The Second Sight – Episode 20

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Boat stumbles into the room, at first too grateful to fully look around.
Eventually his eyes begin to notice things.
First he looks at his hands.
Up to his arms he is covered with thick red blood.
His horrified eyes descends, and he sees that he has been walking in a thick sludge of clotted blood, and that his whole feet up to his ankles are soaked in blood.
He recognizes the smell at last; it is the essence of fresh blood, and suddenly he is overcome with a crippling dizziness, but he fights it hard.
This is not the time to pass out, and he steels his iron nerves together, and after a moment that eerie faintness passes.
Slowly, as if he is some weird a mechanical contraption, his head comes up, and he takes stock of the room.
The light comes from candles fixed into the walls.
It is a perfectly circular room, extremely huge, and with things…
As looks slowly at those things, his begin to buckle, his throat constricted, and his eyes hurt so intensely that he can barely keep them open. He sinks to his knees and reaches out for the door-posts to steady himself.
The cry of horror is torn from his very depths, and as he trembles violently the first sting of tears assault his eyes and then fall down his cheeks.
Oh, my God! Oh, dear Lord!
It is a temple of sorts – macabre, terrible, wicked and surreal.
It is an extremely huge domelike enclosure, a perfectly-formed circular shape that was so precise that it defies the mind.
On the ceiling and walls are strange murals and paintings depicting abstract images and a profanity so vile and grotesque that it is inconceivable; not even the sickest mind could have dreamt of a thing like that.
The drawings are from biblical narrations.
There is one about the birth of Jesus, where he is lying in his Manger, screaming, while His mother Mary is being raped by a group of horned devils, and His father Joseph is being sodomized with a huge phallus-like object wielded by a grotesque caricature with a crooked halo who can only be the Almighty God.
Another one shows Christ in all His glory, holding a piece of stick to which are attached glowing strings affixed to millions of objects which can be the human race, and the Lord Himself is ejaculating on the world as He jerks the puppets.
The Last Supper is depicted by Christ being possessed by the Devil as He makes love to a menstruating Mary Magdalene from behind, pulling bread from her breasts and holding a tall wineglass below her pudenda as she drips red liquid into it.
The Crucifixion shows not Christ on the cross, but a dirty, wailing, emaciated figure that could have been one of the Disciples, with Christ disguised as one of the Roman soldiers, sticking a spear into the side of the man on the cross, winking wickedly and laughing derisively at the sick joke He has played on the world.
The Resurrection is marked by a naked, dope-eyed Christ jerking off as angels secretly carry out the stiff body of a fake Christ whilst other majestically muscular and naked angels perform blow-jobs on the Roman soldiers standing on guard.
The Ascension is depicted by Christ with strings and ropes attached to his arms and body, being pulled upwards by angels hidden by clouds, whilst a whore-like woman grips the Lord’s waist tightly, her head buried in his crotch.
The Day of Pentecost is marked by the Holy Spirit descending like a group of penises dripping thick sperms into the mouths of people.
It is sick!
It is totally offensive, and even Boat, who is not a Christian, is greatly horrified to see such paintings.
It is totally unacceptable!
But it is nothing – absolutely nothing – compared to the other things on the ceiling.
Six shrivelled naked corpses are hanging from the ceiling by hooks impaling their backs.
Four of them were in a perfect horizontal line, with two on each side of the second body, forming a macabre cross on the ceiling.
The corpses are males, in various stages of growth. The straight line begins with the corpse of a baby boy, followed by one of a boy around twelve years old, then a teenager and ending with the body of a man in his twenties.
The two on each side are the corpses of a middle-aged man and a very old man.
Their shrivelled faces show masks of agony, frozen into place for eternity, carefully preserved to last a lifetime.
On the walls, in between the gross paintings of Jesus’ life, are various paintings of Yaw Boat at various stages of his life, right from infancy to his present age.
At the far end of the room is a huge golden throne, absolutely magnificent. Boat has no doubt that it is made from pure gold.
Resting on three human skulls in front of the throne is a golden crown.
Just beyond the throne he can dimly make out a sinuous black movement, as if the floor itself has life, and is undulating to some unheard music.
In the middle of the room is a huge golden bed, and lying on it is the preserved corpse of a woman, spread-eagled, chained to the posts of the bed by golden clamps.
Boat walks forward slowly, cringing from the horror, muted cries of anguish scratching out of his throat.
He looks at the woman on the bed.
Her face is filled with untold agonies; it is evident that she has suffered a great deal before she died.
Yaw Boat turns away with a muted scream of horror, reaching blindly for one of the bedposts as the vomit spews uncontrollably.
Oh, Lord! Oh, my God! No, no, no!!!
It is her!
The housekeeper who has broken his virginity and ushered him into a world of unbridled lust!
Miss Naana!
What in the name of Hades has happened?
Boat vividly remembers his father ordering Samson Basoah to pay her off and make sure she leaves the premises.
Yes, that is it!
After the incident, Boat’s father had dragged him to church to meet the elders for interceding prayers.
They had left Miss Nana with Samson Basoah, and Joe Boat had instructed Uncle Samson to pay her off with three months advance wages and let her leave the house.
And now here she is!
It was all beginning to make sense to Boat.
Samson Basoah murdered her, no doubt, shortly after Boat and his father left the house.
It is evident now that Uncle Samson is responsible for Nana seducing him that weekend, to begin whatever evil ritual he has planned for Boat, and once his aim had been achieved he had gotten rid of her for a more deadly purpose.
How had he gotten away with all these? How had he been able to fool them for so long? Who is he? What has he done to Yaw Boat, and still plans on doing?
There are other things in the room, like the circular iron cauldrons placed at various points around the room. Cauldrons which appear to be boiling, emitting clouds of hot steam but under which there are no fires.
..I want you to know one simple fact: time has run out for you!
Even as you read this, a demon of old is ready to take over your body and your soul. Believe me, son, it is true!
Paul Anderson!
Always Paul Anderson.
Oh how right he has been all along! How blind had Boat been!
Through the haze of his horror he knows time has indeed run out for him.
If he had been horrified before, he is terrified now!
This is no child’s play.
A terrible destiny is awaiting him, and he needs help fast; the kind of help only his father or Anderson can give.
He has ventured into the lair of a real Goliath, and he is not a boastful nerd like the biblical Goliath, no way!
This is a cold, merciless and savage giant who will rip David’s sling out of his hand and twist it around his balls whilst stuffing round stones into places of his fancy…
Dear Lord!
And then, somewhere in the periphery of his side vision Boat sees the movement first, and in his horror-stricken stupor he swivels round.
It is that black undulating movement he has seen beyond the golden throne. It is alive now, moving in a violent fluid fashion, and it is accompanied by a sound…
A hissing sound!
The candlelight reflects off a shiny black scaly skin …and then Boat’s breath catches in a silent scream of horror as the head of an anaconda, or something like it, rears up just in front of the throne, jaws wide-open, forked tongue beating hungrily.
That whole dark mass beyond the throne is, in actual fact, the coiled body of the largest man-eating snake the world has ever seen!
Boat gets to his feet and – whimpering, panic-stricken – flees the room blindly, hastily. He hears the rush of air behind him, and knows that terrible reptile is inches from him, fangs gaping wide, preparing to swallow him whole!
He blasts blindly into the dark corridor where that infernal being had followed him and almost driven him mad. He takes the steps with one mighty bound and emerges in Uncle Samson’s bedroom gasping for breath as tears of anguish runs down his face.
He stops cold suddenly.
He sees Hideous draped across Uncle Samson’s bed.
And, standing just inside the room, his scarred face a map of stunned incomprehension, is Samson Basoah.
Boat stares at him, and his tortured face might have said it all.
However, the horror melts from Samson’s face fast, and suddenly that gentle face, that sweet caring face, changes rapidly, and on it is an expression of terrible fury.
At that moment he is the Samson Basoah that Boat’s father had once told him about. He is the hardened criminal, the terrible murderer who had broken a man’s neck with a little twist of his victim’s chin.
He is the Basoah who had served on death row, the merciless killer whose sheer bulk and strength made him a formidable enemy.
Boat knows then that whatever they have shared together is gone, and even in that terrible moment of acute betrayal, the realization hurt Boat real bad.
He finds it hard – even after all that he has seen – to believe that this man has faked all the love he had shown to him.
The times they have had together, the moment of mutual love and care …they are all gone, lost in a second of revelation.
It makes Boat’s heart bleed!
But not now, not anymore, not ever again.
Uncle Samson closes the gap between them quickly, moving with the sinuous grace of a feline animal.
And then, as his face continues to change with fury, the other thing appears.
It blazes right on his forehead, a terrible red evil thing.
The mark of The Beast!
Boat points a trembling finger at Samson even as he closes in on him, and Boat’s face is split up into tortured lines of pure agony.
(passionately, pained)
What are you? How dare you do this to me, to my father? How could you?
He grates out through gnashing teeth, heart torn to shreds by the depths of his feelings.
Samson slows down now, his harsh face without pity or remorse. His lips seems to draw back from his teeth in a vicious snarl.
He is an animal!
We loved you! Dad made you a part of our family! He took you from prison and made you who you are! Is this how you repay us, by giving me this evil shit? Who the hell gave you the right to gamble with my damn life?
Thewords are ejected out of Boat violently like bullets, pushed out by emotional volcanoes.
Samson comes to a halt just inches from Boat.
(coldly, detached)
It is not a gamble, my boy. It is your destiny. But you’re talking too much. You’ve always talked too much, and I have no explanations for you. You only need to know that tonight is your night. You’ll will know everything before the sun rises, trust me.
Don’t give me that shit! Destiny? Whose fucking destiny? Mine? What right do you have over my bloody life? You want me to end up like you with that damn mark of the beast on my forehead too?
That stops him completely dead in his tracks, his face twisted grotesquely with shock …and yes, the first hint of great fear.
His great head tilts to one side, and his eyes narrow. It is a rare look; it is his confused stance, and he cannot hide his growing horror. His neck twitches perceptively, and a vein beats erratically on his ravaged right cheek.
What? No, you can’t! No! It is not possible! You? With the Second Sight? It really happened? You’re an Unblind?
You’re damn right it fucking happened, and I’m a bloody Unblind, and I can fucking see the mark of the beast blazing on your fucking forehead! Everything Pastor Anderson said has come true! What the hell did you do to Miss Naana, and what the hell have you been doing to me?

Yaw Boat speaks fiercely, his right hand raised, forefinger jabbing the air for emphasis, his heart beating with uncontrollable anger brought on by the pain of Samson’s deceit.
Uncle Samson still looks greatly flustered and he rubs his furrowed brow absent-mindedly, his mind seemingly far off.
(confused, agitated)
How can it be? I never thought that damn man could interfere, and his stupid little prophecy will come true. But that’s alright, I think. It’s too late for you now. You’ve come too far, and nothing will change now.
In your fucking dreams! My Dad is going to find out right now, and he’s going to put this right, and you’re going to regret to the skin of your ugly teeth! You’re going to wish you never fucked with the son of Mr. Joe Boat!
Samson’s eyes are mean once again, his confusion quickly forgotten.
He looks like a mountain – a very impregnable one – and again that mark on his forehead blazes a sickening crimson.
And who’s going to tell your faher, Ya? You? Your old man is going senile, don’t you know? And he eats out of my hand. The next time you set eyes on him it’ll be all over. You want to know what this is all about, right? Well, your wish will be granted. You’re going back to that room you so impudently entered, and boy, you’re going to find out all about your miserable life!
Boat takes a step back from him.
Suddenly his anger begins to dissipate, and in its shadow is the beginning of great panic.
Uncle Samson’s last words have not sounded right; it isn’t his voice at all, but it had come out in a rumble – a deep, blasting bass that reverberates round the room, filling it, crashing through Boat’s mind, making his nerves grate.
And something else too!
As he said the last words, something vile within him emerges, superimposing itself on Uncle Samson’s features!
For a brief second – a very brief second – his face has changes! He has sprouted a snout, pig-like but hairy, and his forehead has bulged, his eyes going a terrifying yellow, his jaw jutting out, his teeth a wild series of canines, top and bottom, ready to tear and maul.
Just for a brief moment, and then the man’s furious face emerges again.
It dawned on Boat then, finally, that he is not dealing with a human.
Uncle Samson is just another vessel, and it is that thing which dwells in him that is responsible for all the atrocities Boat has seen.
You fucking bastard! You evil piece of dogpile! You’re also a vessel, aren’t you? You have been occupied, haven’t you?
Yes. Satisfied? You’re going to be occupied by a more powerful demon, and you’re going to have powers you have never imagined before. Now one can help you now, Yaw. It might seem terrifying now, but when this is all over you’ll have the kind of power men have always dreamt about, the kind of power that will put the world at your feet. It is inevitable, and the sooner you accept and deal with it, the better it will be for you. Come along now, back to the chamber. Don’t let me hurt you.
So ominous, so startling.
Samson Basoah, a giant of a man who seemingly has no violence in him. That statement, coming from him, sounds as absurd as the Pope watching a striptease in public.
But Boat knows it isn’t coming from him; it is The Thing speaking, warning him.
Desperately Boat’s mind races, searching for avenues of escape, and not finding any.
My father will kill you for this!
Your father can’t help you now, Yaw. This night you’ll spend with me. He will believe you didn’t show up. After all it won’t be the first time he demanded to see you failed to show up. By morning it will be all over. You’re going to be grateful for this, boy, believe me!
He reaches for Boat’s arm, but Boat steps away from him.
Boat’s face is desperate, his eyes wild.
Don’t you dare touch me ever again!
Get back into that room! Don’t let me repeat that, and don’t let me hurt you!
Once again he moves forward and reaches for Boat.
Boat’s brain is in a turmoil, and his heartbeat has accelerated.
Of one thing he is extremely sure of is that he can’t allow himself to be taken!
He knows that if he falls into the hands of Uncle Samson and his dark forces it will be the end of him.
He has to get to his father, because only he can help him now.
Element of surprise.
That is a weapon, as his GojuFist trainer used to say, and when utilized right it can be the difference between life and death.
And that is why Boat launches himself at Samson, the fingers of both hands rigid, seeking his eyes and throat. They would have been paralysing blows that would have put an end to the whole thing.
If they have landed, that is.
Boat finds only empty space where Samson has been a second before.
Samson is quick, real quick, and as Boat tries to regain his balance Samson slams a fist into his stomach, causing him to gag immediately.
The pain explodes in Boat’s brain – alive, paralysing!
He begins to double up, and Samson backhands him across the face, spinning his head back, almost tearing it off his neck.
Boat sees only blackness as he lands on all fours, and he can feel warm blood running down his nostrils and forming a bitter tangy taste in his mouth.
The mere thought of it – that Uncle Samson and he can be engaged in such violence – is utterly obscene.
Somehow Boat is more sad than hurt by Samson’s assault on him. To think that all those years of loving care have been nothing but evil manipulation, that all Samson has done for him has been just a façade, a part of the overall program, a part of pure evil.
He had thought he was in control of his life, but all along he had been nothing but a puppet on a string, a piece of object that has been painstakingly controlled and driven toward a terrible agenda that means nothing but death to him.
Somehow he mourns that lost trust in that brief moment when blood drips down his nostrils and his tongue aches.
Such evil, such wickedness.
So unfair!
His anger is full, and suddenly he moves off the floor so quickly that Samson is caught unawares. Boat rushes him, his shoulder lowered, straight into Samson’s tummy.
The giant had no time to parry or sidestep, and he takes Boat’s tackle full blast. It should have sent them crashing to the floor with Samson moaning in agony, but apart from moving him back a step or two – and making him catch his breath sharply – the brutal hit has no effect on Samson, and Boat bounces off Samson’s hard muscles as if he has run into a brick wall.
Samson is that strong …and he is that fit!
He slaps Boat across the face, and he falls hard, dazed by the blow.
Boat fights the darkness that threatens to swallow him. It is a most trying moment for him because all he wants to do is to give in and let sweet nothingness consume him. Emotionally he is sated, and physically he is a total wreck.
But he can’t give in, especially not when he knows the kind of terrible future Samson has in store for him. He has no wish to be invaded like Ralph Stebbins, or Henry Didier!
With the strength ebbing rapidly out of him, Boat gathers his weight behind his neck and lunges off the floor at Samson, swinging a fast left right combination from the waist, aiming for Samson’s jaw and throat, seeking to cause swift pain to slow down the giant and enable him get past him.
Once he has Samson behind him he the older man will never catch because Boat is a good fast runner.
With the grace of a matador Samson twists away effortlessly and swings at Boat, catching him cleanly on the jaw.
Boat drops, the wind totally knocked out of him. He falls on his face, his head bursting with pain and another spout of blood pouring out of his nostrils and split lips.
Boat is fully aware that Samson didn’t hit him with the full force of his awesome power. If he had, split lips would’ve been Boat’s least worry; he would have fractured Boat’s jaw, and probably killed him in the process.
Slowly Boat turns over once and remains still, all the fight evaporating from me.
Sharp tears prick his eyes as it dawns on him that there is no way he is going to be able to beat Samson’s sheer fighting prowess; he is far too big, and far too strong. Worse, he is a capable fighter even for all that brawn, and he moves with speed and precision, and Boat knows that GojuFist or not, Samson Basoah is a superior fighter, and he can never best him in hand-to-hand combat.
Boat’s helplessness is a sudden weight that almost crushes him. It makes his heart palpitate violently, and at that moment he wishes for death.
He has never felt so overwhelmed in his life.
Give it up, Yaw. Stand up now.
Boat ignores him, and lies absolutely still on the floor.
Through the tiny slits of his eyes he sees the flash of sudden concern on Samson’s face. He thinks he has hit Boat too hard, maybe hurt me bad in the process.
Boat is utterly taken aback by the look of fear that suddenly flashes across Samson’s scarred face.
Boat resolves then to make a last move.
Fear and concern can make a man careless and cause him to drop his guard for that fraction of a second that can make all the difference.
With a man like Samson, Boat will have only one chance, and that makes timing very essential.
He approaches Boat’s inert form rapidly and prods him with the tip of one expensive brown shoe.
Get up now, boy! Don’t be a sissy now.
Boat remains immobile.
Samson bends from the waist, just as Boat has hoped he would, intending to haul Boat into a sitting position.
Boat waits until Samson’s hands are grabbing the lapels of his shirt.
Samson’s legs are braced for the upward haul, offering a nice target between his thighs. Boat rises with the momentum of Samson’s pull, and he gathers all his power into his right fist.
It was a masterpiece – a classic by all standards!
He sinks fist to the last iota of intent into Samson’s balls.
Samson hasn’t been expecting the attack, and thus he didn’t tense or try to twist away, both actions capable of dulling the effects of the blow to some extent, but he is relaxed, and that makes the blow all the more powerful.
When God decided to put man’s most sensitive objects into a sac hanging outside his body, it enabled man to become vulnerable even if his whole body is armoured in muscles and bone.
Boat has never heard of any man who is so fit and so muscle-bound that his scrotal sac is like iron.
All male balls are soft balls!
A flash of agony creases that huge face above Boat, and it is like a knife searing through Boat’s heart. To have done that to somebody he loves – still loves in an awful kind of way – is something Boat momentarily feels very sorry for.
Samson tries to stay erect, and he almost succeeds. However it is a losing battle; he feels the pain badly, real badly.
Samson’s body betrays him, lets the paralysing pain overcome his great resolve, but his eyes remain alive, full of a murderous loathing that once again tears into Boat’s heart, making him realize that no matter what happens, he will never be Uncle Samson again.
Just before he falls to his knees his great hands reach out, clawing for Boat’s neck.
Boat jack-knifes away from him with panic; to let those hands get hold of him will mean doom, and even as he moves away Boat’s hand is thrusting out, reaching for a low stool at the foot of the bed.
As Boat gains one knee his hand is firmly grasping one of the legs of the stool, and he brings it round in a vicious swipe.
Samson doesn’t see it coming until it is almost too late.
He tries to move his head back, and that is why the stool smashes against his jaw instead of the side of his head.
This time he groans with the pain as the impact swings his head round on his thick neck. The stool breaks to smithereens, and Boat lets go of the splintered leg as Samson falls on his side, unconscious.

To be continued…
©Aaron Ansah – Agyeman
All Rights Reserved.



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