forest road, milimani

“As a rule, men worry more about what they can’t see than about what they can.”

Julius Caesar.

***

Guest One: Abdul - Sin of Wrath and Martin’s Best Friend.

Abdul clanked his driver’s seat up and bolted himself upright. He stared at the windscreen, unmoved by the swish swash of wipers that kept the August rain away. The radio played in the background, a soulful jazz instrumental befitting the lonely time of night. The car windows were covered with a fine sheet of mist, screening him from the outside. He took in a lungful of the recycled air, graced by the sweet smell of corn on the pizza he had bought.

“This is ridiculous!” He screamed as he banged the steering wheel.

“Oh God, I can’t do this.” He said placing his head on the centre of the wheel, sounding off a long dragging horn blast.

He reached for the ignition key but just as he was about to turn the car on, he heard a firm tap on the window.

“Everything alright sir?” the security guard said although muffled by the rain. Abdul reached to roll down the window, but his fingers were shaking and he opened the door instead.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Abdul said as he walked out of the car, “I was just loving the music.”

But Abdul's face betrayed him. Sweat was dripping down his neck. He had loosened his tie and hadn’t looked at the guard once. Instead, his eyes danced around while his mouth twitched sporadically. He brushed past the guard with his eyes fixed on the hospital's rain-soaked parking lot.

“Sir,” Abdul turned around - his face contouring in discomfort, “you haven’t shut the door.”

He fumbled through his pockets, placing the bouquet of flowers he had brought for his best friend between his legs. He then remotely locked the car and then threw the keys back into his coat’s pocket. With his feet still caught beneath him, he stumbled his big frame towards the reception.

This was no ordinary hospital visit.

The box of Boerewors pizza he carried on the other hand was a mere distraction, a ruse to conceal his true intentions. Because inside it, was a loaded gun. Carried with the sadistic intention to finish what he started.

***

Martin was sitting at his desk, staring at the endless stream of paperwork before him when he felt a tightness in his chest, a discomfort that felt like strings tightening on a guitar. He tried to ignore it, but the feeling only grew stronger. So he slapped his chest with heavy targeted blows, but that only made his heart pound faster and faster. He tried to stand up, but his legs snapped him back to his seat. His hands trembled as his body was shutting down. So as a “Hail Mary”, he clutched to the cord of the office’s landline phone but his strength had been rinsed like a waiter’s tablecloth.

His co-workers rushed over, concern etched on their faces. Even the stoic ones covered their mouths to stifle the horror. Already, one of them had called for an ambulance, but Martin feared it was too late. He could feel the life draining out of him, his vision growing dimmer like a lantern running out of fuel.

His eyes shut much like a slow camera shutter lens and when they opened, he saw tubes of light racing past him. He was on a stretcher being rushed to ER. The nurses surrounding him in their teal scrubs spoke gibberish through their layers of masks.

Then his eyes shut again.

"Clear!" shouted one of the nurses as she pulled the defibrillator paddles from the wall. She placed them on Martin's chest, and the machine whirred to life. "Charging to 360!" she called out.

"Come on, come on," muttered the lead doctor as he leaned over the patient.

The nurse pressed the paddles to Martin's chest, sending waves of electricity through him arching his body off the bed.

"Clear!" she shouted again, her voice cracking.

"Again!"

The nurse shocked him once more, but still, there was no pulse.

"We need to intubate, now!"

The nurse grabbed a tube and jammed it down Martin's throat as the doctor began chest compressions.

"Give me something, Martin, hold on,"

The monitor flatlined, and the room fell silent except for the sound of the machine pumping air into Martin's lungs. The doctor and nurse exchanged worried glances.

"Wait, I've got a pulse!" the monitor beeped, and Martin's chest rose and fell with the mechanical ventilation.

"Thank God," the doctor breathed. "Let's get him to the ICU. We'll need to keep a close eye on him."

***

As he approached the front desk, Abdul could see the nurse's expression change from one of polite curiosity to one of shock.

“Mr Abdul!” she said, shooting up as she straightened her dress.

"I'm here to see Martin," he said, his voice cold and steady. "I have some business with him."

The nurse hesitated. Abdul looked like he’d been dragged from a trench. His eyes looked dazed and dry like a raisin. Not wishing to add more to his problems, she conceded, "As you wish sir," she said, "Martin is down the hallway, on the private wing."

Abdul walked through the hospital's white-tiled corridors, his soul burning with rage and determination. He clutched the box so tight, the carton crumpled onto each other, forming the ridge shape of fingers. The sorry bouquet lost hundreds of its petals leaving a trail behind.

He had to end his best friend’s life.

As he approached the ICU where Martin had been recuperating, he steadied his pacing heart. The box was practically shaking in his palm. He flung the flowers to the floor, fished the gun out of the box, tossed the pizza away, and with the muzzle, he gently pushed open the door.

A curtain covered the bed, sparing the blushes of his target. The room was quiet save for the odd beeping of the monitors. Abdul felt the gun once more, pointed it straight at the edge of the curtain and grabbed it with his left hand.

“Steady does it…” he whispered and tore the curtain open, aiming the gun at the bed, with his finger firmly on the trigger.

Empty.

The bed was made, and there was no sign of Martin.

Abdul's heart sank.

The rage that had consumed him came out as a roar of agony.

“Curse you, Martin!”

A note on the bedside read:

"Sorry, old friend. I couldn't let you do this. I hope someday you will understand that I had nothing to do with it."

Abdul felt a torrential downpour of emotion. Anger, sadness, regret, fear and loss had lodged deep into his being. His legs surrendered him to the ground.

He didn't know that he was a man filled with such anger. A man-beast with a hellish wrath roasted from the fieriest corners of hell. He had come to kill Martin to make him pay for what he had done, but the only dead thing was his soul.

He sat propped up at the foot of the bed and mulled over the failed murder attempt. While staring at the white fluorescent tubes, he recollected fond memories of a childhood that seemed too far gone.

Then he remembered checking his bank account on his phone and the feeling of not believing what he was seeing, or rather, not seeing. That moment of heart-sinking realization that all of his money was gone, every last cent. Taken from him by the man he trusted most.

Abdul clenched his fist as he remembered walking back to his daughter’s nurse right after;

"What's wrong?" she asked after sensing his distress.

"My money," Abdul stammered. "It's all gone. I can't pay for my daughter's surgery."

The nurse who wore a mournful gaze, as if pitying Abdul, was able to express sympathy. "I'm so sorry," she said. "We'll do everything we can to help, but without payment, we may not be able to give her the best care."

Abdul felt a sense of despair wash over him as he recalled the gravity of the situation. How when he had dialled Martin's number, he was answered on the first ring, with;

"I'm sorry about your daughter, my brother," his voice cold and emotionless. "I pray she gets better, but I can't explain your missing money and I can't... "

Martin had stolen from him, robbing him of everything he had worked for, everything they had built together.

He felt helpless and alone, like a seal on a floating block of ice on the harsh winters of the Arctics.

Abdul wailed as he remembered when the nurse came and said,

"Time of death 11:57 am. I am so sorry sir, we did everything we could."

This is what sparked his anger. The gut-wrenching realization that his daughter had died because of Martin's treachery.

He knew that he would never be able to forgive him for what he had done. He would stop at nothing to make the bastard pay for his sins. He would uncover the truth, no matter the cost, and make him suffer as he had suffered.

Life, as philosophers have always debated, becomes fulfilling when there is a purpose to it.

Abdul thought of his own life’s purpose as a cockroach in a mansion - always present, but disgustingly so. He was a dog in a market, a marker of nuisance and dismay.

“How could I have been so stupid!” he said in a soft whisper, only heard by the walls of the hospital he built.

“I will finish off what I started; whether in this life or the next.”

He then shut his eyes and placed the icy tip of his gun into his mouth, resting it on his drying tongue.

Bam!

 “I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong… but time and chance happeneth to them all.”

King Solomon in Ecclesiastes.

***

Guest Two: Melissa - Sin of Envy and Martin’s Girlfriend

Melissa, the daughter of a French businessman Jean Pierre and a Mauritian woman Louis Marie, was seated at the kitchen counter. She had been going through Martin’s drawers in his house and was wearing some of the jewellery she found in his room. Darkness had masked the world outside and the house was lit with the side bulbs. Still, she conserved the resources she found - her upbringing had been robbed of the luxury of wasting utilities.

As she toyed with the knife on the counter, the moonlight streaming through the window, Melissa smiled at the thoughts that occupied her troubled mind. These weren’t the kind to tell children at their bedside before sleeping.

Her parents used to be wealthy, loving and caring. They kept her happy and cared for until the night they were in a severe car accident and were denied coverage by Martin's inherited insurance company due to a technicality. The financial burden of her parents’ medical expenses caused her to use up all their accrued resources, causing the family to fall into debt and lose their home.

Later, she became obsessed with Martin. The hot-shot savvy billionaire businessman who took over a legacy in their family insurance business. Although they shared the same age and had similar starting points, because of her parents’ death, he lived out the life she was owed. And that boiled up an envious fixation on him.

Envy of the other women who had caught Martin's eye, envious of the life and luxuries he had that she could only dream of. Each passing second with him was like a spark flickering in a gas tank, threatening to blow everything around her. The seeds of envy were planted deep within her and had been nurtured and grown. They now choked her existence like tendrils rising from the earth.

This desire for revenge for the role his company played in her family's misfortune was begging to be quenched and the upcoming reunion party presented the perfect opportunity to put her plans into action finally.

Reunions, especially the ones requiring exclusive invitations, were difficult to organize because they often meant someone missed out. Melissa, however, had no such challenge - everyone was chosen on explicit criteria.

They had to have a reason to want Martin dead.

She had started with 14 possible invitees, but through a process of elimination, she had narrowed it down to just 7.

“We interrupt normal broadcasting to bring you some breaking news. Successful businessman Mr Abdul Al-Ahab has died. He sustained serious injuries that are believed to have been self-inflicted. More at the top of the hour…”

As she heard the news of Abdul's death, Melissa felt a pang of sadness and loss. He had been a beautiful soul. But she had been affirmed that his death made her plan all the more urgent. Time was of the essence. Like a domino, the first piece had fallen and soon everyone else will begin to crack under the pressure. She knew that she had to act fast to make sure that Martin paid for what he had done. She felt a sense of determination and resolve as she set about finalizing her plan for revenge. Abdul’s death had become a crucial part of it, and she would make sure that his sacrifice would not be in vain.

Melissa looked at her list and crossed him off. The bearer of wrath.

The seven invitees were now six.

***

Martin drove into the neo-suburban neighbourhood that is Milimani, Nakuru. Neighbourhoods that raised beautiful mansions with cute lawns and towering walls. Areas that are often quiet, save for the rumbling of lawnmowers and hedge trimmers. Milimani was especially silent - almost like a muffler had been placed over your ears. The car’s engine hummed through the noiseless air winding.

Melissa sat beside him, unruffled, unimpressed, and emotionless.

As they turned onto Forest Road, a deserted dead-end that led deep into the forest, the air grew colder and the landscape more foreboding. The steep, labouring road was littered with shallow trenches, and the grass and weeds seemed to be locked in a battle for dominance. At the end of the road stood house number 3, their destination.

And as they approached, the black gate rolled open without warning, as if beckoning them in.

Perched on the tall cedar trees that lined the driveway was a mob of black crows, silent and watchful. None of them moved or cawed. On the lawn, a pet tortoise lay hidden inside its shell. In the wooden kennel at the top of the compound, a grey dog with a black line running along its belly faced the wall, unresponsive and uninterested in the visitors. In the chicken pen, a python had made its home, the long-dead chickens that once lived there were now nothing more than a memory.

The birds that flew above had nested. The wind blew through the forest slowly swaying the leaves; the branches cracking along as if whispering. Hours and hours of a mournful fog had made the soil soft and left grass covered in dew. The sun was sheathed behind clouds, the air was cold and crisp and the stage was set.

Although the house was sparingly used, there lived a full-time housekeeper who Martin had hired. She had left a note;

“I wiped and wept, cleaned and cried,

I sang and slept, danced and lied,

I walked and ran, and stood ‘til sore,

I did everything and nothing more.”

The couple immediately headed for the bedroom.

The safe fixed into the wall of his bedroom was a monolith of cold, impenetrable steel, its surface gleaming dully in the dim light that helplessly shone on it. The manual dial lock, with its intricately etched numbers, seemed to mock Martin as he stood before it, his heart pounding with excitement. Inside the safe lay a small, ruby-red box, its surface smooth and polished to a high sheen. The Black Bess, a 3-carat $9,000 black diamond ring, lay nestled within the velvet lining of the box, its dark facets glinting like the eyes of some malevolent beast. Martin's obsession with this ring was all-consuming, and as he gazed upon it, he felt a sense of triumph and accomplishment wash over him, knowing that it was for his bride-to-be, Melissa.

“I’ll have a shower,” Melissa said as she took off her clothes.

Her clothes were fallen on her feet, and her back turned to Martin, as she reached for the cream-coloured towels that had been rolled on the edge of the bed. He gave her some privacy, left the room, and headed for the balcony.

The door shut behind him and soon after, he heard the growl of the shower’s heater mixed with the white noise of water jetting out of a shower head’s pores.

Leaning over the balcony edge, Martin gazed out into the hazy abyss of the foggy evening. The ghostly mists obscured his vision, so his focus was drawn to the imposing granite table beside him. There was a bust of Julius Caesar’s head on top – it wore a crimson bandage across its eyes as if wounded in some ancient battle. The rest of the sculpture was ashen, like the remnants of a long-forgotten memory.

“Interesting.”

Martin heard the shower turned off and a door open.

“Done already babe?” he asked, but she didn't respond.

As he walked back towards her, he noticed a distant look in her eyes, as she sat on the edge of their bed. "Well, that was a quick shower!" he said, teasing her as he began to undress.

"What are you talking about Marty? I've been on my phone," Melissa sighed her voice heavy with exhaustion.

Martin shook his head, dismissing the odd moment. "I swear...I heard...Must be the fatigue from the trip," he said, walking towards Melissa, cupping her face in his hands and placing soft kisses on her lips.

"Tonight is all about you, baby," he murmured, before pulling away and heading to the shower.

But Melissa tugged at the sash of his robe, pulling him towards her, her fingers caressing his back as she pulled him closer.

She held him, her fingers slowly running along his neck and back, and pulled his face in. He held onto her; his hand grabbing onto the curve of her behind and pulling her body in. She lay flat and looked into his eyes; never moving from them. He planked himself over her, his eyes darting across her body never settling on a part. From her brows to her hips, up to her lips, down to her belly then back up again. She was calm, he was breathing hard. She had her mouth slightly parted – soft from her lip balm. He was wide-mouthed - dry from all the heavy breathing.

So she slowly moved up, and he responded by lowering himself in. She rocked forth, he rocked back. She turned her head to the side, he turned it back onto him. He whispered questions softly; she answered loudly. She sang in beautiful crescendo while he roared back in unsoundly grunts and chokes. The dance peaked, the music got to its chorus, and the play hit its climax. Melissa, the audience, applauded and complimented him. Martin, the performer, proudly bowed but was exhausted. She stood to shower, he lay down to nap.

Outside, the dreary day had given way to dusk. As the sun set and the shadows grew longer, the atmosphere outside the house took on a sinister quality. The crows that had perched in the cedar trees now circled the house, their caws filling the air with an eerie cacophony. The pet tortoise lay motionless, its fate uncertain, perhaps the old being had moved its last. The dog, once unresponsive, now dug frantically at the ground near the walls, her howls of distress echoing through the stillness. No longer did the shadowy corners of the pen host its murderous inhabitant. The python, its hunger not yet satiated, slithered out of the shadows in search of its next victim. The darkness had come alive.

The sitting room lights were switched on to reveal a room enveloped in a warm, amber glow. The floorboards, made of rich, dark mahogany, were adorned with a plush, emerald carpet, intricately woven with a Persian pattern. Against the walls, were olive-coloured couches, their plush cushions inviting one to sink into them. Heavy, cream-hued curtains, detailed with delicate floral embroidery, draped the windows, filtering the hellish outside from the heavenly inside.

But the true centrepiece of the room was the painting that hung above the fireplace. A masterpiece of Hieronyticus, it depicted the "Last Garden of Eden" in breathtaking detail, each brushstroke imbued with a sense of foreboding for a world doused in sin. The colours were rich and vivid, the composition masterful, drawing the viewer in and holding them captive in its spellbinding beauty. Even the least cultured amongst us would be mesmerized, lost, and absorbed in the wonder of it all.

It portrayed each sin as a figure. Twisted and contorted in agony, their faces painted in a grotesque representation of their evil.

Gluttony was represented by a bloated man, devouring a feast with ravenous hunger.

Envy was represented with eyes sewn open, forever cursed to see the joys of others but never to experience them.

Lust was represented as a voluptuous woman, her eyes glazed over with desire as she reaches out for a man clearly unable to resist her charms.

Wrath was shown as a warrior, arrows sticking from his chest, lifting a sword in ironic victory.

Greed was depicted as a man drowning in a well, clutching to his bag of gold, refusing to climb up with the rope.

Sloth was represented as a man on a tree, asleep as the tree itself engulfed in flames.

Pride was a figure standing tall, his head held high, his eyes filled with arrogance as a beggar kissed his feet.

A beautiful nightmare.

Right at the heart of the room was the piece de resistance; a grand, round table. Crafted onto the table itself, a gleaming golden plate, upon which was mounted a menacing sawed-off single-barreled shotgun, firmly bolted in place. The table had been outfitted with a mechanism that allowed it to rotate in any direction, emitting a resounding clunk with each movement. The weapon had been loaded by Melissa; a slug meant for the host.

Martin walked into the living room full of anticipation. Melissa was going to surprise him with the invitees.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Martin whispered to Melissa’s ears.

His lips parted as he tried to maintain his breath. Melissa had pulled his pants before him. The room was frigid, the air so silent and heavy, not a word could escape the charming Martin. The mansion that covered acreage fit to occupy entire slums had collapsed into a claustrophobic nightmare. Martin couldn’t have orchestrated a worse series of events and he’d done his fair share of dastardly acts.

There was his favourite colleague, his doting sister-in-law, his ambitious nephew, his only neighbour and Louiza his lover.

Just the five people who had every reason imaginable to want him dead.

Guest Number Three: Louiza - The sin of Lust and Martin’s lover.

Martin had always been a charmer, and that was evident when he met Louiza at a business conference. She was young and ambitious. They spent the entire conference talking and laughing together, and by the end of their closing party, the two would have shared a bed together, drunk on the spoils of wine.

Over the next few months, Martin and Louiza spent all their free time together. They would sneak away to fancy hotels, go on secret trips and indulge in their wildest desires. The two would sit in their cars and talk for hours.

Martin had never felt so alive.

She loved the way Martin always let loose on her. He spent money and that was always a plus - but she was actually madly obsessed with him. She had given Martin her heart and soul.

But then she came to find out about Melissa.

Her obsession turned her into a stalker who observed Melissa’s patterns. Absorbed herself into her routine and showed up to yoga with her.

Melissa could immediately tell Louiza had something to do with Martin. She wore her perfume, spoke of places Martin loved, and she looked a lot like herself.

Martin didn’t even break up with Louiza. He just stopped talking to her one day and moved on to the next hot girl he found at some other conference.

When Melissa invited Louiza to the reunion, they both had a moment of femme empowerment. It is as if without directly saying it they had said,

“Let’s bring him down.”

***

“I must be careful,” Martin thought to himself and prayed that Louiza was thinking the same thing.

The air in the room was thick with a foreboding sense of dread as if a dark force were lurking just out of sight. Martin embraced each guest with a rehearsed fondness. Some were old friends, others his own kin. But they responded with a coldness not expected from such familiarity. Every smile and chuckle from them seemed to echo with hollowed intent, and a rash of goosebumps broke out on Martin's skin as he wondered what kept him uneasy, surrounded by an instinctive terror that threatened to consume him.

And as dinner was served, every guest stood around the dinner table with distant eyes. It was as if their bodies were present, but their minds were adrift in another world. Martin's heart was pounding in his chest as scanned the room. He could not understand where the fear was coming from. The house was like an old soul, smelling of wood that had soaked in hundreds of years of memories. But the air that circulated within was filled with dread.

His palms were slick with sweat and he fidgeted nervously in his seat, dropping the cutlery on each other, silencing the conversations happening around him. Conversations that he was not a part of, and when he did interrupt, everyone turned toward him with scornful eyes. It was as if he had committed a far more unforgivable act.

He kept glancing around the room, studying the faces of his guests, trying to discern if any of them were hiding something, or would hint at what he was missing. He was searching for warm eyes to lock onto his but none seemed to last. They kept laughing and chatting with each other as if nothing was wrong.

As the meal progressed, Martin's already fragile heart threatened to fail him as it had done before. He couldn't take it anymore, he had to change the scenery and calm himself. Excusing himself, he stood up and made his way to the kitchen, his heart racing with fear and his feet shuffling on the polished floorboards.

He reached for the glass of water on the counter, but his hand was shaking so badly that he couldn't get a grip on it. Then he crouched behind the fridge’s door to get some cold drink of any kind. He took short spurts of breath, trying to steady himself and grabbed the top of a soda bottle. As he stood upright and slammed the door, he shrieked upon seeing one of the guests leaning onto the frame of the fridge with a sly grin on their face…

***

Guest Four: Jack - Sin of Greed and Martin’s Colleague

Martin had always been drawn to the bright, ambitious young man that was Jack. Fresh out of Ivy League, he was brimming with potential, and Martin had taken him under his wing, grooming him for success within the company. But as Jack climbed the corporate ladder, rising quickly through the ranks to become Vice President, the same ambition that had impressed Martin had become something dark.

Once Jack had taken a bite off the apple of wealth, greed consumed him, driving him to exploit the weaknesses of others for his own gain. Jack had become the ultimate shadow in all the senses used to mean evil. He twisted contracts that effectively sold his clients' souls for the sake of a quick profit. It is him that screwed over the clientele that Martin had built and placed a massive bullseye on his boss’s back. And all the while, Martin remained ignorant of the true nature of his protégé, blinded by the impressive numbers he reported.

Indeed, Jack's ambition was insatiable, and his ultimate goal was a hostile takeover of the company. And he knew that the only way to achieve it was to eliminate the one person standing in his way and placing the glass ceiling: Martin. He had first attempted elimination by poisoning his heart but had spectacularly failed and when Melissa invited him, Jack saw his opportunity. He would stop at nothing to claim the power and wealth he desired, even if it meant doing it once more.

***

“Hey boss, cool crib you got here,” Jack said as he shuffled through the cabinets. “Where are the cups?”

“I don’t know, just have this one,” Martin said as he grabbed a cup on top of the counter and threw it.

“You know what? You’re a cool boss. You have always looked out for me. Let me make you a drink, for old times’ sake.” he looked around as if paranoid and then whispered, “You have to be drunk to feel this night,” he laughed as he said it.

Martin just smiled to be polite.

So Martin stood and watched the man in front of him concoct. He saw the man's red-rimmed eyes flicking back and forth as he measured out the vodka and crushed an assortment of pills with a practised hand. He added drops of a clear liquid from a small brown bottle and stirred it all together with a spoon.

Before Martin could get a word out, Jack gestured for him to shush. Then he raised the cup to his lips, taking a sip and wincing as the bitter concoction hit his tongue.

"Here you go," he said, passing the cup to Martin.

Martin hesitated. Still, his anxiety held onto him. He thought of the others in the house, and how they seemed to be enjoying themselves, not caring about anything.

“Maybe I do need to relax huh,”

Because he knew he couldn't back out now. He took the cup from Jack's hand, and the liquid sloshed around. He could feel his VP’s eyes on him, watching him as he brought the cup to his lips. A strong stinging smell of the cocktail of alcohol, pills, and something else, something he couldn't quite place, stung the back of his nose.

So Jack approached Martin, slapped his face with both hands, then pulled him close to his own face and said,

“You will have the night of your life! I swear.”

Then, they hugged.

“I think I need to grab some air,” Martin responded and staggered outside, his stomach had lifted the drink back up his throat and flooded his mouth.

Martin was deep in his thoughts, lost in the darkness of the night. The only sound he could hear was the distant chirping of crickets and a faint rustling of leaves. The air was damp but spoilt by the rancid scent of projectile vomit.

He had been invited to this reunion, hosted by his girlfriend Melissa, but now he was borderline convinced that something was off.

He decided to look through Twitter to distract himself….

Wait!

He had seen something, so he scrolled back up, then back down, then a little up, and finally landed on it. He read @realKori’s tweet;

“I will expose how the death of influential businessman Abdul Al-Ahab, was caused by his best friend and brother. A thread.”

Martin, felt the blood drain from his head. He became woozy and leaned on his own knees. He was cold-sweating and struggled to focus. He pinched the screen and zoomed in to look at the phone once more; then muttered,

“Oh shit.”

He dropped the phone in a moment of pure weakness. Martin heard the rustling again, this time much closer than before. Frantically, he fell to his knees and fumbled his hands through the grass, searching for his phone. The darkness seemed to press in on him like a man suffocating under a blanket.

He felt something brush against his hand, and he recoiled in fear. Was it a snake? A rat? He couldn't tell.

As he stumbled forward, the ground beneath him began to feel softer, more pliant. He could hear the squelching of mud and something else, something that sounded like...slithering. His breath came in ragged gasps. He had to find his phone, he had to find some light.

But as he reached out, something brushed against him. Something cold, tubular, and scaly. He tried to feel around it, it was spherical, like a pipe, no, more like a rope. So he fumbled desperately for his phone.

Just as he was about to give up hope, his fingers brushed against a smooth surface. Relieved, he picked it up and quickly shone the light around him. But he saw nothing but an endless expanse of grass.

With a burst of adrenaline, Martin scrambled to his feet and backpedalled. He didn't dare take his focus from the grass. Then, he heard the rustling sound come alive once more.

He shifted his eyes wildly across the darkness, flinging the torchlight from one end of the lawn to another until he saw a figure in the shadows. At first, he thought it was a lamp post, but as the figure came closer, he realized it was one of his guests. She was tall and slender, her hair cascading down her shoulders in a dark curtain. She wore a long black dress that flowed behind her like a ghostly trail.

Martin’s heart sank. He expected nothing less. And as she reached him, he saw a deep, dark abyss. Her eyes wore a sinister glint in them.

"Martin, I've been looking forward to meeting you alone. You sick, piece of shit!"

“Paula,” Martin said backing away slowly and raising his hands,

“I can explain everything.”

Guest Number Five: Paula - Sin of Pride and Martin’s In-Law

Paula was a radiant woman, with dreadlocks that she had nurtured from her younger years. She was the typical ‘girl next door’, the desire of every lapping dog of a man and a childhood friend of Martin and Abdul.

Martin, the charming and charismatic one, always seemed to have a way with words and would sweep her off her feet. Abdul, on the other hand, was the strong and silent type, who showed his love and devotion through actions rather than words.

Paula couldn't help but feel drawn to him. He was like a breath of fresh air in a world filled with superficiality and materialism. So much so that, Paula chose to marry Abdul and Martin had to be satisfied with playing the role of best man. Martin actually respected it. He paid off their first house and was even their first daughter’s godfather.

She had confidence built within her from years and years of people constantly showering her with compliments. She was the captain of the hockey team, the dancing queen, and the valedictorian of her graduating class.

And what happens to unchecked pride? It turns into her sickening sister - arrogance. When everyone around her was getting richer and richer, she couldn’t help but pile the pressure on Abdul.

"You don’t have the car Martin has. We can’t look poorer." Paula sneered.

"Why is he getting richer and richer and you have the same businesses?" Paula snarled.

But pride, like all sins, is a poison that ultimately leads to destruction. But the bigger pride was of her own status. Who dares to bring down her loving husband and thinks he can walk away with it?

So when Abdul's death was uncovered to be a result of Martin's negligence, Paula had murder on her mind. All that she had been, the perfection she had achieved, was destroyed by someone she couldn't even bring herself to admire.

***

"You killed my husband," Paula spat out, her voice trembling with emotion. "You destroyed my life."

Martin stood frozen.

“Paula, I didn’t do it,” he said, a hint of regret in his voice.

“I have to do this.” She said, holding a knife toward Martin.

She had planned this moment for weeks, the direction she would apply her force, and how to conceal the evidence. She had imagined this confrontation a hundred times in her head, but now that the moment had finally arrived, she felt a sense of hesitation creeping in.

"I should kill you right here and now," Paula continued, her voice growing louder.

Paula's anger flared, and she took a step forward. "You killed my husband, and you will pay for what you've done.”

Martin's expression hardened, and approached her, his hands raised in defence. "I didn't kill anyone," he said, his voice low and trembling. "Someone screwed us. The accounts… both his and mine, were all flushed!"

Paula took another step forward, her anger reaching a boiling point. She could see the fear in his eyes, and she knew that he was just as much a victim as she was. Perhaps even more.

Paula's shoulders slumped, and she lowered her hand. "I can't do this," she whispered. "I can't kill you."

She dropped the knife and fell to her knees sobbing.

“I hate you so much.”

He felt as if the walls were closing in on him and he could feel the weight of Paula's grief upon him. He knew that he had been given a reprieve but he also knew that he could never escape the guilt that consumed him.

Martin relaxed, his expression softening as he saw the restraint. "I'm sorry, I don’t know who can possibly do this to me."

Paula shook her head disparagingly, her anger dissipating as she looked into Martin's eyes. "You are blind. And your blindness to what is around you will bring your downfall. Look around Martin, who are these people in your house?”

The two of them stood there in silence, both consumed by their own thoughts until Martin finally turned to return to the house.

“Oh, and Paula,” Martin said facing away, “there is something out there. Be careful.”

The world had turned against him, they believed he had caused the death of his closest friend. He knew that Abdul had harboured a deep-seated resentment towards him for some time, but he had done everything in his power to avoid confrontation. He couldn't even bring himself to attend his goddaughter's funeral, ashamed of his own cowardice.

He was a coward, afraid of the very friend he had once considered a brother. But, in retrospect, he realized that his trust had been misplaced, and his naivety had led him to the brink of death. He couldn't help but wonder if he had missed something and if there was more to the story. Could it be that Jack, his once-trusted colleague, had played a part in his downfall? He felt a deep sadness and regret for what could have been. He mourned the loss of a friendship that once brought him joy, and longed for the days when things were simpler. He was left with nothing but sorrow and self-doubt.

Who else hated him? What about Melissa, maybe she has her reasons too.

He had hit rock bottom, and he knew it. He had lost everything that mattered, his friend, his god-daughter, his reputation. But he couldn't let himself stay there. There was still room to be better, to make amends for his past mistakes but he didn't know where to start.

He thought back to all the times he had let his ego cloud his judgement and for the next few hours, he had to start by humbling himself and truly listening to others. He knew it wouldn't be easy but he had to try. Something had to change.

As Martin walked back into the kitchen, he was greeted by the curious eyes of his guests. They were all gathered around the table, sipping on their drinks and chatting amongst themselves. But as he entered, the room fell silent and all eyes turned towards him.

He could see the disappointment etched on their faces as if they had been hoping for something to have happened to him out on the lawn. Martin felt it was best for him to go to bed and rest for a little while.

“I think I need to relax baby,” he said to Melissa, who handed over a cup.

“Here, this can help you calm down, my love.”

“I am having a hard time tonight.” He said as he received the cup and then downed it on the way past the living room.

The room began to spin and Martin felt as if he were falling into a never-ending abyss. He could hear the guests whispering and laughing, but their words were garbled and twisted.

The once beautiful room was now looped upside down. The paintings on the walls seemed to be alive, the figures in them sneering and leering at him. The furniture was twisted and distorted, the couch gnarling and writhing like a being with its own mind.

He knew he had been drugged and he was now trapped in a nightmarish hallucination. He couldn't tell reality from the hallucinations brought on by the drugs. He began to panic and begged for someone, anyone, to help him. But the guests only laughed and continued their twisted revelry.

He desperately wanted to escape, to go upstairs to his bedroom and lock the door. He crawled on the floor, his hands and knees sinking into the soft carpet that now felt like quicksand.

As he made his way towards the stairs, he saw a figure looming at the top. It was a twisted version of himself, with eyes that glowed red and a mouth full of sharp teeth. The figure reached out to grab him, but couldn’t. He scrambled to his feet and started climbing the stairs, but the figure was right behind him, its laughter echoing in his ears.

The stairs seemed to go on forever, each step becoming harder and harder to take. The man could feel the figure getting closer and closer, its hot breath on his neck. He could see other strange creatures now, all chasing him through the twisted, surreal landscape of his own home. There were giant spiders, snakes, and monsters.

Once at the top of the staircase, the rooms were shrinking and then expanding. The pathway was long and stretched beyond what he could see. Indeed, he couldn’t see much as the lights had been switched off. So he flicked them on and there were now mirrors all over the walls.

One mirror showed reflections of the friends downstairs frolicking in their seven sins. Another showed him as a little boy; crying at the death of his parents. Yet another showed him old and lonely. He punched the mirror but only hit the wall. He looked at his fists, there was no blood and definitely, no shattered glass had fallen. 

So he walked towards his room. And as he kept walking the floor glowed, the tiles warping and morphing. He would step onto one and feel the softness of grass, while another tile burnt like fire.

The lights he had switched on were flickering white and red; each flicker taking longer than the last. He then found the door which was the bedroom.

Martin stood alone, staring intently at the door in front of him. He slowly approached it, his mind still imprisoned behind the bars of drugs. He reached out and grasped the doorknob, but it wouldn't budge. Once more, he tried again, but it was locked tight.

He stepped back and surveyed the door, looking for a way in. Still switching from reality to absurdity, and unsure of what was real, he spotted a small keyhole and he realized that he needed a key to open it. A key that he definitely did not have.

So he searched, and he heard a faint noise coming from behind the door. It grew louder and more frantic, and Martin could feel his heart rising to his throat. He could hear the sound of metal shifting and clicking, and he knew that whatever was inside was becoming agitated.

“The safe! Someone must be trying to rob me.”

He threw open the door and was immediately hit with a wave of musty air.

“Wasn’t that locked just right now?”

Inside, he could see nothing but darkness. The clicking sound of the safe had stopped. Maybe the robber had switched off the lights and hid somewhere inside. He reached for the light switch but it wouldn't turn on but in the depth of darkness, he heard faint breathing.

“I’m not alone.”

Suddenly, a figure lunged at him from the darkness. Martin let out a shrill scream as he felt cold hands wrap around his throat. He fought his way off and dashed for the lights once more.

This time they worked!

The room came alive with light, chasing the darkness, but keeping the air of impending misfortune.

Martin waited for his assailant to turn around. And slowly, he did. His large frame robotically turned to reveal the front. The sorry host had been seeing spiders and snakes, but now he saw a ghost - for the robber was in fact, Abdul.

“Abdul! I thought you were dead!” He shouted. “Oh thank God, I was so scared. I thought you were dead.” Martin rushed to hug him.

“What are you talking about Andrew?” The voice was off, it was deep like the one kidnappers used to obfuscate their real voices.

“Why do you sound like that Abdul?”

“Like what Shawn?”

“Huh? It’s me, Martin. Come on, Abdul. I am your best friend! Your brother for life!” He said while crying; now more than before. “I thought you were dead!” mucus dribbled down onto his lips.

“I am so sorry! I didn’t know! I didn’t know!” he was on his knees.

“Why don’t you have some rest, Martin? You’ve had a long day.” Said Abdul as he lifted up Martin.

Martin looked up to see that Abdul no longer had his face. Instead, it was a blown-off version of it. The head that had lain on a coroner’s office. Martin recoiled and collapsed to the ground.  

“It’s all in your head. It’s all in your head.” He said, assuring himself that the hallucinations had gotten the better of him.

But the safe was opened. When Martin reached inside he found nothing.

“Someone is here!” he thought.

He turned around and sat on the edge of his bed was his nephew, holding the $9,000 black diamond ‘Black Bess’ in his palm.

“Looking for this?”

Immediately thereafter, Martin fell head-first onto the floor and passed out.

Guest Six: Kazunu - The Sin of Gluttony and Martin’s Nephew

Martin having grown up as adopted thought it would only make sense to “pass on the favour” when his nephew Kazunu came knocking. He took him into his own home and flooded the boy that had practically grown up in the ghettos, with all the finer things in life.

When someone stranded in a desert finally finds an oasis to quench his parched throat, he often drinks more than he should. And similarly, when someone who had grown up with nothing suddenly finds themselves in a world of infinitum wealth, he becomes addicted to the things that money can buy. He would constantly ask Martin for money to fund his lavish lifestyle. Martin, being the doting uncle, would often give in to his demands, never suspecting the true extent of his nephew's obsessions.

As he got older, Kazunu's penchant for excess and indulgence only grew. There was no fill to his consumption of drugs, women and parties. He would smoke and sniff anything that can be smoked or sniffed on earth. He borrowed, robbed, conned, and did anything possible to obtain something to feed his next high. Racking up debts with dangerous individuals.

Desperate to pay off these creditors, he turned to his uncle for a large sum of money. Martin, seeing the ridiculousness, refused to give him the cash.

Fueled by the insatiable hunger drugs he had now been completely reliant on, he hatched a plan to rob his uncle, especially now that he knew there was a precious stone. He enlisted the help of Melissa, promising her a cut of the profits.

***

Martin's eyes fluttered open to find himself bound and gagged, seated in a wooden chair that creaked with every movement he made. His feet were tightly secured to the base of the seat, rendering him immobile. He was surrounded by his guests, all of whom wore masks of malice and disdain, with the exception of Paula, who had remained outside all along.

In the centre of the room, the sawed-off single-barrelled shotgun was pointed directly at Martin. Melissa's hand was wrapped firmly around the barrel, her finger on the trigger, ready to pull it at any moment. Martin's eyes darted around the room, trying to find a way out.

The guests closed in on him, their eyes cold and calculating, relishing in their impending victory. Martin's fate was sealed, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

She cranked the lever, pointed it at his chest, and then said;

“You have caused us deaths, Martin. This is justice.” he tried to beg for mercy, but he was gagged.

Pow!

Martin felt the pain blow through his knees, he bit into the towel that gagged him and winced. He grovelled and kicked, but he was fixed onto the seat.  He could only shake his shoulders. His knee was blown out, blood splashed all over the carpet. His eyes started to shut down once more.

“Martin, we want you to understand the harm you’ve caused us!” she continued, as Jack removed the gag.

Immediately the gag came off, Martin started hurling insults and expletives. Threatening everyone with jail. Saying that he knows people. He then turned to pleading and begging. Sobbing in an unsightly scene. Thereafter, the adrenaline fading, he begged Dr James to at least treat his knee.

The Sixth Guest: Dr James - The Sin of Sloth and Martin’s Neighbour

Dr James had always been a bit of a slacker, content to coast by on his good looks and wit rather than putting in the hard work required to excel in the medical field. Priding himself with Martin that they “had people to do their jobs for them.”

And it would be this fateful meeting that would begin the eventual downfall of the disgraced doctor. Martin as his neighbour once pitched a partnership and Dr James had been more than happy to recommend his insurance policies without really bothering to check into their validity.

But as it turned out, these policies were fraudulent, and many of his patients were left out in the cold as a result. Even one day, a patient came into his operating room for routine surgery but in his rush to get the procedure done, he didn't properly sterilize his instruments. The patient developed a severe infection and had to undergo multiple additional surgeries dying due to the infection caused by Dr James's negligence.

Complaints began to pile up and malpractice allegations were made. Eventually, the medical council banned him from practising medicine altogether.

With his career in shambles and his reputation in tatters, the doctor blamed Martin for his downfall. He knew deep down that it was his own laziness and lack of attention to detail that had led to his downfall, but he couldn't help but feel a burning hatred towards Martin.

He began to plot his revenge, determined to take Martin down once and for all. He began to do research and gather information, looking for any weakness he could exploit. And alas, he found out about the party. A perfect place to be close enough to stoke the flames of his desire to see Martin pay for his sins.

***

The doctor barely moved an eyelid. He stoically observed the man’s knee as it continued to flood the pants in red. This was the punishment of sloth and non-involvement. He had no reason to move for Martin. Neither emotionally, nor physically.

Martin sank into his own mind. His fate had been sealed. He shut his eyes. Martin, the king, the emperor without clothes, sat like a hostage in his grand living room, surrounded by the remnants of his feast, luxury and wealth, now cold and uninviting. His mind raced with the faces of all those he had wronged, their eyes filled with betrayal and anger.

He thought of Melissa, the love of his life, now standing with a gun pointed at him, ready to take his life for his multi-layered sins. He thought of Abdul, his dear friend, now dead because of his negligence. The image of him, with tears in his eyes, pleading to save his wife and daughter. He thought of Paula, the prideful beauty, now consumed by grief and an ugly thirst for revenge.

The anger and betrayal in Louiza's eyes as she realized that she had been nothing more than a fling to him. He thought of his nephew, driven to a life of crime by his own avarice, and of the doctor, now banned and ruined because of his own laziness. And of his business partner, with whom he mentored into greed.

He thought of all the innocent lives he had destroyed with his fraud and deceit.

Tears welled in his eyes as he thought of the weight of his own sins, heavy upon his shoulders like a great burden. He felt the sting of regret, the bitter taste of remorse. He knew that he deserved the punishment that was coming, but still, he could not help but feel a deep sorrow for all that he had lost.

As the clock ticked on, Martin sat in silence, lost in his thoughts and consumed by his guilt. The only sound was the soft sobs that escaped his lips, as he mourned the death of his own soul.

“I am sorry.” Was all he could muster before losing consciousness.

***

Outside, the mob that perched on the tall cider trees whose branches canopied the driveway, were all gone. None was left. Laying on the lawn, was the pet tortoise feeding on the grass, he still had life. In the wooden kennel at the top of the compound a grey dog, with a black line running along its belly, slept. She had worked throughout the night. While in the chicken pen, the invader had slithered back into the shadowy corners; its hunt was a success.

 The End.

The story’s adoption of real-life names is not meant to intentionally depict their characters. The piece does not intend to glorify drug and sexual abuse.