The dead only live within us(Ewa Gerald Onyebuchi) "The people you love become ghosts inside of you,
and like this you keep them alive."
—Rob Montgomery.


The huge scar, a little below my chin, continued to serve as a reminder of that ugly incident, and that possibly, someday she would return.
In a hurry I would jump in bed forcing sleep to wash over my eyes, and just maybe the following morning wouldn't greet me with the terrifying scar. But it is as stubborn as a fly. Anyways, I have come to accept it as a gift and a warning.

Being an only child, upon my brother's demise, my parents were both religious and strict. Strict with everything and everyone. My father, a professor at the University of Ibadan, which I was forced to attend, opted for Bayero University. Kano served as a Knight in the Roman Catholic Church. He carried about him the air of pride and a strict demeanor. Typical of him was his walking stick, mpikisi, as he would call it any time he wanted me to get it for him; you dared not reply to my father in English each time he communicated in the local dialect Igbo. At home, Igbo was everything and many things to us, although my parents spoke beautifully the Queen's English. Each time we were at table, Igbo comes to the scene. Even while you slept, here it comes, you must master every word spoken in Igbo, be it that day, or the day before. I excelled in other areas but my local dialect; I could still function in the office of an interpreter, very well. But my interpretation prowess was unfortunately tied only to my grasp of the Queen's English.

My father carried his mpikisi about like a tethered dog tied to the fist of its owner, and he took good care of it like a child would a new dog. But he didn't need the walking stick. he was in his mid-sixties, yet continued to maintain the gait of one in his early thirties. Maybe he wanted it because all of his Igbo friends had one. They were all titled men. My mother had taunted him the first time he brought it home, clutched in his hand. What do you need an mpikisi for Boy? My mother's voice, shrill and low at the same time. 'Boy' was the only name that had come to register itself, after many years, on her lips, in her mind. Boy was the name that birthed something special between them the day they started dating. It was in the late sixties, immediately after the civil war. They had met at the University staff club where my father played tennis with his friends. He had introduced himself to her as 'Boy.' And that was all she needed to know at that time. His charm endeared her to him. But my father's name is Fabian Chinnalumogu Ugwu.
My mother, fair and beautiful, was a faithful devotee of the sacred heart of Jesus and she held her beliefs with iron hands and wanted others to do likewise. Like they say: a lion begets another lion. But I was the opposite of everything my parents were.

David leaned over Isabella Dike, who seemed nonchalant about Dapo's suggestion, which was always delivered in the form of a long, boring speech, while my gaze was abruptly withdrawn from professor Uduaks gentle, swirling behind. We were under a tree, in front of the Students' Union Building complex.
Gush! I wonder how she does it. How does this woman manage to still stay this young and attractive at sixty? This lady is beautiful! my thoughts before Dapo pulled me out of my reverie.
Listen to me man, you cannot have her. Take your eyes off this woman, she's married, he warned, pulling my ears instead of his. And all I could picture was my mother pulling strongly against my ear-lobe (I was much younger then) each time she needed to dish out her stern warning. Like I didn't know she was married.
Guy, let go already, I yapped at him, while I held onto the ear his callous hands had victimized, nursing the pain.
Guys I think its going to be a nice adventure, he concluded all he had been saying. Please let's all meet at the library, he added in a rush.

Hallelujah the sermon is over, Isabella echoed. She was in a hurry to leave, but David wasn't. He wanted to hang out some more with the guys, but the look she gave to him forced his short legs to follow her from behind. David and I go way back. We were friends from primary school. We would hang out almost every time. Upon our admission to the university, we met them, Isabella and Dapo. Isabella took particular interest in David because she thought he was a math genius. We all did. Actually he wasn't; David had always been in love with numbers, and it has always been a driving force helping him to ace those difficult statistics and math exams. Something that started off as a tutorial between David and Isabella, then friendship, eventually culminated in a relationship. Slowly, the closeness between David and myself continued to flicker the way a candle does in an open window. Even now, I could feel the closeness burn out. Please don't assume I don't want my best friends happiness, I do.

Two days later, precisely on a Thursday, we converged at the library. I don't know why I agreed to it in the first instance. Maybe I felt Ofodile owed us an apology for dying or something. Why did he have to come to us only to live as quickly as he arrived?

For weeks, I watched my mother, the restlessness in her eyes, the pain she bore. Sometimes she would drift between the kitchen and her room, where my brother laid swaddled in a thick jacket. She wanted to keep a close watch. Even my father had taken a leave before his sabbatical to come be with my brother at home.

My parents brought him home and he was adorable, yet there was something sickly about him. I had almost mistaken him for an oyibo child. Mother had said that when he attained his teens his fairness would gradually begin to disappear. And she had planned a big christening for him. Sadly, little Ofodile didn't get the chance to witness his christening, neither was he given the opportunity to watch his fairness disappear.

She would rush upstairs to attend to him each time he let out an ear-splitting cry. Then down a flight of stairs when she was sure he didn't feel much pain again. At that time I didn't know what was happening to my brother, and each time I tried to inquire, nobody said a thing. So I sought assistance from Google. Within the search box I had inputted: What could make a woman who just put to bed to be running like one who had just seen a ghost, weeping and beating her breasts? The answers I got from Google didn't satisfy me. Then I knew there was a problem with the question, so I rephrased it: Google, what could be responsible for the unusual yellowing of a newborn baby's eyes and skin, the pain and the screams? It brought out a lot of things, but one thing seemed to agree with my brother's condition. Sickle cell anemia! Finally I knew what it was. Despite the information, I couldn't do anything about him.

I still remember my father's words to me, 'everything is going to change in this house,' the day Ofodile was born. In deed everything changed after my brother's death.

*

I was the last to arrive, the rest were seated at a long table, pretending to be reading like the rest of the students. Kenneth Dike Library that day was teeming with students; the exam bells had been jingled and no one desired to fail. But we had not come to study.

Hey, why are you late? Inquired Dapo. I'm sorry, something urgent came up, the lie I didn't know I could muster left me.

Guys look over there, he alerted and we followed the movement of his eyes. That fat old lady by the chair? David remarked blithely. No big head! I mean that board on the book shelf, he pointed with his eyes again. Oh! So? Isabella inquired nonchalantly after finally crawling out of David's huge arms, which sat so luxuriously over her shoulders like the fat old lady. Sometimes I wonder what's up with those two; one minute they are both into one another, another minute they are like cat and dogs.

We had so many puzzling questions which needed answers. And the Ouija board was our gateway to unraveling these things. I didn't want to accept that God gives and takes at the same time.

After a while of debating among ourselves who would go over to the fat old lady, the librarian, to request the Ouija board. I finally did. I walked up to the librarian with my heart somewhere in my mouth and greeted her almost in the similitude a Yoruba boy would a much older person.

She replied warmly with a smile. And I let out a dry smile. What book do you want? She had presumed I had come to read. No ma, I don't know if I can borrow that, I said pointing a finger to the board under one of the shelves. She flashed her gaze rude and ugly at me without a word. Then she turned to the bespectacled lady standing by the book shelf close to her; she had overheard. It seemed I saw something in the eyes of these women, something their mouths were too scared to utter. Instantly, I understood what my crime was. I was about to leave when the shrill but frightening tone of the other lady by the shelf drew me to a halt: stop there at once! Where do you think you're off to? I wanted to say my friends, but I couldn't. Suddenly, this lady stood before me looking straight in my eyes, while the other fat old lady joins her. Are you a Christian? The lady formerly standing by the book shelf inquired. I said yes. Then she threw another question at me. Are you born again? What's the difference? I thought. Still I gave the same response as the first. Then she said that the board was pure evil, devilish. That it was used to conjure spirits of dead people. If the board was pure evil as she said, why does it continue to remain at the university library for crying out loud, was my thought. Slightly, I raised my head to search for my friends, but they were gone. They had vanished.

*

It was precisely past ten, and I was waiting for sleep to arrive, when the ringing of my phone made it even more difficult. I checked, it was Dapo. Why is he calling at this time? I wondered. The urgency with which he spoke over the phone forced me to my heels. He told me to meet him and the rest at Agbowo, at a place I'm still surprised I was able to locate. The place was completely deserted. They had the Ouija board with them and I didn't bother to inquire how they came about it. I had first seen the Ouija board on the internet. Actually I had stumbled upon it while surfing a couple of things, then decided to give it a read. What's so urgent that you had to talk me out of bed at this hour? I barked at Dapo. Relax man, see what we have here. Yea, I can see, I remarked blithely.

We sat on the dusty floor, in a circle. The board sat in the middle. The building looked like a face after both eyes have been removed. There was total black out, except for the flashlight on our phones that precluded us from groping like the blind. Before we start, we have to pray. Obinna please pray for us, Dapo called out to me. Now he sounded like my father each time he signaled at me to lead the rosary. I wasn't religious like them. Guy why me now? Isabel is there. She hissed. Please don't just call me.

My prayer was short and straight: "Dear lord forgive us for what we about to do, but if it pleases you, grant that we are able to reach out to our loved ones, amen.”

Our leader, Dapo, instructed us. He said we needed to think of someone so dear to us, that we wanted to hear their voice so much. I don't know who the rest had in mind, but mine was Ofodile.

Each of us placed our hands one on top of the other on the board, our eyes closed. But fear couldn't allow me to shut both eye lids completely.

"Spirits of our loved ones we summon you. We just want to know something. We have a lot of pressing questions. If there's anyone here, please reveal yourself to us," our leader made the call.
For a second there, we thought there was nothing out there. No one who could hear us.
Suddenly, the wind walked in full rage; and mysteriously our phones died. I thought it was a silly joke. Immediately, the roof began to give off a terrifying sound like giants walking over it. The darkness now rested strongly upon us. We called out to one another, groping like the blind. As if by magic, our phones came back right on. The fear, which hung over me like a cross, forced something like a lump around my throat down my stomach. Then the strange voice whispered, not from the board; it rode on the air, slowly and scary. Sarah, the voice whispered the first time. We didn't catch it. Then it became clearer the second. My name is Sarah! A sharp whisper drew forth.

Dapo began to interrogate this strange Sarah. The moment he demanded to see her, something terrible happened. A horrendously looking shadow appeared and seemed to sit over us. It kept growing and growing. We felt befuddled. As if the bigger shadow had dissolved into the wall, a smaller, but scary one appeared again. This time, the smaller shadow kept crawling over the wall like a snake. Then it disappeared. Something took control of Isabella, like a demon. And she began to say a lot of things. Scary stuffs. Her voice, which was that of a child, was more terrifying than a childs. The demon threw Isabella against the wall and disappeared into it. But she never remained the same after that event. Although she was unconscious, we managed to collect ourselves and revived her.

*

The exam which spanned for three weeks had come to a close; Isabella was in no state to take the exam. After that encounter that night, she became different. Maybe, the demon had left something in her that put her in a bad state. The other time I had gone to pay a visit at her aunty, her parents were no more. I couldn't believe my eyes. Actually, I couldn't explain what I saw. I felt I saw a ghost. There was something drooling from her vitiated mouth. And her eyes, a blend of fire and smoke. I tried asking her a few questions all to no avail. Her aunty started to shout at me. What have you people done to my niece? She wasn't like this before. Where did you take her to? What have you done to her? I tried to explain things to her, but the incessant sobs and yells couldn't afford me the opportunity. I wish I knew what exactly we had seen. I wish I could bring myself to explain to her that a demon had paid her niece a visit and deliberately forgot to carry her shoes along.

Prior to that ugly encounter, if someone had said that ghosts existed I would never have accepted it. I didn't believe the existence of the paranormal. But after that scenario....

Almost everyone else had gone home for the break, still we stayed. Not within campus. Dapo and I decided to stay at his rented apartment around Bodija. David was too scared. I don't blame him; he had so much to worry about at the moment. We had decided to visit ghost town the second time, to meet with Sarah who had inflicted our friend with an incurable disease, and, maybe, to find ways to appease her. Her aunty had taken her to different people doctors, prophets and the likes.

*

The building had not changed since that time. The silence was stifling. The low whistle of the wind through the trees greeted and the birds flew in their numbers upon our arrival. Suddenly, the wind became mute and the trees outside stood still. It seemed everything felt threatened by our presence. Oh, less I forget, we had seen two strange looking children, a boy and girl. For a moment, they both stared closely at us. They dressed in shabby clothes and the girl's hair wasn't excluded from the shabbiness. The boy, whose face was covered in mange, had a toy gun in his hand, while the girl held strongly unto her doll. We had expected a word or two from them. But they left in the speed of light. We were surprised to find them loitering about, yet none of us could summon the courage to chase after them.

Dapo continued to set up the board while I stood close to the open window, my eyes wide open and alert like a soldier in battle. My phone held close to my chest like a pistol. I started having a second thought. "Man, do you think we should do this?" "Try and get a grip, I'm trying to concentrate here," it rode out of him unhinged and I felt defeated. My face would fall and the courage I thought I had all the while would fly from me like a bird. Each breath would filter in and out of my nostrils in long, deep moans.

He had finished setting up the board while we sat astride it. Eyes closed, our hands locked into each other. He was about to begin the usual ritual of summoning the dead and my phone began to ring. I didn't know why he insisted on the formalities. Actually there was no need for that. We knew there was a strong presence and a name.
I flashed an eye over the phone, it was my dads. I ignored it. I knew why he was calling. I didn't inform him that I would be spending the break at a friends. We resumed. Yet the call persisted. I had no other option than to put it on silence mode. Still it continued. At least I didn't have to listen to it.

The Ouija board began to spin like the first time; unlike the first, more furiously. The uncontrolled spinning saw us to our feet. And we waited for the next big thing. This time a shadow didn't appear, a weird, small girl did. The presence possessed such strong aura. She started to sob with her face in her hand. Initially on a crouching position, then she rose to her feet. Her eyes blazed red like scarlet and the corners of her face lit with an inextinguishable resentment. Dapo would begin the interrogations while I squished into a corner. The wind reestablished its presence. It came with so much authority and rage. Peals of thunder rose violently. He inquired about a lot of things, most of it was swallowed by the wind. But most importantly, my ears managed to grab few things. I overhead him inquiring who she was and why she had chosen to torment our lives. We began to plead with her to restore our friend.

She informed us that something ugly had happened to her on the very spot we stood. The last thing we heard was maami, then she tossed us so hard, like a coin, to the ground. And she disappeared. Luckily, no one was hurt. We carried ourselves out of that building in a rush. We ran without looking back. I didn't notice the deep cut on my face, which ushered thick blood, until we got home. The wound healed, but the gruesome scar, a residue, would continue to sit on my face forever. Dapo had his own share of deep cuts, like one clawed by a tiger, were plastered to his back. What are we going to do now? I inquired. I guess we have to go back, he retorted before giving a squeal as he tried to unclothe himself. Go where! Never! Calm down man! We are not going back there, he assured. Instead, he said we would inquire about Sarah from people within that street. That night I called my mother to inform her I was alright. At least not dead yet.

We couldn't take Dapo's car, Agbowo was so congested. So we decided to walk our way to only God knows where; we had no lead, no map, nothing. We had walked a reasonable distance then came up a lonely street lined by few old looking houses thoroughly fenced, trees and the birds chirping around. The place seemed as if no one had lived there in years. We knocked at the doors, surprisingly there were people occupying those houses. Unfortunately they did not receive us, and did not show any keenness at what he had to say. We had tried about five weird looking houses, with weird occupants, all to no avail. Then we met an old lady sitting outside by the entrance, maybe, knitting. The moment her eyes collided with ours, she was about to scurry in. And we begged her to stop. Then she hesitated.

I started off in English but she didn't understand what I said. She began to reel off in Yoruba. God bless the Queen, Dapo was by my side. He greeted. Drew closer. I don't know what he said to her that made her decide to welcome us in. I guess she had asked who I was from him, the way she tossed her head forward at me. And I knew the meaning of the word oremi, friend, Dapo used. He had used it a couple of times while we talked about anything and had related its meaning once.

Dapo inquired about Sarah and the old lady began her story. I wouldn't want to bore you with so much redundant details. As we walked our way back home, Dapo told me all the old lady had said.

The hallmark of all this is that we were contending with a girl who was sexually assaulted by four boys. She'd lost so much blood and died in the process. And her body wasn't found. Sarah Adewumi, who'd lived with her grandmother after her parents demise, had hawked groundnuts around Agbowo. She was raped by these boys in that same building. So the girl, Sarah, sought retribution; she was adamant to get it at all cost.

We decided to pay her one last visit, to beckon her to leave us alone, to forgive whatever sin we had committed, to leave our friend alone. I don't know if she answered us or not. All I know is that I received a friend back in exchange for another. All I can remember is holding Dapo's cold, lifeless body in my hands. All I see when I close my eyes are his eyes, lips, and hands deformed beyond repairs; all I hear is the groaning of a friend whose only crime was to help another friend. I had lost a friend and my brother. It dawned on me that neither of them would return any time soon. They had become ghosts living within me.

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