Stories About Women

DEVIL'S PASSAGE III

I began to walk back. It was instinctive. From time to time, mighty hands would quack my back and I would momentary lose my footing. I felt another push that lunched me to the ground on my bruised knee.

I had insidiously gathered the strength I needed to run. Maybe I might outrun them or they might disappear as they did before. I had to gamble.

Without warning, I zapped. I intended to run as far as possible, but in-between my steps and the cracks of the branches I broke; I heard them rustle behind me with speed that matched mine.

This sunk fear at the pits of my stomach. I remembered Nonso, and it was quite strange that I haven’t bumped into him.
I had initially broken the obstructing branches, so the path was partially run-able but I had to watch through the night, avoiding and hopping over stumps or stones.

Two tongues of light became visible at the far end of darkness. The mind was willing but my muscle were soared and my lung’s appetent was critical; it seemed I was going to faint if I didn’t stop running. I ploughed until I could no longer paddle my legs. My pace reduced and I heard the men shuffle behind me. They quacked me and I kissed the ground again.

Powerful hands tugged at my shoulders and raised me to my feet only for me to fall again. I inhaled deeply; my chest swelling to its limit, and down again.
“Move!”
I began to crawl. The hope in me had dried up and the force field weakened, the stale voice emanated. As much as I tried to submerge it, it kept rippling up in the sea of fear floating in me. My bruised knee scuffed the ground as I crawled, lifelessly.
I was now within the illuminated vicinity of the dim orange light emitting from the candle. I craned back and the men had disappeared. I rose to my feet and limped forward.

Another menorah stood beside the former red-clad one; the path barely able to contain them both. This menorah was dressed in a black silk robe. The tongue of flame swayed softly giving their face an eerie shade.

“One has been obedient to the wind.” I have? It was the black menorah that spoke, “One has been plucked from the tree of fear.” I didn’t understand. He stepped forward and slowly stretched his candle occupied hand. It wasn’t really in my direction so I ignored it until he said, “Take the light.” I reached for it, and then I saw the emptiness in his eyes that seemed to stare past me.

He took slow steps back to the wordless red-clad menorah. They began to hum. Transported by the leaves was a piercing scream that jolted me. Then the crow of a hen; but a human mimic.

The two menorah’s whirled and began to walk back; the black one holding the shoulder of the red. Yea, he was definitely blind.

‘Follow the light,' that was the last thing Charles said to me. I strode behind them conscious of the vulnerable tongue of fire I held. I shielded it with my cupped hand, as an altar boy would, and we proceeded ever so slowly.

Well, we walked so far back that we tore out to the asphalt road where the van initially arrived.

This lone road was boarded by thick forest on both sides. And we were crossing to the other side. A narrow path became visible. You have to be actually looking for it, or going through it to notice it; Its tracks very narrow and insignificant.

The red-clad menorah spare headed the train, the black followed and once again, I was at the tail. We moved ever so slowly.

The path, however, began to expand with each step. Soon it widened and was enough to accommodate the three of us, but I leaped behind. The itchy pain in my knee was becoming unbearable.

There was an effulgent lightening ahead— shining like part of the sun had fallen there.

we arrived at a wide opening—spherical opening. Four pillars of fire stood in a square, burning effulgently. There were at least forty men lying stomach flat.