Dzidzor took pains to get herself to be comfortable – black loose cotton pants and a matching T-shirt and new black converse she bought from the roadside and yet she felt uncomfortable in her skin. It kept crawling and heat kept rushing through it and rubbing it did not help, so she just left it alone and hoped for the best.

The house looked haunting; the night did not help. The moon was directly over it like the biblical star pointing the wise men to find the baby Jesus, but she was not wise and the building housed no saviors. It was just as she remembered it; a three-storey building with balconies overlooking the road on each floor. Little huts scattered the base of the building, paling in comparison to the grandeur of the main house.

Main house for the big man, little houses for the wives and the little children.

Looking at it brought unpleasant memories, memories she battled with in a useless tango because no matter how many times she was pushed them down, they got right up.

She opened the main gate and with a bold step, she entered the compound. She noticed how over grown the weeds of the garden were. She liked it, it showed that only parasites lived here.

She heard steps and turned to face the newcome; it was the second wife. She uncontrollably got a flashback of the memory of the clap at her back she gave her, some 3 years ago. She dropped the bucket full of water onto the floor, the water spilling over and watering the weeds. She knelt down herself, apologizing and weeping uncontrollably but Dzidzor did not feel pity.

She felt immense rage.

Then she saw red.

Dzidzor knew that when she saw red, her eyes would be glowing fire and Lisa would take the wheels of her body. This time though, Lisa did not take over her body but just stood at the side.

“Take all the children,” she said in a voice several octaves lower than hers “And go to the chiefs’ house”

“Why?” She asked with audacity.

“Because I will unleash fire and ash and you don’t want to be caught in the flame”

At that she scurried away, going to do exactly what she was told.

The living room was like a time capsule, exactly how she left it when she was once living here. Her throat caught, and it look a lot of belly pats to keep her from doubling over the furniture. It was also empty as she knew it would be. She had counted on it.

She walked through the hallways and climbed the, memories screaming past her and she wanted to scream along with them but she had to be discrete. She finally reached the door of the shrine room.

It was the biggest room in the whole house and the only one painted with blood. Sculptures of the images of 8 choice gods stood huddling at the front of the room, overlooking it. At the opposite end of the room lay mats, where worshippers clothed in just wrappers to the waist would sit and even now many of them sat there, the adults of the Agbemayor family. She noticed her father, sitting in a wheelchair clothed only in a single cloth that pitifully covered his midsection. His skin was wrinkled and frail, covered in as many scars as there were sores. She felt her heart fall, feeling sorry for him. Lisa shook his head as if to say, “do not be weak, do as you planned” and so she steeled herself to do just that.

The middle of the room was reserved for sacrifices; there was a shallow hole dug in the ground, with calabashes about it, ready to scoop the blood to be fetched and drank.

Three men stood at the center of the room, she recognized her immediate younger brother, the one whom her father preferred to the rest, the one he preferred to Dzidzor. They were completely naked and as they moved, their members swung to the momentum. There were also three bodies. A man, a woman and a child. They all wore no clothes, with deep slashes in their throats, they were arranged like a three-pointed star, their heads over the hole to collect their blood. Her brother scooped from the pool with a calabash and turned to give it their father. She felt her own blood boil at this madness. She looked at the eyes of the child, her eyes still wide open in fright and tears that wet her cheeks. She knew she suffered, as they all did when they were to be sacrificed to spirits that had no mercy to the cries of the little ones.

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Her anguish made Dzidzor stronger, she knew what she had to do.

She stepped into the light.

All heads turned towards her and a wave of confusion swept over the room. The door that was normally kept open to help disperse the smell of death shut on Dzidzor’s command and the room gasped when they saw she did not physically close it.

Her father noticed her first, surprise replaced with hate.

His sickness did not make him remorseful, Lisa said, it made him worse.

Slowly, the room came to the same conclusion, eyes widening and mouths opened when they did.

“Leave,” her brother said, unashamed of his nakedness “you are not welcome here”

She looked him over; he was well-built with scars all over his body that showed he did a lot of her father’s dirty work. He kept his skin hairless, just like her father did. He had his father’s hateful eyes and they were trained on her, ready to strike.

“Am I not an adult of the Agbemayor house?”

“You abandoned us! You don’t deserve to be here! This is the last time I will be asking you to leave!”

She walked to the center of the room and stooped before the little girl. Dzidzor whispered a few words to the unfortunate girl shut her eyes with her fingers. Then she looked up, the keen eye of everyone in the room observing her.

Tired of watching her theatrics, the three men charged at her. She fought them all, sustaining only one blow to the lip from her brother. Within minutes they lay on the floor writhing in pain. She spat blood from where she mistakenly bit her lip from the punch and then kicked her brother in the face. He moaned once then stopped moving. The unwilling crowd begun to panic but not one of them was bold to walk past her to get to the door.

“Hello dada” her voice shook, but Lisa’s voice hid it for her. Her father said nothing and just stared at her; the calabash filled with blood lay forgotten in his hands. “Hello mama” the woman who was called began to wail, calling for the gods to her rescue. “They will not come. They have turned your backs at you, the same you turned yours to me”

“Do not speak for the gods, you defiled creature!” her father retorted with a dignified boom.

“Look at you, talking of the gods, talking for the gods. You know nothing of them, because if you did, you would know only evil spirits required human sacrifice, blood sacrifice” she walked towards him, a head taller than anyone in the room and then looked down at him, rage twisting and twisting her insides like braids “You are despicable. You know what the gods require, but do not do them because they do not please you. You use the name of the gods for your own twisted desire and the evil spirits lap at the sacrifices you give them and offer you limited protection until the next sacrifice. Efo it is time. Your time for redemption has come. You will answer for your sins and you will answer for the defilement of the name of the gods”

“I do not fear you!” he stretched his hands towards her and a dark smoke pummeled from them. When the smoke reached her proximity, it parted and flowed around her and dispersed out into the room.

“My turn” and without lifting a finger, Efo’s wheelchair levitated in the air with him in it. She waited for him to cry out in fright before Dzidzor let it drop. He fell out of the wheelchair in a heap. For the first time, fear crept into his eyes and that was when she knew that she had won.

After all these years she had finally won.

But this wasn’t enough, oh no, it was just the beginning. She promised the second wife she would bring fire and ash and she would keep her promises.

“Dzidzor, please…”

“DO NOT SPEAK TO ME!” The house shook at her voice.

Her mother crept to her feet, holding her clothes and begging her to have mercy, instead she kicked the older woman in the gut. She cried out in pain but no one moved to the two of them; they were plenty scared themselves.

“You all looked me in my eyes and abused me beyond anything I could have ever imagined. My fellow Vodun looked me in eyes and let it happen and the gods crossed their hands like this,” she crossed her hands around her chest “and watched you two harm me” Lisa grimaced, if he were flesh and blood, she would have kicked him too. Memories of her hunter flashed before her eyes. She closed them willing them to go away.

“What should we do to appease you?” Her father implored.

“What can you do? Okay I’ll tell you” his eyes lit up, thankful that he could do something to curb her wrath “slit your throat open and let me drink from wound”. After hearing these words and the understanding on his eminent demise dawned on him, hw began to wail in horror along with everyone else “just like how you cut me, over and over again and took everything good and innocent and pure in me”

It is time, Lisa said.

“It is time” Dzidzor repeated.

She sat on the floor and breathed.

Then she turned into fire.

She burned and no one survived in the cool night as the moon shone on.