The only thing you remember is that you and uncle Clement were sightseeing the area. “Where is he now? Why am I alone? What happened?”
You run your eyes lackadaisically through the bushed in inspection. Nothing usual. You hit a tree hard to be sure it isn’t a dream. The force of the hard iroko tree compels you to groan. Then the inevitable becomes clear – you aren’t in a dream. Fear tightened its grip on you.
You look up, left, and right. The horizon doesn’t look familiar. Fear reassure its presence.
You take to your heels. You run and run. Panting like never before. Over that shrub. You run. Jump. Run. Dodge. Run. Your joints ache. You pause in a crooked posture. Your hands on complementary knees, your butt pushed up. You pant harder, fighting for heavy breaths.
It intensifies. You dexterously halt your panting so as to help your brain explain whom/what makes that sound and where it comes from.
Vhuuuuuuh!! It comes. Louder and more scarring.
Off you go. Running and spicing the run with a rhythmical shout. Song of fear; hymn of terror.
A tunnel-like pit barricades you but you wouldn’t let whatever chases you to get you.
You dive into the tunnel. Crawling with swift. Faster than can be. Viola you come out from the tunnel. Into another part of the forest. You see owls gazing at you ominously. You take a 360 turn as you look at each owl. Black feathers, petite, round, bad eyes, curved beaks – typical witch owl.
The owls distract you from that which chase you. But not for long.
Vhuuuuh!!! It comes again.
No one tells you to take off. You run without vision. You just run. Far far away from it, you run.
You see a somewhat deep river. You pause.
Vhuuuh, it calls behind you.
Without further debate, you jump into the river with a start. Like a duck, your legs slap the waters.
Vhuuuuuh! It cries more loudly.
You fear it has reached you.
You turn and then you see it.
“Get up Molara, get up.” Your mother taps you “go and wash yourself now else you’ll go late to school. It’s past 7.” She rush to the kitchen from whence the aroma of egg Sause originates. “Wake your sister too.” She adds.
“It’s a dream” you cross yourself hastily. “Halleluiah bless God.” You push yourself out of the bed and notice wetness. You remove the blanket covering Tolani and Tolulope – your younger twin sitters. “Ha, these girls have turned this bed to river Niger and river Benue. When will they stop bedwetting?” you ask yourself. You pull them up and help them out of their wet pyjamas.
“To the bathroom.” You instruct them as they rub their face with their hands.
You ignore their sleepy eyes as you drag them both for a bath, thanking God it as all a dream.
“Bad dream.” You whisper.