CHAPTER THREE
1224 Words
Zina barely slept.
Every time she drifted off, the dream returned, slow footsteps behind her, the golden door pulsing like a heartbeat, and the whisper that sounded both near and impossibly far. By dawn, she wasn’t sure which parts were dreams and which parts were still happening in her room.
Her curtains fluttered again when there was no wind. Her notebook sat open at the foot of her bed, the page from last night now blank except for a faint indentation from the pressure of a pen. She traced it lightly; the grooves were real. Whatever wrote in it hadn’t been her imagination.
She closed the notebook quickly.
Her aunt, Mama Bisi, tapped on the door. “Zina, you’re running late for school.”
Zina didn’t argue. Staying home felt worse. At least school had noise, people, witnesses.
But as she stepped into the corridor, she felt eyes on her. Not from a person, from the house itself. The walls, the hollow hallway, the quietness that didn’t feel natural anymore. Everything seemed to be holding its breath.
She hurried out.
The school compound bustled with the usual Lagos chaos, students shouting, cars honking, teachers directing traffic like soldiers. Zina breathed easier, telling herself that whatever she saw last night belonged to the dark, not the daylight.
She found Jide leaning against the wall near their class, half-asleep as always. Kelechi sat on a desk, legs swinging, scrolling through her phone. They looked so normal. That alone made Zina’s chest tighten with relief.
“You look tired,” Kelechi said immediately. “Did you sleep at all?”
Zina hesitated. “I… had a weird night.”
“Weird how?” Jide asked.
She glanced around. Too many ears. Too much sunlight for something so strange.
“Let’s talk after school,” she whispered.
Kelechi rolled her eyes. “Ah, suspense. You like film sha.”
Zina forced a laugh. If only it was just a film.
❖
Classes moved like slow water, draining but constant. Zina kept glancing at her backpack. At the notebook inside it. She swore it made the bag heavier, like the words written in it carried weight.
By closing time, she’d worked herself into a knot of anxiety.
They met behind the abandoned staff quarters, a place students used for gossip and hiding from prefects. The building’s cracked paint and creeping vines made it feel like the outside world couldn’t overhear them.
Jide crossed his arms. “Oya, talk.”
Zina took a deep breath. “Something… wrote in my notebook.”
Kelechi blinked. “Wrote? As in, someone sneaked into your room?”
“No.” Zina shook her head. “The window opened on its own. My wardrobe door moved. And then this… message showed up in my handwriting. But it wasn’t me.”
Jide stared at her. “You’re serious?”
“I didn’t imagine it,” she said, voice trembling despite her best effort.
Kelechi softened immediately. “Zina, are you okay? You’re scaring me.”
“I don’t know if I’m okay,” she whispered. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
They were silent for a moment.
Jide finally asked, “…What did the message say?”
Zina swallowed hard. “It said: You opened the wrong door.”
They exchanged a look, the kind that wasn’t dismissal, but concern. Real concern.
“Show us the notebook,” Jide said.
Zina reached into her bag. Her heart hammered. She pulled out the notebook.
only to find the page she’d tucked carefully between the covers was gone.
Not ripped out. Not folded.
Just… gone.
“What?” she whispered.
Kelechi took it gently. “Zina, the page is just blank.”
“No. No, no, no, I left the page inside. It still had the imprint this morning.”
But now the paper felt… smooth. Cleaner than it should be. As if it had never been written on.
Jide checked the back. Then flipped through all the pages. “There’s nothing here.”
Zina felt cold seep into her hands. “I’m not lying.”
“We know,” Kelechi said quickly. “Relax. We believe you.”
But even believing her didn’t help them understand what was happening.
Jide looked around the empty staff quarters. “This place is creeping me out.”
Kelechi rubbed her arms. “Same.”
Zina shoved the notebook away. “It was real. And something strange keeps happening in that house.”
“What kind of strange?” Jide asked.
She opened her mouth to answer...
...and froze.
Someone was standing behind the cracked window of the staff quarters.
A dark silhouette. Still. Watching. Its outline blurred slightly, as though the light wasn’t touching it properly.
“Guys,” Zina whispered, her voice barely a breath. “Don’t look immediately, but someone is inside the building.”
Kelechi’s hand flew to her throat.
Jide didn’t move; he only shifted his eyes.
“Is that… a person?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” Zina said.
The silhouette leaned slightly forward.
Zina didn’t breathe.
It lifted an arm , slow, deliberate, and pointed directly at her.
Zina stumbled back.
Kelechi grabbed her wrist. “Zina”
The figure stepped backward, and vanished deeper into the building without a sound.
No footsteps. No movement. Just gone.
“Let’s get out of here,” Jide said sharply.
They didn’t argue. They ran. The kind of run driven by instinct, by the loud thumping panic at the back of the skull. They didn’t stop until they were on the main school grounds again, surrounded by noise and people.
Zina pressed her hands to her face. “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” Jide said, breathing hard. “But whatever you saw last night… this is connected.”
Kelechi took Zina’s hands. “You’re not sleeping alone in that house again.”
Zina blinked. “I can’t just leave.”
“You can stay with me,” Kelechi said. “My mom won’t mind. At least until we understand what’s going on.”
Jide frowned, thinking. “Zina… when did all this start? The day your aunt wanted you to clean that room?”
Zina nodded slowly.
“And before that,” Jide continued carefully, “your aunt said you must never open the third door, right?”
Zina swallowed. “Yes.”
Jide exchanged a look with Kelechi. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Kelechi nodded reluctantly. “Something is inside that house.”
Zina wrapped her arms around herself. “But what does it want from me?”
No one answered.
Because none of them had even the faintest idea.
Later that night, after Zina reluctantly returned home promising to stay on the phone with Kelechi, she sat on her bed, staring at the dark hallway outside her door.
The house was too quiet.
Too aware of her presence.
She closed her eyes tightly. “Please,” she whispered to nobody, “just leave me alone.”
Something shifted in the hallway.
A soft shuffle.
Zina opened her eyes.
Her bedroom door, which she knew she had locked… was now slightly open.
Her heart stopped.
Then, slowly, impossibly slowly,q the door pushed open by itself.
And someone whispered from the hallway:
“Wrong door.”
- Writer
