I was terrified as I pressed my fingers harder against my ears, hoping to block the terrifying voice drilling itself into my mind. But I was only deceiving myself—covering my ears changed nothing. I stretched my hand to grab a pillow, hoping it would help, when suddenly the room’s light went off, making the heat-repellent machine shut down.
I began to feel itching as mosquitoes and heat greeted me with “assalamu alaikum.” But that stubborn, disturbing voice kept begging for something I couldn’t understand:
“Help me! Please help me, is no one here?”
I hissed in frustration, grabbed my phone for the flashlight, and looked around—my colleagues were all fast asleep, exhausted. I stood up and headed for the door. The moment I stepped outside, I realized that the whole hospital had light—except our room and another room to the east.
My heart pushed me forward. Step by step, the voice grew clearer until I reached the door. Just then, the light in the room came back on. I peeked inside and saw two nurses and a doctor standing over a young lady on the bed, while an elderly woman sat nearby shaking her leg.
They all turned to face me, and I stared back.
“Ayodele, what are you doing here? Is your department free?” the doctor asked.
I opened my mouth to respond, but that same voice whispered again, “Ayodele, please help me, I’m not dead!”
I looked around to find the source and noticed the lady’s eyes were shut—just as if she was sleeping. Can someone who is sleeping talk? I wondered.
“She’s dead. We’re trying to remove the instruments from her body, but they refuse to detach,” the doctor said, interrupting my thoughts.
“But she just spoke to me now. She begged me to help her,” I insisted.
They all stared at me strangely. I continued, “She’s been screaming since earlier; she woke me up!”
“Ayodele?” the doctor said slowly. He then asked the nurses, “Have you heard any screaming since we got here?” They both shook their heads.
He turned back to me. “You must be hearing things.”
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“Emeka,” one of the nurses replied.
I approached Emeka, but the old woman suddenly sprang up and blocked my way.
“Where are you going? What do you want?” she asked sharply, her glare piercing me like a knife.
I gathered courage and looked straight into her eyes. Instantly, something flashed in her eyes—fear or shock—and she quickly stepped aside.
I stood before Emeka and touched her face.
“Emeka?”
“Ayodele, she’s dead. Why are you talking to her like that?” the doctor snapped.
Without looking at him, I said, “She’s not dead, Doctor! Someone put her into a deep trance.”
“Who put her in a trance? This is a hospital—we know our work.”
“She knows who put her there! Where are her parents?” I asked.
“She came with her grandmother—there she is,” a nurse said.
I turned, but the old woman had disappeared. I now realized she must be Emeka’s grandmother.
“Ayodele, please help me. My grandmother wants to kill me. She hid my soul in a metal box. She swore never to release it,” Emeka’s spirit said.
I stood silent, listening to the spirit without even realizing what I was hearing.
“Doctor, she’s talking again,” I said.
“Mtsw! Ayodele, get out! I said OUT!” he barked.
I took one step.
He yelled again, “So you won’t leave?”
Weakly, I said, “Can’t you see she’s holding my hand?”
Their eyes widened—even the doctor placed his hand on his head.
“Ayodele! Are you trying to make me go crazy? You all saw her holding her hand?” he asked the nurses. They shook their heads.
I turned to look—Emeka was gripping my hand tightly, tears streaming from her closed eyes.
“You’re the only one who can hear me. Don’t listen to them,” Emeka said.
The doctor grabbed my hand to pull me out, but he couldn’t. Emeka’s invisible grip held me firmly.
“Doctor, I’m scared. Maybe she’s telling the truth. Look at her hand—it’s really holding her. And… the bed is moving,” a nurse whispered.
The doctor released me and sighed deeply. “Well, Abeno is full of witches… it wouldn’t surprise me…”
Before he finished, Emeka started choking. They ran toward her and began operating the equipment.
I used the chance to slip out and return to my room. Sleep refused to come. My back began itching again, and I felt strange pricks as if something was poking my shoulders. My vision blurred, and before I knew it, I found myself in another world—surely a dream.
It was a huge house filled with many rooms. No one greeted me, except an old woman the children called “Yaba.”
She glared at me with jealousy, envy, and hatred.
“What do you want now?” she asked.
“What you hid,” I replied.
“This is a family matter; it doesn’t concern you. You’ve done enough—”
I cut her off. “Give it to me peacefully, or I’ll take it by force. And you know that will cost you dearly, because I will expose everything you hid.”
Fear spread across her face. She turned and walked inside her room. I followed.
She bent under the bed and pulled out a metal box. She handed it to me. I opened it—black smoke rose into the air. Inside was a piece of patterned cloth. I took it.
I woke up immediately, my head throbbing. When I opened my eyes, Emeka stood before me, smiling.
“Thank you so much, Ayodele. You saved my life,” she said, reaching for something in my hand.
I looked down—and froze.
It was the same patterned cloth from my dream.
“That’s my wedding fabric,” Emeka said.
“Yaba used it to kill me because I wanted to marry someone outside our family. Thank you.”
Description
The Voice in the Darkness
I was terrified as I pressed my fingers harder against my ears, hoping to block the terrifying voice drilling itself into my mind. But I was only deceiving myself—covering my ears changed nothing. I stretched my hand to grab a pillow, hoping it would help, when suddenly the room’s light went off, making the heat-repellent machine shut down.
I began to feel itching as mosquitoes and heat greeted me with “assalamu alaikum.” But that stubborn, disturbing voice kept begging for something I couldn’t understand:
“Help me! Please help me, is no one here?”
I hissed in frustration, grabbed my phone for the flashlight, and looked around—my colleagues were all fast asleep, exhausted. I stood up and headed for the door. The moment I stepped outside, I realized that the whole hospital had light—except our room and another room to the east.
My heart pushed me forward. Step by step, the voice grew clearer until I reached the door. Just then, the light in the room came back on. I peeked inside and saw two nurses and a doctor standing over a young lady on the bed, while an elderly woman sat nearby shaking her leg.
They all turned to face me, and I stared back.
“Ayodele, what are you doing here? Is your department free?” the doctor asked.
I opened my mouth to respond, but that same voice whispered again, “Ayodele, please help me, I’m not dead!”
I looked around to find the source and noticed the lady’s eyes were shut—just as if she was sleeping. Can someone who is sleeping talk? I wondered.
“She’s dead. We’re trying to remove the instruments from her body, but they refuse to detach,” the doctor said, interrupting my thoughts.
“But she just spoke to me now. She begged me to help her,” I insisted.
They all stared at me strangely. I continued, “She’s been screaming since earlier; she woke me up!”
“Ayodele?” the doctor said slowly. He then asked the nurses, “Have you heard any screaming since we got here?” They both shook their heads.
He turned back to me. “You must be hearing things.”
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“Emeka,” one of the nurses replied.
I approached Emeka, but the old woman suddenly sprang up and blocked my way.
“Where are you going? What do you want?” she asked sharply, her glare piercing me like a knife.
I gathered courage and looked straight into her eyes. Instantly, something flashed in her eyes—fear or shock—and she quickly stepped aside.
I stood before Emeka and touched her face.
“Emeka?”
“Ayodele, she’s dead. Why are you talking to her like that?” the doctor snapped.
Without looking at him, I said, “She’s not dead, Doctor! Someone put her into a deep trance.”
“Who put her in a trance? This is a hospital—we know our work.”
“She knows who put her there! Where are her parents?” I asked.
“She came with her grandmother—there she is,” a nurse said.
I turned, but the old woman had disappeared. I now realized she must be Emeka’s grandmother.
“Ayodele, please help me. My grandmother wants to kill me. She hid my soul in a metal box. She swore never to release it,” Emeka’s spirit said.
I stood silent, listening to the spirit without even realizing what I was hearing.
“Doctor, she’s talking again,” I said.
“Mtsw! Ayodele, get out! I said OUT!” he barked.
I took one step.
He yelled again, “So you won’t leave?”
Weakly, I said, “Can’t you see she’s holding my hand?”
Their eyes widened—even the doctor placed his hand on his head.
“Ayodele! Are you trying to make me go crazy? You all saw her holding her hand?” he asked the nurses. They shook their heads.
I turned to look—Emeka was gripping my hand tightly, tears streaming from her closed eyes.
“You’re the only one who can hear me. Don’t listen to them,” Emeka said.
The doctor grabbed my hand to pull me out, but he couldn’t. Emeka’s invisible grip held me firmly.
“Doctor, I’m scared. Maybe she’s telling the truth. Look at her hand—it’s really holding her. And… the bed is moving,” a nurse whispered.
The doctor released me and sighed deeply. “Well, Abeno is full of witches… it wouldn’t surprise me…”
Before he finished, Emeka started choking. They ran toward her and began operating the equipment.
I used the chance to slip out and return to my room. Sleep refused to come. My back began itching again, and I felt strange pricks as if something was poking my shoulders. My vision blurred, and before I knew it, I found myself in another world—surely a dream.
It was a huge house filled with many rooms. No one greeted me, except an old woman the children called “Yaba.”
She glared at me with jealousy, envy, and hatred.
“What do you want now?” she asked.
“What you hid,” I replied.
“This is a family matter; it doesn’t concern you. You’ve done enough—”
I cut her off. “Give it to me peacefully, or I’ll take it by force. And you know that will cost you dearly, because I will expose everything you hid.”
Fear spread across her face. She turned and walked inside her room. I followed.
She bent under the bed and pulled out a metal box. She handed it to me. I opened it—black smoke rose into the air. Inside was a piece of patterned cloth. I took it.
I woke up immediately, my head throbbing. When I opened my eyes, Emeka stood before me, smiling.
“Thank you so much, Ayodele. You saved my life,” she said, reaching for something in my hand.
I looked down—and froze.
It was the same patterned cloth from my dream.
“That’s my wedding fabric,” Emeka said.
“Yaba used it to kill me because I wanted to marry someone outside our family. Thank you.”
She walked away, leaving me stunned.
Was my dream… real?