Kidnapping Father Christmas: Chapter 11 – Nigerian Christmas Story, Funny, Kidnap Santa Clause, Adventure, Children and Mischief, Free Web Novel, Fabling, Pam
The initial shock had barely worn off when panic gripped Ebuka, realising the gravity of the situation. His younger brother, Chukwuma, had not just kidnapped “Father Christmas”—he had kidnapped a full-grown man, and now they were in deep trouble. Ebuka grabbed Chukwuma by the arms, dragging him out of the storehouse and locking the door behind them.
“Why are you angry?” Chukwuma asked, bewildered by his brother’s sudden aggression.
“Idiot! There is no such thing as Father Christmas! That is a full-grown man you’ve locked in there! God, mummy will kill me! Don’t tell her I told you to do anything! How many people know?” Ebuka’s words tumbled out in a panicked ramble, but Chukwuma had already stopped listening. The revelation that Father Christmas wasn’t real hit him like a ton of bricks, and tears welled up in his eyes.
Ebuka noticed the tears and, in his panic, tried to toughen his little brother up. “Mumu, if you don’t stop crying, I will conk your head and give you a reason to cry.”
But Chukwuma just glared at him, a mixture of betrayal and anger flashing across his young face. Before Ebuka could process this, they both heard a noise from the stairs. The sound jolted Ebuka, who was already in a paranoid state. He quickly looked around for a weapon. “Don’t move from here,” he ordered Chukwuma.
Meanwhile, outside, Ọ̀gbeni and Atutu were sneaking around the house, trying to locate Oyinbo. The two men had tripped in the dark, and Ọ̀gbeni was getting increasingly frustrated. “Be careful! If everybody wakes up, this will be hard.”
They heard a noise from the backyard—sticks falling—and froze. “What is that?” Atutu whispered.
“How am I supposed to know?” Ọ̀gbeni snapped, heading toward the noise.
Inside, Ebuka, his nerves frayed, gripped a strong stick and made his way around the building, leaving Chukwuma where he stood. He prayed silently, “Holy shit! God, please don’t let anybody wake up.”
As Atutu and Ọ̀gbeni reached the backyard, they found a scared Chukwuma standing still. Without hesitation, Ọ̀gbeni pointed his gun at him. “Where is Oyinbo?” he demanded, his voice rough and menacing.
“Oyinbo?” Chukwuma stammered, confused. The name took a moment to register.
“I will shoot you…” Ọ̀gbeni threatened.
Chukwuma’s fear spiked, and he quickly blurted out, “He is inside the small house.”
“Is any police there?” Ọ̀gbeni asked.
“No,” Chukwuma replied, his eyes wide, staring at the gun. He knew what guns were for, but a part of him still doubted if it was real. Despite his fear, his mind raced, trying to figure out a way to save himself.
Satisfied for the moment, Ọ̀gbeni hoisted Chukwuma over his shoulder, carrying him into the storehouse where Oyinbo was held. Atutu stayed outside, keeping watch.
Inside, Oyinbo’s eyes lit up when he saw Ọ̀gbeni, thinking he was about to be rescued. Relief washed over him, but it quickly turned to terror as Ọ̀gbeni pointed the gun at him. “Mumu, see your life. The pikin we send you to kidnap, na them con kidnap you. You are worthless, you don’t deserve to live.”
Chukwuma, watching this unfold, knew he had to act. Even if Father Christmas wasn’t real, this man—Oyinbo—was, and now he was about to be killed.
As Ọ̀gbeni steadied his aim and prepared to pull the trigger, Chukwuma did the only thing he could think of in that split second: he released a loud, foul-smelling fart right in Ọ̀gbeni’s face. The unexpected and rancid gas hit Ọ̀gbeni directly in the nose, causing him to jerk his head back in disgust and fire the gun off-target. The bullet grazed Oyinbo’s face, taking a thin strip of skin off the topmost layer, but narrowly missing anything more vital.
Oyinbo screamed in pain, but the sound was muffled by his bindings. The room filled with tension as Chukwuma stared in shock at what he had just done, and Ọ̀gbeni, choking on the stench, glared at the boy with murderous intent.
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