I was in my second year in school, and by that time, we had gotten used to the school system; we no longer ran helter-skelter. We were beginning to feel like we owned the place, gaining enough confidence to start thinking about having girlfriends and boyfriends.
One particular evening around 7:00 p.m., I decided to stroll over to the house of the lady I was hoping to win over. When I got to the compound, I noticed a gathering of people, mostly the community's locals, which usually meant someone had died. I didn’t mind and maneuvered my way into Ruth’s house. Yes, Ruth—that’s the name of the lady. When I asked her what was happening in their compound, she said a little baby had died, and they were performing rituals for the burial.
“Ritual? What kind of ritual? Isn’t it just a matter of digging a grave and burying the body, or at least taking it to the cemetery?” I asked in surprise.
“Haaaa! That’s what I thought too, until my neighbor told me there was more to it. In fact, according to her, they are going to butcher the baby and...”
“Stoppp!” I couldn’t bear to hear the rest, so I begged her to stop talking. But no, she refused.
“Not only butcher it, but they’re going to bury the parts in different places in the compound,” she concluded, and then went ahead to close the window.
My mind raced, trying to figure out what a child could possibly have done to deserve such a bizarre burial ritual. I knew there were terrible traditions regarding burial rites, but this one seemed especially strange.
We stayed together in the house, and it was around 8:00 p.m. There was electricity, which helped in keeping my mind from imagining the ghost of the two-year-old baby moving around like we often see in Nollywood movies. 
I didn’t dare go outside to witness what was happening because I detest strong smells, and I couldn’t imagine enduring the odor of butchered flesh, especially that of a baby. What if the corpse was already decaying with a foul smell? No, no, no—I couldn’t stand that.
Ruth brought out food, soup and eba (an African dish), with plenty of meat in the soup. It was okra soup, and it was quite slimy. When we started eating, I picked up a morsel of meat and was just about to put it into my mouth when my brain reacted instantly, comparing the meat I was holding to the flesh of the baby being butchered in the compound.
“No, I’m not eating anymore,” I said, washing my hands and standing up. Ruth looked at me and smiled. She knew exactly what I was thinking and imagining, so laughed out loud.
The thought was so disturbing that I couldn’t shake it from my mind. Just as I sat on a plastic chair close to the standing fan, which was blowing air and making noise, the electricity went out, and the fan stopped. Suddenly, we started hearing the sound of a cutlass hitting wood, like when a machete chops through beef with bones on a plank. Oh my God! My imagination ran wild, and all I could think of was that the baby was being butchered at that very moment, and the sound of the cutlass hitting the wood was actually it cutting through the baby’s limbs. I couldn’t handle the thought any longer. I quickly picked up my phone and told Ruth that I was leaving. She looked surprised at my sudden reaction, but I didn’t give her a chance to stop me since the visitation has turn to a trick or treat event, I needed to protect my mental health.
She was still eating when I left the room, and by the time I reached the compound, the number of people had increased. I held my breath as I walked quickly away, not wanting to catch even a whiff of any potential smell.
Thanks for reading.
This is for Hivebuzz Halloween contest
This is fictional
