Chapter 3: Scratching in the Dark

I shift back without thinking. My body no even get sense again, fear just dey direct my movement.

E fit sense say I dey house, even with door block am? This kain question dey bounce for my head.

Before I fit balance, na so I hear one wicked screech—e dey scratch my door. The sound loud like when generator wire dey spark. For split second, my mind flash back to last week when rat dey scratch for midnight, but this one loud pass, like say lion dey use nail.

I cover ear, body freeze for one spot. For my mind, na only God fit save me now.

This door no be iron. If e nail sharp like bear own, e fit tear door anytime. My heart dey pound like agidigbo drum.

I force myself make I no panic. I dey whisper Psalm 23 for my mind, just dey beg God say, "No let my enemy laugh me."

I no fit make sound, no let am confirm say I dey inside. Even my phone I put on silent, no wan hear another notification.

Quietly, I waka go kitchen, carry one knife, hide am for waist, type quick message for vigilante group. My hand dey shake, text dey scatter, but I press send. I remember wetin my mama dey always talk: "If evil dey outside, no open door, just pray."

If e break enter before help show, na to fight for my life remain. Even if na last born I be, today I go fight like first son.

My heart dey beat anyhow. Each beat loud for my ear.

Then, the scratching just stop. Na sudden silence—worse than before.

I hear small pikin voice, clear and loud:

"Mummy, where you dey? Dem lock me outside."

"Daddy, Mummy!"

I sabi the voice—na the small girl from 701 upstairs. She dey always play for compound, dey disturb with bicycle every weekend. My mind cut.

Chai.

I rush back check peephole. Prayers dey tumble from my mouth.

The thing don waka comot. Na only empty corridor remain, the bulb dey blink like Christmas light.