The moon was full over Umuaka village, a pale disc casting silver across the red earth. The palm trees swayed as if whispering to one another. Drums thudded faintly from a far-off compound, but no one dared step near the river. It was the twelfth hour of the night—the hour of the goddess.
Inside Chief Nwosu's vast compound, the youngest wife, Nneka, clutched a small calabash, her fingers trembling. She was beautiful even in fear, but her eyes darted toward the doorway as if someone might catch her. In the calabash, something thick and black glistened under the moonlight—a charm brewed by a jealous hand.
"Amaka, close your eyes," she whispered to the little girl curled on the mat. "Don't open them until Mama comes back."
Six-year-old Amaka obeyed, but the air in the room felt heavy. Outside, the night chorus of frogs and crickets stopped, replaced by a single low hum—like a woman singing somewhere in the water.
Nneka stepped out, crossing the yard barefoot, beads rattling around her ankles. She headed for the river, ignoring the whispers from the shadows of the wives' huts. Someone hissed, "Why she dey go dat side for midnight? She wan die?"
The river lay ahead, black and endless. A mist rose from it though no wind blew. And then she appeared: a figure of dazzling beauty, waist-length hair like spun silver, eyes as deep as the ocean. Mammy Water. The goddess of the midnight waters.
"You came," the goddess murmured, her voice like ripples. "But you bring a charm to me?"
Nneka dropped the calabash, shaking. "It no be me! Dem send me—"
The goddess's smile was sad and terrible. "Blood for blood. The law is the law."
A scream tore through the night, echoing across Umuaka. The villagers huddled inside their huts, whispering prayers. In Chief Nwosu's compound, the little girl opened her eyes just in time to see a flash of light outside. Then silence.
By morning, Nneka's body lay by the river, her skin pale, her beads broken. People said she broke the midnight law. People said she tried to cheat the goddess. People said many things.
But little Amaka grew up knowing only this: at midnight, the goddess walks. And someone killed her mother with a charm.
: In the distance, a man's voice laughs. "All this na village story." But that man hasn't arrived yet.