Emeka Stories

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I knew the next one would die…
before it even happened.
Not because I touched him.
Not because I followed my father’s instructions.
But because he begged me not to come. And... Wait! Ever since I made up my mind to stand up to this madness, especially for my sister's sake and for my sanity... Okay! That is it! So this was why he died without even touching me, let alone sleeping with me.
His name was Daniel.
That night, as I sat in the back of the Escalade, the usual message came in.
A name.
A location.
A room number.
But this time… there was something extra.
A second message.
From him.
“Please… don’t come. I don’t know who sent you, but something is wrong.”
My heart stopped.
That had never happened before.
They never knew me.
They were always… waiting. Smiling. Ready. As if they had been paid to play a role they didn’t fully understand.
But this one?
He sounded… terrified.
I told the driver to turn back.
He didn’t.
I raised my voice.
He didn’t even blink.
That was when I realized something that made my stomach twist—
I was not being driven to the hotel.
I was being delivered.
By the time we got there, my hands were shaking.
Room 312.
The door was slightly open.
And the moment I stepped in… I felt it.
That same cold presence.
That invisible weight in the air.
Like something unseen had already entered the room before me… waiting.
Daniel was pacing.
Not sitting.
Not smiling.
Pacing.
The moment he saw me, he froze like he had just seen a ghost.
“Don’t come closer,” he said immediately.
His voice cracked.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
I swallowed. “You sent me a message.”
“Yes. Because I’ve seen you before.”
My chest tightened.
“No… you haven’t.”
“I have,” he said, stepping back. “Not in person. But… your face. It’s been showing up.”
My blood ran cold.
“Where?”
He pointed to the mirror.
I turned slowly.
And that was when I saw it.
Not my reflection.
No.
Something behind it.
Faint… distorted… like a shadow trying to take shape.
And for a split second—
It smiled.
I screamed.
I didn’t mean to.
It just tore out of me.
When I turned back, Daniel was already shaking his head.
“I told them I didn’t want this,” he said. “I told them to cancel it. But they said it was already paid for.”
Paid for.
The same words my aunt used.
“Everything you are enjoying today… was paid for in full…”
And hey, before I continue, let me share a bit about my family background so you know where I am coming from.
I never realised untill recently that the reason my father is too attached to me and my immediate younger sister was because he was preparing us for a day like this - a day we would be sent to sleep with different men in order to maintain and retain the family wealth, our legacy. I am twenty-one years old while my sister is nineteen years old, and we are part of the fifth generation of the Nnaji family, the most popular and richest family in the eastern part of Nigeria, and among the richest in the whole country. This wealth runs as far back as our great great grandfather who founded the wealth.

He was among the few Africans who ran trans atlantic slave trade with the European slave merchants. This was pre-amalgamation before the missionaries came. The proceeds of that trade was invested in gold exploration in Ghana, palm oil business in Nigeria, and later invested in coal mining and crude oil business across oil producing countries in Africa, before diversifying to other industries. In fact, till date, any male child of the Nnaji family becomes a billionaire once you are forty-five as his share of the wealth would be transferred to him with chains of companies across several industries he will be in charge own.

Every aspiring or sitting president of Nigeria must pay homage to the family for financial support as their influence can move mountains in Nigeria politics. To say the least, our family wealth runs deeper than the Atlantic ocean, but they manage media as to stay off from publicity. That is one of our family's policy. No member of the Nnaji family is into any form of entertainment business that will attract unwanted attention to a family whose wealth is more mysterious than one can imagine, and that's the part no one know. What they don't know is that every girl born in that family is a vessel that keeps the wealth running in the family through generations. This is a family ritual.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” I whispered.
But deep down… I did.
This had never been about pleasure.
Or control.
This was a transaction.
And I was the middleman.
“Listen to me,” Daniel said, stepping closer despite his fear. “Something is attached to you.”
My heart began to race.
“Every night for the past three days, I’ve been dreaming of a woman standing behind you. I can’t see her face. But she keeps saying one thing…”
I felt my knees weaken.
“What did she say?”
He looked straight into my eyes.
And when he spoke… his voice wasn’t fully his anymore.
It was layered.
Like two voices speaking at once.
“The debt is not complete.”
The lights went out.
I don’t remember how long the darkness lasted.
But when the lights came back on…
Daniel was on the floor.
Still.
Eyes open.
Empty.
I didn’t touch him.
I swear on everything I have left—
I did not touch him.
That was when I knew…
This thing?
It no longer needed permission.
I ran out of the room.
Barefoot. Crying. Not caring who saw me.
When I got home, I went straight to my father’s study.
I didn’t knock.
I didn’t care.
I pushed the door open—
And froze.
He wasn’t alone.
My aunt was there.
And someone else.
An old woman… dressed in white… sitting quietly in the corner.
I had never seen her before.
But the moment her eyes met mine—
I recognized her.
She was the one in the mirror.
My father didn’t look surprised.
He just sighed… like a man whose secret had finally caught up with him.
“Amara,” he said calmly, “you were not supposed to find out this way.”
My voice trembled.
“What is happening to me?”
Silence.
Then the old woman smiled.
The same smile.
The one I saw behind the glass.
“You are not taking from them, child,” she said softly.
Her voice felt like cold fingers around my throat.
“You are feeding me.”
My world stopped.
And then she said something that shattered whatever sanity I had left—
Something about my sister.
Something they were planning.
Something far worse than what they did to me.
“I hope you’re ready,” she whispered.
“Because her turn… will not be like yours.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

🔥A CURSED LEGACY: THE FORBIDDEN ROLE I WAS BORN INTO💀 - EPISODE TWO🔥
[Forbidden Romance, Dark Family Legacy, Betrayal]

© Emeka Tales

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Episode 2: The Invitation You Can’t Refuse
🔥🔥🔥
The silence on the other end of the line felt heavy, like the humid air before a Lagos thunderstorm. My thumb hovered over the red "end call" button, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “We’ve been watching you.” Those four words turned my blood to ice. In a country where you’re either the hunter or the prey, being "watched" is never a good sign.
"Who is this?" I finally managed to whisper, my voice cracking. I looked around my small, cluttered room at my parents' house. The peeling green paint, the stack of old textbooks, the single fan that groaned with every rotation—everything suddenly felt exposed, as if eyes were peering through the cracks in the window louvers.
"A friend, Tunde," the voice replied. It was smooth, cultured, and devoid of any discernible accent. "A friend who knows that yesterday you skipped lunch because you didn't want to ask your mother for another five hundred Naira. A friend who knows you spent four hours at a cyber café last Tuesday applying for a job that was already filled by a Senator’s nephew."
I froze. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. How could a stranger know the intimate humiliations of my daily survival?
"What do you want?" I asked, my fear slowly curdling into a desperate kind of curiosity.
"I want to offer you a seat at the table," the man said. "There is a black SUV parked two blocks away from your street, right next to the abandoned filling station. In the glove compartment, you will find an envelope. It contains fifty thousand Naira. That is just for the transport to come and hear what I have to say."
Fifty thousand. That was more money than I had seen in three years. It was rent, it was food, it was a temporary escape from the suffocating shroud of "failure." My mind raced. Was this a ritualist? A kidnapper? Or was this the "break" I had been praying for every night on my knees?
"I'm not coming," I lied, even as I was already reaching for my worn-out sneakers.
"The choice is yours, Tunde. But remember: the ceiling in your room isn't going to give you any answers. And your father’s pension is running out. You have twenty minutes."
Click.
The line went dead. I stood there for a long moment, the heat of the phone still pressed against my ear. I looked at my reflection in the cracked mirror on the wall. I saw a man who was tired of being a ghost in his own life.
I slipped out of the house through the back door, avoiding my mother’s gaze as she sat in the parlor shelling egusi. I ran. I didn't stop until I saw it—a sleek, jet-black SUV with tinted windows, idling silently in the dust of the abandoned station.
My hand trembled as I approached the passenger side. The door was unlocked. I pulled it open, and there, sitting on the leather seat, was a thick brown envelope. I grabbed it, my fingers shaking as I flicked through the crisp, mint-condition notes. It was real.
But as I moved to step back out, the child-lock clicked.
The car began to move.
I lunged for the door handle, but it wouldn't budge. I turned to the driver’s seat, expecting to see a thug or a masked man. Instead, there was no one. The steering wheel was turning by itself, guided by a glowing screen on the dashboard that displayed a single GPS coordinate.
Then, a small speaker in the headrest crackled to life.
"Relax, Tunde," the voice from the phone said, sounding closer now. "You took the money. You signed the contract the moment you touched that envelope. Now, let's see if you have the stomach for what comes next."
The car accelerated, weaving through the Lagos traffic with terrifying precision, heading away from the suburbs and toward the high-rise shadows of Victoria Island. We pulled into the underground garage of a building I didn't recognize. The engine cut out, and the door finally clicked open.
A man was standing there, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than my father’s house. He wasn't holding a gun. He was holding a glass of champagne.
"Welcome, Tunde," he said, smiling with teeth that were a little too white. "I hope you’re hungry. We’ve been waiting for you to join the 'inner circle.' But before we eat..."
He stepped aside, revealing a massive floor-to-ceiling monitor. On the screen was a live feed of my parents' living room. My mother was still shelling egusi, but there was a red laser dot resting right on the center of her forehead.
The man’s smile widened. "We need to discuss the price of your new life."
🔥🔥🔥
TO BE CONTINUED... ✍️