After a repeated battle with insomnia, Frank decides to venture into full-time
nightlife, roaming the city of effervescent Lagos. Here in this adventure,
he encounters a series of strange happenings and other-worldly
events concealed from broad daylight. ©

Episode 1:Insomnia

Dusk comes too swiftly again. The premature day ended like the short lifespan of a mayfly.
I find myself yet again scrupulously flipping through pages of old magazines and newspapers
of previous weeks and months. I have often thought I’d make a good CIA agent. I know
how to find things, most especially people. I am a vicious investigator and will research almost
anything or any rumor. It has become quite a bit of an obsession. Information is power and
knowledge is freedom. I want both and a thousand more of it.

I still cannot sleep.

I get distracted by spying silver stars of the evening skies; I reflect on every passing moment
of life till I start to petrify. Echoes of the past infiltrate my ears, and I am too anxious about
future events. I don’t want to be caught in the middle. I want to be in charge.

Life has been somewhat upside down lately and I found it difficult to sleep.

I usually have two to three cups of coffee daily, but the coffee wasn’t the cause of my insomnia.
All efforts to rectify this proved abortive. I was bored and crazily restless and to make
matters worse, I have a 9 to 5. I work as a PR officer in an established firm, in the heart of Victoria Island.
My hobbies are taking photographs and writing stories. Staying awake was the fault of my body system
but I was going to seize its advantage. Staying awake at night meant having extra time most people
couldn’t afford. Then it dawned on me to explore this astonishing city as a nocturnal animal.

This was the beginning.

Episode 2: Midnight Rendezvous

I left home at 11:00 pm and got to Bogobiri House at Ikoyi in less than 15 minutes.
Of course by that time the road was clear and void of the usual traffic. From outside,
I could hear the outflow of good music of diverse genres.

It was karaoke night.

Amidst the crowd, I was lucky to find a place to sit this time around.
By the time I entered, there was wild clapping and cheering. Someone had
just left the stage and he had stolen the hearts of the already frenzied crowd.

I smiled. This was the kind of stuff I liked.

I waved to a couple of familiar faces I easily recognized and ordered for a malt drink.
A svelte figure — the next performer, had just climbed the stage and grabbed the microphone.
Her hair was short like a boys’ but pink- dyed, a fair skinned lady but her eyes were dark.
I felt everyone was keen to hear her sing. It seemed like she was a regular here.

She sang a love song, a beautiful love song. Her voice ‘killed’ it. She was darn good.

I could swear that I haven’t met anyone who sang better than she did. She sang like a
Nightingale, and then like a Sparrow, and then like the late Whitney Houston. It was amazing.
I haven’t heard a cover version that better than the original.

I watched as people cheered and gave her a deafening applause. The dudes in the house howled
like wolves and even I had to give her a standing ovation. At least, I had a reason to smile before
the day ended — it was fifteen minutes to midnight which made it the dawn of a new day.

I still didn’t feel sleepy.

I thought to stay a bit longer, maybe till 2:00 am, so I ordered for ‘small chops’ and while
the waiter was getting that prepared, I went to the restroom which was by the gate of
the boutique hotel. I was getting back inside when I noticed a tall man standing by my car outside.
Dressed in a vintage suit, he stood like a statue and had a hat on that matched his peculiar sharp attire.
I couldn’t see his face, so I thought to get close to him. I was scared for a brief moment, but I knew a
bandit or mugger wouldn’t have this appealing appearance.

Dress the way you want to be addressed —

I remembered those words and automatically knew this had to be a decent man.

I approached him face to face and asked if he needed anything — not that I cared,
but I felt uncomfortable with the idea of someone standing by my car in the dark.

You can’t trust too much these days.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

He sounded like a middle-aged man but with authority in his husky voice.

I looked at him from head to toe, trying to decipher. His black shoes shined
like glass and he didn’t even budge. There was nothing familiar about him, not even his voice.

“Hello Frank”, he said.

I was startled.

“What’s your name, Mister?”

I began to inquire…

“Do I know you?”

“Did anyone send you to me?”

“Who are you — ?”

“You ask too many questions Frank, don’t be afraid”, he retorted gently.

I wondered how he knew my name. I surveyed the vicinity with the edge
of my eyes to check if I’m being followed.

“Call me whatever you like”, he said with a sigh.

“I have something for you”, he said.

He dipped his hand in his right pocket and brought out an envelope which he handed over to me.
It was wax sealed and resembled an invitation of some sort.

Strangely, I still couldn’t get a clear picture of his face, maybe because it was dark,
but he was a man of very few words.

“I’ll be seeing you… Frank”, he said, as he disappeared into the dark.

Episode 3: The Invitation

I was home now.

Eager to read it, I carefully broke the seal of the envelope and yanked out a gold-plated invitation card. It resembled an invitation to a royal wedding or like an exclusive dinner at the Aso Rock Presidential Villa.

In the most fanciful cursive fashion, it read…

“On behalf of the members of the SMOLS Society, we have the pleasure to invite you to our annual cocktail party.

In order to spread the spirit of goodwill and synergy, we look forward to your kind participation.

We hope you take part in this exclusive event to make it a great success for all.

Venue: Oriental Hotel, Lagos.

Time: 11:00pm.

Date: Last Friday of this Month of November.”

COME ALONE!

This sounded like an invitation to a secret society. I wished I opened the envelope right there in the presence of the strange man, perhaps, he would have told me who or what the SMOLS society is. I reached out for my laptop and Googled the word SMOLS but I found nothing related to what I needed to know about the society. More importantly, I spent hours pondering on who must have sent me an invite — which I guess I’d find out soon enough.

***

The Cocktail Party

The days went like flipping pages, but I had ample time to have gotten a new striped suit at Mandilas. I couldn’t afford to buy a new shoe but I still had a befitting brogue for the occasion and a fine bow tie that matched the new suit. I still had no idea what SMOLS was all about. I had asked a couple of friends and associates as well who equally had no idea about the society. The past few weeks had been exhausting, my day’s job had taken a toll on me — from organizing and ensuring the successful outcome of the company’s annual general meeting to organizing press conferences.

Jeez…

I was worn out and getting tired of this job. It was high time for me to leave, but it wasn’t that simple.

Jeez…

I wanted out.

Besides, the pay sucked.

Something exciting and risky would be ideal. I wanted to know more people — people that matter in society.

The invitation was an obvious chance of connecting with the right people.

I was 30 minutes behind schedule.

11:30 pm.

The parking lot was adorned with the most enviable and fabulous automobiles my eyes have seen in a single stretch — the Porsche 911, Mercedes S550, Range Rover Vogue, Lamborghini Aventador, Mercedes G63, Audi A8 L TDI, Lexus LX 570 to name but a few, all displayed in various colors.

Jeez…

It was a rainbow in the dark here.

My car looked like a pebble among diamonds.

This was hard to swallow.

Several police officers and military men were scattered around the scene and at the entrance of the hall stood 6’4 feet bouncers with a handheld body scanner.

Jeez…

They resembled gorillas — buff and dangerous — they could kill a man with just their fist.

Where in the world did they get these guys from? I thought.

One of the buffs collected my invitation card, scrutinized it — like he must have thought I forged it and threw into a sack before checking me in.

I couldn’t believe my eyes…

It was a congregation of the elite — most of whom I haven’t come across in real life, such as top-notch politicians, royalties, oil tycoons and several business magnates. I recognized several prominent faces garbed in the most fanciful attires, enthusiastically interacting with their contemporaries and sipping their martinis.

Jeez…

I couldn’t believe this —

I only see or hear about these fellows on social media or newspapers.

I picked up a basil lemonade punch from the table and surveyed the entire assembly. I recognized one of the richest men in the country — the Billionaire — adorned in his typical but modest white attire, his Excellency — the governor of the state, the grand comedian, the chairman as well as the CEO of a leading bank and many more.

Of course, no one approached me or chatted me up. I was like a shadow — a nobody, amidst the crowd of notable people.

At the far end of the hall, standing in a corner, all by herself, was a lady dressed in a glittering gown.

To my surprise, she beckoned on me —

I guessed she equally recognized a loner like her in the crowd.

“You having fun?” she said, with a faint smile.

“I guess”, I replied excitedly.

By the way, my name is Frank — a nobody, to be exact, plus I was invited by a stranger whom I don’t seem to find here — he must have sacrificed his IV for me, I guess — a very generous man.

She chuckled.

“Allow me to introduce myself…” she said, stretching her hands towards me …”I’m Belinda”,

I was stunned.

I knew it, there was something strangely familiar with this face — it was her — the Blogger.

Episode 4: The Blogger


It was awesome meeting her in real life.

I became overly fond of her, it was like I’d known her longer than now.

“May I call you Bel or Lin?” I asked her, since I had the habit of shortening the names of my close friends and associates.

She tittered…

“Maybe not Bel”, she retorted.

I spent the next few minutes having a fun- loving conversation with her.

She was extraordinary, down to earth and unbelievably welcoming.

You could tell her anything and she was very honest but most especially, intelligent.

She asked me about everything — my career, love life, family — it was more like an informal interview — she seemed to have wanted to know everything about me.

I didn’t hide anything from her — she sort of had the charms to make you want to tell her everything.

She also told me about a lady — though she didn’t mention her name, but who was a victim of domestic violence and on the verge of losing custody of her daughter. She also told me how this lady was beaten black and blue and stripped naked in the presence of housekeepers. She was accused by her husband of marital infidelity and was sent packing with absolutely nothing.

It was 12:00 pm and the president of the occasion had struck his wine glass like a bell to make a toast.

Belinda sighed — dropped her Margarita on the table and requested we go to a private place.

We were on the rooftop of the hotel now — beholding the whole of Victoria Island like two little black birds.

The night was faintly lively and extremely lit up.

“I might need your help Frank”, she said, staring at me eyeball to eyeball.

I didn’t even wait to think about it but gladly asked what I could do for her.

She sighed —

“The man is a selfish, conceited man”, she said.

Which man?

“The husband of my frie-” Belinda paused.

Oh, she’s your friend? I retorted.

Belinda sighed — she probably didn’t want me to know that.

Oh, sorry…

“Na, it’s fine”, Belinda shrugged, “she’s an old friend anyways — way back at UNILAG.

Belinda sighed —

“I detest domestic violence…” Belinda said, touching her heart… “I won’t have it done, even to my enemy”.

“I don’t know if the story about her infidelity is true, but what I know is that her husband is no saint as well — he’s a chronic womanizer and this time, I’m going to pin him down”, Belinda said, fiercely.

“You are going to help me trail him Frank”, Belinda said.

“Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed.

“Shhhhhhh… Calm down Frank”, Belinda said.

She looked around to ensure nobody was eavesdropping.

“If it were not possible, I won’t be telling you to do it”, she said.

“But why me?” I asked.

She smiled.

“I’ve read some of your short stories — are they really true or just works of fiction?”

Oh, you’ve seen them?

“Of course, don’t you tag me sometimes?” Belinda said, with a faint smile.

Oh, yeah…

“You see… I believe you got talent, Frank — you’ll make a good private investigator” Belinda said, “ — why don’t we test your God-given talent?”

I sighed.

She had cajoled me there.

After a few seconds of hesitation, I submitted to her will.

I was very nervous and prayed this wasn’t a bad idea.

This time, I equally looked around to ensure no one was eavesdropping.

“So how do I proceed?” I whispered to Belinda.

She smiled, till her set of impeccable white teeth were visible.

“Follow me to my car”, Belinda said.