STORY TELLING| NONFICTION| LIFE

She Was ‘Married’ To A Ghost For Years Without Knowing It

This is a shocking story my neighbour once told me

Chinedu V. Onyema
Write A Catalyst

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Photo by Justin Snyder Photo on Unsplash

If not that I had watched a Nollywood movie entitled “The Haunted House”; I would not have had any form of idea of such probable possibility.

In literature, we were taught of the “willing suspension of self disbelief”. That means that you do not dismiss a work of art as a piece of falsehood, based on your personal doubt.

She was a distant relative of my neighbour. Her name is not too important here.

But if you insist, her name was Mary. She lived in a big Nigerian city called Lagos.

Recently, my good friend, Flora wrote a story about the (de)merits of living in big cities. This story is definitely one of the demerits, I believe.

Disclaimer: Please kindly indicate if you are not comfortable with the mention.

Mary met Oko. They mutually admired each other. One thing led to the other. Both got married.

Sorry, they did not get married. They started cohabitation. They never bothered about their mutual relatives.

They began breeding children: first, second, third, fourth … They were happily living together and enjoying their companionship and every other thing.

One thing was striking about Oko. He was exceptionally intelligent. In fact, he was amazingly brilliant; brilliant to a fault.

Where did he get such intuitive perception of things, events and people from? Before, any matter could become public knowledge, he was already aware of it.

That amazed Mary but also endeared her to him the more.

Nine months became one year. One year grew to two … three … four … and with three brilliant kids in the kitty. Yet something was strange.

How could one supposedly be married to a spouse and his spouse had never known any of his relatives let alone visiting her supposed in-laws? Mary became worried. She became depressed and unhappy about the relationship.

She must do something and something she did. “You must take me to your village. I need to know your people. I need to see them, at least.”

Oko was troubled. His game plan had succeeded for over seven years. It must not continue: certainly, not forever.

Like a popular favourite preacher would say; “Subsequently, eventually, finally and at last”: a day was agreed and fixed by Mary and Oko to visit the latter’s hometown.

They boarded an inter-state-commercial vehicle alongside their four children with the eldest being about seven years. From Lagos State to somewhere in Delta State, they reached the major motor park in the capital, Asaba.

Another inter-community bus conveyed them to the actual town where they could walk a short distance of few minutes to the destination compound. On sighting the compound house scantily surrounded by bush, Oko asked for a minute to relieve himself in a nearby bush.

The minute grew into five minutes. Mary and the kids waited and waited and waited. Five minutes impatiently graduated to thirty — yet Oko was nowhere to be found.

She and the little ones became tired and worried and frustrated. After over seven hours on the road, they were eager to get to the compound and at least, have some rest.

Mary had to approach the compound which the supposed husband had pointed to her. She naturally introduced herself to two persons she met there.

“Good afternoon sir and ma. My name is Mary. I am the wife of Oko and these are our children. We are coming from Lagos …”

The semi-elderly man looked at the wife and she looked back at him in utter amazement and disbelief. “What did you say, please?”

Mary repeated exactly what she said but added this time, “He is even with us. He stopped to relieve himself a while ago but we had waited and could not see him, so we decided to come here and wait.”

The man shook his head but never gave much of a clue whatsoever. “Well, you are welcome.” He cleared his throat and asked the woman again who was becoming somewhat embarrassed, “Did you say you are the wife of Oko, our brother …?”

Mary nodded in the affirmative, sitting edgy on the bench provided for her and her kids. She never understood the meaning of the strange body language of their hosts.

“My younger brother, Oko, never told us he had any wife and children. As a matter of fact, he had died over ten years ago.” Pointing to an unequal heap by the side of the compound garden, “That is the grave where he was buried.”

On hearing “grave”, Mary slumped. It took a long while before she regained consciousness.

The man told her. “See, many strange things happen these days, how could you start having children for a man you never knew where he was from nor saw any member of his family?”

As quickly as possible, Mary left and returned to his father’s village with the children she had with the ghost. The shock of the incident made her sickly.

The sickness became illness. The illness was strange enough that her foreskin peeled off like a snake’s or python’s would.

She was a shadow of herself. She could no longer return to the room in Lagos which she had shared with the confirmed ghost.

Three months later, she died mysteriously.

Thanks for reading.

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Chinedu V. Onyema
Write A Catalyst

From the influence of intuitive inspiration to the affluence of gracious Grace and to confluence of ideas, I write. "Life would be tragic if it weren't funny."