The night market

The rain had been falling for hours — the kind that turns Lagos into a wet labyrinth of flickering lights and restless ghosts. Chike sat in his tiny office at Urban Pulse Online, the ceiling fan humming above him like a tired mosquito. The newsroom had long emptied out, but he was still there, staring at the last photo he had taken of his sister. Ifeoma Smiling outside a suya stand, holding two sticks, she never finished. That was a year ago, before she vanished without a trace. The police called it a "missing person case." He called it unfinished business. He rubbed his eyes and sighed, about to shut down his laptop, when his phone buzzed. A new email No subject line. No name Just one sentence. "You'll find what you lost where the lights never go off. Ask for the Night Market" He frowned. Lagos had plenty of night markets — Oyingbo, Mushin, even Bariga. But this.... didn't sound like any of them. He replied instantly. "Who is this?" No response. A minute later, his phone chimed again. An image this time. Grainy A narrow alleyway dripping with rain, the ground littered with wrappers and old magazines. At the far end stood a faint glow, red and pulsing like a heartbeat. Underneath, three words: "Midnight. Come alone." Chike stared at the screen, his pulse syncing with the image's glow. He'd received strange tips before—corrupt politicians, ritual killings, fake miracle pastors—but never something that felt this personal. He checked the image details — location metadata showed Idumota, an area no sane person explored at midnight. Still, he packed his recorder, camera, and flashlight. Something inside whispered: Don't go Something louder whispered: You have to By the time he stepped outside, the rain had stopped, leaving Lagos smelling like wet earth and forgotten prayers. He flagged down a danfo heading towards the Island. The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Oga, that place no dey safe for dis time o," the man muttered. "I know," Chike said. "I'm not going there to be safe." The danfo sputtered through the sleeping city. Streetlights flickered like dying candles. When he got down near Idumota, the air changed — colder, quieter, heavy with something that didn't feel like night anymore. He followed the alleyway from the picture. At first, there was nothing, just darkness and the distant echo of dripping water. Then slowly, the red glow appeared ahead. A heartbeat. A pulse. And faintly, from somewhere, deep inside the shadows, came the sound of voices bargaining — soft, urgent, almost....inhuman. "How much for yesterday's memory?" "It depends. Was it happy or painful?" Chike froze. His recorder blinked red in his hand. The sound wasn't echoing — it was coming closer. Then, from behind him, a voice said quietly: "Welcome, newcomer. What will you trade tonight?"