BLACK MILK AT 3 AM

BLACK MILK AT 3 AM

I am typing this from a quiet hotel room in Ikeja. The curtains are drawn even though it is morning. Every sound in the hallway makes my heart jump. I have not slept. I have not eaten. I keep staring at my phone screen, waiting for another alert.

My name is Funke Badmus. Until yesterday, I believed I was one of the most fortunate women in Lagos.

I am a Zonal Manager at a top bank. I built my career with discipline and long nights of study. My husband, Chief Badmus, is a respected businessman. Real estate. Oil contracts. Government connections. We live in Banana Island. Three cars in the compound. Two trips to Dubai every year. Designers in my wardrobe. Gold in my jewelry box.

People used to look at me and smile with admiration.

Funke, you are blessed.

Funke, God has favored you.

Funke, your husband loves you.

I believed all of it.

Until the gold started disappearing.

At first, I thought I was careless. I removed my wedding ring after a shower and could not find it the next morning. I searched everywhere. Under the bed. Inside drawers. In my handbag. Nothing.

I blamed myself.

Then my gold chain vanished.

Then two expensive wristwatches.

That was when my spirit refused to rest.

The only other person who entered our bedroom regularly was our housegirl, Chidinma.

She came from the village six months ago. She was young, maybe nineteen. Soft spoken. Always singing gospel songs at dawn. You would wake up to her voice floating through the house.

You are worthy Lord.

You are worthy.

She prayed loudly every night. She called me Madam with respect. I gave her my old dresses. I bought her a small phone. I even planned to enroll her in evening classes.

When I accused her gently, she fell to her knees and cried.

Madam, God is my witness. I did not take anything.

My husband surprised me that day. Instead of supporting me, he defended her.

Funke, why are you troubling the poor girl. It is just gold. We will buy more.

Just gold.

The way he said it made me feel small. As if I was petty.

But something inside me would not calm down.

So I did what any rational woman with resources would do.

I went to Computer Village and bought a tiny spy camera disguised as a phone charger. I paid cash. I did not tell anyone. Not even my best friend.

I plugged it into the wall socket facing our bed.

If someone was stealing from me, I would know.

Yesterday evening, after work, I removed the memory card and locked myself inside my study. My hands were shaking as I inserted it into my laptop.

I scrolled through the footage.

Afternoon. Chidinma entered. She dusted the wardrobe. She cleaned the mirrors. She left.

Evening. Nothing.

I almost closed the laptop.

Then I saw the timestamp.

03:00 AM.

The bedroom door opened slowly.

My breathing stopped.

Chidinma entered.

But it was not the Chidinma I knew.

She was wrapped in a red cloth tied around her waist. Her hair was loose and wild. Her eyes were open but empty. She did not walk like a human being. Her steps were smooth and unnatural, like she was floating.

She moved to my husband’s side of the bed.

She tapped him once.

My husband woke immediately.

No confusion. No fear.

He got down from the bed and knelt before her.

Chief Badmus. A man who makes governors wait in his office.

He knelt like a child before a teacher.

My Mother, I have waited, he said.

His voice was not the deep commanding voice I knew. It was soft. Obedient.

Chidinma looked at him with eyes that did not belong to a teenager.

The sacrifice is overdue, she said.

Her voice was deep. Almost masculine.

My skin broke out in goosebumps.

She loosened her wrapper.

I will not describe everything I saw. I only know that what stood before my husband was not simply a village girl. Her skin was covered in strange marks that seemed to glow under the camera night vision.

She lifted her chest and commanded him to drink.

My husband obeyed.

He latched onto her like an infant seeking comfort.

But there was nothing maternal about what I saw.

A thick dark liquid flowed from her. Not white. Not natural. It looked like moving shadow.

As he drank, his body changed.

His shoulders straightened. His face looked younger. Stronger. Almost radiant.

Chidinma on the other hand began to shrink. Her cheeks hollowed. Her body trembled.

Drink, she commanded. The gold you stole from your wife is not enough. We need her blood next.

I screamed.

The laptop slipped from my hands and hit the floor.

In the video, my husband froze.

Slowly, he turned his head toward the hidden camera.

His eyes were red.

Funke is watching, he whispered.

Chidinma smiled.

Bring her, she said.

At that exact moment, I heard footsteps racing up the stairs toward my study.

Open the door honey. I can explain.

Explain what.

That my husband was feeding from a girl young enough to be his daughter.

That he stole my jewelry as an offering.

That I was next.

I did not wait.

My study window faced the side of the house. It was not too high. I climbed out and dropped to the ground. The pain in my ankle was sharp but fear pushed me forward.

I ran barefoot through the side gate.

I have not gone back.

That was twelve hours ago.

Now I sit here in this hotel room staring at a credit alert.

Fifty million naira.

Narration says come back home. We can share the power.

My hands are trembling even as I type this.

Part of me wants to return. Fifty million is not small money. That amount can buy safety. It can buy silence.

But at what cost.

I did not sleep. I kept replaying the scene in my mind.

Then something else happened.

Around four in the morning, there was a knock on my hotel door.

Three soft knocks.

My heart nearly stopped.

I did not answer.

Madam, the voice called softly.

It was Chidinma.

I backed away from the door.

Madam, please. Let me explain.

How did she know where I was.

I remained silent.

The knocking stopped.

I waited for maybe ten minutes. Nothing.

Then my phone rang.

It was a private number.

I did not want to pick it. But I did.

Funke, my husband’s voice came through, calm and smooth.

You have seen what you were not meant to see.

My throat was dry.

Stay away from me, I whispered.

You do not understand, he said. Everything I built, everything you enjoy, came from sacrifice. From covenant. You think those contracts are ordinary. You think power is free.

You used me, I said.

No, he replied. I protected you. You were never meant to be involved. But now you know. So you have two choices.

My silence encouraged him.

Come back. Join us. Chidinma is not what you think. She is older than both of us. She feeds those who are chosen. With her blessing, we can live forever in wealth and influence. Or you run. And you lose everything. And maybe more.

The line went dead.

I sat on the edge of the bed thinking about my life.

All the luxury.

All the admiration.

All the pride.

Was it all black milk.

Suddenly, I remembered something from months ago.

Chidinma once fainted in the kitchen. When I rushed to help her, I saw scars on her back. Deep old scars forming strange symbols.

She told me she fell as a child.

I believed her.

I also remembered how my husband’s businesses seemed to rise suddenly after she arrived.

Contracts that were impossible became easy.

Money flowed without struggle.

I connected the dots too late.

Around sunrise, I made a decision.

I would not go back.

Not for fifty million.

Not for power.

I went to the reception and asked to extend my stay under a different name. I contacted a lawyer friend from work and told her I needed protection and confidentiality.

Then I did something else.

I called the police.

Not the regular station. A senior officer I once helped secure a loan for.

I told him I had evidence of ritual activities and financial crimes.

He thought I was joking.

Until I sent him a copy of the video.

Within two hours, he called back.

Madam, do not return home. We are moving in.

By afternoon, my phone was buzzing nonstop.

News had broken.

Businessman Arrested in Banana Island for Ritual Activities.

Hidden Chamber Discovered.

Human Remains Found in Underground Shrine.

I felt cold.

They found a room beneath our bedroom. A hidden chamber built into the foundation of the house.

There were bowls of dried black substance.

Jewelry. Not just mine.

Many pieces.

Different sizes.

Different designs.

My husband was arrested.

But Chidinma.

Chidinma was nowhere to be found.

The security cameras around the house did not capture her leaving.

It was as if she dissolved into air.

As evening approached, I finally allowed myself to cry.

Not just for fear.

But for the illusion I lost.

I was never the Madam of that house.

I was an offering waiting for my turn.

The fifty million naira remains in my account.

I will not touch it.

My lawyer advised me to freeze all joint assets.

The bank has already placed restrictions.

I do not know what tomorrow holds.

But I know this.

We chase wealth in this city as if it is oxygen.

We admire big men without asking what feeds their greatness.

We envy luxury without questioning the source.

I almost became a permanent source of black milk.

Tonight, I will sleep with the lights on.

Tomorrow, I will begin again.

Not as the wife of Chief Badmus.

But as Funke.

Alive.

And free.

If you are reading this and you think power is worth any price, remember my story.

Some wealth drinks from you slowly.

Some blessings come with teeth.

And sometimes the real master in your house is the one you think is serving you.