I FOUND A BABY CRYING IN THE BUSH — WHEN I PICKED HER UP, SHE SAID SOMETHING THAT SHOCKED ME!
Chapter One
That night was darker than usual. The moon was hidden behind heavy clouds, and the wind blew through the trees as if it carried a secret. I was on my way home from a friend’s house, walking through the narrow path that led to my compound. The bush path was the fastest way home, but also the scariest at night. The frogs croaked, the crickets chirped, and the leaves whispered whenever the wind shook them.
I had just reached the middle of the bush when I heard it.
A sound.
It was faint at first, so faint I thought it was the wind playing tricks on me. But then it came again — a cry. A baby’s cry.
I stopped in my tracks. My heart jumped into my throat. A baby? In the bush? At this time of night? I stood still, listening, and the cry grew louder.
“Waaah… waaah… waaah…”
My legs suddenly felt heavy, and fear gripped me. I looked around, but all I could see were tall grasses and the shadows of trees. No house, no hut, nothing. Just thick bush.
My first thought was to run. Who would leave a baby in the bush at night? Unless… unless it wasn’t a baby. In our village, we had heard stories of evil spirits that took the voice of children to lure people into the forest. My grandmother always warned me: “If you hear a baby crying at night in the bush, cover your ears and run.”
But something inside me refused to move. The cry was too real, too painful, too human. It didn’t sound like a trick. It sounded like a baby who needed help.
Gathering courage, I whispered to myself, “God, protect me.” Then I slowly followed the sound.
The cries grew louder as I pushed past the tall grasses. The path was narrow, and thorns scratched my legs, but I kept moving. My heart pounded with every step, and sweat rolled down my face though the night was cool.
Then I saw it.
Right there, in a small clearing, lay a baby. A tiny baby wrapped in old cloth, lying helplessly on the ground. The child’s face was wet with tears, and her little hands stretched upward as if begging to be carried.
I froze. My breath caught in my chest.
It was really a baby.
For a moment, I just stood there, staring. Who could abandon a baby in such a place? Who could be so cruel?
The baby cried louder, and something in my heart melted. Slowly, I bent down and picked her up. She was surprisingly warm, and her tiny fingers gripped mine as though she had been waiting for me.
“Hush, hush, little one,” I whispered, trying to calm her.
But then, something happened that made my blood run cold.
The baby stopped crying. She opened her eyes and looked straight into mine. Her eyes were large, bright, and strangely old—like the eyes of someone who had lived for many years. Then, in a voice far too clear for a baby, she spoke.
“Why did you come for me?”
I almost dropped her. My legs shook, and my mouth went dry. I stared at her, speechless, my whole body trembling.
No. This couldn’t be real. Babies don’t talk. Babies can’t talk.
Yet I had heard it. I had heard her voice as clear as day.
“Wh… wh… what?” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.
The baby blinked slowly, then repeated, “Why did you come for me?”
I felt goosebumps spread across my skin. My grandmother’s warning rang in my head. “Don’t follow a baby’s cry in the bush.” But it was too late—I was already holding her.
I wanted to drop her and run, but something about her eyes kept me rooted to the spot. There was no anger in them, no evil, just sadness. Deep, haunting sadness.
Tears filled my eyes before I even knew why.
“Who… who are you?” I asked with a shaking voice.
The baby didn’t answer. She simply laid her tiny head on my chest as though she was exhausted. Her warmth pressed against me, and I realized I couldn’t just leave her there.
I looked around again. The bush was silent now, as though every living thing was holding its breath. Even the wind had stopped blowing. I felt completely alone, standing there with a mysterious baby who had just spoken to me.
Finally, I whispered to myself, “I can’t leave her here. No matter what she is, I can’t.”
So I held her tightly and began walking back toward the path. My heart raced with fear and confusion, but I forced myself to keep moving.
As I walked, I thought I heard faint whispers around me, like voices carried by the wind. I couldn’t understand the words, but I knew they were talking about me. Watching me.
By the time I reached the edge of the bush path, I was sweating heavily and shaking. I glanced down at the baby in my arms. She had fallen silent now, her eyes closed as though she was sleeping peacefully.
But deep inside me, I knew this was only the beginning.
Because babies don’t speak. And yet, this one had.
And the question she asked me — “Why did you come for me?” — kept echoing in my mind.
Why did I come for her?
I didn’t have the answer. But one thing was clear: my life would never be the same again.
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