Kidnapping Father Christmas: Chapter 8 – Nigerian Christmas Story, Funny, Kidnap Santa Clause, Adventure, Children and Mischief, Free Web Novel, Fabling, Pam
“Urgh! Father Christmas pissed on himself!” Osas exclaimed, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she backed away.
The children froze in shock for a moment, then a mix of confusion, fear, and panic set in as Oyinbo’s eyes shot wide open, staring blankly ahead.
“What is the North Pole’s number?” Chukwuma demanded, fumbling with his phone as if he were about to dial it. Oyinbo, dazed and confused, could only blink in response.
“Let me slap him again,” Osas said, her voice full of determination. Chukwuma gave her the go-ahead, and without hesitation, she landed another hard slap on Oyinbo’s face. He let out a muffled scream, his face contorted in pain.
“I’ll ask you one last time,” Chukwuma said, his voice low and serious.
“How can he answer you? His mouth is tied,” Aboki pointed out with a roll of his eyes.
Realising the flaw in his plan, Chukwuma handed Oyinbo’s Malata S500 phone to Otomokpo. “Go through his contacts,” he ordered. Then he picked up a stick and walked behind Oyinbo. “We’ll release your mouth now, but if you shout, I will knack you stick for head. Do you understand?”
Oyinbo nodded frantically.
Bayo untied the cloth gagging Oyinbo’s mouth, but as soon as it was off, Oyinbo tried to scream. As promised, Chukwuma “knacked” him on the head with the stick, hitting him multiple times. “Oya fem! Fem! Shut up!” Chukwuma shouted, each word punctuated with another hit.
“Someone will hear us!” Bayo hissed, glancing nervously toward the door.
Osas, not wanting to be left out, grabbed a stick of her own and approached Oyinbo. Seeing her coming, Oyinbo quickly relented. “I will shut up! I will shut up!” he pleaded, raising his hands in surrender.
But Osas, her expression fierce, still delivered a quick whack with the stick. “Will you cooperate?” she demanded.
“Yes, yes, I swear to God I will cooperate. Please stop! Ema binu! I won’t shout again,” Oyinbo promised, tears mixing with the sweat on his face.
Finally, they stopped, and Otomokpo resumed scrolling through Oyinbo’s contacts. “Amebo, Alinko, Bolanle,” he read aloud, then paused and squinted at the screen. “Milẹ́… Pepeye… All these names don’t look like Father Christmas’ number o.”
“Of course not. He wouldn’t use their real names now,” Chukwuma said, snatching the phone back from Otomokpo. He shoved the phone into Oyinbo’s tear-streaked face. “Now, what is the number of the North Pole?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Oyinbo sobbed, shaking his head in confusion.
“What is Mother Christmas’ number?” Chukwuma specified, narrowing his eyes.
“Oh, my mama! Na wetin you want?” Oyinbo said, realising what they were asking for. “I store her number as Milẹ́.”
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