Short PSA before I continue with the story: Horror's not really my forte or cup of tea. Probably will not religiously write for all twelve days, but, let's see how it goes.

Every time I went to church to hear the preacher's message it felt more familiar than the last. This particular day, the church was full, so full that some sat on the laps of people that were lapped by other people and some sat on the floor using a torn page out of a book as an imaginary chair. The preacher was talking about witchcraft that day. That was new because his messages were usually about sewing, seed, offering, sacrifice, giving, and a salty pinch of salvation. Immediately, my mind toured through scary school stories that were always told by that one student whose grandpa we believed could never lie about seeing these ghosts in his school, back in the day. I remembered scenes from Nollywood movies, scenes that were terrifying enough to make you question your sanity on the claim of it being a fictional movie with no relation to real-life people and places. What was it about witchcraft that made people come to church today? I wondered. Soon enough, I had my answer when the pastor requested absolute silence because he could somehow hear a demon in our midst. Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, orphans, uncles, aunties, brothers, and sisters were all in the congregation, amidst the silence you could feel the loudness of everyone's racing heart. They were waiting. We were all waiting. We wanted to know who the friendly neighborhood demon was.

"Whooooshh!" someone screamed as she rolled towards the pastor, I fought to hold in my laughter and I won. I found the outburst hilarious until a deafening slap caused her to be still. The pastor claimed that she was not the demon and he seemed so sure. Then, I was intrigued. If I were on my couch watching a thrilling movie, this would be the part where I sit at the edge of the couch, increase the volume, and keep my eyes wide open as if it helped me pay more attention. Amid the silence, the preacher walked around the congregation and the sounds from his shoes felt a lot like how that kid from school described madam koikoi. It was all a coincidence, I believed. The preacher kept walking until I felt him heading towards me. I was not the witch, but for some reason, I immediately took to my heels. HOLD HER! The preacher shouted at the top of his lungs. In a split second, the atmosphere went from dead silent to a prey-filled jungle hosting a hunter's contest. I was the prey. The chase felt so intense that I genuinely thought I had passed out at some point and a higher power of some sort was propelling me. That kid from school told us that Madam Koikoi always came for children who stayed out late at night. I ticked the box of being a child. I ticked the box of being out late at night but in my defense, I was there to attend a vigil and technically, there was nothing dark about the church environment, everywhere was well lit up so, I thought to myself; "why the bloody hell would madam koikoi come for me and most importantly why in God's name am I running???". Then I stopped running, but the pandemonium didn't stop till the loud screeching door opened and the light from outside shone bright enough to sweep me off my feet. Just like in the church, there was silence again. Then, the screeching door closed. I slowly opened my eyes when I heard the tambourines shaking, feet thumping, hands clapping, and passionate out-of-tune voices, singing in unison. It wasn't me after all, I wasn't the demon because there I was in the basement of the church building, joining the congregation to thunderously jubilate. They were happy to have conquered the demon, I was happy that the preacher wasn't casting me out anytime soon, because of all the basements I have lived in, I was currently living in my favorite basement. Then the footsteps came again, this time around it wasn't the preacher's. Was it hers? was she finally here to get me? Fear consumed me so much that I stopped breathing so I could hear properly. The footsteps felt closer but I saw nobody till I clocked that I was looking towards the wrong direction, after I felt a tight grip on my arms. I froze. "She is here and you are in her arms!" was what all my senses screamed in so many ways. Then the loud screeching door opened but because of the grip, the light could not sweep me off my feet, but it burned my face and I couldn't stop it. So, I fought, I fought through the grip, I fought through my paralysis, and gathered enough strength to throw something at the door hoping to close it, but seeing the preacher lying in a pool of blood was all that convinced me that I missed. "She made me do it" was all I kept muttering as the screams of the preacher's wife delivered me to the mob. I was not escaping this mob so I sat there and I waited. I was not hurt by the beatings I received, I was heartbroken to hear them say that I was a thief, a demon that tried to get into the preacher's house through his basement because the mob's thought process lacked any critical thinking, it hurt me. I wailed not because of the injuries they kept inflicting on me but because of the lies they kept retorting. Then a particular hand hit me on my arm so hard that it triggered a deja vu moment. It felt like the grip of Madam Koikoi, back there in the basement. I looked down to see the shoes and it was red bottoms just as the kid from school described Madam Koikoi's shoes. Then I look up to be met with the face of the preacher's wife in as much agony as she made me feel all those years from basement to basement. By the corner stood a noisily wailing child, mourning the death of his father but more mortified that his classmate was the murderer. The kid from school couldn't believe the horror he had just witnessed, all his grandpa's stories could not have prepared him for this nightmarish moment. I shut my eyes to savor the moment but, every darkness took me back to that godforsaken basement. So, I opened my eyes to welcome the light. What the mob did not know was that they were fulfilling my wish of avoiding a painless death, which is quite frankly the worst kind. If I was ever going to die, I needed background noises, ambiance sound, and communal smell, for without these things, it would mean that I sat in silence with death and I was ever so welcoming of it, that I quietly gave in to it. It would mean that I wanted it.