The First Flute

The Invocation: One

That cold and quiet night, as I stared at the ceiling, willing sleep to come and calm my running thoughts, I recalled a very random memory that had nothing to do with the moment or any latest experience.

The many mosquitoes we somehow reared sang some not so melodious tunes to me as I scratched my body after they have contentedly feasted on my flesh.

The whirling fan seemed to be blowing hot air combining with the cold seeping through the opened windows. So, this memory should have been the farthest thing on my mind.

What brought this story to mind?

Well, it was the sound of the ticking clock- the only sound in an otherwise, quiet and still night. Being an insomniac wasn’t easy, but I liked to think I've gotten the hang of it.

Enough ramblings! When I looked at the clock ticking away, it was 1am. In fables and scary childhood stories, it is known as the time for spirits and ghosts, wicked ones and witches to roam and do what they do best, whatever it is.

Thinking of Spirits and ghosts made me wonder if they truly exist or if they are just stories to make us jittery.

If they aren't real though, what about Marge?  Ha! Marge. Now that's a story worth telling. This was the random thought that popped into my head that midnight.

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Marge was my brother's best friend, she was also our neighbour. Not next door, but two buildings away.

My brother's friends always teased him about having a girl as beautiful and hot as Marge as a friend and not 'tapping' her.

Truth was, we all knew Marge liked my brother, she didn't try to hide it, but Carson, my brother, for some weird reason wouldn't reciprocate even though a few of us knew he liked her too.

All in all, they had a pretty good and solid friendship.

Marge was always around in our house, most of the time, to avoid the conflict in her own house.

Her mother was the second wife out of four wives. They lived in a pretty big house, each wife and kid with their own wing in their architectural eyesore of a house.

The building looked like someone built a normal house with a large courtyard, but as an afterthought, added two bungalows to the back, with the bungalows sticking out at odd angles behind the main house.

Marge's mum was rarely around, always traveling for goods around the country, so Marge was always left alone with her younger sister.

She had a brother who was already married and they were the three children of Marge's mum.

You see, I was home for a one week midterm break from school, I was in boarding school and it also happened that we were going to celebrate Mum's birthday in a grand style.

I was lucky the two events coincided.
Like Marge’s immediate family, we are just three children in our own family. We live in a five bedroom flat with our parents.

My brother, my sister and I each had a room to ourselves. Mum and Dad had theirs and the guest room was vacant. 

For the celebration, my sister's two best friends and course mates came home with her from school. My brother also came home with a friend so it was a full house.

The house was always noisy courtesy of Funmi and Chidimma, my sister's friends. I came home on Friday, the party was on Sunday, after church.

For that Friday, Saturday and Sunday, Marge and I were always together because my brother and his friend were always out doing guy stuff while for some weird reason, my sister suddenly hated hanging out with Marge.

Through those three days, I discovered Marge looked sick. She got tired easily, her face looked pale and she smiled less.

I just attributed it to the fact that my brother was ditching her for his guy friend. Mum's birthday party was a success and we could all finally rest after the whole hustle bustle in preparation for the party.

That fateful Monday, the day after the party, Marge didn't show up. I was already used to hanging out with her, so I asked my brother if Marge said anything about her absence.

He didn't know either. I spoke to him about what I felt his ditching did to her.

"Oh, come on Tee, Marge is a big girl, I'm sure she understands." He laughed it off like the typical guy he was.

He felt I was just letting my imagination get the best of me, it would not be the first time, he said.

And so, I let the matter rest and continued with the day.

Later, I would wish that what I was looking at was my imagination getting the best of me.

A/N soooo The Invocation is paranormal. Ready to stick with it?