woven in time

Chapter 9: The Marked Ones

Tuesday morning started with a scream.

Not in a dream.

In the middle of the school courtyard, just before assembly, when students were still half-asleep and dragging their feet.

The scream came from Ireti Bakare—quiet, smart, barely-ever-talks Ireti—who suddenly dropped her books, clutched her head, and screamed like her soul was on fire.

By the time we reached her, her eyes had rolled back, and she was chanting in a language nobody recognized. But I did.

I’d heard it in my dream.

The language of the door.

---

The school shut down early. Parents were called. Prayers were offered.

Some whispered that “the devil had entered the school.”

Others said “our children are playing with things they don’t understand.”

But the truth was simpler:

The town was waking up.

Kehinde and I sat under the almond tree after school, trying to make sense of it. His hoodie was soaked with sweat, despite the cool breeze. The crescent on my wrist wouldn’t stop pulsing.

“We’re not the only ones marked,” I said quietly.

“No,” he replied. “But I think we’re the only ones who can survive it.”

---

That evening, just before sunset, someone unexpected knocked on my front gate.

Tobi Fakorede.

Classmate. Loudmouth. Certified troublemaker. Not someone I’d ever imagined would knock politely and say:

“I need to talk to you and Kehinde. Privately.”

We met at the back of the school garden, where the cassava grew wild and nobody ever really paid attention.

“I know you think I’m an i***t,” he said bluntly. “And you’re right most days. But I’ve been dreaming things. Seeing things. Since the red moon appeared last year.”

Kehinde folded his arms. “What kind of things?”

Tobi reached into his bag and pulled out a notebook. Inside were drawings.

Of us.

Me and Kehinde, standing before a burning door.

A woman in white.

A shadow with no face, reaching through flames.

“I drew these last year,” he said. “Didn’t know what they meant. But now… I see your wrists. I see how the lights flicker when you walk past. You’re part of it.”

“And so are you,” I said softly, flipping the pages.

The last sketch showed something terrifying.

A map.

Of Agbede.

With seven glowing circles around the edges.

Each marked with a name.

Five were people we knew.

Two were crossed out.

And next to mine, in red ink, were the words:

“Do not awaken her.”

---

“You were never meant to remember,” Tobi said, looking straight at me.

“Why?” I whispered.

“Because the last time Ayotunde woke up… the sky bled for seven days.”