The morning light seeped through as a boy stretched and out came a low moan. He got out of bed and said a little prayer, went to the kitchen where he’d thought his mother would be, only to find it empty, with the plates from last night still unwashed. “Mom?”
He heard someone cough and he turned to see his mom smiling at him. “You didn’t think something bad had happened to me, did you?”
He heaved a sigh of relief, and said, “I was thinking you’d be here since dad’s not feeling well.”
The middle-aged woman smiled, patting his head. “He has eaten. I woke up early and prepared porridge for him. It’s in the pot.” She added.
The boy licked his lips and made for the stove, as his mum called him back, and asked, “Have you brushed?”
He laughed and shook his head, hurrying out the door.
Amadi was his name—a spoiled brat and an over pampered child—a bully, and the street’s most feared. He was a stubborn bratty kid—the type who derived joy in beating other kids and seeing them taken to the hospital. His mother would always defend him, stating her son was going through a phase and would outgrow it.
It was one complaint or the other, everyday–people tagged him to be ‘possessed’.
Countless mischiefs in their neighbourhood was trailed to The Okafors’ home. Everyone knew their son to be a wild, wild untrained kid.
One time he had attempted raping a girl in their neighbourhood, if not for her screams that brought men to the scene.
Many times Amadi was threatened by the parents who trooped in to complain about his behaviour. Not one of them wanted their kids socializing with him.
Each day Amadi would go to the uncompleted building in their street, known to be the home of those who went bad. He’d skip school and stay there all day ‘til he was filled. Amadi’s behaviour was getting out of hand, and several children, because of him, were sent to the hospital, with the displeasing wounds he had left.
No one knew why a boy, old enough to tell what’s right or wrong, behaved in a way that would make anyone who came by hate him.
One day Amadi’s father suggested that their son be taken to a priest’s house—if it were to be a foul spirit driving him, and having him do abnormal things—it be casted out. Amadi’s mother would shrug and insist that her son was fine. “Papa Amadi. Papa Amadi, please don’t worry yourself. Don’t worry yourself. Our son is perfectly fine. He’s fine! You know how kids these days are. They like doing silly things.”
Amadi was pleased to see his mom was on his side.
All the things he did, he did them not by his hands. There was indeed a spirit leading him—and as it did, he did a whole lot more—
ஜ۩۞۩ஜ ✍POSSESSED✍ ஜ۩۞۩ஜ