COÛTE QUE COÛTE

The Secrets of Abengourou

By Mrs Sadauki

Part 1: The Soul of Emeka

The Restless Voice

Terrified, I pressed my hands harder against my ears, desperately trying to block out the distressing voice flooding my auditory senses. But I was only fooling myself; blocking my ears changed absolutely nothing. I reached out blindly to grab a pillow, hoping it might muffle the sound, when the lights in the room suddenly went out completely. The sudden blackout cut the power to the ceiling fan, instantly killing the breeze that had been keeping the humid heat at bay.
Within moments, a sharp itch began to irritate my skin as mosquitoes welcomed themselves alongside the suffocating heat. Yet, that stubborn, persistent voice only grew louder, fiercely begging for something I could not comprehend:
"Save me! Save me, please! Is there nobody out there?"
Letting out a sharp click of my tongue in frustration, I fumbled in the dark for my phone and switched on the flashlight. All my colleagues were fast asleep, completely dead to the world from sheer exhaustion. I stood up, walked toward the door, turned the handle, and stepped out into the corridor.
To my utter bewilderment, the rest of the hospital was brightly lit; our staff quarters was the only room in darkness, alongside another isolated ward located further down the eastern wing.
An unexplainable force in my heart urged me forward. One step, then two. As I drew closer to the isolated ward, the desperate cry for help became clearer, echoing perfectly until I reached the threshold of the door. The exact moment I arrived, the lights inside the ward flickered back to life.

The False Death

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Two nurses and a doctor were standing over the body of a young lady. In the corner of the room sat a withered, ancient-looking old woman, rhythmically rocking her leg.
Every head in the room snapped toward me. I stared right back at them.
"Ayodele, what are you doing here? Is there no work left in your department?" the doctor questioned, his brow furrowing.
I opened my mouth to explain, but before a word could escape my lips, that distinct voice pierced my mind again:
“Ayodele, please help me! I am not dead!”
I looked directly at the source of the sound. Only then did I notice that the young lady’s eyes were tightly shut, her face entirely still as if she were in a deep slumber. A wave of confusion washed over me. Can a sleeping person speak so clearly?
"She has passed away," the doctor said, cutting off my internal monologue. "We are currently trying to remove the medical tubes and monitors from her body, but they seem completely stuck."
"But she just spoke to me!" I protested, gesturing toward the body. "She begged me to help her. She said she isn't dead!"
The doctor and nurses stared at me as if I had lost my mind. Driven by their skepticism, I pressed on: "She's the reason I couldn't sleep! Her piercing screams have been waking me up since last night!"
"Ayodele?" the doctor called my name, his voice dropping into a low, warning tone. He turned to the nurses. "Have either of you heard any screaming since we've been in this room?"
Both nurses shook their heads firmly.
The doctor turned his gaze back to me. "You see? It is highly likely your ears are playing tricks on you due to fatigue."
"What is her name?" I demanded.
"Emeka," one of the nurses answered quietly.
Slowly, I began to walk toward the bed. But before I could take more than a few steps, the ancient woman in the corner bolted upright and blocked my path.
"Where do you think you are going? What do you think you are doing?" she demanded, peppering me with hostile questions while casting a gaze so venomous it felt like it was slicing through my flesh and bones.
I forced air into my lungs, summoning every ounce of courage to stare directly into the center of her eyes. The moment our gazes locked, a flash of pure, unadulterated terror crossed the old woman's face. Without a word, she swiftly recoiled and stepped aside, granting me passage. I didn't even understand what she had seen in my eyes to frighten her so deeply.
I stepped up to the bedside, extended my hand, and gently touched the young girl’s face. "Emeka?"
"Ayodele, she is dead!" the doctor snapped, intervening aggressively. "Why are you speaking to a corpse like a madwoman?"
Without looking away from the girl, I replied firmly, "She is not dead, Doctor. She has been cast into a deep, supernatural coma."
"Who could possibly cast her into a coma? This is a professional hospital, and we know our medicine!"
"Doctor, the person who put her into this state knows exactly what they did. Where are her parents?" I asked.
"She arrived with no one but her grandmother," the nurse whispered, glancing around. "And look... she just slipped out."
I looked toward the door. The old woman was gone. The pieces immediately clicked in my mind: that withered old woman was Emeka’s grandmother.

The Spirit's Plea

“Ayodele, please help me,” Emeka’s spirit spoke directly into my mind again, though at the time, I didn't fully comprehend that I was communicating with a soul. “Please deliver me to my true parents. My grandmother despises me. She is trying to kill me. She has locked my soul inside an iron chest and has sworn an oath never to release it.”
I stood frozen, absorbing the spirit's words. I turned to the medical team. "Doctor, can't you hear her? She is speaking right now!"
"Tsk! Ayodele, get out! Get out of this room right now!" the doctor roared, his voice booming with fury.
I took one step backward but stood my ground. Angered by my defiance, he barked, "So you refuse to leave?"
"Don't you see that she is holding my hand?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
The doctor and nurses widened their eyes in shock. The doctor even clutched his head in exasperation. "Ayodele, are you trying to drive me insane? Do any of you see a corpse holding her hand?" he asked the nurses. They frantically shook their heads.
I stared at the medical team in disbelief before looking back down at Emeka. To my eyes, she was holding onto me with a death grip, tears streaming down her face as she shook her head in desperation.
“You are the only one who can hear my voice and see my true state,” Emeka pleaded. “For the love of God, do not let them force you away.”
Losing his patience, the doctor lunged forward and grabbed my arm, intending to drag me out of the ward by brute force. However, the moment he pulled, he found himself utterly incapable of moving me, as if my other hand were fused to Emeka's body.
"Doctor... I am starting to get frightened," one of the nurses stammered, backing away. "I think she might be telling the truth. Look at how their hands are joined, almost as if they are glued together... and... and the bed looks like it's vibrating."
The doctor instantly released my arm, his face turning pale. "I wouldn't be surprised. Abengourou is notorious for being crawling with the children of sorcerers and witches..."
Before he could finish his sentence, Emeka’s body suddenly gasped, coughing violently as her chest heaved. The medical team rushed forward, setting up the resuscitation equipment to stabilize her.
Seeing that her physical breath had returned, I quietly slipped out of the room and retreated to our staff quarters. Sleep was entirely out of the question. I sat on the edge of my bed, burying my face in my palms, deeply reflecting on the impossible events that had just transpired.
Suddenly, a sharp, burning itch erupted across my upper back. It felt as though invisible needles were being driven deep into the flesh on either side of my shoulder blades. My vision blurred, turning hazy and indistinct. Before I knew it, my consciousness drifted, and I found myself pulled into an entirely different realm—one I assumed to be a vivid dream.

The Confrontation in the Dreamworld

In this realm, my spirit arrived at a massive, sprawling compound filled with numerous mud rooms. I called out, but no one answered. None of the inhabitants even raised their heads to acknowledge my presence, except for one old woman. From the hushed whispers of the children in the compound, I realized her name was "Yaba."
Yaba hurled a glare at me that was dripping with malice, envy, and deep-seated hatred. She stood up from her seat and marched directly toward me.
"What do you want here now?" she hissed.
"I want what you have hidden!" I demanded.
"This is a family matter! It has absolutely nothing to do with you," she spat. "You have already exercised your uninvited power, so turn back and—"
I cut her off fiercely, stepping into her space. "Hand it over peacefully, or I will take it by sheer force! If I am forced to take it, it will result in your total ruin, because I will expose every dark secret you have ever buried!"
A look of stark terror washed over Yaba's face. Without another word, she turned and led the way into her mud room, which was thatched with dried stalks. I followed closely behind.
She crouched beneath her wooden bed and hauled out a heavy iron chest, extending it toward me with trembling hands. I wasted no time in forcing it open. A thick column of black smoke erupted from the chest, billowing toward the ceiling like a captured gale. At the bottom of the chest lay a small, torn piece of Ankara fabric. I snatched the cloth, dropped the iron box, and walked out into the open air.

The Awakening

The moment I stepped out of the compound in the dream, I woke up with a jolt. I clutched the side of my forehead, which was throbbing with a piercing headache, and blinked my eyes open into full awareness.
I gasped. Emeka was standing right in front of my bed, a warm, radiant smile gracing her face.
"Thank you so much, Ayodele. You saved my life," she said softly.
She reached out to take something from my hand. It was only then that I realized my fingers were wrapped tightly around a physical object. I looked down, and my heart skipped a beat. Clutched in my fist was the exact piece of Ankara fabric from my dream.
"This fabric is the uniform cloth for my upcoming wedding," Emeka explained, taking it gently. "My grandmother, Inna Yaba, used it to anchor a curse to kill me, simply because I chose to marry an outsider who does not belong to our tribe. Thank you."
With those words, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving me utterly speechless. My mind raced in a chaotic loop, terrified by a single realization: My dream wasn't a dream at all. It was real.

Part 2: The Dark Inheritance

The Witch's Mark

A few weeks later, back in our home village, my world dissolved into terror once again. I was frantically shaking Momah, crying out her name, but her body remained entirely limp and unresponsive. Tears streamed down my face. I bolted toward the exit to seek help, only to crash directly into my friend, Aisha, at the doorway.
Aisha spoke first, her voice breathless: "Ayodele, that young girl from the neighborhood has just been rushed to the hospital! She is thrashing around violently on the ground, and she keeps screaming your name!"
"Momah is inside! She won't wake up!" I cried, wiping my tear-stained face with the back of my hand. "Please, come help me!"
We rushed back into the room. Aisha had the quick sense to grab an earthen pot filled with freezing cold water and douse Momah with it. Momah gasped loudly, her chest heaving as her eyes remained closed. She began to mutter rapidly in a strange, esoteric tongue—it wasn't Hausa, and it certainly wasn't French.
Aisha and I exchanged a look of sheer dread. I knew we were thinking the exact same thing: Did Momah have a connection to the spirit world?
Suddenly, a severe, blinding headache slammed into my skull. My vision began to dim, and I desperately needed to lie down. Aisha held onto my arm tightly. "Where do you think you are going while your mother is in this horrific state?"
I didn't have the strength to answer. I pulled my arm away, collapsed onto a woven mat on the floor, and let my eyes slide shut.
By the time I drifted off, Momah had regained full consciousness. I heard her telling Aisha, "Thank Alhamdullah. You see what your friend has brought upon me? I only pray to God that the supernatural slumber she has entered doesn't unleash an outright catastrophe."
Without understanding the weight of Momah's words, Aisha glanced over at my sleeping form. My body was visibly shivering on the mat, my lips moving rapidly as if I were conversing with invisible entities. Feeling uneasy, Aisha bade Momah farewell and left the house.

The Dream Council of Four

The moment I succumbed to the darkness, a thick, unnatural fog rolled over my mind's eye. Out of the mist, four elderly women emerged. I recognized them instantly; I had seen them roaming our neighborhood, though I never knew which houses they belonged to.
"Are you the one who thinks she can expose our secrets?" the first one hissed.
"What business do you have interfering in our affairs?" the second demanded.
"Is Zeinab a sister to your mother that you dare protect her?" the third sneered.
The fourth one, whom I immediately sensed possessed the most volatile temperament and the most potent coven magic, stepped forward aggressively. "Why are we wasting our breath questioning her? Let us simply throttle this brat and end her life right here!"
I stood tall in the dream realm, my voice hardening into steel. "I did not come here to listen to your mindless garbage. Release Zeinab's spirit peacefully before I tear it from your grasp by force. There isn't a single secret of your dark witchcraft that is hidden from me. If you test my patience, I will completely dismantle your entire coven."
The four witches burst into a chilling, mocking laughter that echoed through the void.
"Oh, look at this foolish girl! Why do you run from your own kind? You are a witch, just like us!"
"Hahaha! Why did you inherit the mark of witchcraft if you didn't intend to inflict cruelty?"
"Save your breath, little savior of humanity. We go out to hunt, and you think you can just snatch our prey? Do you have any idea how long we have craved Zeinab's flesh? We have been hunting her spirit since she was a infant in her swaddling clothes, and just when we are about to drink her broth, you dare to stand in our way?"
Suddenly, a violent, burning heat filled my eyes. An unexplainable power flooded my vision. I fixed my gaze entirely upon the four old witches. To my shock, a look of profound horror washed over their faces.
Sensing imminent danger, they frantically chanted a dark incantation, and their human forms distorted, twisting and lengthening until they transformed into massive, writhing serpents.
I never harbored a desire to take a life. However, one of the serpents made a fatal mistake—it lunged through the dark and bit my hand.
I let out an agonizing scream of raw pain. The moment I screamed, a brilliant torrent of celestial fire erupted from my eyes, consuming the serpents instantly. The void filled with their horrific, burning shrieks.

The Awakening and Exposure

I took a sharp, gasping breath and forced my eyes wide open. I was back in our room, and Momah was frantically wrapping a cloth around my hand. Blood was pouring from a wound on my flesh.
The dream shattered into clear reality. I finally understood: my dreams were not like those of ordinary mortals. My spirit was actively fighting wars in the unseen realm.
"Get up, we need to go to the hospital. This bleeding will not stop," Momah said urgently.
I didn't ask her a single question. I slipped on my shoes and followed her outside. The streets of the neighborhood were packed with a chaotic crowd. A collective shock was written on everyone's faces. In the center of the road, the four elderly women from my dream were rolling frantically on the hard ground, completely possessed, loudly confessing to every single evil deed they had ever committed. They named every victim they had ever afflicted—including Zeinab.
Momah gripped my hand tightly and dragged me away from the scene. We hailed a taxi and sped toward the hospital.
"What happened to her?" the doctor asked upon examining my hand.
I stared at Momah in absolute shock when she answered smoothly, "It was a snakebite."
How on earth did she know it was a snake? I questioned silently.
The doctor administered an injection and prescribed some medication. Momah settled the bill, and we left the clinic.
We walked on foot for a long time. It became clear that Momah had no intention of hailing a vehicle for our return journey, and my body was aching with exhaustion.
"Hmph!" she sighed, glancing down at me. She suddenly stopped and pulled me into an alleyway. "Sit down," she commanded, gesturing toward a low concrete ledge.
I obeyed. She looked at me and hurled a question that pierced through my defenses: "What is your connection to the old witches of this neighborhood, Ayodele? No matter how hard I try to seal the gateways to your power, you go ahead and shatter them open, don't you? Is this the life you want us to live? Constantly fleeing from neighborhood to neighborhood, country to country?"
"Momah, I don't understand what you mean..."
Before I could finish, she buried her face in her hands, slumped to the ground, and burst into a bitter, weeping fit. I closed my eyes tightly; I detested seeing her cry. She was my only anchor in this world; I knew absolutely no other family besides her.
Her next words made my eyes snap open. "Ayodele, I am begging you. From this day forward, never involve yourself in the affairs of any wizard or witch. Have absolutely nothing to do with them. Let them live their cursed lives. One thing I know for certain is that none of them can ever successfully kill you—even this wound was only inflicted because they had no idea who you truly are."
The question left my lips before I could stop it: "Momah... who am I?"
She gave me a long, unreadable look, then stood up and dusted off her clothes. "Get up. Let's go home."
Reluctantly, I stood up. She finally hailed a vehicle, and we returned home to find the neighborhood buzzing with news: the four old witches had died simultaneously, and Zeinab had miraculously made a full, instantaneous recovery.
That night, I couldn't even bring myself to touch food. I simply swallowed my medication with a bit of gruel and went to bed.
In my sleep, a radiant old man clad in pure, brilliant white appeared before me. He gently unraveled the bandage from my hand and poured a soothing, ice-cold liquid over the wound. Then, he vanished. When I woke up the next morning, my hand was completely healed, without a single scar.

The Warning at the Ward

I rushed out of the room, calling out to my mother. "Momah, look at my hand! It's completely healed!"
Instead of rejoicing, a look of profound dread washed over her face. "My God... so they are still tracking us."
"Who is tracking us?" I demanded.
"Go take your bath," she said coldly, evading the question. "It's almost time for your shift at the hospital."
Frustrated, I filled a bucket, bathed, and dressed. Before stepping out, I closed my eyes and offered a silent prayer of gratitude to the higher power that had granted me healing. I grabbed my bag and headed out.
"Momah, I'm leaving for work."
"Safe travels," she replied quietly.
While riding in the taxi, I checked my phone and saw several missed calls from my close friends, Aisha and Fatima. A warm smile broke across my face; I truly loved them.
I met them at the hospital gates. Fatima, who owned a motorcycle, usually picked Aisha up since they lived in the same neighborhood. After we exchanged greetings, Aisha tried to bring up the chaotic events that had occurred in our neighborhood the previous day, but I quickly shut down the conversation, giving her no room to pry.
We walked into the building to relieve the night shift. After a quick meal, we began our rounds.
During our break, we sat in the lounge conversing. Aisha beamed with excitement. "Mansur is being incredibly persistent! He insists that our wedding must take place in two weeks. When my mother tried to explain that she hadn't finished putting together my bridal furniture and household goods, he told her not to worry at all. He promised to provide everything himself; his only desire is to marry me as soon as possible!"
"Oh my goodness! You are so incredibly lucky, Aisha!" Fatima gushed. "I wish that were me. We absolutely must go select our Anko uniform fabric tomorrow right after our shift."
"Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking," Aisha agreed.
The two of them chatted happily, entirely lost in their wedding plans. I remained completely silent. For some unexplainable reason, a profound wave of resentment toward this upcoming marriage took root in my soul. If I possessed the authority, I would have stopped it without a second thought.
"You've been awfully quiet, Ayodele," Aisha teased, nudging me. "Are you daydreaming about a secret lover?"
I gave a dismissive shrug, stood up, and checked the clock. "We need to get back to the wards. Our break ends in five minutes."
We returned to our duties. My friends only paused to perform their Islamic prayers, while I, having no clear understanding of my own religion or what god I truly belonged to, simply sat aside and waited for them.
By eight o’clock in the evening, exhaustion had settled deep into our bones. The medical profession demands absolute, unyielding dedication. We headed to our staff quarters, leaving the ward in the hands of the medical interns—the trainees brought in to gain experience. They only woke us if a patient's condition became critically severe.

The Shell of the Sorcerer

I fell into a deep, heavy sleep, feeling as though my body had been physically beaten.
Suddenly, a bizarre sound pierced through my slumber. Kyal-kyal-kyal! A chorus of eerie, mocking laughter began to echo, growing louder and louder, interspersed with the sharp, ragged sound of a child sobbing.
Without even opening my eyes, I sat upright on my bed and slid my feet to the floor. I didn't even touch the door handle; it swung open on its own. A mysterious, glowing light materialized in the dark corridor, acting as my guide. I followed it passively, like a camel led by a tether, until I reached a distant ward.
The moment I stepped inside, the eerie sounds vanished into a suffocating silence. A frail voice called out from the dark, "Who is there? Why won't you speak? Leave the light with us!"
At that exact moment, the guiding light vanished, plunging the room into normal shadows and leaving me standing face-to-face with the occupants.
"Ah! A woman? At this hour?" a voice gasped.
I took a single step forward, and several dark forms instantly recoiled, scurrying to hide beneath the patients' beds. Only the man who had spoken to me remained visible. I noticed a striking detail: he possessed a solid human form, whereas the others were nothing more than shifting, sentient shadows.
"Who are these entities you have invited into this place of healing?" I demanded, my voice cutting through the damp air.
The man’s voice trembled slightly. "They are... they are my friends. They only came to visit me."
I stared at him critically. An IV line was taped to his arm, running up to a fluid bag.
"Just because they came to visit you gives them the right to deny people their sleep?" I hissed, my voice rising in authority. "Do you think this hospital is a gambling den?"
He remained silent for a moment before whispering, "Madam... you are the only one who can see or hear us. Normal humans are entirely blind to our presence."
"Dismiss them immediately! If I ever catch them here again before you are discharged, I will make you suffer consequences you cannot comprehend."
Before the words could fully leave my mouth, he bowed his head. "It shall be done, compliance to your authority, Milady!"
I turned to leave, but a sudden thought made me halt. I looked back at him. "Whose sobbing did I hear earlier?"
He began to stammer, shifting uncomfortably. Guided by a sudden spiritual intuition, my eyes locked onto a young boy lying on a bed across the room. His spirit was bound in ethereal chains, being systematically tortured and terrified by the shadow entities for no reason at all.
"Who did this to him?" I snarled, lunging forward. I grabbed the old man—who looked to be at least sixty years old—by his throat.
Choking and gasping for air, he wheezed, "It was my friend! I swear by the gods, I tried to stop him, but he refused to listen!"
As he spoke, I caught sight of a glowing, green object pulsing deep within his throat. Driven by an instinct that wasn't my own, I reached into his mouth and violently wrenched the green object out of his body. I marched over to the young boy, shattered the invisible bonds terrorizing his spirit, and returned to my quarters.
The moment I lay back down on my bed, a profound sense of peace washed over me, a stark contrast to the earlier sensation where it felt like two distinct entities were battling for control within my physical shell.

The Relic of Power

When I woke up the next morning, I initially brushed the entire incident off as a bizarre, vivid nightmare. We began our morning rounds, checking on the patients one by one. When I reached the bed of the sixty-year-old man from the previous night, his eyes widened in terror upon seeing me.
"Madam, please, for the love of God, I beg you to return my artifact to me," he whispered frantically.
I stared at him coldly, keeping my composure. "What on earth are you talking about? Are you experiencing pain somewhere?"
His eyes bulged. "The artifact of my coven magic! The one you violently ripped from my body last night!"
My heart dropped into my stomach. It wasn't a dream.
"Please give it back to me," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "I give you my solemn oath that until I am discharged from this hospital, I will never harm another soul."
A wave of deep disgust and fury washed over me. "So, you admit that you have destroyed lives before?"
His voice trembled violently. "I swear, it was only two children! I only drained their life force; besides them, I have never harmed anyone else!"
I closed my eyes. The moment I did, the object he referred to as his artifact manifested clearly in my mind's eye. I could see it perfectly from where I stood, resting safely inside my personal handbag back in the staff quarters.
A life for a life, a dark voice whispered within my mind. Those who deal in death must face the same end. You must join your victims.
Without another word, I turned my back on him to exit the ward. His sudden, frantic gasps stopped me in my tracks, and I looked back.
The entire ward was thrown into chaos. The old man was thrashing violently on his bed, gasping for air as his eyes rolled back into his head. Aisha rushed to his side and began administering emergency care, but within moments, he stiffened and drew his final breath. He was dead.
Aisha snapped her head up, shooting a piercing, suspicious glare directly at me. She swiftly exited the room and returned a minute later with the doctor. After logging the official time of death, they notified his relatives, who arrived shortly after to wheel his body away.
For the remainder of our shift, Aisha never stopped casting that accusatory, investigative look at me. I became deeply uncomfortable. Even after returning home, my mind refused to settle. I spent the entire afternoon in a melancholic, detached silence. Momah asked me a dozen times what was wrong, but I simply brushed her off, insisting I was fine.
Late that night, after the rest of the world had gone dead silent, I opened my handbag and pulled out the old sorcerer's artifact.
It was a small, living creature, pulsing with a faint, rhythmic movement. I held it closer to the moonlight, squinting to inspect it, and realized with a chill that it was a tiny turtle. My hands began to tremble. The moment my fingers tightened around it, the creature unleashed a brilliant, blinding light, illuminating the dark room like an electric bulb.
"Whose artifact of power is that?"
Momah's voice boomed from above. I spun around in absolute horror, my breath catching in my throat as I stared at her. But what truly shattered my sanity was what my eyes beheld: the voice belonged completely to Momah, but the physical form standing before me was—