Morning. Musa Yar’Adua Street.
Rays of sunlight peeked through the blinds. Different day. Same morning routine. E.J. turned on her Spotify playlist and the sweet dulcet tones of Craig David filled the room. E. J’s sister, Kevwe was in the enormous living room of the Tudor-style mansion in the idyllic suburb of Lagos, the ever-popular Victoria Island. Their Uncle Richard was taking a stroll in the gardens that had daisies, gardenias, chrysanthemums, hibiscuses, roses in colorful shades of maroon, lilac, buttery yellow and forest green.
“So do not forget, the generator does not turn on till six p.m.,” Kevwe texted her sister as she rushed out the door to her office in another exurbia of tranquility, Ikoyi. E.J. replied and stepped into the shower. Hot water dribbled down her face and she put a soupcon of Simple facial wash in her hands. Tyrese was the soundtrack to the heavenly bath. She stepped out when she was done. She tried to turn on her DSTV to watch the morning news on Arise. Unfortunately, it was not working. Dang, she thought to herself.
“Ma, someone dropped this off at the gate,” Feranmi said, handing the package to her small Madam. The envelope crinkled as she rummaged through it for the contents. What is this? A small stack of paper that weighed about the same as a porterhouse steak was in her hands.
DEED TO NUMBER 18, COMMON DRIVERWAY, IKOYI…
This says the structure on that land belongs to me. What the effing eff? E.J. did a double take and reread the document several times. “Feranmi, who dropped this off? I cannot find a name.”
“The person did not drop their name, Ma. So we have no idea.” I must solve this mystery. E.J. said to herself.
Morning. Somewhere on the way to Ibadan. The Lagos-Ibadan Intercity train.
Crash. Bang. Screech. The train went off the tracks and came to an unexpected halt. Boom. A loud thump on the roof of one of the train cars struck fear into the hearts of the passengers. The intrepid travellers were startled and on edge. Several of them hissed and cowered in their seats. Suddenly, a claw-like hand came out of nowhere, broke through the glass and yanked an innocent market vendor onto the ground. Everyone screamed and shrieked. As she lay, bloodied and injured on the grass, the creature bit into her neck and started feasting on her blood meal. “WITCH! MAMI WATER! VAMPIRE!” they shouted to no one in particular. The vampires descended on the train like a swarm of locusts at the end of days. The passengers jumped out of the windows and doors, attempting to flee before they became lunch for the bloodthirsty immortals of the night. But alas, their escape plans proved futile. All the men were murdered with their heads ripped off and all the women were turned into baby vamps of the flock.
Afternoon. Musa Yar’Adua Street.
E.J. was pensive, trying to figure out the unknown conundrum. It plagued her thoughts. Time for work, she said to herself. Her office was a five-minute walk from her house. Feranmi was escorting her employer to work. Suddenly, a large group of men emerged from nowhere. It wasn’t until they could see their distorted features that the both of them became fearful. They stopped, turned and sprinted in the opposite direction. Their blood was pumping loud in their veins and their heart rates quickened. Before E.J. could make it one yard, she felt sharp nails in her back and she was flung onto the dusty pavement. Her head bashed against the concrete and fangs sunk into her neck. She could not see if Feranmi was also a victim.
When the vampires were done, they disappeared like they arrived. She got up and called her sister many times. No answer. She sent her WhatsApp messages and texts. No reply. I must warn her. E.J. sprint back to my house to see if Kevwe was home. She was not but Feranmi was in the kitchen in a foetal position on the dirty floor. Shaking, quivering and crying out for her mother. “Feranmi! Feranmi! You’re safe. Stop shrieking.” Finally, E.J. slapped her face hard to jolt her out of the panic attack. Her maid went noiseless. They pulled each other into a tight embrace. Somehow, by some miracle, Feranmi was bite-free.
“Let me try Kevwe again.” She could not get through. Network wahala. Fudge it! “Maybe she is at Taiwo’s house,” E.J. posited. Taiwo was Kevwe’s boyfriend of three years. They met through Instagram. As they raced to Lekki Phase One, the vampires were at the burned down and abandoned toll gate. They for sure were not collecting money. Abruptly, E.J. remembered the deed and had an idea of desperation. When they got to the toll, she whispered, “Common Driveway.” They stared at us with cold, dead eyes that sent a chill down our spines like someone had dumped a bucket of ice on them. Her stomach growled loudly and E.J was suddenly in starvation mode. They stopped at Ilé Eros to grab something to eat. The lights were so bright that she had to shield my eyes from the warm fluorescent lighting and the sun. She ordered an extra rare steak for the blood. Out of thin air, some impeccably dressed women with scarves draped around their necks two tables over were obviously speaking about E.J. and openly staring at her neck wound. Another lady kindly gave her a scarf to wear. E.J. thanked her profusely. Everything seemed louder and disorienting. It was impossible to focus. I must be turning.
They got back into the car to continue their journey to Taiwo’s place. They turned on the radio and on Cool 93.7fm, the newscaster was warning everyone to stay indoors and barricade themselves in. There were reports of attacks all over Lagos. No one was safe. She neglected to tell the public that vampires were the culprit. Typical Naija nonsense. Not telling the full story, E.J. thought to herself. She tried to call Kevwe numerous times. They get to their destination and she’s not there. Wherever could she be?
To be continued…
Wheelchair Girl 
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