Chapter 1: Ghost for Threshold

My best friend tell me say our hostel room no clean at all, say make I put threshold for the door.

Her mouth sharp as razor that evening, she no even look up from the abacha she dey chop—oil stain her fingers, pepper scent fill the room. “See ehn, ghost no dey fit lift their leg, so once you get threshold, dem no go fit enter.” Her eyes shine, like say she dey see the thing already.

She tap her chin, the beads on her wrist jingling. “No mind me, na my mama teach me. E never fail before.” I nod, even though my mind still dey do me somehow.

That night, as my roommates come back, dem begin talk say I too dey superstitious.

Dem start dey laugh, one of dem even roll for bed. One mimic village accent: “Abeg, Ngozi, you don carry juju come from village? This your village story go kill person! Threshold ke?” I just bone, but deep down, I dey pray make wahala no gas.

But just after we off light—gbam, gbam, gbam—something begin dey kick our door. The sound just dey echo inside the room.

My heart jump reach throat. Even the breeze wey dey blow through the net window just stop like say e dey listen. For inside that darkness, everybody quiet, even the one wey dey drag me say I too dey fear, she hold her wrapper tight.