The Third Roommate

I should have known there was something wrong with Room 17 from the moment the caretaker handed me the key. He didn't look at me. He stared at the rusted key in his palm as if it might bite him. The lodge was Block C, the last building in the compound at Ifite. The kind of place where paint peels like dry skin and every window has a different story. "Room 17 is for two girls only," he said quietly, finally dropping the key into my hand. "If you ever see an extra bed or an extra bucket, don't touch it. Just call me." I laughed. I thought he was just one of those dramatic caretakers who liked to scare new students. The room itself was at the far end of the corridor. The door was swollen from rain and hard to push open. Inside, it was small but manageable. Two single beds, one large wardrobe with a mirror, a reading table, and a small bathroom behind a faded curtain. But there were three buckets in the bathroom. Three. Green, blue, and yellow. For a room meant for two girls. My roommate was already there. She was sitting on the bed by the window, a Bible open on her lap. She was fair, very thin, with eyes that looked tired and sunken, like she hadn't slept properly in months. "You're the new girl?" she asked without smiling. "Yes. Amaka. Final year, Microbiology." "Chisom," she replied. "Final year too. Education." She went back to her Bible. It was open to Psalm 91. The verses were underlined heavily in red ink. He who dwells in the secret place. I noticed she had written in the margin with a black pen: _Do not look at 2:13._ The day went by quickly. We unpacked in silence. Chisom barely spoke. She kept glancing at the wardrobe, especially as night fell. At around 10 PM, she turned off the main light, put on a small rechargeable lamp, and lay down facing the wall, with her Bible clutched to her chest. I thought it was strange, but I was too tired to care. I closed the wardrobe, turned off my lamp, and slept. I woke up because of the cold. The wardrobe door was wide open. I was sure I had closed it. I always close it. The mirror on it was now reflecting the small window light directly onto my face. Chisom was awake too. She was facing the wall, completely still, but I could see her shoulders shaking. She was pretending to be asleep. A damp smell filled the room. Like old clothes left in water. Slowly, I sat up and looked into the wardrobe. There was a third uniform hanging inside. It was not mine. It was not Chisom's. It was an older style, the kind the school stopped using four years ago. It was damp at the hem, dripping slightly onto the wooden floor. On the chest pocket, there was a white name tag, sewn neatly. NNENNA OKORO - 2019 - ROOM 17 My heart started beating fast. "Chisom," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Whose uniform is this? Why is there a 2019 name tag in our room?" She still did not answer. She pulled her blanket over her head. Then the wardrobe mirror began to fog up. From the inside. There was no cold in the room, no reason for it to fog. But it did. A small circle of fog appeared in the middle of the glass, then spread. And then, I watched as a finger, from inside the mirror, began to write. It wrote slowly, in large capital letters. DON'T SLEEP HERE Behind me, I heard Chisom whisper a prayer, crying. "She has come again."