The Man Whose Skin Turned to Firewood
Nobody in the village knew what was wrong with Chukwudi.
It had started three weeks earlier.
At first, he complained about an unusual itching sensation on his arms. His mother assumed it was an ordinary skin infection and gave him some herbs to rub on his body.
The itching stopped.
But then his skin began to change.
Small patches on his arms became rough and dry. The skin around his neck started cracking. Within days, his entire body looked as though it had been left under the scorching sun for years.
When Chukwudi woke up that morning, he could barely recognize himself.
His skin had turned dry like old firewood.
He sat on his bed, staring at his hands.
“What is happening to me?”
His fingers trembled.
The skin around his knuckles had become dark and wrinkled. When he moved his fingers, tiny flakes fell onto the bedsheet.
His younger brother, Obinna, rushed into the room.
“Brother, are you okay?”
Chukwudi looked at him.
“Look at me.”
Obinna stopped.
For several seconds, he couldn’t speak.
Their uncle, Eze, entered the room moments later and immediately understood that this was no ordinary sickness.
“Call the elders.”
“What?”
“Call them now.”
Within an hour, three elders had gathered inside the compound.
They examined Chukwudi from head to toe without touching him.
One of them whispered something into the ear of another.
Chukwudi heard them.
“What are you saying?”
Nobody answered.
His fear grew.
“Please. Tell me what is happening to me.”
Finally, the oldest of them spoke.
“Where have you been sleeping?”
“Here.”
“Have you entered the forest recently?”
Chukwudi’s heart skipped.
He looked away.
“Why are you asking?”
The old man stared at him.
“Answer me.”
Chukwudi swallowed.
“Three weeks ago, I went hunting.”
“Where?”
“The old forest.”
The room became silent.
His uncle immediately stood.
“You went there?”
Chukwudi nodded.
“What did you see?”
“Nothing.”
“That is not true.”
“I said I saw nothing!”
The old man shook his head.
“Something saw you.”
That night, Chukwudi could not sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the forest.
He remembered walking deeper than he had ever gone before.
He remembered finding an enormous tree with strange markings carved into its trunk.
And he remembered hearing a woman’s voice.
Don’t touch it.
He had ignored the warning.
Behind the tree, he had found an old wooden box buried beneath the roots.
He had opened it.
Inside was a small piece of blackened wood wrapped in red cloth.
He had taken it home.
Now he suddenly remembered something else.
He had thrown the piece of wood into the fire that same evening.
The fire had gone out immediately.
And from that moment, his skin had started changing.
Chukwudi sat upright in bed.
“The wood.”
Obinna looked at him.
“What?”
“The wood I brought from the forest.”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
They searched the house.
Nothing.
Then they heard a sound from outside.
Knock.
Everyone froze.
Knock.
Again.
Someone was knocking on the compound gate.
Obinna walked toward it.
“Don’t open that gate,” Chukwudi whispered.
But Obinna was already there.
He opened it.
There was nobody outside.
Only a small bundle wrapped in red cloth lying on the ground.
Chukwudi saw it from his bed.
His blood ran cold.
“Don’t touch it!”
Obinna stepped backward.
The bundle moved.
Once.
Then again.
As though something inside it was breathing.
The elders arrived moments later.
The oldest man looked at the bundle and immediately began praying.
“You brought it back,” he whispered.
Chukwudi stared at him.
“What brought it back?”
The old man looked at him.
“Not the wood.”
“Then what?”
“The spirit that was trapped inside it.”
A cold wind swept through the compound.
Every lantern went out at once.
Chukwudi screamed.
The skin on his arms began cracking.
He fell from the bed, clutching himself and crying.
“Please! Help me!”
The elders formed a circle around him.
The oldest man shouted instructions.
“Nobody touches him!”
But it was already too late.
The cracks had begun spreading across Chukwudi’s chest.
His skin was becoming harder.
Darker.
Drier.
It looked less like human skin with every passing second.
Then Chukwudi heard the woman’s voice again.
This time, it wasn’t coming from the forest.
It was coming from inside the room.
You took what belonged to us.
Chukwudi began shaking.
“I didn’t know!”
You entered our home.
“I didn’t know!”
Now your body will become our tree.
The elders began chanting.
Obinna grabbed his brother’s hand despite the warning.
“Fight it!”
Chukwudi looked at him.
“I can’t!”
“You can!”
“I can’t!”
The oldest elder suddenly threw the red bundle into the fire.
The flames exploded upward.
A scream echoed through the compound.
Not Chukwudi’s scream.
Something else.
Something ancient.
The windows shook.
The doors slammed open and closed.
Then everything stopped.
Silence.
Chukwudi collapsed.
For several minutes, nobody moved.
Finally, Obinna whispered:
“Is he dead?”
The old man walked toward the bed.
He touched Chukwudi’s forehead.
“He’s alive.”
Everyone breathed again.
But then the old man noticed something.
The skin on Chukwudi’s arm had returned to normal.
Only one small patch remained.
It looked like the bark of a tree.
The elder’s face changed.
“What?”
Obinna looked at him.
“What is it?”
The old man slowly stepped backward.
“It didn’t leave.”
“What didn’t leave?”
He pointed at the patch.
“The spirit.”
Everyone stared at Chukwudi.
Then, from somewhere deep inside the forest, they heard a tree crack.
CRAAACK.
Chukwudi opened his eyes.
They were completely black.
And he smiled.
“She said she’ll come back.”
Nobody in the room spoke.
Then Chukwudi whispered:
“Next time, she won’t come for me.”
He looked toward the window.
“She’ll come for all of you.”