In a remote village, nestled between mist-covered mountains and ancient forests steeped in
mystery, lived Kaidjo, an old sorcerer whose powers defied understanding. Rumor had it that Kaidjo knew the secrets of souls and conversed with spirits no one dared to name. His home, built at the heart of the
village, was both a sanctuary and an enigma. Villagers whispered of strange shadows dancing
around his walls at night and murmurs rising from the ground itself.
Each night, as the villagers locked themselves in their homes, terrified by the eerie sounds of the
forest, Kaidjo would begin a forbidden ritual. He would leave his body behind, an inert human shell, and his spirit would possess an owl with piercing eyes-an owl he had tamed as a child. The owl, in African
tradition, was no mere bird: it was a portal between worlds.
That night, the sky was heavy and foreboding, as if the stars themselves sensed impending doom.
Kaidjo sat in his room, surrounded by flickering candles. He chanted in a guttural voice, an ancient melody that grated against the air. Shadows twisted grotesquely in the room as a chilling energy filled the space.
Suddenly, his body slumped like a discarded puppet. Kaidjo’s spirit drifted across the room in a
cloud of dark smoke and slipped into the glowing eyes of the owl. The bird let out a haunting cry that echoed through the night, sending shivers through the trees.
Kaidjo had a mission.
His clan-an ancient circle of sorcerers dedicated to protecting the village-had uncovered a plot by a
rival assembly, cruel sorcerers who had made pacts with dark forces. Their enemies were preparing a
ritual to
destroy the village’s spiritual defenses. Kaidjo had to act before it was too late.
As he flew through the night, a growing unease crept over him. The stars he used as guides
seemed to flicker and vanish one by one. A cold wind whipped at the owl’s wings, carrying indistinct whispers, like voices from the afterlife. The air grew heavier, and a black mist rose from the ground below.
He finally reached the rival assembly’s camp. What he saw froze him to his core: hooded figures
gathered around a fire, chanting incantations in an ancient, incomprehensible language. At the center of the circle, a formless creature twisted and grew-a shadowy entity emitting a low, incessant hum.
Kaidjo knew he had arrived at a critical moment. He unleashed a powerful incantation, sending a
shockwave that staggered the rival sorcerers. But they retaliated immediately, and a mystical battle erupted. Bolts of red and green light tore through the darkness, illuminating the forest in bursts.
The owl, carrying Kaidjo’s spirit, darted through the air to avoid an attack but was struck by a dark
energy blast.
The bird let out a piercing screech and fell, its wings broken. Kaidjo, feeling the pain of his
fragmented spirit, managed to escape just in time, dragging his wounded essence through the spiritual dimensions.
He found refuge in a massive iroko tree, a sacred giant at the edge of the village. The tree seemed
to embrace him, its branches forming a protective cage. But Kaidjo knew he couldn’t stay there forever. His spirit was tethered to his body, and every moment spent away from it pushed him further from the world of the living.
Meanwhile, back in the village, things took a tragic turn. Days passed without any sign of Kaidjo. His
neighbors, worried, decided to break down his door. What they found terrified them: Kaidjo’s body, cold and rigid, looked like a corpse. The village elders concluded he had died under mysterious circumstances, likely tied to his forbidden practices.
The funeral preparations were swift. A grave was dug beneath a grand baobab tree, and Kaidjo’s
body was laid to rest with all the customary honors.
When Kaidjo finally emerged from his stupor in the sacred iroko, he knew something was wrong. He
flew with all his remaining strength back to the village, only to find he was too late. He saw the still-warm ashes of the funeral rites and the freshly turned earth over his grave.
Panic seized him. He tried to enter the ground, to reconnect with his body, but an invisible force
repelled him. His connection to the world of the living had been severed.
Kaidjo was doomed to wander.
The owl, bound to his soul, circled his grave, releasing a mournful cry that shook the surrounding
trees. The villagers, awakened in the dead of night by the spectral wail, peered nervously from their windows. The owl continued to circle the cemetery, its eyes glowing with an unnatural light.
Since that day, the villagers speak of a mysterious owl that haunts their cemetery each night, its
cries chilling the blood of anyone who hears them. Some say it watches over the village, fulfilling Kaidjo’s old missions.
Others whisper that it searches for a way back to its body. And in the great iroko, if you listen closely, you can sometimes hear a deep voice chanting incantations-a lost soul’s song, suspended between two worlds.

Tony Hemrix