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A simple mistake and a past that refuses to stay buried. As Ebere’s world collapses under the weight of accusation and memory, his life easily turns to horror; he must face the scars he’d suffered to hide or risk becoming the monster he once feared.

It was the carpet. It came with bad omens camouflaged under irregular beauty, Ebere thought. He was not far from the truth. One with an observant eye would have seen the carpet for what it was, what it had always been, a bringer of ill luck. For starters, that particular carpet was not the one he had originally ordered. He had wanted to replace the blue one with a like-for-like brand, only for the order to arrive, soiled in dirt, opposite of what he had wanted, and torn in more places than one. The delivery man had apologized profusely, that he had fallen into a one of the potholes of Abakpa on his way to Ebere’s house, and the package had been tangled underneath the rear fender, causing it to tear. Ebere initially accepted his apology, of course he could wash and dry the carpet and seal the torn parts with sellotape, it was not the biker’s fault that the government would do everything to not fix the damaged roads, only for him to unfold the carpet and realize it was not in any way close to what he had ordered.

“What the fuck is this?” He raged. The carpet was a plain red background, with blue roses evenly printed on it. The biker had stood there, looking at him as though any of it was his fault. It was not, and Ebere knew that. He was thinking of sending the carpet back and asking for a refund, when his neighbor Charles walked past and said,

“Ah, Ebere, you bought a new carpet?” Ebere didn’t answer. “Wow, it’s beautiful, blue roses and red background.”

“Thank you.” Ebere said, and Charles walked away. That compliment was what changed everything. Ebere saw then, the beauty of it. In the fact that the roses weren’t red and that they were on red background, instead of the other way round. The fact the it didn’t match what conventional aesthetics should look like. He liked it. He had then paid the Biker and instantly taken the carpet to the bathroom and scrubbed it clean. That evening, as he was taking it back inside after it had dried, a hole in the carpet trapped it into the door knob --- the broken door knob that Ebere had promised himself time and again that he was going to replace but never did --- and sent a long krraaaaaahhhh into the carpet, shredding it in two. Ebere screamed. He had to improvise the decoration again by hiding the torn part of the carpet under the sofa so that the good part was the only one visible. That night, as he was ironing his clothes in preparation for church the next day, the iron had somehow slipped from his hold and fell onto the new carpet, searing into it like a hungry tiger. Before he could pick it up, the damage was done. It reminded him of that one incident when he was five, and Mummy was ironing clothes in the dinning room while arguing with Daddy. The argument had escalated and Daddy started to beat her up. Ebere, having sensed that Mummy was overpowered as she lay on a helpless heap on the floor, had grabbed the hot iron in fear, rushed at Daddy and dabbed the iron fiercely at his buttocks. Daddy had let out a cry, although the iron hardly burned into his jeans; but in furry, he grabbed the iron from Ebere and pressed it against the boy’s back. Ebere’s piercing cry as the hot metal singed his naked skin was what woke Mummy from her haze. The fight ended. Ebere’s back permanently damaged.

The day after he bought the carpet, he had an accident on his way back from church. Luckily, he escaped with only scratches and wounds; But it hit him now, that everything that had happened, that was happening, they all started with that carpet. And now, barely a week later, he was fired from work. Technically, it was a suspension, “Pending further investigations” Mrs. Eunice had said. But how does one come back from a sexual assault allegation? Especially in a firm where the HR was a woman?  What the hell did he do to deserve all these? He recalled everything. He may have been drunk that Saturday night but he recalled everything. They had left the club, he and Oluchi, tugging playfully at each other’s clothes. He wanted her. And she wanted him too. They both knew that. And they had begun to kiss as soon as they got to his home. He remembered vividly, when they had collapsed excitedly on the carpet, urgency taking charge over their senses. He remembered vividly, Oluchi whispering into his ear,

“Are you sure you want this?” and he had whispered back, “You have no idea” and torn into her. His tongue like a sponge to a plate, wiping down her neck, onto her breasts, her belly, her panties. He remembered her grabbing onto his hand then, mourning his name softly, “Oh Ebere.” It was one of the rare times someone, anyone, had called his name with that much passion. It was very unlike the angry tone his Daddy’s tongue always layered against his name whenever he used it. “Ebere!” like he hated the very sight of him. Like he hated the very idea of his name; of mercy. And after all that, how Oluchi could frame him for rape was beyond him, never mind the why. He didn’t see her that morning, she’d made sure of that. Now, as he lay on the carpet, the reality hit him in spells. And hard too. It was the carpet’s fault. It had brought strange tidings into his home and he had to root it out before it ruined him. Only then would he find a way to handle the accusation. Just as he stood up to remove the carpet and burn it, a knock came on the door.

He paused for a second before he moved. The clock ticked 6pm, and he was not expecting any visitors, so his hesitation was understandable. Kon kon kon, came the gentle knock again, prompting Ebere to the door. There, standing in front of his apartment, was Oluchi. Oluchi. Oluchi who had just falsely accused him of sexual assault and hid herself from him. The one with whom he had that beautiful sex two days ago. Oluchi the one who just got him suspended; the one who was going to ruin his life and career for no just reasons. She is dressed in blue gown with a red overlay, red belt, and red shoes; reminding him of something. They both stood there for what seemed like an eternity. Him, staring at her with undiluted hate, she, staring back into his face with an unapologetic resolve. She was the first to move by clearing her throat.

“Can we talk?” She asked.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He half-yelled. He tried to imagine what he looked like from her own point of view; to see if he looked scary and intimidating enough, but no images formed in his head. His mind’s eye already coated with the very fabric of rage.

“Can we talk?” she said again. He finally made himself slimmer, so that she walked past him. His eyes following her shoes as they pierced into the blue roses in the carpet. She stood right in front of the television, facing him. He was not going to ask her to sit down. She did not look like she needed that. “I have come so we can speak like adults, so that…”

“What? You didn’t think we could have done that before you did what you did? Do you know what you have done to me? The label you have put on my name? You didn’t think we were adults who could…”

“Oh please, the only person here who anything has been done to here is ME! You raped me Ebere, don’t deny it!!”

“What?!”

“I'm here because I need closure; because I think it will help me get behind this.” She began to sob. “I just… I just need you to admit what you did and apologize so I can get on with my life!”

“What in the bloody hell are you even talking about?”

“You know clearly what I’m talking about!” She cried.

“I know we had sex! It’s what consenting adults do!” He had to calm himself down before he would catapult through the roof. “It’s what consenting adults do, no big deal.” He said. Oluchi stopped crying.

“You forced yourself into me, Ebere. That is not what consenting adults do! Just admit it!”

“What?!”

“Just apologize for what you did!”

“I didn’t do anything. You enjoyed it more than I did, and the fact that you even have the nerves to come here, is… well…” He took a long deep breath. He had never been in this kind of situation since he became an adult. He had managed to put all the traumas of his childhood, of Daddy’s fist inside him, of the hate of the girls, of never belonging, behind him just to get tangled in this mess. He had done a lot of things in his life but he never raped anyone. Never. He was sure of that. “You could have said no but you never did!”

“I said no!”

“What?!” He was flabbergasted again.

“I said no several times! But you kept forcing your dick at me. Into me! A doctor will confirm this!” she yelled, tears streaming down her face. Ebere had to catch a hold of himself as he slumped into a chair. It was not the fact that she was crying, or that she had used the words forcing your dick at me, into me, (words he never thought he would hear) it was the fact that now that they were together, and she was saying no, it sounded like something she had said to him before. It sounded like an echo from a past; their past. There were images forming in his head now. Images that looked like him pinning Oluchi onto the carpet with his left hand while yanking her pant out with his right. Of urgently scrambling down her waist as his dick yearned and searched for the destination, and the trill that followed. Of a muffled “No Ebere” with his hand now firmly on her lips, instead of the “Oh Ebere” that had been so sweet to his ears. Images, of him cumming all over the carpet and wiping his dick with his trousers as Oluchi lay there in pains, weeping profusely; her womanhood pried from her. No, he said within himself, It’s not possible.

It was not possible, that Oluchi would be there asking him to apologize if he really did that to her. Unless she was the most graceful woman on all of earth, she could not be there. Ebere felt himself drowning in dryness. Like that moment in the water tank when he was 9. When Mummy Chika had pleaded with him to help wash her water tank because a rat had died inside. Ebere and Chika had rolled the empty tank to the overhead tap at the back of the compound, and he had climbed in into it to wash it, when his Daddy returned. He heard from the distance, as his name was being yelled like a curse. It was then he recalled that his family were still at loggerheads with Mummy Chika’s and he scurried to hide in the edge of the tank. Daddy had walked over, taken one look at Chika and walked to the tap. Of course he had known Ebere was there, that was the only reason he switched on the tap, and stood there as water filled the tank to the brim. Ebere, out of fear of being caught, had held his nose with two fingers to sustain oxygen. But after a few minutes, he was being pulled out of the tank by his wet trousers. He was not breathing.

Now, he was suffocating from the inside out. Praying, wishing, that he had not done what he was thinking.

“Just apologize.” Oluchi said again.

“What difference would it make?” Ebere cried, he still wasn’t sure of himself.

“It will make all the difference in the world.” She said calmly; too calmly. They were friends, Ebere thought. They had been friends for over a year now since she started working at the paper company. They almost always did everything together. There were times he couldn’t help but be grateful for her because it felt like in a world were nobody saw him, she did. It felt like she knew him. All his life, he had always been the anomaly, the red carpet with blue roses, but Oluchi made the world inhabitable for him. Now, he had ruined that friendship, and he could only blame alcohol! “It will mean everything.” Oluchi said.

“I’m sorry.” He finally said. Oluchi nodded apprehensively.

“Thank you.”

Ebere was going to ask what the next step was, and how they would go about cleaning his already marred image, when he realized that Oluchi was already walking towards the door. Something immediately clicked in his head.

“Wait!” he said. Oluchi was caught in a shrill and she froze. “Why are you in such a hurry? Can’t we talk some more?” That was the coolest he could have been in that moment.

“Ebere, please I need to go. I really don’t feel comfortable; I need to lie down.”

“What is in your handbag?”

“What?”

“I said what it is in your handbag?” The tension in the room quadrupled then. Oluchi wanted to speak but only crumbs of words fell from her bony teeth. “I need to see your bag.” Ebere said, walking towards her. There was a momentary hesitation between them, before Oluchi turned and started running towards the door, screaming. Ebere was onto her in a flash, and they both began to tug at the bag until it tore and a cellphone fell out of it. It was faced-up, and it read “Recording 17:45.” They both stared at the phone on the floor, and dashed towards it. Oluchi got to it first, but Ebere kicked her hand out from under her, and as she tried to get up, shoved her with force and slammed her against the door. Oluchi went still. Ebere picked up the phone and pressed play, and it began with footsteps, most probably Ebere’s, followed by the tap on his door. Dread filled him. How the hell? What the hell?! It must have been an eternity that he stood there, listening to the recording, but only when it got to the you kept forcing your dick at me part, did he realize that Oluchi had still not moved. She was frozen at the door, her eyes shut tight, her face emotionless. Then Ebere heard ton ton ton on the carpet. It was coming from Oluchi’s direction. He rushed to the door, and what he saw left his mouth ajar. Oluchi’s head was mangled in the door knob. Oluchi’s blood was what was making the ton ton ton sound on the carpet as it dripped from her head to the floor. Oluchi was dead. For a moment, his spirit seemed to leave his body; he could feel it, almost see it, levitating.

“No no no no no no no no!” He cried, and grabbed her lifeless body. As he pulled her out, pieces of red matter that looked like liquid brains spluttered unto the carpet, redecorating it as it spread. The blue roses grew crimson, then disappeared like they were never there. “No no no no no no!” Ebere kept saying. Confusion raided his mind. Fear took hold of his consciousness. He did not understand, could not understand what just happened. He did not know what to do. First, he paced around. Then he ran to the sink and washed his face. Then he went and sat on the sofa. The TV was still on, but the volume was very low, he picked up the remote and tuned it up. He did not know how to feel, because on the one hand, he didn’t kill her, at least not intentionally. Also, no one could find out about that recording. He told himself how scared he was, of what the police would say if he called them to report that the woman who had accused him that morning accidently died in his apartment in the evening. He told himself that it was this fear that stopped him from calling any authorities. But he was not honest with himself. Because the feeling was so familiar to the one he had after that incident that led to his suspension in secondary school. That time that he and the rest of the boys were making fun of that fat girl with big breasts from SS1A--- Euphemia. They laughed at her height, her weight, and how her breasts were too heavy for her to carry that it made her walk one-sided. Euphemia had ignored the others and turned to Ebere and said,

“If they’re talking, people who get fingered by their Daddy will be talking too?” and everyone fell silent. What Ebere found offensive was the fact that it was such a popular secret that didn’t need saying, yet Euphemia said it. He had clenched his fist with so much anger that when the blow landed on Euphemia’s right breast, it almost burst it open. Euphemia had screamed and collapsed in one swift motion. Yet as everyone had quickly dispersed, as Euphemia’s unconscious body lay there, as the guidance counselor later admonished him that his childhood trauma was the reason his life was different and that he was the only one who could better himself, as he received the news of his suspension, what he felt was not fear, it was relief and satisfaction. The sight of Euphemia’s unconscious body made him feel good, and that was exactly what Oluchi’s made him feel too: Relief. 

It was a different kind of high that he dreaded admitting to himself; but now, he must do something. He had to get rid of the body. Yes, that was what he would do. But how would he do that with prying eyes everywhere? He stood and looked out the window, the compound was busy. Charles and a group of guys were in a corner playing ludo. Ebere wondered if they had seen Oluchi when she arrived. He wondered if it was bike or a cab that had brought her; so he, with his heart hanging by a thread, walked out to make sure the neighbors saw him that night and establish an alibi, and to also check if there was a bike or a cab waiting outside the gate; there were none. When he got back to his apartment, the only thing going through his mind was whether he should dump Oluchi or bury her. If he dumped her and someone found her, they would conclude he had hit her in the head with something. All fingers would point at him considering the situation. He had to make sure that there was no chance of finding her, so he must bury the body. But another issue arose and that was the issue of getting her out of the compound without anyone seeing. A full corpse could easily be recognized, he had to find a way to make sure it did not happen. And now that he had decided he was going to bury her at the cemetery a stone’s throw from the catholic church which was the last place anyone could think of looking, getting her there was the only problem. He took another look at her, her head had exhausted blood and there were just trickles now. He almost slipped on the carpet as he went to pick her up. He changed his mind and dropped her. He was going to use a cooler. Yes, a cooler. That would be the most casual thing. He checked the door to make sure it was locked, then he returned and changed the movie on the television to Able God by Chinko Ekun, leaving the volume at one hundred percent. The song was naturally loud, so the high volume meant that no one could hear anything going on no matter what. Then a knock came on the door. It took him forever to gather himself in one piece, and decide whether to ignore the knock or not; he tiptoed to the door, leaned in and kept his ear to it, his eyes resting on the broken red-stained knob; but the knock persisted: gbim gbim gbim.  Ebere stood there, resolved that the person would leave once they tired, before he heard,

“Brother Ebere, it’s about to rain come and cover your car!!” And the voice and the knocking ended. Ebere heaved a huge sigh but his heart was threatening to beat out of his chest. He did not know which would be worse to deal with, the stigma of rape or the guilty conscience of murder. But he was familiar with sexual abuse, that should help him get through the former; murder though, was a whole different territory. It was time to act. He ran into the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards until he found a stack of medium-sized coolers in the bottom cabinet. He dragged the two of them out and took them into the sitting room. Now, he must fetch something sharp so he ran back into the kitchen, nothing. He ran to the store, there were hammers, chisels, and a whole lot other manual tools but none that he needed. He decided he was going to use the cutlass he saw in the cupboard earlier, that should do it. Just as he stepped into the sitting room, the cloud tore open and it began to pour in torrents. Perfect.

First, he undressed the body, and as he did, he remembered what used to be there. The living beauties that used to be Oluchi’s breasts, the vibrant figure, the full lips, all now replaced by something he could not recognize. He did not have the time dwell on the tragedy before him before he stretched forth her arm and began to slice at it with the sharp cutlass. But no one told him how strong the human flesh was, never mind the bone, and the more he attempted to severe it, the more the inner skin refused to pare, instead, it was just blood spilling onto the carpet relentlessly. He decided he was not going to pay attention to the blood, after all, he would still dispose them later. It was the sound of the rain mixed with insufficient funds and the cutlass landing on flesh and bones and water and blood, that formed Ebere’s next full hour and more. Even after he was done, he did not feel tired; he did not sit to watch the parts that used to be Oluchi littered around the room; he did not stop the head as it rolled across and wedged against one of the speakers. He simply started to pick them, dropping them into the coolers one by one. And when the remnants weren't solid enough to be held, he ran back into the kitchen for a parker; scooping and dropping, scooping and dropping. Until all that was left was blood. Something flashed in his mind the news he had seen the previous week about how a young woman was killed by ritualists; some of her body parts missing and the ones found had been heavily mutilated. He purged the thought off his mind immediately. Now, he was running out into the rain, opening the boots, dumping the coolers and the carpets he already folded and slamming the boot shut again. When he returned inside, he realized how much of a mess his house was; there were blood stains everywhere: on the chairs, the tables, the television, the walls; even as he traced the marks, he found them all over the kitchen cupboards and on his wardrobe doors. He decided he was going to clean them later. He would get new carpets the next day. Now though, he must do what needed to be done: put Oluchi’s body parts out of sight. He did a last survey of the room before he slammed the door shot, praying fervently, that no one would see him driving out of the compound under that rain. But as he drove off seconds later, the entire scenery brought familiar chills over him, and he felt his mind wandering off, terrifyingly, into the distance.

There, he saw Mummy crying with him on her laps. They were driving through the rain and night in Daddy Chika’s car, and Mummy’s tears kept dropping unto Ebere’s face. He recalled the tears being very hot. He recalled Daddy Chika consoling her; asking her to calm down, and to report the matter to the police. His mind wandered farther, and he recalled now, how he was playing with his friend outside that Saturday afternoon. Mummy had gone to the market, and Daddy to his mechanic workshop; but to his surprise, he would hear his name repeatedly from their corridor, and he would wonder why Daddy was back from work so early.

“Ebere!” He called.

“Yes Daddy!” Ebere responded.

“You don baff?!” Ebere wanted to say he would take his bath when he was done playing, but he just said no instead. “Go and do that right now! Shebi I told you to always take your bath before I come back from work?” Ebere scurried to the tap with his bucket and filled it with water, but as he made to carry the water to the back of the house where he always had his bath, he heard his name again. “Ebere!”

“Yes Daddy!”

“Bring the water here, I will bathe you myself!” and the boy obeyed. He carried the water to the bathroom where his father was waiting. Stark naked. Ebere paused when he saw him; he didn’t know whether to turn back or to wait or to go inside. “Bring the water inside naah, what are you waiting for?” again, the boy obeyed. The things that happened inside that bathroom that afternoon, Ebere never found the words to say them to anyone. To say how his father had undressed a ten-year old him and began tugging at his own penis. To say how he had watched his father grew larger and longer until he was pointing right into his face. He never told anyone, how his father had bent him over the bucket of water, and began to reach into him with his fingers. First one, then two, then three; asking the boy if he could tell how many and forcing him to respond “no” each time. Ebere never told anyone, how the pain he felt forced every pore in his eyes close so that he could not shed a tear; how hot shit had jolted from his anus onto his father’s face, yet it wasn’t enough to stop the man. When he was done, he asked the boy to tell no one or else he would die. It was only then he attempted the bathing, while the boy stood there in shock. When Daddy finally left the house again, he went and lay down on the bed. He wished repeatedly that it was all a nightmare; but each time he closed his eyes, he saw, and felt, fingers crawling into his stomach, reaching for his insides; he saw himself bent over the bucket of water, his father’s huge figure looming over him.

And Ebere cried.

He stayed that way until his mother returned in the evening. He didn’t need to tell her anything, because she had taken just one look at him and Ebere could tell she knew. She ran off to call Daddy Chika and they had both taken him to the hospital as it rained. There were times when Ebere wondered why after everything Daddy did to him -- and to her – she never left. Why she stayed and cooked for him and washed after him and loved him. Why she used to visit him at his workshop as if to fend off the rumors that she wasn’t happily married to her husband. Why she cried when one of Daddy’s customers had driven off in his car when Daddy was still underneath the vehicle tightening a screw and got his head squashed into the concrete. A moment that brought Ebere immense joy, although, he wished he was the one who killed the man himself. The questions he had for his mother who played as much part in what he went through, he never asked her. He felt it was enough that the man was gone. He’d felt it was enough, that he was now making it out of the wreck his life had been tangled in.

            When Ebere’s mind returned from its journey, he was now standing right in front of the cemetery. The rain had stopped now, and with his headlights, he spotted a space between two graves and began to dig, alternating between the shovel and the digger. He dug and dug and dug, until he was certain that the hole was enough for the coolers and the carpets. It was while he carried the first cooler to the grave that he heard what sound like approaching footsteps. He paused and listened, nothing. But as soon as he resumed, the sound came again. Shit, he thought. Shit! Shit! He had forgotten that these places had securities; he had forgotten to turn of his headlights as soon as the rain stopped. His mind raced, his chest heaved; he must act fast. he hurriedly carried the cooler back into the boot; he had to go back home and find another way; and if anyone tried to stop him on the road, he would ram into them with his car.