THE CURSE OF THE OSUN SHRINE EP 4
Episode 4: “Whispers in the Grove”
Osun Sacred Grove The Next Morning
Mist clung to the ground like breath
frozen in time. The trees of the sacred grove, once so alive with music and
movement, stood unnaturally still. Even the monkeys were gone.
They moved in a tight group now Japhet
leading, Milly close behind, and the rest flanking one another like soldiers.
“I say we burn the relics,” said
Badore, his voice raw.
“They came back on their own,” Milly
snapped. “You think fire can stop that?”
“They don’t want to be
destroyed,” Kazzy murmured, eyes locked on the wrapped bundle in Milly’s
backpack.
Ranti winced. “I can still hear her
voice… Oluronbi’s. In my dreams. In my head. Like she never left.”
Japhet stopped walking and turned to
face them. “Four must fall,” he said. “That’s what she said.”
“We already lost Sunkanmi,” said
Idowu. “We just need to survive. The rest of us. That means sticking together.
That means nobody else dies.”
But as they pushed deeper into the
grove, the trees began to change.
Their bark shifted into patterns faces.
Screaming ones.
And the whispers began.
Soft. In Yoruba.
One word, over and over.
“Ẹsan…”
“Ẹsan…”
“Ẹ̀ṣàǹ…”
“Vengeance.”
Suddenly, Badore screamed.
The others turned. He had vanished
from the path.
“Badore!” Japhet yelled.
They followed the sound of rustling,
crashing through brush and vines until they reached a clearing.
There, beneath a tree, Badore was
suspended midair.
His body floated; limbs outstretched
like a crucifix.
His mouth opened unnaturally wide.
From it poured water thick, brown,
river water.
And then a whisper, from the tree’s
trunk.
“He was greedy.”
“He traded blood for silver.”
Badore’s body dropped with a
sickening crunch.
His chest bore a symbol etched in
flesh: a mask.
Milly turned and vomited.
“Two,” said Kazzy, dazed. “Two are
gone.”
Back in Town – Osun Market Square
They sat in an abandoned store,
doors locked. The outside world continued celebrating, ignorant of the slow
deaths within the group.
Japhet stared out the window, jaw
tight.
“They’ll pick us off one by one.”
“I’m next,” Ranti said hollowly.
“No one’s next,” Milly snapped. “We
return the relics. Maybe that’s what she meant. We do it before more of us
die.”
“We can’t,” Idowu said quietly. “We
don’t know where to put them. The shrine has rejected us. You felt it.”
“What do we do then?” Milly asked.
No one answered.
Until Kazzy stood up.
“There’s another way,” he said.
They all turned to him.
“I know someone,” he said. “Someone
who deals with spirits. Not like Oluronbi. Different.”
Ranti’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of
different?”
Kazzy looked away.
“The kind that doesn’t ask for
mercy. Only payment.”
Later That Night – Outskirts of
Osogbo
The air was thick with incense and
decay.
They stood outside a mud hut deep in
the forest, lit only by red candles lining a footpath.
“Who lives here?” Milly asked.
“She doesn’t have a name,” Kazzy
replied. “She’s just called Iya Ibẹ̀bẹ̀ the womb watcher.”
Before they could respond, the door
creaked open by itself.
Smoke poured out like a living
thing, curling around their feet.
They stepped inside.
It was dark, despite the dozens of
lit candles. Bones hung from the ceiling, clacking softly.
And in the far corner, an old woman
sat, back turned, combing hair that reached the floor.
They approached slowly.
“Kazzy,” she said, without turning.
“I warned you never to return.”
“We need help,” Kazzy replied, his
voice small.
“You need absolution,” she
said. “And you think that comes free?”
Japhet stepped forward. “We’ll pay.”
The woman turned. Her eyes were
hollow, literally. Empty sockets stared at them. She smiled. “You already are.”
Then the candles all went out at once, and something screamed from beneath the floor.
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