THE CURSE OF THE OSUN SHRINE EP 3

 

EPISODE 3: “Blood on the Riverbank”

Morning. Osun-Osogbo Grove.

They buried Sunkanmi before the sun rose, without prayers or words. His body had twisted into something unrecognizable by dawn, skin hardened, hair bleached bone-white, and lips stitched shut by some unseen force.

Idowu had seen many things in Osogbo, juju rituals, masquerades, even burials gone wrong. But nothing like this.

“Something ancient killed him,” she whispered, shoveling dirt with trembling hands. “And it’s not done.”

Japhet’s jaw clenched. “Then we finish what we started. We find Oluronbi.”

Badore scoffed. “We don’t even know if she’s real.”

“She is,” said Ranti, quietly. “But she doesn’t dwell with the living.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Kazzy snapped, eyes red from lack of sleep.

Ranti looked toward the river. “It means we go where the dead go.”

Late Afternoon, Odo Osun Riverbank

The river was unusually quiet, save for the occasional plop of a fish or the rustle of distant chants from the festival center.

Ranti led them to a narrow trail, overgrown, hidden behind a banyan tree whose trunk was covered in ancient sigils.

“This is where the high priestesses once bathed,” she said. “No one comes here anymore. They say those who do hear voices… and see things.”

The deeper they went, the darker it became. Even the sun seemed reluctant to shine.

“Wait,” Milly said, stopping.

“What now?” Japhet asked.

“Do you hear that?”

Everyone paused.

A soft lullaby drifted through the trees an old Yoruba song only grandmothers remembered. The kind sung to babies too restless for sleep.

But there was no child here. No woman.

Only the river.

And on its bank…

Blood.

A long, narrow streak of it led from the water up the rocks. It hadn’t dried.

Fresh.

Bright.

Japhet followed the trail up a ledge and froze.

There was a woman.

Standing barefoot in the water, facing away from them. Her hair was impossibly long, black as night, and her gown shimmered like the river surface. She was humming.

Ranti stepped forward. “Oluronbi?”

The woman turned.

Her eyes were blind white. But they saw.

“You broke the vow,” she said, voice hollow and melodic, like wind through a flute.

Milly gasped. “We didn’t mean…”

“You touched the sacred womb of Osun. You tore open the veil. Now it drinks your blood until it is satisfied.”

Idowu fell to her knees. “Please… help us.”

Oluronbi tilted her head.

“I warned your fathers. I warned your mothers. But the greed of man is endless.”

Kazzy stepped forward. “Then tell us what to do. How do we stop this?”

“There is no stopping it,” Oluronbi said.

Only Kazzy noticed the tears forming in her blank eyes.

“Only... an exchange.”

They stared.

“What kind of exchange?” asked Japhet.

Oluronbi began to fade, her body becoming translucent as water.

“Four must fall to close the gate. The others… must return what was taken.”

“What gate?” Milly shouted. “What are you talking about?”

But Oluronbi was gone.

Only her voice remained, drifting on the river’s breath.

“Four must fall…”

“Four must fall…”

“Four must…”

“...fall.”

Later That Night

In their rooms, silence reigned.

No one slept.

The relics had reappeared, sitting neatly on the table. The gourd sealed. The comb shining. The mask grinning.

No one touched them.

At 3:03 a.m., Ranti screamed.

The others rushed in.

She was curled in the corner, sobbing, eyes wide.

“He was standing in the corner. Watching me.”

“Who?” Milly asked.

“Sunkanmi,” Ranti whispered. “But it wasn’t him. His eyes… they were gone.”

She lifted her hand to reveal something clenched in her fist.

A handful of wet, grey sand, sand that only came from the bottom of the river.

They looked at one another in horror.

One was dead.

Now the river wanted three more.

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