8:00 PM

He had woken up around 7 a.m. and asked everyone to leave. Most of them had grumbled, but eventually, one by one, they got up and went home. Some had come to their senses. Others, not really. Anyway, the majority of the guests had already left before he woke up. It had been a hell of a night—one that exceeded his expectations. He had managed to gather a crazy crowd for his birthday, even though there had been no cake cutting. He hadn’t thought it necessary to tell them that what he was actually celebrating was his birthday.

The party had cost him a small fortune, which he scraped together from his emergency account. But it had been worth it. He kept thinking about what he would tell his father and mother when they asked how he had managed to spend so much money in one night. But for now, it didn’t really matter. They’d complain for a bit, then it would be over.

It wasn’t the first time he had thrown a party of that scale using his personal emergency fund. Besides, Tegan had told him not to worry. Money wasn’t a problem. It never had been. That voice in his head reassured him. Tegan had given him all the instructions to ensure the party’s success.

Then he had helped him stay calm when he woke up and saw the house in a terrifying state, with dozens of naked people in the living room, the bedrooms, the bathrooms. Ben immediately understood what had happened. When had the party taken such a turn? Probably when that guy showed up with the packets of pink pills. And then… what happened next? Some guys arrived and the DJ was replaced…

Ben Koba slowly sliced the tomato into thin pieces and moved on to the onion. The kitchen was impeccably clean. Nothing like the mess from the day before. The cleaning team had done an excellent job while he was at school. Ben tossed the chopped tomatoes, onions, and chili into the pan on the stove. He added a bit of oil and some eggs. People often assumed he didn’t know how to cook because he came from a wealthy family. They were wrong. They’re all wrong. Of course they are. But… who had just said that? Ben froze and thought.

It was him, obviously. It sounded more like Tegan’s voice than his own. Tegan? Who even was that? That voice he had been hearing for a few days now. It had started when he arrived at UST, and this morning it had gotten louder when he woke up with a terrible hangover. That voice had told him to send everyone away.

Ben Koba stirred the ingredients in his pan absentmindedly. In truth, he hadn’t been feeling well since he woke up. And it wasn’t just because of the voice in his head. Sure, there was that voice, and it gave him a strange feeling of… power. But there was something else. This sensation of losing control. These repeating blackouts… You’re thinking way too much.

— Yes, it helps me stay awake.
— No, I’m the one who keeps you awake.
— Ah. Are you Tegan?
— For you, I’ll be Tegan.
— Who are you? Are you me? My conscience?
— Yes, in a way. I’m your other self. Your alter ego. I’m here to help you assert yourself. To get those things you can’t get on your own.
— Oh. Like what?
— Fame. You want to be known. You want to finally step out of the shadows, right? You’re tired of being overshadowed by your brother, the brilliant lawyer. Tired of not being appreciated for your true worth. Of not being seen enough?

— Yes…
— And you want to be loved.
— Yes…

Ben’s eyes had turned a deadly white. He seemed to be in a trance or under hypnosis. The voice echoed again in his head:

— You and I are now one. And together, we will reach the top.
— Yes, reach the top, he repeated.
— But first, we need power.
— How?
— Look at your phone.

On the screen, Ben Koba saw the Facebook profile of a girl he felt he knew. He had met her somewhere before… but his foggy mind struggled to recall. Then the memory returned. Her name was Angela, a classmate. A beautiful girl he had a crush on—but who clearly wasn’t interested in him. As usual.

— Do you want her?
— Could I really have her?
— You can have anything. You just have to take it.
— Take it… Yes. Yes, I’ll take what I want.

In the vast villa located 3 km from UST, Ben Koba smiled slyly as his sauce simmered. But by then, he was no longer truly himself. He desired Angela. That buried desire had suddenly resurfaced. He remembered her eyes, her lips, her generous chest. And her thighs, which he noticed whenever she sat near him in class. He had always wondered what lay further up those thighs. But why guess when you can find out? If he wanted something, he just had to take it. So, he would take it. His smile widened, revealing blood-red teeth.

— I’m coming, babe, said Ben Koba. But by then, it wasn’t him speaking. Ben had already let Tegan take control.

***

Corinne Kole, 19, was a white South African student.
She wasn’t the only Caucasian studying at UST, but they could be counted on one hand. Corinne had ended up at UST after receiving a special scholarship for placing third in the 2019 mathematics competition.

She saw it as an opportunity to improve her French while enjoying a quality education. Corinne spoke four languages fluently and could get by in three others, including French. You didn’t need to be a genius to realize that intellectually, Corinne was above average.

After a year at UST in Benin, Corinne could already speak Fon, one of the local languages, fairly well—and she did it without an accent. Her friends were both impressed and shocked by how fast she picked up new languages. She was a brilliant and hardworking girl who loved adventure and travel.

After completing her studies at UST, she planned to continue in the United States, where she aimed to earn a PhD in mathematics. Corinne Kole had been invited to Koba Ben’s party by her best friend, Jeannette Zara, who was also South African. Corinne hadn’t wanted to go because she wasn’t in the mood. She’d had an awful day, especially after an argument with her boyfriend. But Jeannette insisted she come along, assuring her they would have a great time.

After some hesitation, Corinne gave in, and the two girls arrived at the party around 9 PM. Like most of the guests, they ate, drank, and danced to all kinds of music. At one point, someone offered them a pink pill. Jeannette didn’t want to take it, but Corinne pressured her.

What was there to be afraid of? They were just there to have fun. But as soon as she swallowed the pill, Corinne felt she might have made a mistake. Maybe she should’ve listened to her friend. Like many others, she couldn’t really remember what had happened that night. She woke up with a migraine that eventually faded after taking some aspirin. But Corinne hadn’t been the same since that night.

Several times, she thought she heard strange voices speaking to her—whispering things about the people she’d met during the day. It felt like she could read their thoughts. Corinne didn’t make it to campus that morning. She only managed to go in the afternoon once her migraine had subsided. That’s when the voices in her head started.

Every time, the voices were talking about her. Calling her pretentious, a know-it-all, a hypocrite, selfish, a filthy white girl, and so on.

Whenever Corinne heard the voices, she felt like they were coming from the person right in front of her. Even on her way to class that afternoon, she was convinced the motorcycle taxi driver looked at her with contempt. Then she heard his thoughts—or what she believed were his thoughts: he called her a “little white slut.” Corinne was sure that thought came from him. She handed him her money, staring him in the eyes.

The driver didn’t seem to notice anything wrong with her. But in Corinne’s mind, he kept insulting her. Switching between “slut” and “whore.”
“Slut, slut, slut, slut, fucking white girl.”

The words kept hammering her mind. On edge, Corinne wanted to explain to them that she wasn’t a slut, a whore, or a pretentious person like they thought. No, she was none of that. She was just a girl passionate about mathematics who loved adventure a little too much. But the voices kept going.

Throughout her physics class, she heard them. She could hear their thoughts. The people she’d always thought were her friends looked down on her too. Corinne heard the thoughts of strangers she passed in the street. It never occurred to her that these voices might be coming from somewhere else… She just wanted them to stop. She couldn’t take it anymore. She was going to silence them once and for all.

At the end of her class, she heard Amanda—the girl she had never been able to stand—call her a slut, just like the others. How dare she? Corinne approached her and asked her to repeat what she’d just said. Amanda looked at her wide-eyed, clearly confused. But Corinne still heard her:
“The slut is losing her mind.”

Corinne lunged at her and slapped her. The scene could have turned into a full-blown fight if John, another student, hadn’t quickly intervened. Everyone started asking what was going on. She wanted to tell them Amanda had called her a slut. But… but they were all in on it. She could hear all their thoughts. They all despised her. They were all conspiring, these filthy Black people who hated her.

And yet, she had always loved them. She had never harbored any hatred toward them. Why did they see her as a… She kept trying to tell them she wasn’t what they thought she was, but they didn’t seem to care. So, she decided she would deal with them. All of them.

***

Alberic Sandu woke up at 4 PM in his room.
He had no idea how he got back home after Ben’s party. He just found himself lying on his bed, sunlight burning his face. At first, he thought it was 10 AM. But when he checked the time on his phone, Alberic realized he’d slept for over 15 hours. It helped him recover from the heavy drinking the night before.

A night he barely remembered, except for having sex with a girl in the bathroom. Of course, he wouldn’t forget that part. He had gone there to hook up with girls—and he got what he came for. But there was something else. A strange dream he’d had. He was in a house surrounded by people dressed in blood-red robes, each holding a black candle.

In front of him was a scroll stretched across a lectern. There was also a quill in an inkwell. The people around Alberic didn’t speak, yet he instinctively knew what he had to do in this dream. They were offering him a sort of contract he had to sign. But for what purpose? Alberic had no idea.

What he did know was that someone at the end of the room was waiting for him to sign the contract in order to leave. He had to sign it—or die that night. Die? Why? Alberic didn’t know. One thing was clear: he wanted to live. And the only way to stay alive was to sign that damned contract. He thought about reading what was written on the scroll, but the writing was blurry.

Above him, a giant hourglass began to run. Sand poured rapidly from the top chamber to the bottom.
“That sand is flowing too fast,” Alberic thought. On the hourglass was a label that read:

***

“Alberic Sandu 2h30min40s.”
Was that supposed to represent him? What did it mean?
Deep down, Alberic knew exactly what it meant. The hourglass was counting down the time he had left to live.

In front of him, the thing lurking in the shadows was growing impatient. If he wanted to live, he had to sign now. But signing—what did it really mean? Alberic didn’t feel like dwelling on the question. Instead, he thought about everything he would miss out on if he died tonight. What mattered most to him was the girls. He still had too many beautiful girls to sleep with. His whole life was ahead of him. He was too young to die now.

Just as he was about to sign the contract using ink that was clearly human blood—his own—Alberic heard another voice offering him an escape. A second scroll appeared before him, floating in the air. It wasn’t much different from the one on the lectern, but an inscription at the bottom caught his eye:
“Slave of Jesus for this age and the age to come.”
Alberic stared at the phrase. He was running out of time, but he needed to think.

That name, Jesus—he had heard it a few times in his life. It was a religious community of fanatics who spent their Sunday mornings blasting music—somewhat interesting music, though often annoying. He had never wanted to be part of such a group.

Religion had never been his thing, and it wasn’t about to start now. But this was about his life. He had to choose. Alberic thought he saw someone else in the room—someone looking at him with frightened eyes. He wondered if that person also had a choice to make. Then the figure vanished. His thoughts returned to that crucial decision.

On one side, Jesus—about whom he knew very little, except for a few assumptions. And on the other, this creature in the shadows inviting him. This master who also wanted to make him a slave. Alberic knew he wouldn’t be free tonight. He had to make a choice.
The voice that had presented the second scroll repeated what Alberic hadn’t clearly heard the first time:
“Behold, I set before you life and death—choose life.”
Life? Where was it? With Jesus? But that would mean becoming a slave. And Alberic valued his freedom.

“What if Jesus forbids you from hooking up with girls? You’ll have to obey if you’re His slave. I’ll let you do whatever you want. Sign my contract.”
That voice was different from the first. It was the voice of the shadowy creature. It sent chills down his spine—but at the same time, it drew him in. Alberic looked at the hourglass. His time was almost up. The quill trembled in his hand…

The rest of the dream dissolved into mist.
What had he decided in the end?
When he woke up, Alberic lay in bed for a long time before getting up. He felt refreshed after such a long sleep. He had missed two classes that morning, but it didn’t matter. It was worth it.

Alberic went to the bathroom and relieved himself. Then he headed to the kitchen, pulled a small bottle of milk from the freezer, and drank half of it in one go—letting out a loud burp afterward. He felt great. It had all just been a dream, like many others. None of it had actually happened. He had come back drunk from the party and slept like a sedated horse. Now he was awake, and life could go on.

Alberic thought he should call his friend Ralf to tell him how he’d scored with that girl at the party. He put the milk back, closed the fridge, and rushed into the shower. Suddenly, he was hit by a wave of nausea after drinking the milk.

Alberic threw up in the toilet and sat on the floor for several minutes. The nausea seemed to fade. He looked around, dazed. He wasn’t sick—so why the nausea? Alberic stood up and rinsed his face. Then he took a lukewarm shower that made him feel better.
At 6 PM, he called his friend Ralf to let him know he’d stop by his booth. They would dissect that wild night together…

This text is an excerpt from the book “SENTINELS: FIRST WATCH” written by Charles SANDAH.

We invite you to read the next article: “THE LOST SHEEP.”

THE NIGHT OF THE ORGY. THE NIGHT OF THE ORGY. THE NIGHT OF THE ORGY. THE NIGHT OF THE ORGY.

THE NIGHT OF THE ORGY. THE NIGHT OF THE ORGY. THE NIGHT OF THE ORGY. THE NIGHT OF THE ORGY.

THE NIGHT OF THE ORGY. THE NIGHT OF THE ORGY. THE NIGHT OF THE ORGY.