The villagers in Enugu said Adaeze’s baby had “old man’s eyes.” Bright, steady, unnervingly aware. When strangers came to see him, they looked away too quickly. Some muttered quiet prayers. Others simply crossed themselves. Even her aunt, a deeply religious woman, said one evening while cooking egusi soup:

—Ese o, this boy sees too much for his age. I don’t know if it’s a blessing or something else.

Adaeze smiled politely, but her heart raced. She had seen it too. The way Chibuikem would stare into empty corners. How his gaze would fix on shadows as if studying someone no one else could see. She told herself it was just a baby’s curiosity. But then, one night, she woke up to find him not crying—but laughing. Laughing at the ceiling fan.

Except the fan wasn’t on. And it wasn’t spinning.

She followed his gaze. Nothing. No sound. No wind. Just still air. But her spine tingled.

The next day, her aunt brought a priest to bless the house.

—Not because I think something is wrong—but just to be safe. You know how children are—vulnerable, open to many things.

Adaeze said nothing. She allowed the prayers, the incense, the holy water. But in her heart, she knew what others feared… wasn’t evil. It was power.

The woman in her dreams

Three weeks after Chibuikem was born, Adaeze started seeing the madwoman again—in her dreams.

Always the same setting: the mango tree outside the abandoned church. The woman would be seated, her hands clasped over her knees. Adaeze would walk towards her, holding her baby. The woman would speak in riddles:

“The boy will see more than light. He will see truth.”
“But truth can be dangerous for those who profit from lies.”

Every time Adaeze asked who his enemies were, the woman would shake her head and say:

“I’ve said enough. Now it’s your turn to see.”

And Adaeze would wake up gasping, heart pounding, milk leaking from her breasts.

One night, she asked her aunt about the woman again—describing her voice, her face, her manner of speech. Her aunt grew quiet. Then she said:

—You said she disappeared inside a church?

—Yes.

—Was it St. Raphael’s Church? The abandoned one?

—Yes!

Her aunt’s spoon dropped into the soup. She stared at Adaeze for a long moment before whispering:

—That woman… that sounds like Sister Ijeoma. She was a midwife and a nun. A prophet, some said. She lost her own child in childbirth… even though she wasn’t supposed to be pregnant. She was driven mad with grief. People said her visions turned dark, and she wandered until she vanished completely. That was over thirty years ago.

Adaeze’s mouth went dry.

—But the woman I saw… she was real. She gave me a leaf that helped me. She warned me.

Her aunt’s voice dropped even lower.

—Then, maybe she’s more than real. Maybe she walks between what we see… and what we don’t.

The signs begin

Chibuikem was four months old when the first real sign appeared.

One evening, Adaeze was changing him when he suddenly looked up and whispered a word. Not babbled—a real word. Clear. Firm.

—“Fire.”

She froze. Her hands trembled.

—What did you say?

He looked away and giggled, like nothing had happened.

The next morning, a neighbor’s house caught fire from a gas explosion. Two people died. The night before, Adaeze had seen the man sitting on his porch, smoking near his gas cylinder.

She stared at her son all day, heart pounding. Her hands trembled when she bathed him. When she looked into his bright eyes, she swore they shimmered slightly in the sun.

The strangers return

When Chibuikem was six months old, Adaeze began noticing men in suits near the market. Always the same black car parked by the corner. Always two men pretending to buy yams but never leaving with anything. One of them asked her apprentice for her full name.

That night, she packed their bags again.

—We’re going to the village — she told her aunt. —To my mother’s people in Imo.

But before they left, she went back to the abandoned church alone.

There was no one. The compound was overgrown. The mango tree looked dead. But something compelled her to kneel under it.

—Please… I need to know what to do. He’s not just a child. You know that. I need help.

The wind blew softly, and a single green leaf landed in her hand.

It wasn’t from the mango tree.

It was the same kind of leaf the madwoman had first given her.

Episode 2 ends.

To be continued in Episode 3: “The Eyes That See Fire”