Night hugged the quiet streets of Brooksville like a damp blanket. The town was peaceful on the outside, glowing with Christmas lights, music drifting from houses, children laughing somewhere in the distance.
But deep inside the forest behind the community fields…
something else was happening.
Ayo, Banji, Emmanuel, and Adeoluwa had followed the soft trail of white sugar dust they found earlier. It glittered under the moonlight like frost, leading them deeper into the trees than they had ever gone before.
"Are we sure this is a good idea?" Emmanuel whispered.
"No," Banji said. "But we can't pretend nothing strange is happening."
Ayo knelt, rubbing the sugar between his fingers.
"It's too fresh. Someone put this here tonight."
A cold wind swirled through the trees.
And then they heard it.
A chant. Low. Rhythmic. Slow.
"Su–ga… Su–ga… Su–ga… Su–ga…"
The boys froze.
Adeoluwa swallowed hard.
"Is… is that them?"
Ayo peeked through the thick leaves—then his breath left him.
A clearing opened ahead, lit by torches burning with unnaturally white flames.
And inside that clearing stood over a dozen figures dressed in long white robes…
faces covered by smooth white masks shaped like smiling children.
Their symbol hung above them—
a circle made of sugar cubes, with a single drop-shaped hollow in the center, like a missing piece.
It glowed faintly, as if alive.
Banji whispered, terrified,
"What kind of symbol is that?"
Adeoluwa shook his head.
"It looks… like a sacrifice space."
The cult members raised their hands.
The chant deepened.
"Su–ga… Su–ga… Rónú sí wa… Su–ga…"
Then one of them stepped forward—a taller figure in a mask with gold streaks running down the cheeks.
The High Priest of Sugar.
He lifted a bowl filled with white granules.
But the boys realized—it wasn't sugar.
It moved like dust.
It breathed like mist.
The priest's voice rang out, cold as winter itself.
"By the sweetness of the fallen grains…
By the purity of the white dust…
We call upon you—
Olorun Didùn,
God of Sweetness and Sacrifice…
Rise."
The torches bent inward as if pulled by invisible force.
The ground trembled.
The boys ducked lower as a swirling shape formed in the air—
a white mist, twisting like a snake, forming a half-human silhouette with hollow eyes.
Ayo's heart slammed in his chest.
Banji grabbed Emmanuel's arm.
Adeoluwa mouthed a silent prayer.
The priest continued:
"Accept our offering tonight.
Accept our devotion.
Accept our sugar…
And guide our Christmas!"
The cult members began a louder chant:
"SÙGÀ! SÙGÀ! DIDÙN WA!
SÙGÀ! SÙGÀ! DIDÙN WA!"
(Sugar! Sugar! Our Sweetness!)
The mist-creature—the god named Olorun Didùn—turned slowly…
as if smelling the air…
As if searching…
Ayo hissed,
"We have to leave. NOW."
But before they could move—
The creature's head snapped sharply in their direction.
Emmanuel's breath caught.
Adeoluwa whispered shakily,
"He… he can see us."
The torches flared white.
The chanting stopped.
The forest fell silent.
And the misty figure whispered with a voice like soft cracking ice—
"Children…"
The boys ran.
Behind them, the cult's chant restarted—faster, angrier, as the white-robed figures turned toward the darkness where the boys fled.
The sugar trail was no longer harmless.
It was a warning.
A sweet one.