The Terror at Night

It was on Saturday morning when a man was captured at Maduka Street. His captors, five muscular men, held him down and began to beat him. The beating was thoroughgoing and every attempted bunch and batters of wood was measured for him accurately; none was missed. In a jiffy, blood covered his head. The man cried for mercy, spitting out tick blood. His call for mercy did not get any attention; it was a cry in the wilderness. By that time it was already daybreak, around eight. The whole scene was so horrifying that Ndukwo was engulfed in great fright. He saw the beating and presumed that the captured man was being maltreated by his captors. He had heard stories of a group of young people who would waylay an enemy and beat him up. What he saw that morning was a different case. However, he wished the man could get help somehow.

The captured man who was being beaten was dark and tall, with a big head like a bathing bucket. He had a broad nose and wide eyebrows. His voice was deeper than the voices of men and women around the locale. His deep eyeball gave him a very serious and terrible look altogether. His name was Emeka. He had a wife and two children who were already being schooled at a primary school in the suburb of Agu Road. By now, his captors, who were a little younger than him, tied his elbows backwards, together with his legs. He felt pain and cried out for help. His cry did not receive pity from those who tied him down.

"Tie it very hard," a man said angrily as if it was not enough.

"He called himself, Emeka," said the man who had just finished tying him. 

"Where do you live, Emeka?"

"Agu Road," replied Emeka.

"So you left Agu Road and came to steal at Maduka Street?" another man asked him.

"No, my brother; Please forgive, please," Emeka pleaded.

"Shut up!" The same man said to him, slapping him on the head. "Who is your brother? Let me not hear that again! Are you mad? Do you think a thief has a brother?" He said angrily.

"Okay, sir. I am sorry, please. Forgive me, it is Satan's work." Emeka continued to plead.

"Shut up. You are a thief. We will kill you here. Onye oshi!" said the man who tied him up. "What is the name of your wife?" He added.

"Chinyere," Emeka answered. "Please, release me. I am in pain. I am dying here, please." None of the men listened to that pleading. They kept talking to one another. 

"Let us find out his address," suggested another man.

"Emeka," the man who tied his hands up called, and he answered. "Tell us your house address?"

"True to God, I don't know it. I just packed in new. I don't know the number of the house address, but my wife knows it," Emeka said.

"Liar," another man shouted, slapping Emeka several times on the face. "You're a big liar. You're like your father, Setan; he lied at the beginning of this world," he said, kicked Emeka on the head and continued talking. "Liars are thieves. You're a thief!" He added and kicked him hardly again on the head. Emaka cried in greater pain. His head was covered in thick blood.

Ndukwo was by the widow of his room observing the whole incident. He heard their conversations, but he did not understand anything, because everywhere was noisy. The terror which the incident carried engulfed him, and it rent his mind. From nowhere, a young man came close and hit Emeka's head with a long plank. The plank broke and its pieces scattered so wide that it hit Ndukwo on his forehead. He fell into an armed chair and then to the floor. Great was the fall! His spirit left his body and journeyed to the other world. His parents had no idea of what had happened to their only child or his weird spirit on a journey back home or to Emeka whose cry filled the whole world with pity. They were together in the sitting room nattering over matters beyond reasonable concern.

No sooner had Ndukwo collapsed than his mother felt a cold shudder running within her. Suddenly, goose pimples were on every part of her body. That was how she smelt a rat, that something bad had happened to her son, and she began to look for the boy in great anxiety. 

"Jesus!" she screamed and ran towards Ndukwo's room. 

"What is it," her husband was troubled. 

He ran after her as she called out for her son: "Ndukwo! Where are you?" There was no reply.

They found the boy lying half dead, totally unconscious. They were somewhat perplexed, for they had no idea of what had happened to the boy until his father eavesdropped on people's conversations outside and the cry of Emeka. He then presumed that Ndukwo had seen or been watching the tortured man. Perhaps, that was the reason he fainted, he thought.

"Lift him," Ndukwo's father ordered, "and to a hospital."

Ndukwo's mother was quicker than expected. She lifted Ndukwo off the floor, placed him on her left shoulder and headed for their car. Her husband had gone ahead before she entered the car. She could not hold her cry, for she knew she was about to lose her only child and son. She was forty-seven years old, and she could not trust the grace of God for another child. She knew she was out of age for childbearing. She had started her early menopause. It was not a fault of hers that she could not bear more children. She was married to her husband at twenty-eight years. Two years after marriage, she carried six pregnancies - three miscarriages, two dead baby boys and one surviviwhichhon, which was Ndukwo. She knew that, at such an age, she couldn't bear any more children; she knew that too well. She knew too well, that if Ndukwo did not survive the shock, she would remain childless, or she should get ready to receive a step-wife from her husband. 

That was why she prayed to God to revive her son. As she prayed, her words choked and she coughed terribly. In forty-seven minutes, they were already in one hospital at Cameron Road. The receptionists there were bachelor girls and nurses that day. Above their heads was a calendar bearing: WE CARE BUT GOD CURES". The receptionist's stand was well furnished with a long furniture table and a big cabinet, containing files and records of admitted and discharged patients. The floor was built with tiles. Ndukwo was admitted immediately after they arrived at the hospital.

Three families were already occupying two upholstery chairs right in front of the reception. The arrival of Ndukwos's parents made them four families in the hospital. A woman was carrying her sick baby on her lap. The doctor had checked her baby's temperature with a telescope before Ndukwos's parents arrived. Three days ago, her baby's illness was diagnosed as splenomegaly, an enlargement of the spleen. She had come to get the prescribed drugs from the doctor. Two women with sorrowful faces expressed their concern towards the sick baby. They identified the illness as Apafor in the Igbo language. 

One other family had admitted their son a few minutes before Ndukwo's parents arrived. They were the first to come to the hospital. The boy's name was Chukwudi. He was tall and dark. He was twenty-two years old. He worked for his uncle in a POS kiosk. There, in the morning today, he encountered a gang called Aro. This gang of thugs was one of the deadliest fraternities threatening Ngwa Road and Ohanko areas. People said that their base was at Agu Road, one of the most deprived environments in the world to raise a child. The gang's rival was another group of young people called Bobo. These two gangs were infamous for killing members of each other. 

By 7:32 a.m. today, Chukwudi was already in his uncle's POS kiosk. He was bending while sweeping and cleaning his table, some electronic gadgets and the floor. He was singing a gospel song to ease himself from the stress that the work produced. Suddenly, some young men came around there that morning. He stopped cleaning and stood up to attend to them. Seeing these young men, he knew he was between the devil and the Red Sea. These men were not people he should attend to. They were in black and red trousers and T-shirts. On their heads were black berets with red ribbons tied around them. 

"Aro boys!" Chukwudi identified them. And immediately, he fell into a plastic armchair, wet in his blood.

"That was how they shot him," Chukwudi's mother narrated and cried.

"Sorry, my sister," a Christian woman said. "He shall not die, but live for the Lord Jesus."

"Amen!" Chukwudi's mother responded.

"We need to be prayerful, least evil befall us," Ndukwo's father joined in the discussion. "Again, we must watch over our children's activities and make sure they don't join bad groups. Your son may not be shut if he is not a member of an enemy gang."

"No sir!" Chukwudi's mother snapped and continued. "I know my son very well. He is a devoted Christian. He does not follow bad people. If your son is a bad person, my son is not. Thank God my husband is here, he can be my witness," she said, pointing to her husband who nodded shamefully.

While they talked over that, they saw the doctor walking by, looking busy. They all stopped talking as if the doctor had passed an order which prohibited noise-making. Ndukwo's mother had been unrest since her son was admitted to the hospital. Seeing the doctor around, she stood up and met him.

"Doctor, how is my son?" Ndukwo's mother asked worryingly.

"Calm down, woman," said the doctor. "Your son shall be well soon."

"Doctor, please, do everything possible to save my only child and son. Money shall not be a problem," Ndukwo's mother continued begging. 

"Alright, madam," the doctor assured her and continued shortly. "We care but God cures. Rest assured, we will do our best," the doctor added, but Ndukwo's mother was unrest.

Ndukwo's father met them held his wife and drew her out of the doctor's way. Being freed, the doctor thanked him and walked on. He helped his wife to sit down. Other people in the hospital felt for Ndukwo's mother as she sobbed. Her husband continued soothing her back, assuring her that everything would be fine. As he continued soothing his wife, he was preoccupied with the case of Chukwudi who was shot by Aro boys. If Chukwudi died, it was because he belonged to either of the two major gangs in the area. Only those who belonged to a gang would be shot like Chukwudi, he thought. 

While brooding over that incident, he saw the doctor walking to where all of them sat. He stopped halfway and motioned Chukwudi's father to come close to him. The stupid-looking man did not see the doctor calling for his attention; it was his wife who rushed to answer the doctor. 

"How is my son faring?" Chukwudi's mother worried the doctor.

"Calm down woman," the doctor said. "I want to talk to your husband."

"Doctor, leave my stupid husband in this case," said Chukwudi's mother. "Talk to me. I am the one who would pay the hospital bill. Talk to me, how is my son faring?"

After a short silence, the doctor said: "We lost him."

That was it! That was the end of Chukwudi who joined cultism; those who joined cultism died in that manner. There was no gain in belonging to a group whose end was death, Ndukwo's father said in his mind. He said that while consoling Chukwudi's mother who cried bitterly and unceasingly. Ndukwo's father alongside some men and women met her rolling on the ground; they calmed her and consoled her.

Later in the evening, around 6:15 p.m., Ndukwo was discharged from the hospital. He was taken home for proper feeding. His father came into his room where he was abed. He was not asleep, though his eyes were closed. His mind went back to the incident which led to his spirit leaving his body and then his hospitalization. When he noticed his father's presence, he tried hiding his feelings, yet to no avail. His father had seen his troubled face and decided to talk to him.

"How do you feel now?" his father asked.

"Dad, I feel better," answered Ndukwo.

Ndukwo's father nodded and smiled happily. He paused and sat beside Ndukwo on the bed. He looked at his son and brooded about everything that happened in the morning. He sighed heavily, though silently.

"That man you saw through your windows was a thief," Ndukwo's father said and continued shortly. "He was captured this morning as he tried stealing from people. I heard that by the time the police came to pick him up, he was already dead," he added and paused. He moved closer to Ndukwo and continued to speak:

"My son, stealing is very bad. There is no dignity in stealing people's belongings. Anyone who steals has no worth; he is worthless in society. That man who was beaten up has no dignity because he stole. That was why he was disgraced by people."

"Daddy, how do you know him,?" asked Ndukwo.

"No, I don't. But people said that he is from Edda, that his name is Emeka. That man had disgraced the people of Edda and his entire family," his father said.

"What was his own story," Ndukwo asked again.

Ndukwos's father was surprised at his son's inquisitiveness. He wearily replied to him: "He said that he was Onye Akpakara."

"Who is Onye Akpakara?"

Ndukwo's father smiled at that. "Onye Akpakara is someone that picks aluminium, iron or paper and sells them for a living."

Ndukwo had wanted to further the discussion, but he felt a headache surging up in his head, and he decided to end it there. 

"Thank you, papa, for everything," he appreciated and smiled.

"Don't mention it. You have to rest now. Go back to sleep," Ndukwo's father ordered.

He got the duvet and covered Ndukwo. He got up and left his son in the room. The boy closed his eyes and slept.