The Ransom Letters (Part 1 of 6)

Dear Friends,

This week I am going to do something slightly different: release a brand new story on my blog. It is a story with a difference though, told in six letters, each of which I’ll published daily throughout this week. On Saturday I’ll publish the final letter of the serial. If these six parts gets a hundred comments between them, I promise to start another brand-new serial next Monday. So if you want a new tale next week – or if you simply want to put me through the torture of writing one under pressure – get commenting – and send this link around your friends too!

One more thing: the final letter comes with a twist (naturally), and the first comment that predicts (or comes closest… p.s: my opinion is king… competition-small-print-blah-blah-blah…) wins a copy of my novel, Diaries of a Dead African. So get commenting!

Now here goes Part one (& the shortest) of my 3,200-word story. It all happens in Lagos, Nigeria. A husband fails to come home one night, instead a letter is slipped under his door. The missis reads it, grits her teeth, and sits down to reply. Our tale begins….

Dear Mr. Bomb,

Thank you for your letter. Don’t worry, I’m not mad so I won’t go to the police. The bribe I paid them 2 years ago for my stolen car which they never recovered is still vexing me. I will keep this to myself. Please take care of my darling husband. He likes to eat soft eko in the night, if you can manage it. By now he must have told you about his injections. I know you may not believe him but it’s true: if he doesn’t take his anti-clot injections every night he will just die on your hands – and me I am not going to pay any ransom for the dead body of my husband o. I’m telling you now. It is true that the injection is very expensive, and I know you may not have budgeted for it when you were planning this kidnapping, but you have to spend money to get money, not so?  So please let me know what the ransom is and I will pay it. My husband is a good and a faithful man. We don’t have any children and he is all I have. As you instructed, I will stroll down Tosin street at exactly 9 pm, wearing a yellow headtie, and I will give this letter to the first beggar boy that comes carrying a yellow bowl and calls me ‘Ashawo‘. But please now, can you choose another password next time? I don’t see the point of being insulted for nothing’s sake.

Mrs. Ashiru Koton

Related Posts:
Part 1: published on 15th November, 2010.
Part 2: published on 16th November, 2010.
Part 3: published on 17th November, 2010.
Part 4: published on 18th November, 2010.
Part 5: published on 19th November, 2010.
Part 6: published on 20th November, 2010

Chuma Nwokolo