Mystery For The Misery (By Rotimi Adeniyi)


Mystery for the Misery.

His hands were trembling as though the veins in them lack vigour.
And his heart?—pounding in unrhythmic beats, too obvious to read some tensions in his thin weary gaze.
 If God was courage, Niyi had lost his faith, for in the platter of his heart seemed devoid of any trace.

He could no longer take hold of his mobile phone after which he read that threatening message on his WhatsApp messenger.

It was in a murky dark night, and the only seeming ray of light that flushed through the corner of his room where he lurked came via his beeping, vibrating phone.

He seemed to be pleading for a Messiah, who knew, but his lips were parting and meeting, uttering unheard words.

'Kha-Kha-kha-kha-kha...'

The raging knock continued, growing fiercer than before.
He stared back at the ticking hands of clock on the wall, it was half past eleven.
'Luck has not found a mate tonight', he thought as he read the notification that swept across the screen of his phone:
'We're at your back, watch-out dude...'

The knob of the door started creaking. If there was any hope, it was nought than that the door would yank free soon.
Another notification swept through the screen of his phone:
'It's tonight, you can't just escape it...'

Something caught his hearing, he wasn't sure though. A silent yell? A woeful cry? No, it was a trailing voice of agony.
'Ple-e-e-e-ase! ...open the door...I had a nightmare...,' the voice was too cold to be heard clearly, it was fainting.

'Bisola!' he screamed. Unbelievable.
It was his younger sister.

 Rotimi Adeniyi.
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