Life After Death

Growing up, I heard stories about haunted houses, the living-dead, spirits and tales of people who embraced the welcoming arms of death screaming, yelling or fighting for an extension of their earthly timeline. As a Christian I grew up learning and believing in what the bible teaches about death, resurrection, purgatory and so on. 

As an inquisitive teen and young lady, I read books and stories on time travel, souls departing the physical realm and saw movies like The Omen, I know what you did last summer, Hammer house of horror, Back from hell (I never had the heart to finish that one), our own Willy Willy and Nneka the pretty serpent which by the way always got me screaming my lungs out and yeah, there was Mel Gibson's passion of Christ which was a detailed (in my opinion ) portrayal of the agonizing death of Christ. That movie  had me crying for days. 

Between the movies and the books, I would say the movies were more impactful because they vividly portrayed in pictures and videos these horrific scenes in a way that always left you feeling that you were one of the victims or part of the whole story. Back then, the problem wasn't seeing those movies or hearing mind-blowing tales of the dead or spirits living amongst humans from friends. Noooo! My wahala usually started when the gist was over or the movie showed "the end". My eidetic memory would tenaciously grasp onto the most horrific and gory scenes and start replaying them once the lights were out. Usually, I would end up being afraid of my own shadow for months. It was so bad that even going up to my room alone would become a battle. Let's not even talk about being left alone at home. Horrible I must say, although some people find scary movies fulfilling.

Anyway, one day, I finally realized that it wasn't my thing and boldly accepted my preferences and limitations. I decided to choose my battles wisely and firmly sealed my decision to stay away from any thing called a horror or scary movie. But that was years ago and I thought I had outgrown all those childish fears. Who was I fooling?

So, last winter I took a trip with my friends. We checked into this comfy airbnb surrounded by trees and nature somewhere in a quiet town far away from the city bustles. Our lodge sat next to a cute brightly lit remodelled wooden house we were told belonged to a wealthy old man. Though our lodge and most of the houses we passed on the way were not modern wooden houses, you could see they were solid and properly maintained. Since our tour of the city ended late and driving into the woods took longer because our navi was obviously designed by a drunk (rolling my eyes), the moment we got our keys, I hastily rushed to my room, took a quick shower and buried myself under the soft sheets. I must confess, that bed and the whole environment was therapeutic and sooting.

In the middle of the night I woke up extremely thirsty. Blaming the wine and other drinks I had earlier in the day for this, I dragged myself out of my warm bed, pushed open my door and adjusted my sight to the semi-darkness. The window blinds were not drawn so I could see it was still dark outside, thanks to the winter season. However the single dim night lamp glowing above my door was enough for me to slowly but surely make my way to the water dispenser I had seen standing somewhere in the living room when we checked in. The water was refreshing and I was contemplating digging into the fridge for a snack when I heard the howls followed by a spectral scream and the sound of my glass cup shattering on the wooden floor.

I froze at the spot and listened with my ears in the air like my puppy would while my soul readied to jump out of my body. The fear of years past resurrected and shook my being. Was the airbnb haunted? The eerie wails rang out again and I screamed my heart out when my girls ran out of their rooms and collided with me in the semi-darkness. We were all shivering with fear as we chanted prayers and ran from our apartment for the reception hall still in our nightgowns with no care for our winter jackets. The reception area was crowded by the few guests who had all emerged from their rooms and were dialing the emergency number for rescue.

It turned out the screams were from the house next door and the owner was a man in hospice care who was about to join his creator. Nobody could explain the reasons behind his unearthly screams and high pitched arguments with invisible beings, spirits or whatever you wish to call them all through the night till he breathed his last at the early hours of the morning. As we stood by the open gate of the airbnb watching his remains being taken away, my heart broke because there was nothing anyone could do for him at his last moments. His family's only solace was in the fact that he was not in any form of pain throughout the traumatic night. 

The freezing cold of the winter felt like a joke against the chill running through our veins as we zoomed off in our rented car for another destination. For me, that night was like living a nightmare. Listening to the incoherent, frightening screams echoing through the trees and walls of our apartment re-awakened my long forgotten fear of horror or scary movies which I tried to suppress with happy rejuvenating moments with friends on our trip. Yet in the still of the night his preternatural howls resurfaced and rang in my head leaving me pondering about life after death.

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