Three Times Her Name

 

A Fateful Evening Walk

She was walking home that fateful evening after closing from work. She had a chance to hail a cab, but she figured a walk would do her real good. She hadn't had any exercise for three months now, and everyone knows it is best to exercise once in a while—or maybe twice a week if you're busy. So that evening after closing, she started walking home. It was about three hours to her house from her place of work.

She worked in a construction company as an administrative assistant, where she recorded the day-to-day activities and maintained a good office standard. She loved watching the cars speed by and the scenery along the street. She watched the street vendors and even stopped at a stand that sold hotdogs. It had been a long time since she felt this lively—not just the constant humming from a machine. The hotdog was so good that she ordered another, and while she walked, she took a bite now and then, not caring how people looked at her.

The Encounter

She hadn't gone far from the hotdog stand when she heard a voice behind her. "Nice view, my love."

She didn't stop but kept walking. She knew nothing good would come from confronting a street urchin.

"I'm talking to you, Loli."

She kept walking, increasing her stride while the voice easily kept up. She took a glance back and saw a young man in his thirties—dark hair, hard eyes, a wisp of beard forming, and a scar that ran down from his ear to his neck. Short, with muscles bulging under the thin polo shirt he wore.

"Hey, wifey, are you ignoring your love?" he crooned as he walked after her.

She looked around, but people just watched, knowing nothing good would ever come from interfering with the scar man. She suddenly stopped and whirled around with fury in her eyes. "Stop following me!" she exclaimed.

"And if I do, what will you do, my love?" he said with a grin, showing yellow teeth and two missing from the bottom.

"What do you want?" she asked him.

"I want you. I want to hold you and see your face first thing in the morning when I wake up."

"I'm sorry, I'm not interested."

"But I'm interested," he said.

"Please leave me alone. I don't want anything to do with you."

"Like I said, I want you. Until we have that meeting, I will not let you be."

"Dream on," she said as she walked away.

"Oh, it is no dream. Whatever I want always comes true. You will be mine, and you will beg me," he said as his voice trailed after her.

Angela

Her name was Angela, twenty-seven years of age. She was pretty, with shoulder-length blond hair, brown eyes, and lips that were full and always made you want to beg for a kiss. She was the last born in a family of six, with three brothers. She hurried home and vowed never to walk again so as not to encounter that creepy street urchin. But another voice said he didn't own the street or the air she breathed—that she didn't have to be scared of someone she didn't know or who owned nothing.

When she reached home that night, she never said anything about her encounter with the street urchin. In fact, she put it out of her mind as a daily occurrence in the city.

The Scar Man's Rage

The scar man was livid with rage. No girl had ever turned him down. No one had ever said no to him. How dare that stupid girl? She could have cooperated, and they could have had fun, and at the end he would have let her go. But now, he would teach her a lesson.

Journey to the Witch Doctor

He went to a witch doctor deep in the middle of a river. The man was known as the one who didn't touch land. Rumour had it that the day he touched land would be the day he died and lost his power. He only ate the head of a fish and drank a bottle of beer. Any other thing was an abomination. The fish had to be raw and alive before he could consume it.

Scar man hailed a boat that would take him there. He vowed to deal with that girl no matter the price. He went to the boat stand and monitored each of the drivers. He saw one that looked like a crook, so he chose him.

"Can you take me to the middle of the river?" he asked.

"Sure," the boatman said, scratching his chin. "For what purpose?"

"It is none of your business," Scar man said. "Will you take me or not?"

"Well, I will take you for a hundred grand. But know this: you will never find the witch doctor unless you hear the rooster crow four times."

"Who told you I'm looking for a witch doctor?"

"Cut the chase. He is the only one in the middle of the river. Like I said, wait till you hear the rooster crow four times, then you will see him."

"And if I don't wait?"

"Then it would be a merry-go-round, and you will never see him."

"Have you done this before?" he asked.

"Sure, many times."

"And your fees?"

"$200."

"That is a lot. You are charging an arm and a leg."

"Is it not worth it?" the driver asked him.

"Don't worry, I will pay."

"Good. Then we wait for the rooster to crow."

It wasn't long after that when the rooster crowed four times, and they headed out into the river. The scar man watched the shoreline and just shook his head when he noticed the waves never touched the sand on the small beach around. He asked the driver about it. "Why are the waves not hitting the sandy beach?"

"Rumour has it that it happens when the witch is around, as the river is an extension of himself. As you may have heard, he never touches land."

"That is creepy," the scar man said, shuddering. "What a life."

"You need to spit three times into the river now so he can taste your inner desire."

"What! Are you for real?"

"Do that now," the boatman said urgently.

The scar man could see the fear in the boatman's eyes, and he hurriedly did it. The way this was going, he must be careful.

After about an hour of traveling, they saw the house in the middle of the river. It was a modest house, built like any other one, but what he noticed was that half of the house was submerged in the river.

"Is the house sinking?" he asked.

"No. From what I have heard, the house is half submerged, with the river water at knee height. Don't forget, the witch never touches dry land."

Meeting the Witch Doctor

They were met at the front by an old man. He looked fragile and had hair as white as snow. His hands looked like leather, with red veins bulging all over his exposed skin. He wore a red and white gown with cowries sewn along the hem of the gown. He had red and black chalk circling each of his eyes. His beard was long and nearly reached his waist.

"Welcome," he said in a deep voice that rippled the water and sent the boat rocking. The scar man was scared. He held the boat fast, not wanting to fall into the river.

"Boatman, you will have your reward delivered by one of the fishes. Pray don't eat the fish."

"No, never. And thank you, blessed one."

"Seeker, come in and be welcome," the man said, nodding at the scar man, who shakily scrambled out of the boat and followed the old man.

When they entered the house, the scar man looked around, and what he saw put him at ease a little. It was a normal house with furnishings consisting of a huge couch and a large central table, well-laid marble tiles on the floor—and yes, the water was at knee height. There was even a fireplace, and on the wall were different fish heads hooked like a trophy collection.

"Sit."

The voice hit him sharp, and there was a tremble. He knew it was the waves. How could a man's voice make the waves increase? He wondered until he figured—since it was part of his anatomy. Well, what was he even thinking of? He had a reason for coming here. Best he get on with it. He sat down and waited.

The old man looked at him for a while without saying a word. He felt uncomfortable and could feel like the man was looking at his soul. He had that feeling, and when the man spoke next, he guessed he had been right.

"Your name is Rick. You have been a criminal since you were twenty. You have committed all manner of crime, including murder and rape. The street fears you." Hmm, the man paused and looked in his palm. Rick could swear he saw something like the spit he had spat out on the river, but it was so fast he never saw much. "And you desire a girl because she said no to you."

"Yes. I want her to pay. I want her to kneel before me, and I want her to beg me, and I want her to worship the ground I walk on. I—" He was cut off when the man held up his hand. "That is enough."

"But—"

"ENOUGH!" The man roared, and the waves crashed violently. He could hear the boatman screaming but was never sure. After all, the man would take him back.

"You presume too much, and you expect to pay the price, eh."

"Yes," Rick said.

"And you think I will give you a charm you can use to imprison her soul?"

"Yes."

"Are you not a real man?"

"I'm a real man. I'm known as Scar Man, and no one dares cross me."

"And yet a woman defies you," the old man said with a laugh.

Rick flinched and thanked the gods that the laugh didn't bring any crashing waves. "That is why I'm here, to teach her a lesson."

"No, you're wrong," the man said, looking at him. "A real man doesn't need a charm to hold a woman. A real man doesn't ask before a woman submits to him."

"Will you do the charm or not?" Rick asked with a red face. He had never been so embarrassed since that girl turned him down.

"I will need a trinket of hers," the old man said with a grin.

"I don't have it."

"Then there is nothing I can do. And besides, don't forget your fees will be high for disturbing me."

"Wait, is there no other way?"

"Of course there is another way, but it is dangerous, and it comes with a consequence."

"What consequence?" Rick asked, swallowing hard. He had come this far. Best he get a result.

"You must not get wet. You must not let the river water spray touch you. You must be dry until you reach land—no matter what, no water can touch you."

"That is impossible," he said. "There is no way I can manage that."

"You asked for another way, so I just laid it down for you."

"But that is not possible."

"For you," the man said. "Others have done it."

"And the result of failure?" Rick asked.

"You will turn into a fish and hopefully my next breakfast."

Rick shuddered, and he knew then he had entered one chance. He had let his ego lead him to doom.

"I can't do that," he said.

"Well, pay my fees then," the man said.

"What is your fee?"

"Seven heads of freshly caught live fishes."

"What! That is impossible."

"That is my fee."

"You haven't done any charm for me," he protested.

"That is not my fault. You have no trinket."

"Then I demand the charm, and when I reach dry land, you will have your payment."

"Sure. Don't think you will run. My hand has a long reach."

"I will not run. I want to have something and not go empty-handed."

"Pluck three of your eyebrows and put them in that calabash over the fireplace," the man said. When he did that, the man put the tooth of a fish inside and said some incantation. There was red smoke coming out of the calabash, and when it cleared, a ring in the form of a fish was there. He gave it to Rick. "Here is your charm. You know the rules. When you see the girl, just call her name three times, and she will be yours."

"I don't know her name," he said, taking the ring.

"Not my problem. Now be off—and don't forget, time is ticking, and the wave is impatient."

The Perilous Return

Rick hurried out, clutching the ring in his inner pocket. He reached the boatman and scrambled inside, making sure no water touched him. "What are you waiting for? Hurry up, let us get out of here—and mind how you drive. I don't want water to touch me."

The boatman just laughed and folded his hands across his chest. "I don't think it works like that," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"The water you should make sure not to touch you is not here near his house, but the one in the open river."

"You have done this before?"

"Sure, lots of times."

"Any success from others?" Rick asked, swallowing hard.

"Well, that depends on many factors."

"Let's get going then—no time to waste. I have a dame to deal with."

"Payment first."

"When we reach land," Rick said.

"No, payment first. I don't want to lose my money."

"Do you mean no one has succeeded?"

"Payment first. I don't care about your charm."

Rick wasn't happy about the situation as he dug his hand in his pocket and brought out a thousand bucks. "Drive safely and very careful. Let no water touch me, and you will have another from where this came from."

"Sure."

The Fatal Spray

After paying the driver of the boat a thousand grand and with the promise to double it, the journey started. Rick made his body small and used his clothes to cover every part of his body. He cringed anytime he saw the waves. He constantly berated the driver to slow down, telling him if he really wanted him to become a fish for the old man's breakfast. "That is too much. Try to slow more, man. Don't let that water touch me."

"I'm going as slow as I can. There is nothing I can do."

"Go slower," he growled.

"My gas is burning. Don't want to run out and be stranded here."

"Shit," Rick said, eyeing the river water. "How can this be dangerous? Is the old man really making me jumpy?" He asked, "Have you seen anyone who was turned to fish by the water?"

"Sure, once in a while."

"Then make sure I don't become one of them, or your money will be gone too."

The driver just laughed. "You don't know what you're talking about. The fishes will bring it to me, you hear the old man."

And at that moment, a strong wind blew and hit the spray of water coming from the back of the horsepower engine. Rick saw it coming, but it was too late. There was nothing he could do but watch as the spray hit him. All he said was "SHIT" before his body was jerked into the water, and he was immediately changed into a fish.

At the house in the middle of the river, the old man just smiled and murmured, "Another breakfast set and sealed."

Angela was lucky, with no idea what had been planned for her. She stopped walking home for a few days, hoping not to run into that scar man.

Moral Of The Story

A real man earns respect; a weak one tries to steal it."

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