Femi sat in silence, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. But one sensation overshadowed them all. "Oh, I'm hungry!" he exclaimed, his stomach growling loudly as if to underscore his words. He gritted his teeth, hunger gnawing at his belly. He had to get moving. Slowly, he stood up, wincing at the pain from his wounds. He took a deep breath, steeling himself against the pain, and began adjusting his makeshift bandages. Remembering his water canteen, he glanced at the remaining strips of bandage in his hand, then carefully used them to secure the canteen around his waist. Satisfied, he took a deep breath. "I need to get out of here," he said.
His eyes darted around the room, scanning every corner, and then, he saw it, the exit. A sliver of hope surged through him, but it was quickly replaced by confusion. The door was not where he remembered it. It stood on the opposite side of the room, its heavy wooden frame looking older, more weathered, as though it had been there for centuries.
"Omo, this place na witch den!" Femi exclaimed, his voice trembling with fear and frustration as it echoed off the cold stone walls. "So the old door no dey come back?" He shook his head, struggling to make sense of the impossible.
He stepped closer to the door, ready to leave the hell behind, when a sudden realization struck him. "Oh no," he thought, his heart sinking. "Those skeletons are still out there, lurking. What am I going to do?" Panic crept in as he froze, his hand gripping the door handle. "I need a plan," he thought desperately, his mind racing to find a way to survive.
"I don't have a weapon, and I can't fight that thing head-on. Who fights a walking skeleton with their bare hands?" The thought of its bony fingers clawing at him made his skin crawl. He couldn't risk getting close.
But staying put wasn't an option. His eyes darted around the room, scanning for anything useful. The dead body lay motionless, its pallid skin almost blending into the gray stone floor. His gaze landed on the crate, a simple wooden box, but it was all he had. "Wait, the crate," he muttered, a spark of hope igniting in his chest. "This might work."
He grabbed the crate, the rough wood scraping against his palms, and dragged it across the floor, the sound echoing faintly in the confined space. Slowly, he pushed the door open, the hinges creaking softly. Peering into the corridor, he saw nothing but flickering blue light casting eerie shadows on the walls. "It's not here," Femi whispered, more to reassure himself than anything.
As he emerged from the exit, a realization dawned on him—he had been speaking Pidgin English the entire time. A low chuckle escaped his lips. "Ah, if my dad was here, he would have slapped my mouth," he thought to himself.
Memories of his childhood flooded his mind. He recalled how his father would scold him for speaking Pidgin English, saying it was only suitable for "local kids." His father had always emphasized the importance of proper English and civilized behavior.
A wry smile spread across his face. "I wonder what my father would do in this situation," he thought, shaking his head in amusement.
With the crate in hand, he stepped into the corridor, his footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust. The air was cold and stale. The strange blue stones cast shifting patterns on the walls, making the shadows seem alive. Femi tried to retrace his steps, the memory of the skeleton's hollow eyes burning in his mind.
---
Femi's frustration grew with every step. The endless corridors seemed to twist and turn without logic. "A man can get lost in these corridors for eternity," he thought, his face etched with frustration. "I've been wandering around aimlessly."
Femi's brow furrowed as he stared at the rough,walls of the dungeon. "If this is the first floor, how is someone supposed to get themselves down to the other floors?" he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration.
---
As Femi rounded a corner, his pace slowed, his senses sharpening with every step. A faint clattering reached his ears—bones scraping against stone. "Ah, the devil's waiting," he murmured, his voice trembling. He pressed himself against the wall, trying to steady his breathing, but the skeleton seemed to sense him. Its head snapped toward him, those empty eye sockets locking onto his own.
Femi's breath hitched, and before he could think, the skeleton lunged forward, its skeletal feet clattering against the floor. Panic surged through him, and he screamed, "I will not be joining you in the grave today!" He charged at the skeleton, gripping the crate like a shield. With a desperate cry, he hurled it at the creature's skull. The impact echoed through the corridor, a sharp crack reverberating off the walls.
For a moment, Femi stood still, his chest heaving, the sound of his own heartbeat drowning out everything else. He stared at the skeleton, now sprawled on the ground, and allowed himself a shaky breath of relief. But then, the bones began to shift. The skeleton rose, a jagged crack running down its skull, and turned to face him. Its gaze was colder now, more menacing, as if it were silently mocking him.
Femi's stomach churned. "I'm sorry, Mr. Skeleton," he stammered, backing away. "I didn't want to do this. It was fear... no, it was the devil that made me do it." His voice cracked as he turned and bolted down the corridor, the skeleton's relentless pursuit echoing behind him.
But the skeleton was faster than he anticipated. Just as Femi turned a corner, it lunged, its skeletal fingers clamping down on his shoulder with a grip like iron. The force twisted him around, and he was thrown hard against the wall. Pain shot through his side as he crumpled to the ground, but adrenaline surged through him, pushing him to his feet. He pressed his back against the wall, his chest heaving as he faced the skeleton.
The skeleton approached, its glowing eyes staring into Femi's soul. Femi's mind raced, his panic mounting as he realized he was cornered. "How am I going to get out of this situation?" he thought.
His eyes darted around the corridor, searching for anything—anything—that could help him. Then he saw it: a jagged rock lying on the ground just a few feet away. Without hesitation, Femi lunged for it, his fingers closing around the rough surface just as the skeleton charged.
At the last possible moment, Femi rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the skeleton's skeletal claws. He scrambled to his feet, clutching the rock tightly. His breathing slowed, his focus sharpening as the skeleton turned to face him again. He knew this was his only chance. If he missed, if he faltered even for a second, he was dead.
The skeleton lunged, its movements swift and mechanical. Femi's heart pounded in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears as he steadied himself. "Today, you'll meet your ancestors!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the corridor. With all his strength, he hurled the rock. It struck the skeleton's damaged skull with a resounding crack, the force of the impact sending the creature stumbling backward.
Femi didn't wait. He seized the moment, leaping forward and driving his foot into the skeleton's chest. The brittle bones gave way, and the creature crashed to the ground. Femi was on it in an instant, his fists raining down in a flurry of blows. Each strike echoed with the sickening snap of bone, the sound mingling with his ragged breaths and the faint creak of the skeleton's crumbling frame.
"Die, die, die, die by fire!" he screamed, his voice raw with desperation. With one final, powerful kick, his forefeet connected with the skeleton's skull. The crack that followed was deafening, reverberating through the chamber like a thunderclap. The skeleton's glowing eyes flickered and dimmed, its body collapsing into a lifeless heap of bones.
Femi stood over the remains, breath ragged and hands trembling. The corridor fell silent, save for the faint drip of water echoing in the distance. He stared down at the shattered skeleton, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, leaving him drained but alive. For now, at least, the devil would have to wait.