why your engine won’t start up. Explain how your doors got locked. Explain how I knew about the fact that you had sex with a woman you didn’t see in the dark!
Boat says nothing.
There is nothing to say.
The man in black releases Boat’s and leans back again.
He rubs his eyes in a jerky manner, as if to clear it of an unwholesome sight.
Listen, Yaw, and listen well. I don’t know what is going on, really. I think you’re too far gone into the hands of dark forces for me to try and change you. Truthfully, I don’t really think anything can save you now, but I guess Jehovah, as usual, thinks differently. He is the Almighty, and everything He does eventually turns out to be right. So listen to me, my friend, because this can mean life or death for you. You think I’m a madman, and I don’t blame you for that.
Go to hell, preacher man. My father is also a believer, a Christian, a hundred times more powerful than you. If such shit has been going on in my life as you claim, wouldn’t your God reveal it to my father rather than to a two-pesewa freak like you?
God gives different gifts to His chosen servants, Yaw. Some are given gifts of healing, others prophesy, some are terrific soul-winners. Some are servants, some are singers. I do respect your father, Yaw. He’s indeed a terrific man of God. However, he does not have the gift of a Second Sight, like I do, and thus he cannot help you. You need me, and that is why I was sent to you.
The gift of second sight? What the heck is that?
Boat sits up, grudgingly interested because he knows it will be one of this man’s wack crazy themes. He seems to have a million up his scrawny sleeve.
The Second Sight is a special gift God gives to a few chosen servants, my boy. You remember that other world I told you about? The world that is filled with demons and principalities and forces of darkness that the naked eye can’t see? Well, if you’re given the gift of the Second Sight you obtain the power of discernment, and you can actually see those demonic forces.
Those men of God with the Second Sight are Jehovah’s soldiers who can fight the forces of darkness and get rid of them. It is the most terrible war on a level you can’t even begin to understand. A long time ago, those soldiers with the gift of the Second Sight began calling themselves the UNBLINDS, you know, like they are no longer blind but everyone else is blind. It is a silly nickname if you ask me, but I guess it made them feel special because they took a special kind of pride in being able to see things ordinary people couldn’t see.
You crazy madman!
(with a snicker)
Yes, it is damn crazy, my boy. These people of God, the Unblinds, have been chosen and empowered by Jehovah to combat these terrible demons of the dark. The Unblinds have the power to banish evil forces from human hosts, or from wherever they are causing evil.
Are you talking about exorcism here?
Well, sort of, but this is far deeper than exorcism, Yaw. An exorcist has no power of physical discernment of spirit beings. You see, a person possessed with an evil demon will exhibit visible and sometimes violent signs of being possessed, and an exorcist, upon reading these signs, employs basic faith in Jehovah to perform an exorcism and banish the evil host.
The Unblinds, however, have the power to see those evil hosts in their true forms, even when they have not occupied any human being. They see real champion demons, if we can put it that way, and not those minion demons that occupy people here and there. So, if a human being is carefully selected and prepared for occupation by a champion demon, like you’ve been prepared, and exorcist cannot face such a demon. Mere faith alone cannot banish those master powers of evil, who are vicious and extremely dangerous, and who take pride in destroying and humiliating exorcists. So you see, those superior demons, who have superior powers, can only be conquered by true Unblinds.
Boat says nothing.
He just sits and stares at this crazy man who has lost him again, because Boat is not sure if he even understands half of what the strange man is saying.
One thing is for sure, though: Boat admits that indeed he hates the man so much, with all his soul.
I have the power of the Second Sight, my boy. And that means that yes, I’m an Unblind. Sounds silly, I know, but that’s the truth. Now, listen carefully to this: if your body is occupied by this terrible demon planning to invade you, you will cross over to the dark side, and you will become my enemy in that world.
You will exist to destroy me, and it will be my duty to deal with the demon which has occupied your body. Most of the time it ends badly for the human host. What I’m telling you is that you might lose your life, Yaw Boat.
Boat chuckles softly, and it this time it comes out a little easier. It is all simply amazing; he simply cannot believe the level of madness plaguing the man of God, if indeed he is a man of the Word.
Boat cannot believe his day could’ve started with so much promise, only to be marred by such drivel from a demented man.
One moment Anderson would strike real terror into him, and the next moment he will throw one really wild mad punch, convincing Boat all over again that he is a mature and complete madman.
(with a chuckle)
So what you’re saying is that you see evil spirits as you walk around. I mean, you’re an Unblind, whatever the fuck that is, so you see demons no one else can see?
Worse than that. It is nothing you ever want to see, my young friend. After thirty years of being an Unblind, I still haven’t gotten used to the horror I see day by day. You see, the Unblinds are very few, and carefully chosen, and even seasoned men of God do not know the Unblinds exist.
They work in secret, fighting only the deadliest demons and forces of darkness, making life easier for other pastors and Christians in general to carry on with teaching and spreading the Gospel. But let’s not digress. Let me tell you why I’m really here with you. You see, when an Unblind is nearing the end of my service, Jehovah God chooses a successor for him. Most of the time these successors are seasoned Christians who have faith, and who have worshipped at the feet of the Lord for years, and cannot be corrupted by sin.
However, even seasoned Christian sometimes beg to be free of the Second Sight, preferring madness to having this gift of absolute discernment. I was a young Christian with the fire of Christ in my bosom, but even I have never been able to get used to this gift. That is why I find it so difficult to understand why Jehovah God has decided to choose you as my successor. Someone like you, a complete pagan covered with every sin, who doesn’t even believe God really exists … how can you be an Unblind? I can’t understand it!
The laughter explodes out of Boat once again and fills the car with its rich originality.
He laughs so hard that tears run down his cheeks this time. He is not laughing because he feels mirth, but it rather it is a screeching sound of relief that releases his badly shaken nerves.
Boat feels an overwhelming sense of relief, a joyous feeling of redemption, a firm confirmation that this man called Anderson is the biggest madman.
He wipes the tears from his face finally and looks at Anderson condescendingly.
Wait a damn second! Are you trying to tell me that I will see demons and evil spirits of the dark world and engage them in battle?
The pastor seems quite unaffected by Boat’s derision and insulting voice.
(frowning a bit)
It will depend on who you chose to finally serve, Yaw Boat. You can choose to ignore me, and let your body be possessed by this demon, and lose your soul forever. You can also choose to accept this gift from Jehovah, and become a powerful Unblind.
The choice is absolutely yours, Mr. Boat. But believe me, you don’t have much time left. The last stage of your preparation began when you had a dark spiritual sexual encounter with that heinous woman. The white crow you have been seeing and the week-long nightmare you’ve been having are all the last-stage signals. Your time, I’m afraid, has run out, Mr. Yaw Boat.
And that is when Boat freezes again.
The laughter is wiped off his face completely, and dies in his throat like a candle in a rainstorm.
He feels a terrible coldness being released all over him, making his eyes bulge as he gapes at the man in black, his face torn into shreds as goose bumps spring all over his body.
Yaw Boat shakes so badly that his teeth clatter loudly in his head.
What did you say?
You heard me, Boat, and you know what I mean, so stop being foolish and bring your mind here. The nightmares and the white crow are all symbolic of your final phase of preparation for occupation by the evil demon. Time is a luxury you don’t have, my boy.
Funky Grounds at last.
The fact that he knows of the terrifying nightmares hits Boat harder than all the rest. Here is another abnormality, a deviation from the natural, an absurdity which is so complete that it sets the heart on a collision course with the brain.
What the hell is going on?
How could he possibly know about the crow and the nightmares? Boat has not told anybody about them yet!
There are so many questions Boat wants to ask, but he knows he can’t. He just wants the strange man to leave his car and leave him alone. Maybe it is a dream he will wake up from. This is the most horrible day in his life, and he just wants it to end.
The choice is yours, Boat. You can join them, and perish, or you can choose to be an Unblind, and fight them. Jehovah God does not force anybody’s will, but He just makes a strong case at conviction.
Go to hell and maim yourself, old man. I don’t believe any of the chicken pie you’ve been feeding me, although you’ve done some strange things I can’t explain, and revealed secrets about me no one else knows, I really don’t give a fuck. I’m not working for your Jehovah. That’s my final word. Now please bugger off and leave me alone!
He looks at Boat for a long time, and then he nods.
His face is strangely calm, serene even, as he opens his coat and pushes the huge gun into a shoulder holster. It is really funny to see a man of God packing a gun, and Boat would have laughed any other day.
At the present though, the last thing he feels like doing is laughing.
As they say, you can run but you can’t hide, kid. But I want to tell you that this is not over. Jehovah also wants me to tell you that you’re going to receive the gift of the Second Sight on the stroke of midnight this very day. Your eyes are going to be opened, and you will have the ability to become an Unblind, able to see things the ordinary eye can’t see. This will last until you make a final choice between us and them.
Twelve midnight today I’ll have a Second Sight? You mean I’ll have the power to see demons and spirits? You’re so fucking sick, you know? If you’re done just get the fuck out of my car!
Yes, at midnight today. You’ll begin seeing into the dark world. Let me warn you, it is going to be a harrowing experience. I wish I have time to be with you, to guide you, but I can’t. I have to go now. I’ll give you time to let it all sink in, and then you will hear from me again. Midnight, Yaw Boat, midnight. You’ll be an Unblind.
There is a soft click, and his door opens. He swings himself out of the car with fluid deftness, and then he is a quick blur as he walks round the car and then heads for the flight of stairs on the outer edges of the inner lane railings leading from the highway.
His hat is pulled low, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his overcoat, his head down. Boat turns and watches him as his legs disappear down the steps, then his waist, his shoulders, his head, and finally the crown of his hat.
Boat suddenly becomes aware of his surroundings.
Cars are still flashing by, honking angrily. He sits behind the wheel, forcing his mind into a blank. He is trembling.
Boat wishes he has something strong to quell the tremor in him. Even a little bit of alcohol would have been enough, but he has nothing because he was going going to meet Elaine.
Who the hell is that man? Second Sight, Unblinds, demons … a load of crap! A lot of silly nonsense!
One thing is certain, though: his day is totally ruined.
There was a tap on his window, and he looks up sharply.
He suddenly sees the flashing blue and red lights of the police pick-up truck parked behind his car.
One cop is still sitting in it, whilst the other cop is beside Boat’s car door, knocking on the window.
Heart thumping with trepidation, Boat touches the power window button, and his breath of relief is almost physical when the window winds down soundlessly.
You got a problem, kid? This isn’t a place to park. You got three seconds to ride or we tow you. Traffic obstruction is still a great offence, if you don’t know.
Sorry, sir. Having a little engine trouble.
Then you should’ve set up your triangles. As it is now you’re an accident waiting to happen. Get down. We’re towing you in.
With trembling fingers Boat turns the key in the ignition. The engine fires and hummed smoothly. He looks enquiringly at the cop.
The cop turns away.
Move on, kid.
Boat glances at his wristwatch.
There is just no way he is going to be able to make it in time. Elaine would have left the restaurant by now, but maybe this is the night she will wait for him.
Boat drives on with a screech of tyres as he takes out his phone and calls Elaine.
Her phone is switched off.
Forty-five minutes later he is at the restaurant, combing its breaths and lengths.
She is not there.
She is gone.
Boat begins to get a little angry. She could have sent a text message, or called, at the least.
Once again he calls her number, but her phone is still switched off. He quickly types a sorry text to her, and then gets back into his car once more.
He isn’t so much disappointed though because he still cannot shake off Anderson’s drivel, and he needs reassurance very seriously.
Because midnight is just around the corner!
There is only one person he knows who can help me: his father!
Suddenly Yaw Boat feels like a little kid again, needing comfort, assurance and fatherly love.
Damn you, Anderson! Damn you to hell!
He is accelerating, and he is going home.
He needs to see his father!
THE LETTER FROM TADI
Location: JOE BOAT’S RESIDENCE
Their house is within the highly-favoured Air Residential Area, which is probably the most beautiful and coveted area of the capital.
It is filled with breath-taking condos and picturesque buildings. The biggest stars lived in the ARA (as it is popularly known). It is the place for the elite in society, where everybody wishes to own a house, to live in and to be associated with.
It is straight from a fantasy, arranged with explicit finesse and so pristine it almost hurts the eye.
And yet, behind those doors, lie sordid secrets of perverted sex, drug abuse and other little dirty tricks the world would have been shocked to see.
Boat had never liked growing up in the ARA. It is too refined, too prim, and too perfect. There is no dirt here. No beggars, no famine, no degradation, no pollution.
To Boat, the ARA seems like a lifeless painting that has been cut out and pasted here, where everybody holds a cherished frozen position, a permanent existence that is not meant to be dented.
The magnificent street lights illuminate superb streets as he drives along. Street signs warn motorists to restrict speed to approved limits, and to avoid excessive honking.
Boat can hear the sea waves breaking out on the beach with soothing rhythm through his car’s open windows. That is the only thing he really loves, and missed, about the ARA. The sea, the sweet beaches, so wide, so deep, so peaceful.
His father’s house is an imposing edifice in the ARA. The main gate are manned by two security guards, and an asphalt road bordered on both sides by trim grass and royal palm trees lead up to the courtyard.
The building rises like a monster from the depths of the trees. It is a magnificent architectural triumph that has drawn many awed breaths from stunned onlookers. It has everything, and yet it has never been a home to Boat.
He had never felt comfortable in it. He had felt lost and lonely in that house, maybe because it is so big and he shares it with his father and no one else. Maybe if his mother had been around, he would have loved it.
He parks his car behind his father’s Lexus.
Rich exquisite marble floors lead up to the electronically-powered main door. He inputs the key-pass from the secret panel in the lower part of the wall, and the door clicks open.
Boat enters what is probably the most luxurious living-room in the world and heads straight for his father’s study.
He pushes the door open and enters the gigantic room, divided into a library, a study, and a little relaxation lounge with a bar.
He had always felt like a midget in his father’s study, and it is one of his least favourite places in the house.
The huge French windows give a breath-taking view of the beach, and he pauses to drink in the sight of the waves crashing gently on the rocks below.
His father’s middle-aged secretary is sitting behind a computer, thin glasses perched precariously on the tip of her nose, first two buttons of her white blouse undone.
She looks over her glasses at the door when it swings open, and then she smiles warmly at Boat.
Her name is NANCY BONDZIE
Hello, Yaw. Where’ve you been hiding yourself? It has been a long time since I saw you around us ordinary folks.
Boat looks around, failing to see his father.
Good evening, Miss Bondzie. I’ve been a bit busy in school. Where’s Dad?
She looks surprised.
Oh, he didn’t inform you, did he?
Inform me of what, exactly?
He had to rush to Canada last night. Something urgent came up with one of his business deals.
Boat feels a sudden overwhelming numbness which threatens to assail him, but he fights it down with all his concentration.
When is he coming back, Miss Bondzie?
He said he’ll be back Monday morning, Yaw.
For a moment Boat hesitates, and a concerned look passes across her kind face.
Something wrong, Yaw?
No, no, everything’s okay, thanks.
Boat sighs deeply and scratches the back of his neck.
Already his encounter with Pastor Paul Anderson seems like a dream … a long-forgotten bad dream. He is even beginning to feel silly, kicking himself mentally for running to his father with his tail between his legs.
Really, it all sounds like a load of trash to him now.
Being able to see demons and spirit beings which no one else can see sounds like madness. Sure, there are still some unanswered questions, but who gives a hoot?
Anderson is gone, and whatever he had brought with him is also over. The earlier he forgets about him, the better it will be for him.
Maybe the day is not all lost. He can still go to his apartment, sniff some cocaine, and have a wild night of violent sex with Mary.
He turns and opens the door.
(in a rush)
Oh, Yaw, I almost forgot this. This came for you yesterday.
Boat turns back into the study and sees that she is holding out a white envelope towards him.
Boat takes the letter and thanks her.
He opens the door and goes out, still examining the envelope.
His name is printed on the back, and whoever had written it had used his father’s address. As he rides up the elevator to his room upstairs, he sees that the envelope carries a Takoradi postmark.
Boat scowls darkly.
Takoradi! Hadn’t Anderson said he came from Takoradi?
Boat gives himself a little kick as he walks down the beautiful corridor toward his room. He knows he is simply being paranoid now, seeing ghosts and demons in every crevice.
Sure, this is the first letter I can recall ever receiving from Takoradi. In a world where technology has almost taken over all forms of communication, who has bothered to write a letter to him?
But that doesn’t mean he can’t receive a letter from that location.
Go to hell, Anderson. I’m not reading this shit!
He throws his door open and enters the room.
It is clean, as always. The new housekeeper had been at work. Boat drops onto the huge bed and hooks a leg around the bedside table on which there is a telephone.
Out of curiosity however he tears the envelope open.
There is a single typed sheet inside, and he pulls it out, glancing at the signature at the bottom of the last sentence instinctively.
And then Boat freezes!
The tension creeps up his body like a sinuous predator, and hooks him around the throat, squeezing so tightly that for a moment he can barely breathe.
There is a spherical stamp mark at the bottom of the letter, and below the dotted line is the ugliest name Boat has ever seen:
With a muffled curse he leans over and pulls out the little drawer on the bedside table, looking for the gold-plated lighter he always keeps there, a gift from a middle-aged widow from Saudi Arabia whom he had known quite briefly but rewardingly.
Boat picks the lighter and strikes it over and over, but the flame does not light.
He tries again and again. He shakes it and hears the bubbling gas inside, but it just simply will not light.
Boat really needs that fire to burn the letter so much because there is no way in hell that he is going to read it!
But the lighter is faulty. That leaves only one option: tear up the damn letter!
Boat holds the letter sideways, his hands gripping it hard, and then he begins to tear it up!
His eyes, of their own accord, are naturally scanning the first lines of the letter even as his hands tear the letter fractionally through its right margin.
His hands stop, and his breath catches sharply in his throat as the first sentence of the letter sears through him, making him go numb.
Boat’s hands tremble as he slowly brings the letter down, and turns it round, the words seeming to leap out of the sheet, impaling themselves on his eyes, and drilling their way into his brain.
His heart thuds frantically, and the panic is complete.
You bastard! You mad, raving bastard!
Boat, visibly shaking, begins from the top and starts to read.
Hello Mr. Yaw Boat,
I have successfully found you on the Highway, and we have had a talk. Boat, I can just imagine your mounting horror, and believe me, I am dying inside for what is happening to you. Sincerely, I wish there are more ways I could be of help, but alas, there aren’t.
Put that lighter down, please, because you don’t have to burn this letter. Just read it.
I want you to know one simple fact: Time has run out for you!
Even as you read this, a demon of old is ready to take over your body and your soul. Believe me, son, it is true.
What is also true is that you can always beat them. Remember that! It is your only weapon, and it is your right to say no.
You are going to receive this wonderful and powerful gift which we talked about earlier: the Second Sight. Jehovah God is giving it to you. Like I said, God doesn’t take your right of choice but he makes a strong case of conviction.
So at midnight today, you’re going to receive the gift of the Second Sight. In other words, you’re going to become one of the Unblinds.
I shall be glad if you will read 2nd Kings 6: 14-17 now before you continue reading this letter.
On the stroke of midnight this very day your eyes WILL open, and your life, as you know it, will never be the same again.
You have a choice, son. Not many people manipulated by the forces of evil have had such choices, so think through this very carefully! Only you can make the final choice!
The power of the Unblinds will alienate you, and give you some frantic moments. From now on, son, you can’t trust anybody. Evil is all around you, and because you’ve been chosen by them, believe me, those terrible forces will not let you go that easily!
The Second Sight will NOT give you the full powers of an Unblind. You can see the evil, but you can’t have any dominion over them. The truth is that the gift can’t protect you. It will even render you more vulnerable. It is being given to you, however, so that you will see what has been hidden from you, and millions of others. Hopefully this gift will help you to make the right choices.
Contact Pastor Geoffrey King at the Christ Redeemed Family Church, Fairview Avenue. He’s the Head Pastor there, and he has been instructed to bring you to me, that is, if you make the right choice.
If you choose them, then all this will be meaningless, and I will come after the demon in you, and either set you free, or you shall die in the process.
I wish you well.
Post Scrip: Now you can use the lighter.
Sweat pours off Boat’s face, and he trembles.
His throat is dry, and he can barely breathe.
He sits there on the bed in some kind of fascinated stupor.
He looks at the gold-plated lighter in his hand, and then he cranks it.
And the fire shoots up brightly from it!
Yaw Boat sits quite still as he stares at the flames of the light. He releases it, and the flame go out. He cranks it, and the fire spurts to life.
For about a minute he just sits and does that.
Lighter on, lighter off, lighter on, lighter off…
And then he sighs miserably.
Location: SAMSON’S ROOMS
Yaw Boat, once again, is afraid.
He cannot disregard that evil pastor as being mad anymore.
What madman is capable of writing such a letter that has predicted the future happenings so frighteningly?
Boat wishes so much that his father is around.
His father will have answers, and he will provide the kind of help Yaw Boat needs.
Ordinarily, Boat is quite a strong lad, not given to hysterics, and with a pretty smart head between his shoulders. He is independent, strong-willed and certainly not superstitious. That is why he simply cannot understand what is happening, or accept it.
To him, there is a trick somewhere, a knot that needs to be untied to solve the mystery. On any given day he would have forgotten all about it and never given it another passing thought.
However, it is different now. Try as much as he can, he simply cannot get Anderson and the whole scary happenings out of his mind.
Suddenly the night feels dangerous.
Yaw Boat is feeling strangely claustrophobic. He wishes he is back in his apartment, free to pile up on drugs and alcohol, and retreat into the woozy refuge of hallucinations, and satiate his unquenchable lustful cravings on Mary’s pliant body.
Suddenly the prospect of going out, getting into his car and driving through the streets is suddenly both loathsome and scary.
He realizes quite suddenly that he is indeed quite scared.
He gets to his feet, cramming the letter into his back pocket, and his eyes suddenly fall on the gold-framed clock on the wall.
It is half-past eight.
Less than four hours to midnight.
Boat goes out and rides the elevator to the ground floor, then walks out to his car. As he is opening the door his eyes pick up the bright lights from the windows of the detached house way down the little path leading to the beach, nestled amongst the royal palms and exotic flowers.
It is Samson Basoah’s house.
He is Boat’s father’s personal chauffeur, bodyguard and friend.
Samson Basoah is aptly named because he is a real giant of a man. Well over seven foot, he is broad and incredibly muscular. He looks more of a mini giant than a man.
Completely bald, he has a ragged, horizontal scar running from the edge of his right ear-lobe to the side of his mouth.
It is a scar that gives his face a mutilated look, and makes a rugged, once-handsome face now terribly wicked and harsh.
Mr. Joe Boat had offered to foot the medical bill to have the scar removed through plastic surgery, but Samson had declined the offer.
He prefers to have the scar on his face. To him, it represents a former life of hard crime before Joe Boat had found and helped him convert to Christianity, and given him employment at Golgotha Heights International.
He had showed his gratitude to the senior Boat by being a permanent fixture around him, rendering all kinds of services. He was well-paid, but has chosen to remain celibate.
His character is in complete contrast to his physical appearance. He is unusually gentle and soft-spoken, and he abhors violence in all its forms. He is his middle-aged, and he is like an uncle to Yaw. With no family of his own, he is considered as family in Joe Boat’s house, and has his own quarters on the property.
He is a great cook, and takes care of food in the house. He has been with Yaw Boat for as long as Boat can remember. Due to Joe Boat’s frequent travels, Yaw Boat had spent more time with Samson since infancy than with any other person.
Looking down at Samson’s house down there, Boat is glad that he at least Samson is home to help him out.
Samson will have answers, that is for sure.
Yaw Boat gets into his car and drives down to the beautiful house. It is to the western wing of the main mansion, nestled way down in the magnificent woods his father had surrounded his house with.
It is also a short distance to the beach. This portion has a wonderful garden, though not so glorious as the one behind the main house, but Boat has always felt good in this portion of his father’s estate.
Samson appears in the doorway even before Boat stops the car.
Samson Basoah has the tallest doors in the world.
Joe boat had allowed Samson to design his house, and the giant, tired of having to bend all the time to enter doorways, had designed his doors in such a way that they are very tall and wide. They can probably accommodate an elephant.
He is smiling broadly as Boat gets out of the car.
Samson is wearing a long flowing white African gown. Obviously he had been preparing to retire to bed.
Yaw, my boy! What a surprise. I’ve really missed you. Welcome home, my boy. Do come in, Yaw.
He embraces Boat with arms as huge as tree trunks. Boat had always been amazed at Samson’s size and evident sheer strength.
Boat often wondered how Samson would have been like as a criminal. He had once asked him how he got that ugly scar on his face, and he Boat that the person who had inflicted it on him had died immediately afterwards.
Samson had never explained how that person died, but Boat had once heard his old man telling Miss Bondzie that Samson, cut and bleeding profusely, had reached out, grabbed the man by his chin with just thumb and forefinger, and snapped the man’s neck with a single movement.
With a broad smile on his face Samson thumps Boat fondly on the back.
They enter his beautifully-furnished living-room. There is a soundless video showing on the huge screen. It is, as usual, a Christian channel.
Boat drops into one of the deep chairs and stretches his legs. Samson pushes a huge Bible and some magazines to one side of the chair and sits down beside Boat.
Would you be staying the night, Yaw? Your father will be back from Canada on Monday. You know he travelled to Canada, right?
Yeah. Miss Bondzie told me. Wanted to see him. That’s why I came down.
Your Pop is really concerned about you, kid. He was telling me that he could sense something wrong coming on, and it has to do with you. He wants you back home now that school is on break. I think he wants to be with you, to discuss things with you.
Boat feels the fear settling like ice in his guts.
Now his father is also having visions. This thing is spiralling out of control, and he is not in the frame of mind to deal with it.
I wish he were here too, Uncle Samson.
Samson looks at Boat sharply.
What is it this time, Yaw? You’re not in trouble again, are you? Listen, my boy, I love you very much, but I’m just about done bailing you out of trouble. You need to start towing some lines of discipline and self-control. I know about your deals with this Bob drug dealer, and I’m convinced you even use cocaine. Listen, Yaw, I’ve been there, okay? I’ve lived the life of crime and personal gratification, but I’ve come to realize that nothing is more fulfilling than being a Christian. So make your father happy and become a good Christian and stop all that nonsense you’re involved with.
It is true, of course.
Uncle Samson had gotten Boat out of some pretty tight fixes in the past, and if there is one person who knows more about his sordid lifestyle, it is Samson.
He lectures Boat about the need for him to completely repent of his sins for a while, but Boat barely hears him, although he keeps nodding to convince Samson that he is listening with rapt attention.
When a little silence creeps in, Boat hits him with the question on his mind.
Uncle Samson, you’ve been a Christian for a long time, and you know all about some of the crazy stuff in the Bible and the Christian life. Have you ever heard anything called the Second Sight?
The Second Sight. It is supposed to be one of the gifts God gives to His chosen servants. People with this kind of gift are believed to be … unblinded, you see, and they are able to see evil spirits and principalities, whatever the heck that is, which ordinary people with ordinary eyes cannot see. In other words, people with the Second Sight can see into another spiritual world, a realm of life which cannot be perceived by the naked eye.
And that can’t be an ordinary interest, especially from you, can it? Why don’t you tell me really what is bothering you, kid?
Boat takes a long breath, and debates briefly whether to tell him about Anderson.
He looks out the windows and sees the gloom out there, and knows he needs a semblance of sanity restored to before he can venture out there alone, particularly since his nerves are a bit frayed at the moment.
Well, I met a crazy pastor on the highway today, goes by the name of Paul Anderson. He told me that some evil forces are preparing to inhabit my body, and give me some dark powers to hurt … well, strong Christians. I didn’t believe him, of course. So he told me that on the stroke of midnight today God will give me this Second Sight thing, you know, like I’ll be unblinded, as he put it.
And with this supposed gift I’ll see into the spiritual world, and see spirits and demons and things. Apparently, only privileged few have this gift. According to him these guys are known as the Unblinds, and they are warriors for God, fighting evil forces from the spiritual realm.
The laughter starts way down in Samson’s belly like distant thunder, and erupts out of his mouth in his rich baritone voice, a vibrant and totally joyous explosion that brings a sheepish grin to Boat’s face.
He doesn’t laugh loudly, but tears come to his eyes, and Boat finds himself smiling. At last his laughter ripples off, and he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.
He belches loudly, and farts, a booming ripping sound that shake the seat. Both of them burst out laughing this time. Boat is damn glad that he has come in to speak to Samson.
You were scared, huh?
I must admit he gave me cold balls for a moment there. He sounded pretty convincing.
Uncle Samson settles more comfortably in his seat.
Well, there are some references of this Second Sight, as he called it, in the Bible though.
There are? People were able to see into a spiritual realm? Actually see ghouls and demons?
Well, not exactly, and I must admit that this is the first time I’m hearing of it referred to as a Second Sight, and what did you call, Unblind? In the Biblical book of Numbers, a prophet of God called Balaam was travelling on donkey, and God sent an Angel of Death to stand in the way and kill Balaam, because Balaam had been disobedient to God.
He pauses, gets up, and walks to the huge refrigerator to pour himself a glass of water. Boat waits impatiently, caught up in his story, wishing to know whether the crap-talk about Second Sights is true.
Uncle Samson returns to his seat, takes a long drink, and sets the glass down carefully.
Now, where was I?
An angel was about to kill a man named Balaam.
(clearing his throat)
Oh, yes! According to the Bible, the donkey Balaam is sitting on saw the Angel of Death holding a sword, but Balaam couldn’t see it. The donkey was freaked out and so it crouched and refused to move forward. Balaam began beating the donkey to move forward, but the donkey wouldn’t budge. The relevant issue here is that the donkey saw an angel in a spiritual realm, but Balaam couldn’t see it with his ordinary eyes. Are you following?
Boat can only nod.
His throat is so dry.
So Balaam is beating the donkey, and then something amazing happens. The Bible recounts that the donkey spoke to Balaam, and then God opened the eyes of Balaam, and he was able to see the angel of God blocking the way with a sword in his hand. So, can we safely conclude that when God opened his eyes, Balaam received the gift of discernment, which your friend calls the Second Sight, and began to see things in the spiritual realm which ordinary eyes could not see? The answer is yes.
Boat stares at him with sudden abject misery.
And then Samson’s next words send chills down his spine, numbing him all over, striking fear into his hear, driving the panic buttons high.
There’s another phenomenon in the Bible, in the second book of Kings, chapter six.
I shall be glad if you will read 2nd Kings 6: 14-17.
That is what Anderson had written in his damn letter, but Boat had been so confused and shook up that he had forgotten all about it.
Uncle Samson is referring to the Biblical quotation, and it has sent terror directly to Boat’s heart.
In that story another prophet of God called Elisha and his servant were surrounded by the Syrian army. The servant, of course, was understandably terrified by the sight of so many soldiers sent after them, and could not understand why Elisha was so unperturbed. Elisha told his servant not to worry because the protection they had was more powerful than the Syrian army.
Now when the servant still doubted him, Elisha prayed to God to open his servant’s eyes. According to the Bible God opened the young man’s eyes, and then he saw that the whole valley and hill was covered with horses and chariots of fire, maybe ridden by hundreds of warrior angels.
Obviously the servant couldn’t see the spiritual army with his ordinary eyes, but when God opened his eyes, he saw into the spiritual realm. Is this the phenomenon your friend is referring to as the Second Sight, or being unblinded? I do think so.
Boat just stares at him, and he is not feeling comfortable at all. Heart is beating a little bit faster, and and he feels just a trifle colder.
So does it mean it is possible to have a damn gift like that for real, Uncle Samson?
Samson takes another sip of water, and sits regarding the glass with elaborate interest, his lips pursed slightly.
I reckon it is possible, yes, but I’ve never come across any pastor, or Christian, who has openly professed having the gift of spiritual discernment. The Bible even recounts a little story about the Last Supper, which Jesus Christ had with his Disciples. According to one of the Gospels of Christ, Satan entered Judas. Jesus looked at Judas and spoke, telling him to do what he has to do.
Now, the Disciples thought Jesus was speaking to Judas, instructing him to go and make some financial arrangements because Judas was the treasurer. What they didn’t know was that Jesus was speaking to Satan, who has entered Judas, and whom Jesus has discerned. The Disciples couldn’t notice this spiritual warfare between Jesus Christ and Satan because their eyes were not opened.
He drains the cup and puts it down carefully. He leans forward, his left hand slowly twirling the long hairs in the indent of his lower lip.
The silence stretches for a while.
Boat fights it, but there is a gnawing feeling in his guts that things are slowly but certainly sliding out of control, heading for an inevitable conclusion that will suck him into a cauldron of fiery retribution.
He realizes with mild wonder that he feels really chilled, and that his hands are nervously clasped together, and that they are trembling slightly.
So, in conclusion, you’re telling me that whatever Paul Anderson told me is possible?
Of course it is possible, I keep telling you that. The Bible says that with God all things are possible, and that God gives diverse to His servants. So yes, this Second Sight or thi
s state of being Unblinded can exist.
Now you’re scaring me, Uncle Samson.
He bursts out laughing again, and although Boat smiles, his anxieties are not completely dissipated.
Don’t be scared, Yaw. In truth I do think that pastor indeed might be crazy. That era of discernment is over, I believe. I haven’t personally heard of anything like that since I became a Christian. We’re now in an era where God reveals things to His true servants in dreams and visions, and through miracles.
That power of discernment in the Bible was exhibited by men of faith who were as close to God as any humans could be. So if anyone can have a gift like that, it would be someone who is close to God. This talk about you having been prepared for occupation by a demon is, excuse my language, total bullshit. Demons don’t prepare human hosts! Anybody who doesn’t have God’s protection can be possessed by a demon. Such a gift wouldn’t be bestowed on someone like you who even finds it hard to believe that God actually exists.
So it is crap, right?
(stifling a yawn)
Total crap, Yaw. Just get it out of your mind. Go get some sleep, my boy. You can spend the night here if you want. Get all that silliness out of your mind.
Yaw Boat smiles sheepishly, relieved suddenly. It feels good hearing Paul Anderson dismissed with such utter contempt. He knows he should have done that in the first place.
Yeah, you’re right, Uncle Samson. I think I’m being silly about the whole thing.
Maybe, in a way, this shows that it is time for you to give your life totally to God and save your soul. Stop messing around with all that drugs and sex thing, boy. It’ll only end in catastrophe.
Once again I think you’re right, Uncle Samson. I’ll give it serious thought.
But Boat knows he is lying.
He doesn’t believe there is a God upstairs in all those clouds, and he doesn’t believe in final days when angels will sound trumpets and people would sail through the air to meet Jesus Christ.
He gets to his feet and stretches luxuriously.
I’ll move along then, Uncle Samson. I’ll see you on Monday when Dad comes back.
They embrace, Uncle Samson pounds him on the back, and they walk out. Yaw Boat gets into his car, starts up, waves to him, and drives out of there.
Location: BOAT’S APARTMENT
Accra is in the weekend mood when he hits town. The streets are jamming, the clubs were radical, and the atmosphere is electric.
He calls Elaine several times, but her phone is still off.
Boat stops at a restaurant to grab a quick bite, and ends up tossing down four glasses of alcohol down his throat.
He is just revving up for the weekend, and the feeling is jamming just right. Slowly he is getting into the spirit and walking toward his crown.
He is on a good roll, baby, and Pastor Paul Anderson is already beginning to seem like a bad dream with all his nonsense.
When he hit the streets again he is roaring drunk.
He drives straight to his apartment.
His door is already unlocked when he puts his key in.
He smiles through his drunken stupor. Mary, of course.
She has a key, and she is determined to have her wild night.
Boat finds her in bed.
The lights are low, and she is wearing a wicked see-through negligee that gives him an instant dose of heated desire, and he feels himself getting so hard that the front of his trousers is soon threatened with permanent distended damage.
She looks at him lustfully, slowly spreading her legs, giving him a blast of smooth thighs and tiny, crotchless, sheer panties.
Yaw Boat rips off his clothes and pounces on her.
She meets him half-way with a violent grunt of desire that takes his breath away in its intensity. She is a big girl, and likes to play it rough.
He tears off her negligee as her hot lips scorch a blazing path down his belly, and soon they are doing our best to devour each other!
Hers is a smooth silky body, rounded for love – wickedly bended – and craving to please. Her fingers frantically seeks hot spots on his hardened body.
She flings him down on the bed with a grunt, and then she rears up, looks down at him, and then her lips descend.
She takes him deep in her throat, slobbering, grunting, driving him mad.
And then she moves up, and his hands go up and grasp her sweet breasts.
She is wet and ready as she lowers her inner core on him, impaling herself fully on him, whipping her head from side to side as she rides him with the violence of a rodeo rider.
They groan in their passionate sin as the bed toils under them as they maul it.
It is not love. It is hard, and it is bestial, and it is uncontrollable … and they are two beasts, and they love it.
She contorts herself, and suddenly he is behind her, grabbing her waist as she bends over, mauling her hips as she thrusts back against him with her breath held as pleasure rocks her body.
They both explode together, screaming with total abandon.
They rest a while, and then they drink a little wine and sniff a little cocaine, and then she rolls on top of him in a 69 position …and they begin the beast-love all over again.
Yaw Boat – drugged, sexed, tired, drunk – falls asleep finally.
He comes awake and lies in the darkness.
Mary is sound asleep by his side.
He turns his head and looks at the luminous face of the bedside clock.
The huge clock on the catholic tower faintly strikes the hour, a single echoing dooong, the sound faint but perfectly audible.
It is one o’clock at dawn, and for the first time in seven days he has not had the nightmare.
The room is strewn with their clothes, glasses, bottles and cocaine residue. Mary’s limbs were still intertwined with his.
As he gently extricates himself from her delightful curves, he knows one simple fact.
It is past midnight. An hour past, in truth.
His eyes feel normal, his room feels normal.
He feels normal.
He feels good.
Fuck you, Anderson. I’m alright!
But his head is aching him quite badly.
It is as if his head is being split open by a million blunt chisels. His throat is parched and dry, and he feels physically drained.
He carefully disengages Mary’s legs from his and gets out of bed groggily. He sways, and shuts his eyes to prevent the sudden dizziness and terrible nausea which assails him.
After a while the dizziness passes, and that is when thoughts of Anderson suddenly buffet his mind.
Anderson had not been really far from his mind all the while, I has to admit. Even when he was so engrossed in the soft and sweet body-world of Mary, even when he was revelling in her amazing bends, Anderson had been up there somewhere, hovering, refusing to be pushed off by his lustful bliss.
Boat looks around the room tentatively.
His eyes pick out familiar things. There are no strange hues to objects, no funny shadows, no saint-like halos … nothing. No ghouls, no screeching poltergeists with knives for teeth, no blood-dripping, decay-faced zombies … nothing!
Boat heaves a great sigh of relief, cursing the man profoundly for the fear he had given me.
Uncle Samson had been right all along. There is nothing to fear. It had all been one great hoax.
It feels good.
Life has returned to normal, to the regular, to his own home turf. He can look at the whole Anderson experience as just a bad dream.
Boat, still naked, shambles into the bathroom to relieve his aching bladder. He kicks up the toilet seat, reminding himself to let it down again when he is done. He is in the habit of leaving it up, exposing the cold ceramic.
Mary hates it when she has to rush to the bathroom in the darkness and sit on that cold slab.
It irks her to damnation, especially if Boat had left some urine drops on it. There had been a couple of times when she had been so grenade-eyed that she had walked right out the door without making love again, anger overcoming passion.
Boat finishes urinating, does the double toss and reaches out with a foot and pulls down the seat again, and then he turns to go back to the bedroom.
And then he feels it!
And hears it!
There is something behind him!
He feels its presence!
And he hears its heavy breath-sigh, just behind him, in his ear…
A breath-sigh from an alien throat, so hoarse and sea-weedy, repugnantly stale, inundating his nostrils with rank horrific odours that make him think of rotten meat!
Yaw Boat is suddenly filled with a terrible premonition of doom. It feels like the temperature in the room has dropped a thousand degrees. The cold is so sudden and unexpected that Boat almost feels ice in the air, and all the hair on his body seem to stand up.
The scream rise in his belly, but becomes firmly blocked in his throat. He knows without a doubt that there is something behind him, something nasty and sinister, something ancient and dripping, something really bad!
Boat feels the tingling sensation at the back of his neck, but he cannot move a muscle although he is struggling so hard to move, to flee from the bathroom. He is so paralysed raw terror!
Funky Grounds has come alive!
Suddenly he feels a blast of air around him, moving fiercely from the bathroom and passing into the bedroom, disappearing into the atmosphere somewhere, and he smells the sickening blast of rotten seaweed again, and then, thankfully, it is all gone, whatever the hell it had been!
It is only then that he realizes he had been holding his breath. He gasps, the oxygen forcing its way into his lungs, and he almost blacks out.
He reaches out, holds the sink, and then vomits violently.
Boat is choking as he fights for air and the will to remain conscious and sane. He vomits again, and feels nauseated by the stench of alcohol that he has vomited out.
He dry-retches for a while, and then he turns on the sink tap and lets it wash the vomit down the drain. And then he splashes water on his face, and slowly his breathing stabilizes.
His face feels hot, and somewhere in that fuddled brain of his he makes the sudden and unbidden realization that he had never experienced such latent terror in all his life.
There is no denying it. He had not dreamed it, and he had not imagined it…
Something evil had been in the bathroom with him!
That sudden realization makes Boat stand up and blast out of the bathroom, slamming the door shut. He stumbles to the bed and sits down, and starts taking deep breaths as the air-conditioned room slowly cools his forehead.
Gradually he calms down, and the terrible panic subsides a bit, but it doesn’t vanish altogether. Maybe his mind is beginning to play games with him, fuelled by Anderson’s silliness, but he knows he just can’t brush what he had felt in the bathroom aside.
Something had happened, and it had not been an extension of his imagination.
It had been real.
He had felt it … and he had heard it!
For a moment he considers rousing Mary up for a gentler session of dawn love-making, but his libido is on a sudden ebb, and he feels a great urge to breathe in some fresh air, to escape the claustrophobic confines of the bedroom.
He stands up, picks up his boxers from the floor and pulls it on, and then he saunters barefooted to the huge French windows which let out unto the balcony. He pushes then aside, enters the balcony, and then he lights up a cigarette.
Alcohol, drugs and wild sex with the exuberant Mary has drained him of energy considerably, and his tongue feels like an elephant in his mouth.
The cigarette smoke tastes like clay, and he drops it in an ashtray he keeps on the balcony and savagely grinds it out.
He walks to the balustrade and stands gazing out across Accra.
The apartment next to his, on his right, has been rented out to a man called Ralph Stebbins. He is a tall, thin man who doesn’t talk much.
Mary had once informed Boat that Mr. Stebbins is a security guard working for one of the airlines. He is gone most of the time. He keeps pretty much to himself, and Boat likes that about him.
Boat and Stebbins had shared a few drinks and exchanged a few pleasantries now and then, mostly in the late hours of the night when they found each other on their respective balconies, which are separated by tall floor to ceiling railings made from hardened and tempered steel, making it impossible to move between balconies.
When Boat looks through the bars of the railings he sees that Stebbins is lying in a deep sofa on his balcony, wearing a pair of black jeans and singlet.
There is an almost empty bottle of whisky on the floor beside him, and a tall tumbler lying on its side. The remnants of whiskey in the glass has formed a small pool around Stebbins’ left hand, which is dangling over the side of the sofa, and brushing the floor.
He is snoring loudly, and Boat shakes his head with a smile, and then turns his attention back to watching the lights and buildings of Accra at dawn.
The night is calm, and the air is refreshingly cold and he welcomes it after the torrid moment he just went through in the bathroom.
The air drives the stuffiness from his throat and relaxes him, calming his taut nerves. He tries to identify some of the sights of the town by the blinking neon lights. His ears pick up the faint sounds of music in the air.
The weekend craze is still going on, and out there revellers are still having the time of their lives.
Boat suddenly sees a hazy green light hovering over the catholic tower.
Boat, who can identity most of the lights on the buildings, has never notices that green neon light before, and he wonders briefly if the Catholics have erected a neon sign over the tower now.
Of course they can do it. These Catholics are full of surprises. He chuckles and turns away.
Boat walks into the kitchen and takes a bottle of cold beer from the fridge. He opens it and walks back to the balcony, drinking the chilled beer with much enjoyment.
When he looks into the dawn skies again, the green light he has seen hovering over the catholic tower now seems to be moving slowly through the air in his general direction.
Boat swallows a mouthful of beer and glares at that green light.
His first thoughts is that it might be the lights of an aeroplane, but that is absurd because he would’ve heard the sound of its engine and no airplane moves that slowly anyway.
The probable answer is that it can be one of those flying gas-powered balloon baskets. A crazy couple maybe, eager to experience the thrill of making love in space.
His beer is now forgotten as he watches that green light drawing nearer, near enough for him to have seen if it is trailing a basket, or flying a balloon … but there is nothing.
There is no darker structure to indicate that something is casting that light.
It is just a green light, cast by nothing, hovering in the air.
That, to say the least, is not normal!
Boat is aware that he is very cold, and he is also aware that he is beginning to be very scared.
The light is quite near now.
This is no ordinary light. It has no source, and has no shape. It is a dense, amorphous structure, glowing with an inner strength that is quite disturbing.
Parts of it keep bulging out as if something wants to get out, or that there is a struggle of some sort going on inside it.
The beer bottle slips from Boat’s hand, crashes, breaks, and cold beer slide beneath his bare feet.
He barely feels it. He is gazing.
There is no doubt about it now. The green light is headed for the balcony.
Boat wants to turn away, to flee inside and close the windows, but he is rooted to the spot. His legs just won’t move as his terror slowly takes hold.
Now the green light is almost on top of him, bright and blinding, and yet Boat can’t shut his eyes, and then the fear slams into his guts suddenly!
He moans and whimpers as a paralysing panic sweeps through him.
The light has a source after all!
There is something which is giving off that light.
He can see it in all that brightness, just beginning to materialize, to take shape, to form!
There is a creature inside the green light!
Location: APARTMENT BALCONIES
A terrible scream is locked way back in his throat as he sees the face of the figure inside the light taking a frightening shape!
Boat can barely breathe. He shakes his head numbly, trying to claw his way back to reality.
The thing lands on Stebbins’ balcony and then floats towards the snoring form of the man, simmering over him, illuminating the sleeping face with a ghastly, translucent shimmering haze that is both terrible and sickening.
Boat’s anguished eyes are fixed on it, although he tries hard to look away from that torture.
Now he can see the body that had been taking shape inside that green light.
It is a huge head … a gigantic bulging head that twists and turns with violent ferocity, contorting quite sickeningly, a sight not meant for human eyes!
Oh, sweet, dear Jesus!
Boat begins to move backwards, shaking his head with the horror he is seeing.
The moment he speaks the head begins to turn, and once again the scream rise in his throat, but it is locked tight into his throat so that all that comes out are hoarse groans and screeches.
That evil head turns fully, and now it has a complete shape and form.
Boat finds himself staring into a terrible, frightening, ugly, hate-filled face which the most horrible nightmare would have rejected.
From its forehead up there is nothing, only a denser green light, but its eyes are a terrible green, its gaping mouth filled with snake-like tentacles that beat savagely against its cheeks.
Its nose is a gaping hollow, within which other slithering reptilian entities seem to be moving.
Its eyes looks at Boat with such potent evil and sheer malice that Boat can no longer stand upright; his legs collapse beneath him and he sits on the floor, whimpering with the depths of his horror.
Still sitting on the floor, Boat begins to pedal backwards on his buttocks, the blood rushing through his pounding heart and brain as his whole system fights against the unimaginable horror his eyes are seeing.
Yaw Boat, a boy who has never been scared of anything in the world, suddenly wishes for death.
Death, in its mysterious finality, will be much more preferable to the unadulterated horror his eyes are beholding.
He knows somewhere deep down that that if the horror doesn’t stop his heart will just stop working, and his brain will explode, and he will die.
The horrible green face snarls, the tentacles in the mouth-like cavity beating angrily around the old, gnarled ancient face!
Finally Boat’s stomach heaves, and warm vomit spews out of his mouth. His bladder lets go, and warm urine runs down his thighs.
The vomit stuffs his throat, and the urine permeates his nostrils, violating his pride as a man, a cruel reminder that this is no nightmare, but good old stark reality.
And yet he still can’t shut his eyes from the sight of the horrible demon glowing over Ralph Stebbins.
For a moment the face of the evil thing braces for a forward dash, and then it whirls around and with a final blinding green flash the whole evil thing slams against Stebbins’ sleeping form, and disappears into him.
Boat dry-retches violently. Saliva pours down his chin as he grovels like an idiot. The evil sight is etched deep into his mind and he moans like an abandoned baby, trembling violently.
He draws his knees up and wraps his arms around them, rocking back and forth, moaning and whimpering, his mind tilting towards insanity.
… On the stroke of midnight this very day your eyes will open …
Bastard bastard bastard bastard bastardbastardbastardbastard!!
And then he hears Stebbins’ voice through the madness that is threatening to rip his head aside.
Yaw? Hey, Yaw! Are you alright, buddy?
Boat looks up slowly.
Ralph Stebbins is standing against the railings that divides their balconies, looking through the bars at Boat.
His kind face is concerned, but when he sees the state of Boat’s face he gives a little start and shudders.
Hey! What’s the matter with you, buddy? You getting a heart attack or something? Should I call an ambulance?
Boat sits up with an animal grunt of fear and starts pedalling back on his buttocks again, needing to get away from Stebbins as far as possible.
His back suddenly comes up against the opposite railing, and there is nowhere else to go.
Yaw Boat, looking at the man, doesn’t hear the rest of what the man is saying because he is now looking with another blast of horror at Stebbins.
Stebbins’ eyes have changed! They have become a terrible green with no shade of black! These are not human eyes.
And then, as Boat continues to watch, something appears suddenly on Stebbins’ forehead.
It is a number!
A number written with red blood!
It is the number 666!
… at this time the human vessel has sold his soul to the Devil, and he receives the mark of the beast: Six Hundred threescore and Six … 666!
Anderson has said that in Boat’s car!
Oh, dear, dear, Lord … it is happening! Everything that Anderson had said has now come true.
Yaw Boat is now seeing things in the damned spiritual realm!
He has been unblinded!
Hey, Yaw, buddy, are you-
Yaw Boat cuts in stridently.
Keep the fuck away from me!!
He is still trying to move backwards but the railings stops him, so his legs move helplessly on the floor, up and down, up and down, pedalling but going nowhere, wishing to flee, but being held up by that restricting railing against his back.
He just can’t stop his legs from scissoring that way; up and down, up and down, up and down, like they had batteries of their own.
So terrified is his heart that it never even occurs to him that the best way to flee is to get up from the floor and flee into his room.
His words make Stebbins flinch as if he has physically slapped his face, and that is when the mark disappears from his forehead.
After a while the greenish glow in his eyes fades out too, leaving him as the normal Ralph Stebbins that Boat knows.
He is holding the railing bars, his face pressed into a space, his expression one of concern.
Good gracious, Yaw, buddy! What’s going on? I’m gonna call an ambulance right now!
Get the fuck away from me, motherfucker! I saw it, damn you to hell, I bloody well saw it, motherfucker!
Dimly Boat is aware that he is slipping into hysterics, and he knows that it can be really dangerous to go on mouthing off to Stebbins, but there seems to be nothing he can do about it.
Stebbins looks baffled for a moment.
He raises his eyebrows in a query. The look in his eyes suggests that he thinks Boat is going crazy.
You saw what, Yaw?
No, no, no, you bastard! Don’t you dare pretend to me, asshole! I saw that damn green demon, you asshole! I saw that fucking mark on your forehead too … yeah, yeah, I did, motherfucker!
Boat is sounding incoherent, hysterical and mad, somewhat, but Stebbins knows what Boat is talking about alright.
His thin face crumbles with sudden and complete shock, and he takes a dazed step back from the railings, his eyes filled with the dangerous fear of a trapped venomous viper.
How? How could? No, not you … it is not possible. You? With the gift of discernment? No, no! Can’t be possible!
His right hand sweeps across his face, and when he looks at Boat again his face is as cold as ice, with a terrible, fixed stare.
To Be Continued…
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