I am not one to overlook how I feel around people or when I walk into a place. So, today, being in a whole new month, feeling grateful for so many things, my thoughts somehow took me back to the time I literally escaped being used as a sacrifice for some ritual nonsense.
It happened one April night.
I was home alone because my sister had gone over to her fiancé’s place. I had been too lazy to cook during the day, but instead of doing anything about it, I decided to ignore the hunger and scroll through my phone until sleep eventually crept in. Except sleep never came and the hunger, however, came in full force.
Still refusing to cook, I decided to order food. Unfortunately, I was informed that there would be no dispatcher available to deliver because the weather was terrible and it had been raining. So, I was forced to cook.
I dragged myself into the kitchen, only to discover that my cooking gas was finished. At that point, I had no choice so I threw on some clothes, grabbed my umbrella and stepped outside to get a refill.
I got a cab to the gas station. When I arrived, there wasn’t much of a crowd. In fact, it was eerily quiet, and the weather was freezing like a December morning. There was only one other customer there, a man who had also come to refill his gas.
The pump attendant was attending to his cylinder, so I waited my turn. There was only one staff member working at that time, and over here, we don’t do self-service.
When he was done, the man paid for his gas. Then, apparently, he paid for mine too. I didn’t know this at first. I had already started walking towards him to thank him for what I assumed was a kind gesture when the attendant told me he had actually paid for a full refill for me, regardless of how much gas I wanted. I went over, thanked him, and he accepted it graciously. He even offered to drive me home.
I didn’t think much of it because he seemed cool enough, so I accepted. When we got to my street, he asked for my number and that was how we started talking.
We hung out once after that. It was an outdoor thing, nothing particularly serious. Then one day, he invited me over to his place for dinner. He said he wanted to cook for me himself. I thought that was sweet. I mean a man cooking dinner for you is romantic especially because, in my experience, not every man knows his way around a kitchen.
So the day came, and I went over but the moment I walked through his front door, something in me changed.
The hairs on my arms stood up. It was almost like my entire body was screaming at me to leave. Like saying run. I couldn’t explain it as there was no obvious reason for me to feel that way. Nothing had happened yet and he was being perfectly polite and seemed genuinely excited to have me there. So I stayed because I didn’t want to be rude or appear paranoid.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt. He had an apron tied around his waist, I had strolled into the kitchen with him and while we talked, I noticed a cut on his arm. It was difficult to ignore, so I asked what had happened. He looked surprised and there was a brief pause. It was like I had asked a question he hadn’t prepared an answer for. Then, after what seemed like a few seconds of mentally constructing his response, he told me it was from a domestic accident. I just nodded.
Then I asked if I could sit at the dining table while he continued cooking. He agreed and honestly, that gave me exactly what I needed, time to think.
While I was sitting there, I noticed how intensely focused he was on whatever he was cooking. At some point, he got on the phone with someone and spoke in a strangely coded manner. I couldn’t hear everything, but from what I could gather, he had invited two of his male friends over and that would make me the only woman in the room.
My instincts went from something feels off to GET OUT. I immediately told him I needed to use the bathroom and asked him to show me where it was. Once I got there, I did something I probably shouldn’t have done. I slipped into his bedroom and looked around. The lights were off, so I turned on my phone flashlight and that’s when I saw them.
In one corner of the room were red candles, a dagger tied with a piece of red cloth, some strange looking pills and a calabash containing fresh palm leaves. My heart dropped and I started hyperventilating.
I quickly slipped back into the bathroom, locked the door and texted my friend. I told her to call me and pretend to be my sister. She needed to tell me she was already at my house, couldn’t find the key, and there was smoke coming from one of the windows because it seemed I’d left something on and the house was catching fire. We were about to put on the most ridiculous emergency drama ever and thankfully, she understood the assignment.
She called, I answered and acted panicked. He immediately started trying to convince me not to leave, giving me some story that I honestly can’t even remember because at that point, my brain was already halfway out of the building.
I quickly unlocked the door and ran down the flight of stairs. And that was when another red flag hit me. This man lived on the highest floor of the building. Why was I up there and why had I not thought about that before?
Anyway, I pushed my way out and left. I blocked him on every social media platform and everywhere else I could think of. Thankfully, he didn’t know my exact house. He only knew the street where I lived.
A few months later, my sister and I moved from that place, and thankfully, that was the end of it. To this day, I still think about what could have happened if I had ignored that feeling and stayed. Because my intuition had been screaming at me from the moment I walked through that door and I am so glad I listened.
Ever since then, if I walk into a place and the hairs on my skin suddenly stand up, I don’t wait around looking for evidence anymore. I am leaving, no explanations given or me trying to convince myself that I’m being dramatic. I am straight-up walking back out the freaking door because sometimes, your body notices something before your brain has the words for it.
