Finally she said, “I have arrived.”
That night, Tracy went to a club. Loud music, flashing lights, bottles on tables, people dancing like tomorrow did not matter. Tracy sat in front like a celebrity. She ordered drinks and sprayed money to impress strangers. Men gathered around her quickly, laughing at her jokes, calling her baby, asking for her number.
She enjoyed it like a hungry person eating for the first time. She danced, shouted, and posted pictures like she was living her best life.
In her mind, she had not stolen anything. She told herself it was destiny. She told herself Joy was too slow and too holy.
“Life is for smart people,” she laughed.
The following day, Tracy woke up and faced the truth she did not want to admit.
Ten million naira was already almost finished.
She had spent like someone trying to prove something to the whole world. Shopping, clubbing, drinks, hotel, hair, nails, phone, giving strangers money just to hear them call her madam.
When she checked her bag and counted what remained, fear and greed tightened around her heart.
Instead of learning, she only wanted more.
“It’s not enough,” she muttered. “I need more.”
She brought out the white pot, smiled sweetly at it like it was her boyfriend, touched it three times, and said, “Oh, sweet pot, please give me more money. Plenty money.”
She waited, already smiling, imagining herself buying a car and renting a big apartment.
But this time, the room became strangely cold.
The pot shook slightly—
then vanished before her eyes like smoke.
Tracy’s smile died immediately.
“Ah! My pot!”
Before she could move, the air in the room changed and two masquerades suddenly appeared, as if they had come out of the ground. Their bodies were covered, their faces hidden, and their presence filled the room with fear.
Tracy’s legs went weak. She tried to run, but her body refused to obey.
The masquerades moved fast and began to beat her—not in some bloody way, but with heavy blows that made her cry and beg.
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