Breaking news! Popular social media influencer, blogger and youth socialite, Omolara Eyimofe, aka Monica Maxi Media, was reportedly found dead in her Victoria Island home this morning. Investigations are ongoing, and the Public Relations Officer of the Lagos state police force, Bello Danjuma, has confirmed the incident. A close friend of the late Omolara, DJ BLT, has called the sudden death a 'heinous crime', and appealed to the authorities to bring the perpetrators to book.

Three days after I was discharged from hospital, the news of Omolara's death was broadcasted. It was on the television, radio and on the front page of practically every newspaper. Other bloggers, some of whom hated her when she was alive, quickly got in on it. There were claims that she was suicidal after her nasty break up with a football star. Another blogger claimed that she was secretly battling alcoholism.

Little did they know...

I told Omolara that the Orisajana's fled from the United States, before they could be arrested for unspecified crimes. Unfortunately, I assumed that passing the 'hot goss' to her would result in a small dent on their reputation. Then the usual cycle of media drama would play out and everything would go back to normal.

Little did I know...

Just like Niyi said, in what apparently was a dream, bloggers usually blew things out of proportion. Omolara published a sensational, Saturday scoop. The main headline being; 'The Orisajana's, suspected drug traffickers and internet fraudsters, eyeing the Governor's House.' She quoted her source as, 'a respected, young Nigerian American and political scientist'.

A ruthless, rival journalist of mine was quick to openly declare that it was me. A claim that I angrily denied, with the threat of legal action.

Understandably, Rotimi Orisajana was furious. He vowed to sue Omolara aka Monica Maxi Media, for defamation of character. She was found dead in her home before she could be taken in for any questioning.

The citizens of Irede were currently divided on the scandal. Politics, just like any time, was quick to cause confusion among the masses. A youth spokesperson, who pleaded for anonymity, claimed that, 'The youths were extremely disappointed with the development, but they were optimistic that Kennedy Olajide would be a great governor.' Whoever it was, obviously was a paid puppet.

In an explosive interview on Radio Nigeria, the youth leader of a rival faction, boldly declared that, 'Rotimi Orisajana is a man of the people, and enemies of progress were clearly hellbent on sabotaging the foundation of Irede for their own selfish interests.'

"Teniola?"

My heart almost stopped beating, before I realised it was Niyi.

Since I left the hospital, I spent all my time at his house. My half-brothers had gone back to their mother's house, and I had been put on paid leave for a month. Hopefully, the issue of the vengeful spirit would have been resolved by the time it was over.

"Teniola?"

"Yes? Niyi, I answered you the first time."

He walked in and set his briefcase on the table in the sitting room. After he fidgeted with his cuff links, I gently removed them, and slipped his blazer off his shoulders.

"No, you did not," he said softly, as he looked into my eyes.

"I did not what?" I asked.

He put his hands on my shoulders. "You did not answer me the first time."

I yanked his shirt over his head and folded it over my arm. "Look at me catering to you like a wife," I chuckled without mirth and ignored his comment. He probably was not wrong.

Niyi maintained eye contact with me as he loosened his belt, and took off his trousers. He went to put his clothes in the laundry basket and came closer. His dark skin radiant, and his taut muscles rippling. "Look at me housing you, feeding you and taking responsibility for you like a husband."

I huffed as I set the table for dinner. He liked amala and abula, so I prepared it for him before he got back from work. Carefully ensuring that the green ewedu, red obe ata and golden gbegiri did not mix.

"I have my own house, I make my own money, and I am not a child. This situation is temporary," I retorted.

He washed his hands, laughed and took a seat at the table with a cocky smirk. "Baby, I will be loving you, till we are one-fifty," he sang in his baritone voice.

I could not help the laugh that bubbled from my throat. "I am pretty sure that is not how Ed Sheeran sang it," I said.

Niyi pulled me onto his lap and squeezed me tight. "This is my personal, Naija remix. I do not want to infringe on his copyright."

The spicy fragrance of the meal on our table filled the room. It warmed my nostrils, and Niyi's touch gladdened my heart.

"I..." My voice trailed off.

"What is it, Teniola?"

Tears flowed from my eyes like rain during the wet season. He tore a tissue from the box on the table and wiped my tears.

"Why?" I asked, through choked sobs.

Niyi drew me closer, and rested my head on his shoulder.

"Why have you not left me?" I asked quietly.

"What type of question is that, Teniola?"

"I am at war with a paranormal being, Niyi. Would it not be easy to leave me and move on with your life?"

The gentle stroking of my back ceased suddenly.

"My love for you is unconditional, Teniola. Do not ever dare to doubt how I feel about you again," he said firmly.

Niyi brushed the tip of his nose across my cheek. "I do not have any idea what you put in my food or drink. All I know is that I am addicted to you."

My hands traced the ridges of his muscular chest. "I did not put love potion in your food, Niyi."

"I do not expect you to admit it, Teniola."

My fit of giggles was uncontrollable. I shook my head and grinned.

He started to eat his food and put some in my mouth while he ate. A raised eyebrow directed at me, let me know that he wanted me to say something.

"I love you too," I mumbled, with my eyes on my lap.

"Ehn? Ki lo wi? I did not hear you. What did you say?" he asked between morsels.

"I love you too, Niyi," I repeated.

A dazzling grin broke out on Niyi's face. "I will never get tired of hearing those words from you, Teniola."

We sat looking at each other with bright smiles on our faces. For a moment it seemed as if all my problems had disappeared. He gently put me on the chair beside his and washed his hands after finishing his meal.

"You are the one delaying my plans-"

Steam rushed out of my ears. "I can not-"

He held up a hand and shook his head slowly, "-to get married," he concluded.

I crept up to him, and hugged him from behind. "I would love to marry you, but I do not think I was wrong to want more time."

Niyi turned around and put some stray braids behind my ears. "You should-"

"Wait, I think I can hear my phone ringing," I said.

"No, it is not your phone. It is mine," Niyi responded.

He brushed past me in a haste to pick his phone. Fortunately, he was able to respond before missing the call. With a tap on the screen he set it to speaker phone.

"Hello?"

"Niyi, omo Baba Faleke. Eniyan iyi, eniyan ola. Niyi, son of Papa Faleke. A person of honour, a person of wealth."

Niyi chuckled, "Baba Orija, e ku toju wa sir. Papa Orija, thanks for taking care of us."

"Dakun, ma duro di ipari ose ko to mu obirin yen wa o! O ni foju sukun re o! Please, do not wait until the weekend before you bring that woman. May you not weep over her."

The line was silent and so were we.

"Gege bi won se fi han mi, ojo meta meta ni awon ti iku kan ma di eni 'gbagbe. It was revealed to me that every three days, whoever's turn it is to die will become a forgotten soul."

Niyi and I exchanged a look. Omolara was found dead three days after I left the hospital. I nodded and signalled for Niyi to keep talking to the man.

"Thank you sir, we will be there before then," Niyi replied.

"I will be looking forward to seeing you again, my son," the man replied, and ended the call.

My eyes widened with shock. Papa Orija spoke with a raspy, indigenous, Yoruba accent initially. He switched to very posh English in the blink of an eye.

Niyi rubbed his temples but smiled, "Papa Orija is a Professor of Linguistics at Osun State College of Arts."

"Oh, okay," I replied. "OSCA is at Ife, is it not?"

"Yes it is. Ife is the place of origin of Yoruba people. God will manifest His glory," Niyi replied.

I hugged him and whispered declarations of my love and gratitude in his ear.

Suddenly, I froze. There was a distinct stillness in the atmosphere. It was difficult to explain, but within me I knew something was wrong.

Niyi noticed my change in mood, and he looked at my face intently.

After coming in contact with a paranormal being, I discovered that my senses seemed sharper, and my spirit more sensitive. So, I immediately knew that something was not right.

"Something strange is going on," I whispered.

My eyes frantically searched around the house. I could not bring myself to actually walk around to investigate further.

Niyi squeezed my hand. "Let me check aro-"

"I will come with you," I said tightening my grip on his hand.

We walked in and out of the rooms. Even wardrobes and drawers were ransacked. Under the beds, the bathroom and balcony. After looking all around the house, we opened all the windows and sat on the sofa in the sitting room.

I felt a chill down my spine, and all my hairs stood on end.

"Oh, no!" I gasped.

"What?" Niyi shifted on the sofa to face me squarely.

"We looked all around the house, and all over the floor, have we not?" I asked.

"Yes?" Niyi shrugged.

"Did we look up?"

He swore under his breath. We both looked up slowly. Niyi looked calm, but I was sweating excessively, and my heart was in my mouth.

By the time we had fully craned our necks, we saw nothing. Involuntarily, I sighed with relief. We both threw our heads back and reclined the sofa.

"It must have just been anxiety. Sorry, Niyi."

We listened to the tick tock of Niyi's antique wall clock. The cool, leather seats were soothing to touch.

A long, red snake fell on Niyi's coffee table. I ran to the staircase, screaming. Niyi swiftly located a cutlass from the garden, and killed it.

Several, bigger, orange ones slithered across the floor. When some came towards me, I fell backwards on the first step of the staircase. After regaining my balance, I ran up the stairs, only to almost fall backwards when I was confronted by a jet black Cobra.

Suddenly, several more started falling out of nowhere from above us. I tripped and fell, tumbling in an awkward ball down the stairs.

My eyes were slightly dazed for a moment, after banging my head on the way down. When my eyes cleared, I looked directly in the face of a spiky, yellow dragon. It spread its wings and flared its nostrils. Streams of fire came out of its mouth and nose and its pitch black eyes rolled in their sockets. The smell of burning sulphur tainted the air and irritated my throat. I coughed when

The fearsome dragon flew towards me angrily. Its screech rang in my ears as it charged towards me with its jaws wide open.