Before Tim could ask another question, the woman grabbed her bag of bottles and rushed into the moving crowd..

The first time the mad woman called my wife, Amelia thought it was a prank from someone who dialed the wrong number and refused to admit their mistake.

But the voice on the phone did not sound playful or confused. It sounded cracked, angry, and strangely certain about what it was saying.

“Return my beauty back,” the woman said slowly. “You stole it.”

Amelia froze where she was sitting on the sofa. The phone trembled in her hand while the voice continued breathing heavily through the speaker.

“Who gave you this number?” Amelia asked weakly.

But the line had already gone dead.

When I came home from work that evening, I found Amelia sitting exactly where I left her in the morning. Her eyes were swollen and her phone was still clutched tightly.

“David… something strange happened,” she whispered.

I thought someone had threatened her or tried to scam her. But when she explained the call, I felt anger rise in my chest immediately.

“Return my beauty?” I repeated. “What kind of nonsense is that?”

She showed me the number on the screen. Unknown. No saved contact.

My head became hot with confusion.

“How did she even get your number?” I asked, pacing across the living room.

Amelia shook her head repeatedly.

“I don’t know. I swear I don’t know.”

I stopped walking and looked at her carefully.

“Be honest with me,” I said slowly. “Have you ever met this woman before?”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“No. I have never seen her before except that one day at the market.”

I frowned.

“What market?”

“The big general market,” she replied quietly. “She approached me there last week.”

That was the first time I heard about the strange encounter.

Amelia told me she had gone to buy vegetables when a dirty looking woman suddenly blocked her path near the grain section.

The woman wore torn clothes and carried a bag filled with small bottles.

At first Amelia thought she was just another beggar asking for money.

But the woman did not ask for money.

Instead she stared at Amelia’s face with wide eyes.

“You are enjoying my beauty,” the woman said.

Amelia laughed nervously at the time, assuming the woman was mentally unstable.

But the woman continued speaking.

“That face is not yours,” she insisted.

Amelia walked away quickly without responding. She thought it was just a random mad woman talking nonsense.

Now the same woman had somehow found her phone number.

And she was calling.

Demanding her beauty back.

That night Amelia could barely sleep.

Every time her phone buzzed with a notification she jumped in fear.

By morning I decided something needed to be done.

One of my closest friends, Tim, had connections around the markets and knew many traders.

If anyone could find the woman again, it would be him.

I called him immediately and explained the situation.

Tim laughed at first.

“You want me to find a mad woman inside the general market?” he said.

“Yes,” I replied seriously.

He realized I was not joking.

“Just talk to her,” I added. “Find out what exactly she means.”

Later that afternoon Tim called back.

“I will go tomorrow morning,” he promised. “Most of those street women return to the same spots daily.”

Amelia felt slightly relieved hearing that.

At least someone was trying to understand the situation instead of ignoring it.

The next morning Tim arrived early at the big general market.

The place was already crowded with traders shouting prices and buyers pushing through narrow spaces.

The smell of pepper, dried fish, and dust filled the air.

Tim asked several traders if they had seen a mad woman carrying a bag of bottles.

Almost everyone pointed toward the back section where grains were sold.

“That one that talks about stolen beauty?” one seller asked.

Tim nodded slowly.

“Yes. That one.”

“She is always there,” the woman said. “Begging for garri.”

Tim walked deeper into the market until he finally saw her.

She looked exactly like Amelia described.

Dirty clothes hung loosely on her thin body. Her hair was tangled and dry.

She sat beside a grain stall stretching her hand toward sellers.

“Garri please… small garri.”

Tim watched her carefully before approaching.

He carried a small pack of warm food he bought from a nearby vendor.

When he called out to her, the woman turned slowly.

Her eyes looked tired but sharp.

When she saw the food in his hand she stood up immediately.

She walked toward him slowly like someone afraid the offer might disappear.

Tim handed her the food.

She grabbed it quickly and began eating with desperate hunger.

Tim waited quietly until she finished swallowing the first few bites.

“Madam,” he said calmly.

She looked at him without speaking.

“Why are you disturbing that woman?”

The mad woman stopped chewing.

“What woman?” she asked.

“The lady you followed to her house,” Tim replied.

“The one you called.”

Her eyes suddenly widened.

“Oh… that thief?”

People nearby turned slightly to listen.

“She stole my beauty!” the woman shouted.

Tim felt a small chill run down his spine.

“Explain clearly,” he said carefully.

“How did she steal it?”

The woman laughed loudly.

It was not a normal laugh. It echoed strangely through the market noise.

“I am supposed to be very beautiful,” she declared.

“God created me with beauty.”

She pointed to her face.

“But she took it!”

She grabbed Tim’s arm suddenly.

“Look at me now!”

Her face was rough and weathered. Her skin looked damaged from years of hardship.

“She took everything,” the woman continued.

“Now I look like this.”

Tim tried to stay calm.

“What exactly did she take?” he asked again.

“Your cream? Your medicine?”

The woman leaned closer.

Her breath smelled like damp leaves.

“She should confess herself,” the woman whispered.

“She knows what she did.”

Tim frowned.

“Confess what?”

The mad woman suddenly stepped backward and began laughing again.

“She thought she could run,” she said.