Awon Emi Muje Muje

 The bushes around me seductively danced to the whispers of the wind, as I remained crouched. Patiently waiting. My eyes stealthily scanned the environment, as Baba's words rang in my ears.

'Má dójú ti ara e nígbàyí, gbìyànjú láti má jé kí wón mu e. O ti dàgbà bàyìí, má gbójúlé enìkankan bí ìdun, sùgbón wá tie sí iwájú.'

'Don't disgrace yourself this time. And try not to get caught. You're of age now, stop being a parasite and get your own.'

Parasite. He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. How the sharp cries of our— his— victims made my stomach churn. He wouldn't understand how I took pity on Bisola because she begged me to spare her life. 

He couldn't understand why I let her go, knowing fully well she'd tell the villagers that we were vampires, and they'd come for our hearts. Vampires. Èmí mùjè mùjè. Evil bloodsucking creatures.

The forest path was empty. Except for the voice of the wind and the rustle of the leaves, no other noise was heard. I stifled a frustrated groan. I was getting impatient.

 I needed something to make up for the lashing I received from Baba, hours ago. As the whip brutally hit my back, he kept on talking.

'Ademola, we survive. Drop that name, you are not one of them. We feed on them, not have compassion on them.'

Whip! Whip! I let out a pain-induced scream.

'You are fully grown now. Be who you are. Mingling with them won't make you one of them.'

'Tí wón bá mo nkan tí o jé, wón ma gún e ní ogi lókàn - when they realize who you are, they will drive a stake into your heart. So, hunt like the full-grown vampire that you are.'

He dropped the whip and motioned me to stand up. My body felt sore. Baba always called me a weak vampire. 

He always said I was the result of him getting married to a human, and he thought I was going to be like him— strong and bold— and not have the attributes of my mother before she transformed.

 He held my face, and looking at me in the eye, he said

 'Rántí nkan tí wón se fún ìyá re. - Remember what they did to your mother.'

Those words made me almost lose it. The night they came with large torches and that foul-smelling plant. Garlic. When she lunged at them in defense, they drove a wood into her heart. She killed many and shredded them apart. But she expired.

 I could feel anger clawing at my throat, and I dug my fingers into my palm and felt blood trickle.

I was weak, but I needed to do it. Hunt successfully, get my first meal, and not let go of it this time. 

So Baba would not call me a failure, and rip apart the flesh of one of them who killed my mother. So, I waited. Calmly, this time. 

 I heard it. Footsteps. Footsteps and a soulful singing. It was here. I hid better in the bushes and waited. My eyes were fixed on the clear path, and my ears were alert.

 I felt hot blood rush in my ears, and I could almost swear my palms were sweaty. His words reechoed somewhere in the recesses of my mind.

Ademola, don't ruin it this time. You're man enough and you should've done this a long time ago.

Then I saw her. Beautiful, slender maiden. As I looked closely, I noticed her beautiful round eyes and the smile plastered on her lips.

 Even though it was night, her neck was still adorned with beads. It signified royalty or near royalty. I recognized her immediately. Bimbo.

She was the daughter of Afobaje (kingmaker), the man who had led the mob that killed my mother. 

 I needed to act fast. I didn't want to lose her, and neither did I want to be caught. So, I waited patiently. She walked past where I hid.

This was my chance. The full moon didn't give me enough cover, but I did it. I jumped out of the bushes and grabbed her throat. Before she could say a word, my hand had covered her mouth. 

My teeth dug into her neck, and I could feel warm blood spread around my tongue. My body rippled with excitement. Is that what it felt like? 

I dug my teeth deeper and she yelped, then it became faint. Soon, she didn't make a sound anymore. Satisfied with myself, I dug even deeper and savored the rich taste of my victim's blood.

 The thought of bringing something home for Baba made a smile dance around my lips.

I did it, and I didn't have compassion this time. 

My first kill. 

I knew I would brood over what I did later and feel a tinge of guilt, but at that moment, I only wanted to celebrate my little growth. I was officially a grown vampire.

About The Author

Farida Mijindadi is a speculative fiction writer who struggles with deadlines, writer's block and finding the perfect opening line for her stories.

When she isn't complaining about how hard writing is, and promising to never write again— a promise she always breaks after 12 hours, she is hunting for new songs like a mad woman.

You can find her on Facebook @ Medusa.