Chapter 1:
"Chidinma!" Mama's voice rang out from the kitchen hut, sharp but warm. "Come and take this pot. The kale won't cook itself!"
Chidinma hurried in, wiping her damp hands on her wrapper. Mama was crouched over the low wooden table, chopping vegetables with quick, precise strokes. The smell of fresh-cut leaves and smoke from the fire filled the air.
"If we can quickly go to the stream and fetch water, I'll finish cooking before your father returns," Mama said. She handed her daughter the empty pot, her dark eyes narrowing in that way that meant don't waste time. "And take Ebuka with you. Two hands fetch faster than one."
"Yes, Mama," Chidinma replied.
Ebuka was already at the doorway, bouncing on his heels. "I'll race you to the stream!" he grinned, clutching a smaller pot.
They set off, bare feet patting against the dusty path, the late afternoon sun warm on their backs. The world was still full of familiar sounds—women pounding yam in the distance, goats bleating, the soft rustle of palm fronds overhead.
By the time they had filled their pots and started back, the sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows through the trees. The path home felt quieter than before. Too quiet.
That was when it began—
Boom… Boom… Boom…
The sound was faint at first, like a heartbeat in the distance.
Chidinma gripped her water pot tighter , its cool surface pressing into her damp wrapper. Beside her, Ebuka swung his smaller pot like it was a toy, his bare feet kicking up the fine dust of the narrow village path. The evening sun hung low, bleeding orange and gold through the treetops, but the light was fading fast. Shadows stretched long across the ground, twisting with every movement of the leaves.
They had taken this path from the stream countless times, but tonight felt… different. The crickets were unusually quiet, and the air itself seemed to hold its breath.
"Did you hear that?" Ebuka stopped suddenly, his voice a hushed tremor.
Chidinma frowned. "Hear what?"
Then it came again—
Boom… Boom… Boom…
A drumbeat. Low. Distant. Unmistakable. The sound rolled through the air in waves, each beat fading and returning, like a call.
Her stomach tightened. The sound was coming from the direction of Ezi Forest—the place every child in the village was warned never to go. A place of whispers and old stories told only in the safety of firelight.
"Let's go," she said sharply, grabbing his arm. "Mama said we should avoid the path near the forest."
But Ebuka didn't move. His gaze was fixed on the trees ahead, his body stiff.
"I saw someone," he whispered. "A girl… in white."
Chidinma's heart skipped. Slowly, she turned her head, following his gaze. The trees swayed slightly in the windless air, shadows shifting like silent figures. But there was nothing there—just the thick wall of forest.
"There's no one there. Stop it," she said, her voice tighter than she intended. "Let's go home."
But Ebuka's clay pot slipped from his hands, shattering on the ground. Before Chidinma could react, he bolted forward—straight toward the trees.
"Ebuka!" Her shout cracked the heavy air as she ran after him.
The drumbeats grew louder.
Boom… Boom… Boom…
Her feet skidded to a stop at the sight of the red rope tied between two massive trees—the village's warning. Beyond it lay Ezi Forest.
And her brother had already crossed it.
Chidinma's breath caught in her throat. The forest ahead seemed darker than it should be, its shadows swallowing the last traces of sunlight. The drums pounded now, faster, like they were alive.
Boom… Boom… Boom…
Then—cutting through it all—came the scream.