Chapter 1: The Road to Lagos is Never Just a Road
Part 2: Things That Don't Make Sense Anymore
---
Abeokuta. Day 3. 7:12 PM.
I sat alone in my room, lights off, ceiling fan rotating at a lazy speed overhead. Everything felt... still. Not peaceful. Not calm. Just stuck, like air before a thunderstorm.
I hadn't told anyone what happened on the road. The ritual. The other realm. The Bloodmother. The dead kidnappers. The... transformation.
How could I?
How do you look your Nigerian mother in the eye and say, "I think I'm a vampire now"?
---
Knock knock.
"Ọmọ mi," Mum called through the door. "You never come out since morning. You sure say you dey okay like this?"
"Yeah, I dey fine. Just tired."
"You sure? You no even touch the ogbono wey I cook. That one na your favorite o."
I hesitated. The smell of the soup had made my stomach turn earlier, like spoiled paint mixed with iron filings. My appetite had vanished since the ritual. Well, not all appetite—just for food meant for humans.
"I just no too hungry."
She paused. "Make I boil hot water for you?"
I forced a smile she couldn't see. "No worry. I go rest."
Her footsteps padded away.
That was the third lie today.
It was getting easier.
10:39 PM. Still Day 3.
No power. No surprise. PHCN had struck again.
I stared at myself in the mirror, phone torch resting beside my hand.
It had been a quiet day. Too quiet.
But inside, I was screaming.
I could hear every insect buzzing in the compound, every car horn down the street. The sound of the neighbor coughing. The exact spot where the ceiling fan above my room creaked during its rotation.
And my skin—it tingled every time I moved under the flicker of my phone torch. Sunlight had already started causing blisters. Not dramatic flames, not movie-style combustions—just raw, itching pain and slow boils where the light kissed too long.
I wasn't dying.
I wasn't living either.
I was... stuck. Changed. Becoming.
Day 4. 8:00 AM.
I ventured outside. Hoodie on. Sunglasses. Gloves. In Abeokuta heat.
Everyone looked at me like I was a walking mystery.
Kunle, my guy from down the street, waved as he approached. "Tobi! You don turn Yankee boy overnight?"
"Na fashion o," I lied again.
"Abi you dey hide from one babe like this?"
I chuckled.
More lies.
The sun barely touched my neck before I jerked away like I'd brushed fire. My skin stung for hours after.
11:23 PM. Experiment log begins.
My room. Fan on. Window cracked.
I stood in front of the mirror again.
"Alright. Let's start."
Experiment 1: Fangs
I stood, calm, breathing slow. Looked at myself. Nothing.
I closed my eyes. Imagined the homeless man's blood from two nights ago. The warmth. The... relief.
Eyes open—click.
There they were. My canines had extended. Not overly long. Sharp. Clean. White.
I ran my tongue over them.
They retracted slowly when I calmed my thoughts.
Experiment 2: Speed
I waited till 1:30 AM. Street was dead. Even the toads had stopped croaking.
From my gate, I stared at the transformer three poles down.
I blinked.
Suddenly, I was there.
Just... there.
I didn't feel my legs move.
I didn't feel wind resistance.
Only a cool hush in my ears.
Experiment 3: Strength
I lifted the broken gen set we hadn't touched in years.
Didn't even grunt.
It felt like a stool.
Experiment 4: Regeneration
I sliced my palm with the broken edge of my nail cutter.
Blood welled up.
Then... it sealed in less than 20 seconds.
No scar.
No scab.
Day 5. 6:45 PM.
Mum noticed.
"You don dey stay for room too much. You sure say no be that FUTA stress follow you come back?"
"I just wan rest, Mummy."
"Abi na that suya you chop before you reach house?"
I laughed. Weakly. "No be suya, I promise."
Later that night, I scribbled again.
TOBI'S NOTES – DAY 5
Strength: Extreme.
Speed: Blinding.
Reflexes: Animal-level.
Sunlight: Causes skin irritation and boils.
Fangs: Controlled by hunger or emotion.
Regeneration: Immediate.
Hunger: Increasing daily.
Emotion: Still human... but feels thinner.
I reread the last line three times.
Still human... but feels thinner.
Like a sweater unraveling thread by thread.
Day 6. 3:21 AM.
I couldn't sleep.
The craving had returned.
Worse than before.
Not just a thirst.
A need.
A pull deep in my chest.
I stepped outside, barefoot.
Walked through the back gate.
Past the poultry shop.
Past the drainage ditch.
Toward the old railway line where no one really goes.
That's where I saw him.
A man. Curled up. Plastic bags for pillows.
Breathing slow. Shivering under a torn wrapper.
My body moved before I could stop it.
A voice whispered, "He won't be missed."
I didn't argue.
My fangs descended. My heartbeat silenced. My hands trembled.
I fed.
Just a little.
But I fed.
And I hated how good it felt.
Day 7.
I stared at myself in the mirror for over an hour.
No tears came.
Only thoughts.
Calculations.
Kunle called.
"Guy, I say make I come check you today. We go gist small, go chicken republic. I dey bored die."
"Not today. I dey sick small."
"You don dey sick for 5 days now, abeg."
"I know. I go explain soon."
"...Aight. Rest up, abeg."
His voice lingered in my head after the call ended.
A part of me wanted to see him.
Another part wondered what his blood would taste like.
Day 8. Internal monologue.
I have no reflection issues.
I don't fear garlic.
I can step into churches.
This isn't a curse. This is something new.
But every instinct in me is changing.
I can still feel love.
Still miss people.
Still enjoy music.
But those feelings now feel… processed. Like echoing down a hallway, not coming from within.
Day 9. 2:00 AM.
I created a notebook—hidden under my mattress.
"The Book of Night"
A growing list.
Plans. Questions. Patterns.
I'm documenting everything.
Excerpt:
> What if I am the only one?
What if I can create more?
How does my feeding affect others?
Can I resist? Should I?
Is this truly a curse... or an evolution?
And if it's evolution… what does that make humanity now?
---
The biggest question I wrote was:
> How long before I stop caring altogether?
And under that, I didn't write anything.
I just closed the book.
And went to sleep.
Two more days passed.
I started wearing long sleeves. Sunglasses. I began walking differently—lighter on my feet. I stopped responding to calls unless necessary.
I watched people from my window.
I memorized their steps.
I tracked sound distances.
I... was preparing.
I wasn't panicking anymore.
I was learning.
End of Chapter 1 – Part 2
> Next Chapter: Chapter 2 – Part 1: "Blood Doesn't Lie"