In Ihuonyia, where shadows play,

A terror lurked, in darkness of day.

Uluchi, a name that struck fear's might,

A spirit, a mask, a haunting sight.

Christian Udoka, a youth so bold,

Doubted the tales, of the spirits of old.

He scoffed at the masks, and the festival's delight,

But Uluchi's warning, would soon ignite.

A nightmare, or so he thought, it would seem,

But the spirit's words, would soon become his theme.

"Afam bu Uluchi, nwa ejekeje," it said,

“Steer clear from my children, you cursed unbeliever, or dread.”

Chris, fueled by anger, and a dash of fear,

Burned the Uluchi mask, and then drew near.

To his doom, it seemed, as the spirit appeared,

Taller, darker, with a gaze that pierced.

The villagers knew, when The Taker takes,

No one weeps, for the deserving, it makes.

Chris vanished, without a trace,

Some claim to see his ghost, in a haunted place.

Ihuonya's secret, a spirit so dark,

A reminder to respect, the spirits' embark.

From The Cursed Pen of Truth, this tale unfolds,

Of Uluchi, The Taker, where fear never grows old.

                                                                     CursedPen