Chapter 1: The Night Knock

Wetin wake me for middle of night no be rain as I first think, but I still waka go close window. As I reach, na big, round moon dey shine for outside, bright like new Naira note.

I rub my eyes, dey reason say maybe I still dey dream, because the silver light just wash everywhere, making the zinc rooftops shine like dem just wash am with Omo. My chest jam, I hold breath, wonder how rain fit fall when sky clear like this. The air carry smell of wet sand and that kind far-off harmattan chill.

The night clear well—so where the rain from dey come?

Even the street dogs no bark, like say dem too notice say something dey wrong. For our place, if dog quiet like that for night, elders go say spirit dey pass. E be like the whole compound just dey hold breath, dey wait for something wey I never see.

But na that time, something knock the glass true true.

The sound no be like anything I sabi—not bird tap or rat scratch. E slow, heavy, like the knock of those masquerades during new yam festival.

I lean out, try check.

As I peep, my heart dey beat kpokpo, goosebumps just cover my body like cold breeze from river. The silence outside thick reach to choke person.

Inside the moonlight, for the roof wey dey opposite our own, one big black shadow dey wave for me.

The way e dey move, no be like normal human being at all. E wave slow, the kind way old elders dey wave during burial rites, the shadow stretch long, curl like smoke for harmattan wind. I smell something bitter in the air, like burnt offering during festival.

I still dey half-asleep when I feel hand cover my mouth from back.

The hand warm, dey shake small. My body just freeze, heart dey race like market drummers.

"No make noise—it fit hear you."

The whisper sharp, urgent, carry the kind fear wey dey hide for grown-up eyes.