The Skull

by Mich Olorunfemi

around the only TV watching the horrible macabre that Channels TV somehow got footage of. Live footage.

  “This is just outside?” Godwin asked with a horror stricken expression on his face.

  “It’s practically inside. It almost caught me. That’s why I ran into your room like an alien almost abducted me for one of their science experiments.”

  Godwin squinted. “Wait a minute. Who is that?”

  The camera movement was unsteady. It was hard to make out the faces even as fire was added to the fuel of blood lust.

  If Uche hadn’t worn his Abercombe and Fitch shirt out, Godwin might not have recognized him at all.

  “Is…is that Uche?”

  Dare leaned forward. His mouth parted. “He is running! He got caught in the riot!”

  Both teenagers watched in horror as a looming figure crept up behind Uche with a machete. The figure hit Uche to the ground and swung at Uche with the machete. A meaty slab of flesh from Uche’s right side was slung into the air, trailed by an incredulous amount of blood.

  “Uche!” Dare screamed.

  The entire room turned to look at these two young lads who were glued to the TV. Apparently no one except these two had seen anyone they knew.

  More chaos ensued on the screen. And pretty soon the chaos grew so close to the camera. In a moment there was nothing but Raster on the 14” TV screen. But Godwin and Dare stared at the screen as if the gory macabre still played.

  The riot ended quickly. The mobile police had effectively taken down the rioters with tear gas, and had controversially killed a few—some of which were students of the University.

  Godwin and Dare waited in the clinic. This was the second time Godwin was coming to the school clinic in twenty-four hours.

  A thought had been gnawing at Godwin’s mind for a while now. He was itching to get the thought out. And he did.

  “Dare,” Godwin called out.

  “What?”

  “I have a feeling.”

  “Do tell.”

  “I feel like Uche is going to be alright at the end of the day.”

  “Well glory halleluyah! Praise God for that!” Dare exclaimed, stifling a yawn as fatigue finally began to set in.

  “But he is going to lose a bone.” Godwin said. Dare looked at Godwin curiously. “His right clavicle.”

  “How could you be so specific?”

  “I just know.”

  A doctor dressed in a white smock suddenly walked straight toward them. “Are you boys the ones with one Uche Nzua?”

  “Yes.” They both stood.

  The doctor spoke in a very professional manner. “Your friend is hall right. E lost a bone, but e will be fine.” The doctor’s obstinate Yoruba accent prevailed.

  Godwin stepped forward. “Eh, Doctor, do you mind telling us what bone in particular Uche lost?”

  Godwin and Dare glanced at each other and returned their eyes back to the doctor. The doctor adjusted his spectacles. “Is right clavicle.” His way of saying: His right clavicle. “Please follow me, i’s just down the all.” The doctor spun and began walking away.

  Dare tugged on Godwin’s shoulder. “Godwin, how did you know that Uche lost his right clavicle.”

  Godwin turned with fear in his eyes and said. “Because I’m about to lose my skull.”

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  III

  Godwin wondered how Jesus did it. Knowing you will be dead in some hours wasn’t a good thing, to state the obvious. His gut was wrenched in a tight knot. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t even think. He could feel an eerie chill washing all over him. Less than twenty hours ago, Uche had been hospitalized; he’d lost his right clavicle. Less than forty-eight hours ago, Mark had been hospitalized; he’d lost a rib. The bones they had lost were the same bones they had stolen from the bones of John Doe in the lab roughly two days ago.

  The scariest part was that there was definitely going to be no hospitalization for him. Why? Because he had decided to be the most daring of the gang and had taken the skull. It was 6 feet deep and nothing else.

  But he had a plan. If he stayed in his room all day, there was no way he was going to be decapitated. He hadn’t gone for lectures that day. He hadn’t so much as stepped out to the cafeteria for a drink of water. He only stayed in his room, away from the ceiling fan—which was off, by the way—should it decide to come crashing down, for some mysterious reason.

  A bitter taste had settled on his dry tongue. He really didn’t know what to do. Should he begin writing a final letter to his parents? Should he call up everyone he had a grudge with and make peace with them. Should he finally tell Jennifer that he really did loved her? And why was he thinking of love at a time like this? What a powerful emotion. He shook it off.

  Godwin slammed his head into his pillow and covered his entire body with his duvet. He moaned in a slow and steady mournful tone. But oddly enough, he didn’t get a case of the shakes. He just felt totally vulnerable. Death was ominous, and not stoppable.

  The sound of his door creaking startled him, and for a second, that childhood memory of the boogey man set in. Even as an adolescent, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that even if he didn’t leave the room, the spirit of death was going to come after him. The spirit of death might just have entered his room. He dared not uncover himself.

  “Dude! Are you alright? Okay, bad question. Of course you’re not.” came Dare’s familiar voice.

  Godwin felt relieved. He pushed aside his duvet.

  “Jesus, man. You look dead already!” Dare exclaimed

  “Am I not?” Godwin said.

  Dare threw his school notes on the bed. “As long as you still have breath, there is hope.”

  Godwin found the strength to sit up. “Why? Why didn’t I just do like you and not take any part of that stupid skeleton.”

  Dare looked at his friend for a moment before saying, “What’s done is done, man. You need to move forward.”

  “Move forward to my gruesome death?” Godwin asked without looking at Dare.

  “There is little I can say now. I don’t have death hot on my heels, so I can’t say I know how you feel. But I can give you an advice.”

  Now Godwin did look up. Anything that might help even the slightest bit was welcome. “Go on,” Godwin urged Dare.

  “Confess.” was all Dare had to offer.

  Godwin stood and paced, flailing his hands—it was the most activity he had done all day. “Confess? That’s your advice? How is that going to help me? I’m still going to die after I do that.”

  Dare shrugged. “At least you know you’ll be going to the right place.” Dare looked, through the corner of his eyes, upward.

  Heaven? Heaven! Maybe this was a good time to start thinking about heaven and all that “Jesus stuff” that Bible thumpers always ranted on about. If his life on earth was doomed, he might as well believe that he could enjoy his afterlife. And if confessing was going to save him, he will do it.

  Godwin looked at his wrist watch. According to him he had two hours, or so, to live. “I will do it.”

  Dare nodded his approval.

  Dean Poju hadn’t been on seat when Godwin and Dare had gone to the faculty building looking for him. According to the secretary, he had left for home early today; news that Godwin was dreading. It meant that they had to track him down to his house in Lokogoma. And doing that would almost cut down the entire two hours, or so, Godwin had to live.

  Being outside the hostel room did bring a fresh doze of fear upon Godwin. But it was taking a taxi cab, alongside Dare, that finally saw a heavy case of the shakes descending upon Godwin. Hadn’t people been decapitated in car accidents before? It wasn’t uncommon.

  On occasion, the cabbie would cast a glance at Godwin and then swiftly return his eyes to the road.

  He probably thinks I’m one of those crack heads. Godwin thought. Dead-looking guy, shaking like a rusty old car.

  When Godwin and Dare exited the cab at Dean Poju’s hou
se, the cabbie seemed relieved. But Godwin didn’t. He was nearly out of time, and out of time meant out of head, literally.

  Dean Poju’s house was a creepy old manor. No way he could afford a place like this on his meager salary, must have inherited from his pops, or something. Godwin tried to push down the knot in his throat by swallowing hard. But it didn’t budge. He knocked on the gate. The gate simply slid open with a sharp creek that cut neatly through the air. Godwin gritted his teeth.

  “Shall we?” Dare asked, ushering Godwin into the compound as if it was his father’s.

  They went in.

  Godwin was the one who pressed the door bell as sweating was added to the long list of physical reactions his fore knowledge of his death caused.

  This was it. It was now or never…again. If Dean Poju wasn’t home, Godwin was sure to die. It was only a matter of minutes. At least he tried to do the right thing. If Dean Poju wasn’t available—

  The door came open, and a shocked Dean Poju stood at the other side, cup of coffee in hand. “Wow, two of my best students at my door. Please, come in.” Dean Poju opened the door wider for the young lads.

  “I don’t normally host guests in my house, so do bear with me, I have no delicacies to offer you lads.” Dean Poju said as the boys followed him into his living. “Unless you wouldn’t mind a cup of tea.”

  “That’s okay, sir.” Dare said. “We actually have more important issues on our minds than tea right now, sir.”

  “Really. Please sit. Do tell.” Dean Poju said.

  Godwin spoke up. He told the dean about their operation to vandalize the skeleton of John Doe. He told the dean about the