Steeplechases it working?
When you hear this, you may think I’m crazy, but I assure you I am of sane mind and function. The events of the night I am about to narrate, actually did happen and while a majority of the world is yet unaware, those that do know, know. For listening to this you might be hunted and killed, but you have to know, you have to know the truth.

My name is Dare, and I’m the AntiChrist.

Wait! Hold it for a minute. Hear me out. Let me explain.

I was born Twenty-two years ago, in a normal hospital here in Port-harcourt. My schooling was normal, my parents were normal, my friends were normal. I lost my virginity to an older girl when I was Nineteen, like any other person. I have never exhibited any special powers or anything. In fact, I was a B student in school. I have never led people or stole or worshipped a graven image. I do not lie unnecessarily, my cGPA is 3.52 and I don’t even know how to play Fifa ’12!
I’m just a normal guy, my name is Dare and yet they say I’m the AntiChrist.

It’s painful.

I didn’t know anything about this until last night. In fact, as I was strolling from Nne Nkechi’s place where I went to buy matches, I had no thoughts in my head asides from using the fish in my fridge to cook beans, eat and sleep. At the moment this started, I think I had just started contemplating what to wear to church. Church!

So there I was, walking down Deiffre road when the man jumped out of the shadows in front of me. My first instinct was that he was there to rob me, which was crazy because, late at night though it was, I wasn’t exactly on a deserted street and I’m not exactly some short, skinny guy. So I stepped back and made as if I wanted to fight, while readying my lungs to scream my ass out if I saw a knife or a gun.

The man just advanced, muttering something under his breath. Then he brought out something from under his shirt. I sucked in a deep breath. It was the most wicked looking wooden stake I have ever seen. And I have seen many in movies. Black wood with what looked like the reddish tint of blood on the point, and all across the shaft were markings and carvings of ancient Enochian sigils.

Adrenaline pumped through my body, and my instincts urged me to run. I took off as fast as I could. Oddly in all this I didn’t scream and I could hear the man’s mutterings quite clearly:

“Il nomine Patris, et Filio, et Spiritus Sancti..”

Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! was the thought running through my mind. What sort of bizzare dream is this? I kept running. I darted behind a shop and ran down a sort of alley till I got to a fence. I vaulted the fence into the compound. Sprinted past the parked cars to the other side where I climbed the fence again into a dark street. No one was there. The street looked empty. Maybe they’ve gone, I thought. I turned to my right and started jogging.

All in my mind. It’s all in my mind, I kept telling my self. This is just a malaria dream.

The bullet whizzed past me, missing my head by the width of a mosquito’s thigh. The car had come out of nowhere, speeding behind me with it’s headlights off and it’s engines muffled. I ran faster, the bullets slamming into the sand inches behind my footfalls. Couldn’t anyone else see this?!!! The car was closing in. Soon my pursuers would be on me. There would be no escape. They would kill me! There was an open gutter filled with stagnant water and mucor to my side.

I dived in.

The car passed by in a flurry of screeching brakes. Before the driver or shooter could come out, I had scrambled to my feet, body smelling and dripping with various forms of yuckiness, and started to run as fast as I could through ankle-length water.

Wait! You think this is just a story? You think I’m just saying something to entertain you? This men were out to kill me! Kill me!!! What did I do? I had never killed anyone. Never had sex with another man’s girl, at least not that I knew of. Never blocked anyone on Twitter! I don’t hate on 2go users! I’m a nice guy! Why me?

I don’t know why or how they stopped chasing me, but after a while I turned back, still sloshing through the gutter, and they were gone. I was too scared to go home. Too scared to do anything in fact. My BlackBerry was gone, drowning somewhere in the gutter, but my Nokia was still good to go. So I called Anita.

I remember my words clearly.

“Baby, please I need your help..” I was shivering under a signpost that said ‘Loveworld; giving your life a meaning’ “Baby, I’m at Christ Embassy..please come pick me..”

Anita was not my girlfriend, but she could have been if she was not four years older than me. But age is just a number. A simple number.

In minutes Anita was there, her silver Nissan Primera coasted to a stop with me standing beside the driver’s window. The window slid down and a shiny black pistol came out. I was so petrified, I could scarcely breathe. Blood drained from my face and my legs turned to jelly. Anita too?? Anita fired the pistol and for a second I stood still and breathless till she screamed, “Get in!” and I realised the shot was not for me. Then I saw the man crumple to the ground behind me. It was the same guy from before. The one with the stake.

Oh my god! What’s going on??

I sprinted to the other side of the car and jumped in my heart beating faster than the konga drum during a Kenyan marriage. Anita gunned the Primera and we sped down the road.

“What is going on?” I wailed.
“I’m sorry your Majesty,” she replied.

I sat shocked and numb while Anita explained that I was the AntiChrist, the one prophesied for millennia. She and others since my childhood had watched over me till the day I would be ready. For some reason, they had not been around tonight which was why the Forces of the Light had used the opportunity to try to kill me. While she was explaining all these, she was driving with one hand and firing bullet after bullet, from an Uzi submachine gun, at unseen men in the shadows.

Me, Dare, the AntiChrist.

It cannot be.

I’m a nice guy. I’m an average Joe. I barely speak Yoruba. I read Physics in school for Pete’s sake! I wear jeans, I don’t sag and I have a simple low cut.

We were speeding down Aba road. The plan according to Anita was to gat me out of the city and then we’ll find a roundabout course to either Calabar or Benin. When I asked why those cities, she just smiled. Suddenly, a Stinger rocket whined out of nowhere and slammed into the driver’s side of the Primera, lifting the car on its side and slamming it into a bus parked on the side of the road. I screamed as loud as I could, and somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I realised lightening flashed.

When the world finally stopped spinning, Anita was dead and the air was steamy and reeking of blood. I don’t know how I managed to extricate myself from the mass of tangled and tortured metal and get a bicycle, but the next thing I knew I was cycling down the road at speeds I didn’t know bicycles were capable of. The adrenaline pumped fast and I had only one thought in my head; get to a radio station and air my story.

The crash had happened around Garrison bus stop and I knew if I pedalled flat out, I would reach Forces avenue in time. In time for what? I didn’t know.

Somehow, with bullets flying and cars chasing me, I managed to ride through the open gates of Rhythm 93.7 while leaving a trail of exploding cars in my wake. I don’t know how. When I dropped the bicycle with the burnt tires on the floor, tears were streaming down my face, my clothes were torn, bloody, coated green with algae and I was as smelly as a pig with a severe case of diarrhoea. It was 1:00 AM and I had no idea who would be awake to listen to me at this time, but I had to try. I think it was the presence of the Uzi in my hand, for I had carried Anita’s gun, that got me the attention I needed. The guards all seemed to flee, and the technicians to obey, once I looked in their direction. That’s how come I’m here now, talking to you. This is live and I’m sure there’ll be a Youtube podcast of this too.

I can see the Police outside the window. In moments they’ll be storming into the studio with guns drawn. They want to come and arrest me! I mean, me??? No one believes me! You guys have to. I’m innocent in all this. I’m a victim!

I’m Dare, I’m the Anti….


The doors slammed open into hell. Veteran Inspector Dickson who led the team of Mobile Police officers was shocked at the spectacle he beheld. The room looked to be on fire, with yellow tongues of flame licking at the walls, but curiously not burning anything. A hundred voices echoed all about the studio in sibilant whispers, though only one figure stood in the centre behind the microphone. The ‘man’ who was broadcasting the message was glowing red! He had horns growing from his head and scales on his body!

The Inspector made his decision quickly.

“Fire!” he yelled as he pulled his trigger.

The creature twisted in the air and slammed into the Inspector, wrenching the Tariq pistol out of his hands and tossing him into the wall. His tail whipped around, it had a tail, and smacked the Sergeant in his neck, causing the burly man to pass out instantly.

Dickson watched in paralytic shock from his place on the floor as the AntiChrist levelled the entire squad of twelve officers in less than twenty seconds leaving them in a mangled heap of broken bones and torn muscles.

Then it turned to him, it’s greenish-yellow eyes bulging and angry, and it spoke in a voice that was surprisingly small:

“Help me,” it pleaded. “I’m just Dare…”

*I reserve no pity or sympathy for the AntiChrist or any of the minions of the Devil. None are innocent.
*The title of this tale has almost no significance to the story.
*This story has NO basis in actual fact.
*I wrote this on a Sunday morning. (I have no idea of the significance of this)
*I have only known one Dare and this bears no resemblance to him in any way.
*I really have never blocked anyone on Twitter.

‘Minions of the Devil’ includes, Jake, Edward Cullen, Vampire Bill, whats-her-name from Underworld etc..
And yeah, it’ll be weird having an AntiChrist who says ‘In fact’ every five seconds.

Follow on Twitter @janus_aneni


Author: Christopher Aneni

Histrionic| Creator| god.

25 thoughts on “Steeplechases”

  1. Twitter, 2go, sagging, simple low cut and anti-christ. Who would have thought. No coitus today. Still as good as ever Chris.


  2. I think your stories have amazing potential. I really do. Which is why I’m not going to bother with gushing about your work. I think you know your writing is that good. Instead I’ll focus on the bits that seem off. And maybe offer my two cents about them.

    I think the first thing I’ve noticed about your writing is the discordant use of imagery. For example “flurry of screeching brakes.” Flurry is used to connote a number of tiny individual actions strung together that it seems like a single prolonged action. Which is why it works for a flurry of punches or a flurry of flappings wings. Screeching brakes doesn’t sit well with flurry. I tried to imagine it and it didn’t come. Actually screeching brakes is an unpleasant enough sound that it doesn’t need extra description. There are others, but I think this one illustrates the issue perfectly.

    Poor inspector had no idea who he was messing with.


  3. Wow Chris! At first I was scared not knowing what to expect from you, but it turned out to be a mash up of a horror and a comedy. Nice one!


  4. I Like..a lot.Your writing never ceases to amaze me..Your use of humor was excellent,and u managed to frighten me at the same time..only you cld do that.And yh,ur mind is still all kinds of was really goooood!!


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