Chapter 2: The Thing at My Door

Klak-klak, klak-klak—the sound just dey bounce for corridor. E resemble when mama dey return from night vigil, but this one get as e be.

I no sabi how long I stand for there before the step waka go far. My body stiff, na only my eyes dey waka up and down.

I swallow spit, press my eye for peephole, wan see whether the thing don comot. Even my breath, I dey hold am.

But wetin I see shock me die. Na so cold catch my back, goosebumps full my hand.

For my door front, one kind creature stand—no fit say na man or woman—body bend, e dey try stand straight. Like say spirit dey struggle to carry body wey no belong to am. E face bend like one of those witches for old Nollywood film.

E look down, like say e realise say the shoe go expose am, na so e remove both leather shoe and high heel. As e bend, e bones crack small like fowl wey dem break for market.

E finger long and thin, nail black like charcoal. The kain nail wey dey make person remember Nollywood witches.

E skin white pass normal human own… Like say person pour cassava flour for body, abeg.

As I dey look am like mumu,

E just turn head, look me direct for peephole. My soul nearly comot for body that moment. Na so I forget myself, dey pray for inside my heart make e no see me.

I cover my mouth sharp, fear no gree me talk. My hand dey shake, and I dey sweat under fan wey no even dey on.

No be lie.

401 talk true.

This thing no be human. Even if babalawo see this one, e go shout, "Ogun o!"

E get two eyes, nose, mouth, but the face bend anyhow, the eye dey talk one thing: I wan chop you. The look resemble hungry dog wey dey eye bone for pot.