Fib and the Axe of Fury

CHAPTER ONE   School taught me lots of stuff. It taught me how to get ready in fifteen minutes, and how to catch the train as early as possible. But it was no use when I had a friend like Mo. As much as I loved my friend, at that moment, I was angry with her. My stomach felt like it was boiling.   Mo and I had been friends since childhood—we attended the same primary school, we played with identical Barbie dolls, we had similar braided hairstyles, we even wore matching outfits to every school event. We were like twins, but unlike me, Mo thought everything in life was a joke, which included getting to school early.   I pushed my glasses up my nose and glanced at my wristwatch. It was 7:45 a.m. Just fifteen more minutes until the seniors would start sorting late arrivals into a section meant for students who would have to sweep up the dirt littering the school premises. We also had ten more minutes until the train arrived.   Cold morning air grazed my skin like waves on shallow sand. I rubbed my cheeks to keep them warm, and tapped my foot against the concrete floor with one wish in mind; that Mo would soon arrive, so I could yell at her for being so late.   My friend always had an excuse to keep me waiting; every single day. It had been understandable when her family used to live far away from the train station, but now that she lived just around the corner, she had no excuse.   I clutched the arm of the metal chair beneath me and took the time to study the old man who sat beside me. He chewed on a thin stick which spread moisture and specs across his gray beard, which looked as if it had been dipped in muddy water. The point was this: he looked dirty.   "You better have a good excuse this time, Mo," I muttered, sweeping the station for a glimpse of her.   A few feet away, a couple held each other’s hands as they found their seats on a bench. They both wore checkered blue shirts, and each time the girl whispered into her boyfriend's ear, they both giggled.   I groaned and looked away. It was agonizing to watch, now that I had no boyfriend. The last one had broken up with me through a text, stating that he was no longer in love with me, only for me to then learn that he had hooked up with my mortal enemy.   Makinde, you’re such an idiot... Who the hell breaks up through a text?   The sound of a ringing bell broke my thoughts, signaling the arrival of a train. My cheeks burned as my temper flared. We would miss the train again, all thanks to Mo. I pulled my phone from my backpack and punched Mo's digits. Thankfully, she answered on the first ring.   "I'm here!" she said.   I looked up and found her jogging towards me. Wind from the train blew her red checkered skirt up to her waist, exposing her thighs. With the phone still in her hand, she waved at me.     "Mo, I hate this!" I said, as I stood up from the metal bench.   My expression twisted into a scowl. I moved towards her, each of my footsteps like that of an angry soldier on her way to war.   "Don’t eat me up," Mo rolled her eyes. “The train is here."   Her careless tone set my temper ablaze. I whirled, totally forgetting that the train was waiting. My anger had already blinded me from thinking straight, and a cluster of passengers were now struggling through the train's open doors.   "Quick! Let's go," she said.     Before I could react, Mo grabbed my hand and pulled me after her, towards the train. As we struggled amongst the crowd, someone shoved me, and my glasses went flying off my face, landing with a soft crack on the solid concrete.   "No!" I wailed, instinctively shutting my eyes.     I crouched and tried to find them. However, as my palms grazed the gritty ground, more passengers jostled me, each one harder than the last. I knew they were in a hurry to catch the train, but shoving someone for that was wrong.   "Kuro lo na," another angry female voice shouted in a heavy Ibadan accent before pushing me out of the way.   My lips quivered at the thought of more people pushing me, or worse, trampling me. I decided it was best to stop the search.   "Mo?" I called, pushing myself off the ground.   "Fib,” Mo whispered. “Uh, I think they’re broken..."   She took my hand and placed something in my palm, which I knew were my glasses. I felt the lenses, and true to her words, they were broken.   I groaned in frustration as my mother's insistent reminder flooded my mind: never take your glasses off outside the walls of our home. How the hell was I supposed to check the extent of the damage these people did to my glasses if I couldn't open my eyes?   I blew three breaths and blinked. My eyes met with a blur that made me squeeze them shut again. Everything was a blur.   “Mo?" I called, but no response returned, not even an annoying giggle. The noise from passengers laughing, talking, and walking had stopped. In fact, the entire station had gone silent.   Where did everyone go?   The air smelled different now, like fish and garlic. It was an odd combination, but a distinct upgrade from the stench of rotten beans.   "Mo?"   Again, no response. I swallowed hard. "It's not funny!"   I tried to make my voice as strong as possible, because with a best friend like Mo, I couldn't be too sure she wasn't playing pranks on me.   Slowly, I opened my eyes again. Thankfully, this time I caught a glimpse of a figure across the subway platform. A lump like an egg formed in my throat as I looked around the platform, trying to make sense of what was happening. Hazy white light and curls of smoky air obscured everything from view. The fluorescent lights on the roof flickered and buzzed.   I glanced over my shoulder and saw a greenish-brown fog shaped like a human. The outline was dressed in a shredded black top that hung loosely from around its neck. The abeti aja cap covered most of its dark face, if you could call what it had a face, but I could still see two flaming, red orbs glowing from inside its sunken sockets. The functioning part of my brain urged me to run away, but my feet refused to move; it was as if they’d been glued to the floor.   A roar, more fearsome than anything I’d ever heard, boomed from its open mouth. The ugly gape revealed razor-sharp teeth as long as pruning shears. It held a long, wooden tool in one hand that had weird drawings inscribed onto its handle. The tool looked like a hoe. My mind ran through all the ways this creature could hurt me, and my eyes immediately found its fangs. The thought of it chewing on my soft flesh made me shudder. Out of fright, I closed my eyes with the hope that by the time I opened them again, the creature would be gone.   But I was wrong.   A breeze as cold as ice fanned against my cheeks and neck. When I opened my eyes again, the ugly creature was standing right in front of me, its flaming eye sockets boring hatred into my eyes like long needles. A shriek pierced my eardrums. As I threw my palms over my ears to keep away the noise, I noticed my throat felt raw and itchy, and I realized that the scream was coming from my own mouth.   "Fib!" Mo's voice shouted, and I jumped from the shock.   Before me stood Mo, tilting her head as the flesh between her brows furrowed. People were staring at me like I was a crazy person. Was I?   “Are you okay, Fib?” Mo asked carefully. “You zoned out and started screaming!"   I straightened my glasses and prepared to tell her what had happened. But on second thought, I decided to shut my mouth. Even if the creature was real, Mo didn’t see it. She would think I was insane if I told her the truth.   I pressed my palm over my trembling lips and said, “I’m fine..."