The Curse Of The Red Earth

The bus ride to Umuoji felt longer than Amara remembered. She sat by the window, her fingers wrapped tightly around the worn leather strap of her handbag, watching the familiar landscape roll by. The farther they drove from the city, the quieter the world became. Concrete buildings gave way to thick forests, narrow roads, and endless stretches of reddish-brown earth that glowed beneath the afternoon sun. It had been twelve years since she last set foot in the village. Twelve years since she buried the memories of her childhood alongside her mother. Twelve years since she promised herself she would never return. Yet here she was. The sudden disappearance of her father had left her with no choice. Three weeks earlier, she had received a phone call from an unfamiliar number. "Your father is missing," the old woman's trembling voice had said. "Come home... before the Red Earth claims another soul." She had almost laughed. The Red Earth. The same old village superstition. As a journalist, Amara had spent years exposing lies, scams, and fabricated miracles. She believed in facts, not curses. People disappeared because someone made them disappear—not because the ground demanded sacrifices. Still, something about the old woman's voice lingered in her mind. Fear. Real fear. The bus finally stopped beside a rusted sign that read: WELCOME TO UMUOJI The letters were faded, almost swallowed by climbing vines. As Amara stepped down, a strange breeze swept across the road. Dry leaves danced around her feet, and for a brief moment, the village became unnaturally silent. No birds. No insects. Nothing. Then, as quickly as it had come, the sounds returned. Children laughed in the distance. A goat bleated somewhere behind the market stalls. Life continued as though nothing had happened. "You came back." Amara turned. Standing a few feet away was Mama Nkem, the village midwife who had helped deliver her more than thirty years ago. The old woman looked much older than Amara remembered. Deep wrinkles covered her face, and her once-bright eyes now carried a sadness that words couldn't explain. "You've grown into your mother," Mama Nkem said softly. "I came because of my father." The old woman nodded but didn't answer immediately. Instead, she looked down at the earth beneath Amara's feet. "You shouldn't have stepped off the road." "What?" Mama Nkem pointed. Amara looked down. Her shoes were stained red. Just ordinary village soil. Or so she thought. Mama Nkem's face turned pale. "The earth has greeted you." Amara sighed. "I didn't come here for riddles." "You will understand soon enough." Without another word, the old woman turned and walked away. Her father's house stood at the edge of the village, surrounded by tall palm trees and an aging mud fence. The gate creaked as she pushed it open. Everything looked untouched. His slippers still rested on the veranda. A cup sat on the wooden table, half-filled with what had once been tea. It was as though he had stepped outside for a moment and never returned. Inside the house, dust covered every surface. Amara searched every room. Nothing. Until she reached her father's bedroom. The wardrobe door was slightly open. Inside, hidden beneath neatly folded clothes, was a small wooden box she had never seen before. It was locked. As she lifted it, something fell onto the floor. An old photograph. She picked it up. It showed her father standing beside six other villagers. Every face had been scratched out... ...except his. On the back of the photograph were four words written in faded ink. "IT HAS AWAKENED AGAIN." A sudden knock echoed through the silent house. Three slow knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock. Amara froze. She glanced toward the front door. "Who's there?" she called. No answer. She walked cautiously through the hallway and pulled the door open. No one was outside. Only the empty compound... ...and fresh footprints in the red earth leading away from the house. Bare footprints. As if someone had stood there only seconds earlier. Then disappeared. Amara stared at the footprints until she noticed something that made her blood run cold. They weren't leading away from the house. They were leading toward the forest. And beside the last footprint, someone had written a single word in the red soil with their finger. RUN.  End of Episode 1