Jane sat for the three hour drive from Portharcourt to Warri, a bag of plantain chips stuffed in her leather hand bag, a brand new headset hanging around her neck, and a Mario Puzo novel opened on her lap. She looked out the freshly cleaned window of the mini bus, inhaling the chilly harmattan air. A brief smile tugged her glossy lips as she spotted a short bald man by the busy roadside, his shouts for people to patronize him, rising far above other clothes vendors.

He held up a jiggling Christmas bell, a red satchel wrapped about his broad shoulder as he danced and did a few acrobatic displays to attract passersby to his new in seasonal collectibles. Jane silently watched him, chuckling as he unbuckled his crazy jean and pulled it down, showing the world his tight red boxers. Her belly rumbled as she tried to hold in her laughter, the man was indeed crazy, parading the bustling streets in just a white singlet and pants pulled down to his ankle.

Other passengers in the half full bus that had been leaning or stretching their necks to watch the comic show openly laughed, the corners of their eyes crinkling. No one could fathom why the guy was acting the way he was. Pinning it on good cheer, Jane pressed her back onto her seat, heaving a deep sigh. Thinking she heard a loud cry some distance away, she turned but saw nothing. The minute her head bent to catch some sleep, a loud bang sounded on the window, startling her.

It was the mad man. Or the crazy one, whichever one chose to believe. Jane took a quick look at the crazed expression on his pimpled face, her brows creased. He slapped a white cardboard paper on the window, his breathing noisy. She inched back to read the red cursive, blood drained from her face, her jaw slackened. The bus driver frantically ordered for his door to be closed, letting no one in. The passengers fell silent, speaking only in hushed tones.

Mr Ola, the aged driver, started the car, pushing it into drive. Jane was shaking visibly, her palms clammy with sweat and her heart thudding against her ribcage. She could hear subdued voices in the background, thick bile clogged her throat. Cold sweat had broken out on her forehead, her lips trembling ever so softly. Someone tapped her arm, galvanizing her from her deep reverie.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked worriedly, his light skin glowing like the yellow sun. Jane gave a curt nod, swallowing hard. The guy offered a polite smile, settling the frame of his medicated glass on the bridge of his slim nose. "Never mind that, the dude is bat shit crazy. People's madness these days," he mitigated, reflecting over something before holding out a hand.

"I'm Mark." The corners of his lips twitched, his brows rose suggestively. The moment Jane shook his hand, a slight shiver ran through her. She retracted so fast, Mark frowned.

"Are you alright?" He inquired, concern lacing his tone.

"I think so," she muttered, wedging herself between two seats to pick her novel from the floor. She was still shaken up, anxious knots tightening in her stomach. Mark breathed, turning to face the police barricade ahead. Jane brushed dust from the front cover, slipping the book into her bag.

"Merry Christmas in advance," Mark resumed, making her chortle.

"Merry Christmas to you too." She cracked a nervous smile, her heart stopped, thudding away like the ferocity of jungle drums. "I'm sorry but that got to me. I'm Jane. Are you ummm, traveling for the holidays?"

Mark considered a flimsy thought, grabbing his cherry red backpack. "Hey, the seat next to you isn't taken right?" He seemed queasy, judging from a slight crack in his deep booming voice.

"Of course not," Jane drawled, making room for him as he resumed the empty space, getting comfortable. Despite the space between them, she could feel his warmth wrap her in an embarrassing cocoon.

"Yeah, I am. It's actually a big break from work. You look like a student, perhaps?" Mark looked her over briefly. Jane didn't mean to but she bit her bottom lip as she stared at him, somewhat drawn to his four eyed gaze.

"I'm a three hundred level student of Uniport. My school just rounded up our second semester exams, that was yesterday. I know it's pretty late with today being the twenty third but what can I say?" Jane shrugged, the handsome stranger throwing her a mused glance as he gestured to the Dan Brown book sticking out from her unzipped bag.

"You read too? Let me see." Jane's mouth rounded. She grabbed the book, handing it over to him.

Mark flipped through the fresh pages, seeing a book mark at the fifteenth page. "You haven't gone far. Mario Puzo, The Godfather. I used to love reading this. Conflicting fictions are fascinating eh?" He tried to make small talk.

"Definitely," Jane agreed, playing with the hem of her light sundress.

"I'm sorry, I could go on and on about books I've read... you know," he rambled, sucking in a deep breath.

"So, where do you live in Warri?" Mark asked. The question made Jane a bit uneasy. "It's okay, you don't have to answer that. One has to be cautious after what went on earlier. I shouldn't have..."

Jane squeezed his muscular thigh, giving him an assuring wink. He faltered, his mouth hanging open. "Umm, are you trying to—"

She shifted further away, realizing that she might have been sending the wrong signal. Jane uttered her apologies, an embarrassing blush creeping up her cheeks. "It's okay." Mark swatted an arm in front of his face. "Would you mind if I have your number, could give you a call sometime?"

The car sped through a large pothole, throwing Jane out of her seat, her dress riding high on her fleshy thigh. Mark gulped, adjusting his glasses and pretending he hadn't seen a lady's lace panties.

Jane faced the mountainous pile of Christmas presents still unwrapped, groaning aloud. Her mum who was holding the ladder steady for her father to finish up decorating the fake tree, grimaced at her complain.

"Those are just the first set, by tomorrow, there will be more coming in. I should let you go now because it's pretty late. And you should be up early." She smiled faintly as Jane crept up to her, hugging her from behind; an orange fragrance permeated the spacious living room.

"Get some sleep okay. And also check on your sister before you go to bed." Jane nodded like the obedient daughter that she was, blowing her mum kisses as her dad gave a low grunt.

"Goodnight, dad." She dismissed with a wave before he could send her on another of his ceaseless errands. As she ascended the steep stairs, her muscles ached, exhaustion taking over her and a loud yawn escaping her lips. She flicked the light switch on the wall, the dark room brightening. Ditto, her younger sister, sharply turned, pulling the Mickey Mouse covers away from her face.

"I knew you weren't asleep, mongrel!" Jane exclaimed, stroking Ditto's calves lightly. She squirmed in excitement, slapping her hand away.

"It's okay, I'm ticklish." Ditto's laughter died down and she coughed, hitting her chest.

"I'm so sorry," Jane muttered, rubbing her back to ease her discomfort. "But it's not fair, you left me to do all the work."

Ditto made a cute face, pouting her lips, her small eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I'm sorry, big sis." It was obvious from her tone of voice that she was trying to put up an act.

Jane sighed heavily, tucking the warm blanket around her sister's lean frame. "It's alright honey. Now, go to sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow."

"Nooo... no...no... could you tell me a bedtime story before you go?" Ditto pleaded, tugging her arm.

"Oh no! It's already late," Jane realized after a quick glance at the clock on the bedside table. It was ten p.m.

"Pretty please.. I want to listen to the one of Secret Santa," Ditto whispered softly, stalling Jane in her tracks.

"What did you say?" Jane asked. Memories flooded back, overwhelming her. She remembered the sheer terror in the mad man's eyes, his warning of the Secret Santa killing every single occupant of the bus, including her. A feeling of dread sank in the pit of her turbulent stomach, her eyes widened like saucers.

"Don't you know the story? Secret Santa selects a group of people he's going to sacrifice just for the fun of Christmas. My English teacher told us before our school vacated and I really love the story," Ditto said. "Could you retell it? I hate how the old man died."

"Go to sleep," Jane ordered, flicking off the switch. Ditto recoiled, grumbling under her breath as she adjusted her fluffy pillow.

Jane collapsed on her huge bed, inhaling deeply and allowing the thick darkness swallow her whole. She hated the way she shouted on her sister, a ruse to quell her own fear. Her toes curled, something unnameable unfurling in the depths of her belly. She gulped, nearly jumping out of her skin as she heard the shrill ring of her cell phone. Fumbling for her bedside lamp, she turned it on.

Jane found her phone lying at the edge of the brown chestnut drawer, she snatched it, taking a look at the caller. It was Mark. Remembering that he promised to give her a call, she answered in a cheery voice, "hey, what's up?"

Mark coughed, shrugging his pajamas on. "Hey, I'm sorry I couldn't call earlier. Got caught up with moving furnitures and stuffs. I just parked into my new house."

"Waoh, that's nice. Your Christmas is all set then. Planning on having anyone over?" Jane asked out of curiosity.

"No, not really. Just my family and an old friend of mine. We go way back," Mark rolled on his big bed, giggling. "What are you still doing up?"

"Oh well, I just started unboxing a few presents out of a huge pile. Couldn't go very far unfortunately. I'll get on with it tomorrow."

"Have you eaten?" He asked, playing with the waistband of his pj.

"Yeah. Had fried rice that my mum cooked. What about you?" Jane held the phone to her ear as he talked, dazzling her with his facile tongue.

"Huh?" She asked, trying to recall the last word he said.

"I asked if you'd seen the news yet," Mark responded. Jane's ears perked up, she sat, her back ramrod straight.

Picking nervously at her manicured nails, she answered, "no, why?"

There was a deep sigh followed by a sniffle. Jane knew that something was wrong. "What happened, tell me," she dictated, urgent.

"It's.. the old man... the one that handled the front wheel... he's dead."

Jane gasped, tears filled her eyes, flowing unrestrained. "But how? Why? I don't understand."

Mark gulped, fighting hard to control the shaking of his hand. "On his way back to the car park, he ran headlong into a tanker and he caught fire, alive. He couldn't make it." He broke down, chest squeezing.

The phone fell from Jane's grasp, her lips began to tremble, a crippling anxiety setting in. She clutched her heart, about to let out a high pitched scream when an eerie voice whispered harshly. "You're next on the list."