EPISODE 2:THE FOOTPRINTS THAT NEVER FADE
1159 Words
Amara couldn't take her eyes off the word etched into the red earth.
RUN.
The letters were uneven, as though someone had scratched them into the soil with trembling fingers. She instinctively looked around the compound, expecting whoever had written it to still be nearby.
There was no one.
The afternoon breeze stirred the palm fronds overhead, carrying with it the faint smell of wet earth, even though it hadn't rained.
She crouched beside the footprints.
They were bare.
Large enough to belong to a man.
The strange thing was that the prints were unusually deep, as if whoever made them had been carrying an impossible weight. They began at the front of the compound and stretched toward the forest beyond her father's house.
No prints led away from the forest.
Only toward it.
Amara pulled out her phone and began recording.
"This is Amara Okeke," she said into the camera. "Day one in Umuoji. These footprints appeared outside my father's house after someone knocked on the door."
She zoomed in.
The camera suddenly lost focus.
The screen filled with static for less than a second.
When the picture returned, her blood ran cold.
Behind the footprints stood the blurry outline of a tall figure.
She spun around.
Nothing.
When she looked back at her phone, the figure was gone.
She lowered the device and laughed nervously.
"You're tired," she muttered to herself.
"That's all."
Ignoring the warning in the dirt, Amara followed the footprints.
The path wound through tall elephant grass and ancient iroko trees. The farther she walked, the quieter the forest became.
No birds.
No insects.
Not even the wind.
It was as though the forest itself was listening.
After nearly fifteen minutes, she noticed something hanging from a low tree branch.
A strip of blue fabric.
She recognized it immediately.
It matched the shirt her father had been wearing in the last photograph she'd received from him.
She hurried forward and pulled it free.
The cloth was stiff.
Dark brown stains covered one edge.
Blood.
Fresh enough that it hadn't completely dried.
Her heartbeat quickened.
"Dad?" she called.
Only her own voice echoed back.
Then...
Crunch.
A twig snapped somewhere behind her.
She turned sharply.
Nothing.
Crunch.
This time it came from her left.
"Dad?"
Silence.
She took another cautious step.
Crunch.
Now it came from directly behind her.
Whoever or whatever was there seemed to move every time she moved.
She forced herself not to run.
Instead, she spun around as quickly as she could.
No one.
Only endless trees.
Then she noticed something that hadn't been there before.
On the trunk of the nearest iroko tree were fresh claw marks.
Four long scratches.
Still oozing sap.
By the time Amara found her way back to the village, the sun was already beginning to sink.
The marketplace was unusually busy.
Not because people were shopping.
Because they were leaving.
Women hurriedly packed vegetables into baskets.
Men loaded sacks of yam onto bicycles.
Children were pulled indoors before they could finish playing.
It felt less like evening...
...and more like an evacuation.
Amara stopped beside an elderly woman locking her shop.
"Excuse me."
The woman barely looked up.
"Where's everyone going?"
"Home."
"It's only six."
The woman finally met her eyes.
"Night comes earlier than the clock says."
Before Amara could ask another question, the woman crossed herself, picked up her basket and hurried away.
Near the village square, a small crowd had gathered.
Curious, Amara walked closer.
An elderly chief stood in the center, surrounded by frightened villagers.
"The drums have returned," he announced.
A murmur spread through the crowd.
"No one must leave their homes after sunset."
"No one must answer a knock after dark."
"And whatever you hear..."
He paused.
"...do not answer if someone calls your name."
Amara frowned.
"What is this? Some kind of curfew?"
Every head turned toward her.
The silence was immediate.
Someone whispered,
"She's the missing man's daughter."
Another voice answered,
"Then it's already watching her."
Before she could respond, a young man stepped forward.
"My name is Obinna."
He was neatly dressed, carrying a satchel filled with schoolbooks.
"I'm the village teacher."
"You don't seem like someone who believes in ghost stories," Amara said.
Obinna smiled faintly.
"I didn't."
"What changed?"
"I buried my younger brother."
His smile disappeared.
"We never found the rest of him."
As darkness settled over Umuoji, Obinna walked Amara back to her father's house.
"You really think something supernatural is happening?" she asked.
"I think something is killing people."
"And no one fights back?"
"We tried."
"What happened?"
Obinna stopped walking.
"The people who went into the Sacred Grove never came back."
"You actually believe that?"
"I believe what I saw."
"And what was that?"
His face turned pale.
"I saw my brother walk into the forest."
"He was alive?"
"No."
Amara stared at him.
"We buried him two days earlier."
After Obinna left, Amara bolted every door and window.
She couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her.
To distract herself, she returned to her father's study.
There, beneath a loose floorboard, she found a leather journal wrapped carefully in cloth.
The first pages were ordinary.
Village meetings.
Harvest records.
Family expenses.
Then the handwriting changed.
Shakier.
More desperate.
"The curse has awakened again."
"The earth has chosen another bloodline."
"If anyone finds this journal, never allow Amara to enter the Sacred Grove."
Her hands trembled.
Why had her father written that?
She turned another page.
A folded photograph slipped onto the floor.
It showed seven young men standing beside a massive iroko tree.
One of them was her father.
The others had their faces violently scratched out.
Across the back of the photo were the words:
WE WERE SEVEN. NOW ONLY ONE REMAINS.
A cold gust swept through the room.
The oil lamp went out.
Darkness swallowed the house.
Then...
Three slow knocks echoed from the front door.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Amara held her breath.
Another knock.
This time on the bedroom window.
Then another.
From the back door.
Then another.
From the roof.
The knocks came from every direction at once.
Her heart pounded in her ears.
Then, through the silence, came a voice she hadn't heard in weeks.
Soft.
Weak.
Desperate.
"Amara..."
It was her father's voice.
Tears filled her eyes.
"Dad?"
"Help me..."
She stepped toward the front door.
His voice came again.
"I'm outside..."
Her hand reached for the lock.
Then she remembered the chief's warning.
"Do not answer if someone calls your name."
The voice grew louder.
"Please..."
"I know you're in there."
Then it changed.
The warmth vanished.
The words became slow...
Deep...
Almost inhuman.
"Open... the... door."
Amara backed away.
At that exact moment, something long and black slid beneath the gap under the door.
It wasn't a shadow.
It was a hand.
A hand made entirely of shifting red earth.
And it was reaching for her.
End of Episode 2
- Writer
