Home > Emmyshub Stories > #Emmyshubstories; “Voices In The Night” {Complete Story}

#Emmyshubstories; “Voices In The Night” {Complete Story}

I’ve been in this village for two weeks. Two weeks of waking up to a brown rooster crowing close to my window. Two weeks of watching the hills bury their heads into the clouds every morning as thick, white fog hang a little above the hillocks. Two weeks of piling research papers for my Phd while wandering with locals into caves, snapping ancient mythical artifacts and climbing several hills.
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Two weeks of listening to spirits and ghosts at midnight, when they wake to roam the village while howling a distinct cry from the world beyond.
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***
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The sound of my boots crushing dried leaves is the only audible sound, as it seems the birds have fallen asleep. The sun was already dying in the sky when I began my journey to find the legendary hillock that talks with the voices of a thousand spirits.
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I whistle along, holding a faint torch in my right hand and a bottle in my left. I was here yesterday, with some natives whose haircut is as strange as the noiseless queer breaking out of their faces.
The legend of these quiet hills are a mosaic of myths and supernatural lores of when ghosts wake to write with their fingers on the surface of the hills. Of when the voices of people like life bubbling in the vibrancy of energetic market people are heard from inside the legendary hillock.
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“Don’t whistle,” a native whose face carries a scar told me yesterday, “don’t whistle around the sacred rock of a million ghosts, lest you unleash them on yourself. And you won’t live to tell the tale.” His voice carried a certainty that clouded my thoughts with a smog of fear.
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“What happened to the stone?” I asked, peering into his eyes as if the answers to my question was somewhere lurking behind his lens.
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“A long time ago,” he had a heavy accent, “in the forgotten era, thousands of years ago, a tribal war broke out. While the war was eating up lives, some natives ran to this hillock for safety. There was a cave under it then, they ran into the cave and the rock ate them alive when it closed the cave on them. So till today they live inside that rock. And the voices we hear are their voices. They are not spirits as their souls appeased the war. So they hate to hear the sound of a whistle as it was the sound of war then.”
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It strikes me as I move close to the rock that I have been whistling all along. This time, I can hear low rumblings from within the rock, the sound of a pestle thumping a wooden mortar. The noise of people as if in a market with a thousand voices haggling prices.
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I had been whistling and I had tempted sleeping goblins into a full blown war. And for the first time I hear the noisy flow of my blood as fear coiled up in my eyes. I hear the sound of dried leaves rustling as if someone is drifting closer. I swing my torch to that direction. The space is empty of anyone’s precense. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder, I turn swiftly and the cold evening breeze hit me in the face as I feel some sort of warm wetness crawling down the south of my legs.
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I break into an unsteady run, avoiding twigs and looking back over my shoulder. Just then I hear a very loud howl from a few metres away from me. This time, I can feel my spirit leaving me as I turn into a scarecrow of a fear ridden emptiness.
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“Tade!”
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I stop in my tracks when I hear my name. I feel my feet are glued to the ground as I become a hollow of myself while watching the figure of the person who called me surge forward in silhouettes wrapped in the density of the evening darkness.
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I swing my torch in its direction, and I see a man standing over a wooden mortar; pestle in hand, pounding something. It takes me a brief moment to discover his head is gone. He’s pounding his head in his mortar as I watch in horror. Too terrified to run, to scream or move.
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Then I hear a loud, screeching, ear-splitting cry cutting across the night, piercing the heart of the darkness. The demons have been set loose and this is only the beginning.

Read Also:  5 Best Short stories of 2017 #Emmyshub

Written By Emmyshub Registered Author

{ABIMBOLA MICHAEL BISMARCK}

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