Chapter 5 - Getaway

On a saturday afternoon, Mina convinced me to get away from the estate's vigilant eyes for a "mandatory scouting mission" to an abandoned hilltop amusement park just outside the community gates. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs—not just from the thrill of rebellion, but from the lingering dread of my father's warnings."Relax, Deji," Mina laughed, her voice actually sounding melodic for once without the church acoustics. "The only spirits here are the ones in your head."We spent an hour trying to restart a rusted popcorn machine, a hilarious disaster that ended with me covered in unpopped kernels and Mina doubled over in laughter. Her joy was so human, so grounded, that the "glitches" I'd seen started to feel like fever dreams. We eventually climbed to the top of a dormant Ferris wheel car to watch the sunset.The air was cool and smelled of wild grass. I looked at her, the light catching the pink of her lips, and felt a surge of protectiveness. "My dad thinks... he thinks you're dangerous, Mina. And sometimes, I see things that make me think he's right."Mina's smile softened into something vulnerable. She reached out, her fingers brushing my hand. "Deji, I grew up in a place where being 'different' was a crime. Your dad sees a threat because I don't fit his mold. But look at me." She leaned in close, her eyes searching mine. "Do I look like a monster from a sermon?"In that proximity, I didn't see a witch; I saw a girl who was lonely, brave, and deeply special. I realized that the "glitches" were likely just my mind cracking under the pressure of my father's strict expectations. I decided then to trust her—to trust us. As we sat there, she tried to sing a pop song, and her voice was so genuinely, comically bad that I couldn't help but join in, our terrible harmony echoing over the valley.In that moment, the superstitions vanished. Witches weren't real; they were just stories told to keep boys like me from girls like her. My doubt was gone, replaced by a dangerous, unshakeable faith in the girl beside me.As the sun dipped below the horizon, Mina led me to her house—a small, ivy-covered cottage at the very edge of the estate that felt worlds away from the sterile white walls of the parsonage. Inside, the air smelled of roasted garlic and rosemary, a warm, domestic scent that immediately calmed my nerves.Meeting her parents was nothing like the intimidating ordeal I'd imagined. Her father was a soft-spoken man with laughter lines around his eyes, and her mother treated me like a long-lost guest, piling my plate high with jollof rice and plantains. As we sat around the table, the conversation was filled with mundane, beautiful things: stories of Mina's childhood mischief and her father's failed attempts at gardening. Seeing her in this light—surrounded by the warmth of a loving family—completely erased the "witch" whispers from my mind. She wasn't a supernatural entity; she was a girl with a home, a history, and a terrible singing voice.After dinner, Mina walked me to the porch. The night was still, the only sound the distant chirp of crickets. We stood in the soft glow of the porch light, the space between us charged with a new, quiet energy."See?" she whispered, her eyes reflecting the moonlight. "No cauldrons. No black cats. Just me."I felt like a fool for ever doubting her. "I'm sorry, Mina. For everything."She didn't answer with words. Instead, she stepped closer, the psychological power of physical touch making my head spin. When she kissed me, it wasn't a "glitch" or a trick of the light; it was the most real thing I had ever felt. It tasted like the orange she'd peeled earlier and felt like a promise. In that moment, I knew I would choose her over a thousand sermons. I was no longer just a pastor's son; I was a boy in love with a divine, special girl.But as I walked home, floating on air, I didn't notice the silhouette standing in the shadows of my father's study window, watching my every move.The walk back to the parsonage was a blur of mismatched emotions. The ghost of Mina's kiss still burned on my lips, yet my stomach churned with a primal, spiritual anxiety. Inside the church estate, every flickering streetlamp felt like a judging eye, and the silence of the community—the same community that "owned" every gym and store I'd ever known—felt heavy with the expectation that I would one day lead it. My father didn't call out to me when I stepped through the front door. He didn't have to. The light from his study spilled into the hallway, a harsh yellow rectangle that signaled a waiting reckoning. I found him sitting behind his mahogany desk, not with a belt or a raised voice, but with a Bible open to the book of Proverbs.Deji," he began, his voice uncharacteristically calm—the calm that precedes a storm. "I have prayed for discernment tonight, and I feel a heaviness that I cannot ignore. The Word says that charm is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised." He looked up, his eyes weary with a fear I hadn't seen since my mother's funeral. "I saw you at that girl's house. I saw the light in your eyes, but I did not see the light of the Spirit." "She's a good person, Dad," I argued, my voice cracking under the weight of his spiritual authority. "Her parents are kind. They shared a meal with me. There are no witches, no black cats—it's just a story.""The devil does not always come with horns, son," he replied, his hand resting on the thin pages of the scripture. "He masquerades as an angel of light. I am worried that you are being led into a thicket of hollow and deceptive philosophy that depends on human traditions rather than on Christ." He gave me a choice that night, one that felt like a cage closing around my future. He told me to "test the spirits"—to see if Mina's influence would lead me toward God or away from the path he had spent 14 years preparing for me. As I lay in bed later, I felt the spiritual oppression he spoke of, a sense of dread that clouded my ability to enjoy the memory of Mina's kiss. I was caught between the father I feared and the girl I believed in, unaware that the real "glitch" was only just beginning.