The Midnight Road to Hell: My Abuja to Enugu Nightmare
A Coolvalstories Production
Episode 1: One Way In, No Way Out
I always believed night buses were for the brave. Turns out I wasn’t brave—I was just desperate.
It was a humid Thursday night, and I had booked a last-minute seat on a bus bound for Enugu. The transport company was one of those popular names that gave a false sense of security with their neat uniforms and flashy logos. I was running late for my cousin’s traditional wedding, and Abuja was already behind me by 8:30 PM. The bus was half-filled with strangers, most either dozing off or neck-deep in their phones. I remember the driver muttering something about Kogi roads being “quiet” at night, almost like a warning cloaked in a casual joke.
By 11:47 PM, we were deep into the belly of Kogi State—no streetlights, no visible homes. Just the humming of the tires, the chirping of crickets, and that eerie darkness that swallows up even your thoughts.
Suddenly, the bus screeched to a halt.
“What’s happening?” a woman near the front cried out.
The driver tried to reverse, but it was too late. A battered Hilux truck had blocked the road behind us. Another was parked just ahead, headlights off. Out of the bushes emerged men—seven of them—faces masked with black cloth, rifles slung over their shoulders like hunting trophies.
They didn’t need to say much. Just one warning shot into the air, and the bus was instantly baptized with silence and urine-soaked fear. I could feel my bladder betray me as my heart kicked against my chest like a trapped bird.
“EVERYBODY DOWN! HEADS TO THE GROUND!”
One man stormed in, slapping the driver and dragging him out. Another fired two shots into the air again. This wasn’t robbery. This was kidnap.
They carried everyone. Why us? I don’t know. Maybe it was random. Maybe it wasn’t.
I was number four.
I remember a girl beside me—maybe 22, crying and whispering prayers as they pointed at us one by one. I wanted to scream, to run, to fight. But my limbs had turned into sticks of raw spaghetti. When they yanked me up and out into the night, the chill from the bush felt like ice water. I was barefoot. My slippers had fallen off inside the bus.
We were shoved into the bush, guns to our backs. The forest swallowed us whole as we were marched for what felt like hours. The night was no longer dark—it was evil. Every snapping twig, every rustle of leaves felt like a whisper from death.
Then came the sound that broke something in me.
Screaming.
It was the girl. She had fallen. One of them dragged her up roughly and said something in Hausa I didn’t fully catch. But his tone was wicked. Pure wickedness. He fired a warning shot at her feet and laughed. That laughter chilled me more than the gun.
After an hour of walking, we reached what I can only describe as a makeshift jungle camp. A blue tarpaulin, mosquito nets, buckets, and logs arranged like seats. They tied our hands—plastic ropes that burned the skin—and forced us to sit.
One of them—young, barely older than me—kept looking at me strangely. Like he was unsure. Like he was conflicted. I caught his eyes once. He looked away.
At some point, they left us with just one guard while the others disappeared into the bush. The girl was sobbing silently. Another man among us, older and wearing a kaftan, had started muttering what sounded like Yoruba incantations.
That’s when the plan hit me. Escape.
It was suicide, yes. But waiting was worse.
I made my move when the guard nodded off on his AK-47. Slowly, I rolled on the floor like a lizard trying not to make a sound. My ropes weren’t as tight—maybe luck, maybe oversight. Either way, I loosened them enough to slide my wrists free. Every sound from the bush felt like a dagger.
Then I ran.
I didn’t know which direction. I didn’t care. I just ran.
Thorns tore my legs. I ran into a spider web so thick I thought it was a net. The bush was a maze of shadows and fear. I could hear something behind me—not a person, something else. Like a beast, tracking me. My lungs burned. My feet bled. But I didn’t stop.
At one point, I slipped and landed face-first into a shallow stream. Mud and blood mixed on my skin. I didn’t even get up immediately. I just lay there, praying the darkness would swallow me whole if it meant safety.
And then—I heard gunshots.
They knew I was gone.
The forest exploded with angry voices. Torches. Footsteps.
They were coming.
To Be Continued in Episode 2: Into the Devil’s Forest
(Where hope fades, and the real nightmare begins…)
