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the exorcism of the dark village (standard:adventure, 2871 words)
Author: seanAdded: Aug 16 2003Views/Reads: 2213/1348Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
its a typical story of an exorcism.
 



The Exorcism of the Dark village.  By Sean Okai The story you are about
to read is entirely true. I know this because it happened to me. While 
reading you will discover that I have neglected my faith 
(Christianity).  It was twelve mid-night my church was having a vigil 
and I was coordinating it. It was one of those times where I had some 
of those unusual flash backs, the thought of how my wife and my four 
year old son killed in a fire kept flashing on and off in my mind like 
a little child flickering a switch of a light bulb at night. Poor 
Elaine, her lasts words on planet earth were. “Darn you bill!” What the 
heck was I suppose to do? I walked out of the car for a minute and a 
small bomb explodes in the car had slowly and painfully engulfed almost 
every thing in the car, oh the horror! Elaine was trapped in her seat 
by the seat belt and she was roasted like a goat (any one that used 
that exact simile in front of me either went home with a bleeding nose 
or never went home at all). I'm not a violent person just don't know 
how to control my temper! After the vigil (and lots of scary exorcisms) 
I went into my private inner room to take a smoke – cigarettes were 
recommended to me by my doctor, “the weather was freeeezing!” while I 
was there (hearing people rushing to get out of the cold church) I 
noticed a strange piece of paper on the table, it was something about 
missionaries but I didn't pick it up. Suddenly a voice spoke to me, it 
said “biiiill, biiiill, do what you have to do!” I felt like I had 
woken up from one of those ultimate power episodes where a black figure 
tried to tempt you or convince you to do something. I crashed the 
cigarette in the ashtray and walked out of my private room in the 
church. Just outside my room was my associate pastor, Uche discussing 
with the church plumber he didn't even notice me so I called out to 
him. He walked close to me; I had to move back so he would not perceive 
the cigarette odor in my breath. “Ol' boy, its happening to me 
again-what must I do?” I asked. “Calm ya nerves”. He said in his stupid 
Igbo ascents (they really annoy me with the way he pronounces Al'es 
instead of Alex, and the way he says moneey instead of money)“ Keep 
praying to God... or do you want to join the mafia?                     
                                                                
“Never!” I said, shouting. The thought of how my wife died kept hunting 
me, the words “daaaaaarn you!” was all I could hear sometimes. As a 
pastor, no one expected me to have unwelcome visitors-oh but I had 
many, one of them was Mr. Sniper. I hated him more than I hate the 
devil. He was like getting wet feet while wearing slippers, “Man I 
really hate that guy!” one day Mr. Sniper paid me a visit. “Who's 
there?” I asked, after a knock on the door. “Mr. Joe”. A voice replied 
me. So I opened the door and there was Mr. Joe  ‘sniper' Milligan. I 
was quite impressed with his conduct while outside on most occasions he 
would be seen putting breeze from his mouth into his little pestle 
trying to remove dirt from the mouth of the gun but this time he was 
all dressed up in a tuxedo and he wore a funny black shoe. Mr. Sniper 
was one of the gang members of my dad's mafia; I know through gossips 
that he was the person that planted the bomb in my car that killed my 
wife and child. Though his dressing has changed his attitude was still 
rude! “ ‘sup slick!” The jerk said to me. I ignored him, and then he 
asked again. “You there? Slick... I said what's up!” “What the heck do 
you want from me?” I busted out. “ I just came here to tell you that I 
have seeeeeeen the light”. He said seemingly to me. “ I was invited to 
church, I just thought I should dress like a new-born!” “Good for you!” 
I said, sounding like one of those low down agony aunties. “Hey, wait 
listen God don show me something”. He replied, slightly annoyed. “It's 
about your life, him say you go em...yes him say u go deliver people 
from one island like that!” I instantly banged the door, right on the 
kisser. I walked up to my favorite chair (the one directly under the 
sign) ‘Billy Cooper is for the lord” I heard him shouting outside but 
totally ignored the jerk. That was the first time I had actually banged 
the door on somebody's face and really felt proud of it. Ironically, a 
similar message to what he told me I witnessed in a dream or should I 
say nightmare. I was asked to go to a village and conduct some exorcism 
and the messenger insisted that I go alone. The next day, I told my 
assistant pastor about it and he encouraged me not to disobey the voice 
of the ‘lord'. That afternoon I left to the bus stop to board a bus 
heading to a village I hardly knew. Before you can pronounce the word 
kalamqupptipiuy!  I found my self in a village called Ibu (I got there 
by accident) it was that stupid old taxi cab that took me there, two 
tires were flat on the ground probably because of the hefty woman and 
all those vegetables she stuffed in the boot of the car. The car was 
literally out of shape probably because of those leaves she stuffed in 
the boot looked like a lion having the Olumo rock in its mouth (the 
ride was cheap, my congregation don't pay much as offering) and there 


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