Ógozi Mkporo/Abriba old white house
Cora's eyes widened in terror as she stumbled upon the lifeless bodies of her parents on the floor. She let out a blood-curdling scream, her voice echoing through the halls as she stumbled backward, desperate to escape the gruesome scene. Her heart racing, she fled down the stairs and into the hallway, frantically calling out for her elder brother, Michael. "Michael! Michael!!" But there was only silence.
Fear gripped her as she approached Michael's room, hesitating for a moment before pushing the door open. The sight that met her eyes made her blood run cold. Ngorie, her brother's bride, stood over Michael's lifeless body, a blood-drenched knife clutched in her hand. Cora's scream was trapped in her throat as she turned to flee, her legs trembling beneath her.
She dashed into the kitchen, her eyes scanning the room for a place to hide. She spotted the kitchen cabinets and dove inside, holding her breath and muffling her sobs with her gown. But her relief was short-lived, as she heard Ngorie's footsteps approaching. Cora's heart skipped a beat as Ngorie jerked open the cabinet door, her piercing eyes locking onto Cora's.
"Hello there," Ngorie said, her voice dripping with malice, a sinister smile spreading across her face. "Please don't hurt me," Cora pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. Ngorie's expression transformed into a pitying mask. "Hurt you?" she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Here, take my hands. Let's get out of here." She stretched out her hands, and Cora, paralyzed with fear, obeyed without hesitation.
As Ngorie led her out of the kitchen, Cora's mind raced with questions. Why was Ngorie doing this? What had driven her to commit such atrocities? Cora's eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape or a way to overpower Ngorie. But Ngorie's grip was firm, her eyes gleaming with a sinister intensity.
"You know, my dad owed your dad a lot of money," Ngorie said with a soft, mirthless chuckle, her hands stroking Cora's shoulders with an unsettling tenderness. "He used me as collateral because he couldn't pay back the debt." Her voice dripped with a mix of sadness and malice. "I'm so sorry about that," Coraline apologized in a soft whisper, her eyes wide with confusion and fear, wondering why Ngorie had to hurt her parents.
Ngorie's expression twisted into a sorrowful grimace. "I'm sorry I hurt your parents," she said, her voice laced with a hint of regret, as she inched closer to little Cora. "I don't want to marry your brother. I love someone else," she reasoned, her eyes pleading for understanding. Cora's face lit up with a heartwarming smile. "It's okay," she said, her voice filled with compassion. "You need a hug."
Cora opened her arms, and Ngorie reciprocated, embracing her tightly. A single tear rolled down Ngorie's cheek as she held Cora close. Cora was the kindest little girl she had ever met, and she probably didn't deserve the fate that awaited her. But for the love of her life, Iro, whom she preferred to spend the rest of her life with, she would do the unthinkable.
With a surge of adrenaline, Ngorie plunged the sharp knife into Cora's belly, breaking off from the tight hug. She watched from a distance as Cora sputtered in her own blood, struggling to catch her breath, which had begun to fade. As Cora's life slipped away, Ngorie let out a heartbroken scream, her eyes fixed on the little girl's fading form. She turned to face Tish, Cora's older sibling, her eyes blazing with a mix of guilt and determination.
"Cora! Cora!!" Motisha screamed, her voice shattering the air as she scurried towards the lifeless body of her little sister. Her heart was broken, her eyes clouded with unshed tears as she cradled Cora's limp form in her arms. "What have you done?" she yelled in anguish, her voice cracking with pain as she gently placed Cora's boneless head on her thighs.
Ngorie's expression remained impassive, her eyes cold and calculating as she replied dryly, "What I had to do to get what I want." She inched closer to the grieving teenager, a knife held behind her back, its presence hidden from Motisha's distraught gaze.
Motisha's eyes, blinded by tears, didn't notice the danger lurking behind Ngorie's calm demeanor. "You're a monster," she spat, her voice venomous with hatred and grief.
Ngorie's smile was a thin, mirthless line. "Am sorry about this," she said, her voice devoid of emotion as she raised the knife, its blade glinting in the faint light. With a swift, merciless motion, she stabbed Motisha in the neck, repeatedly, the sound of the knife slicing through flesh and bone echoing through the room.
Motisha's eyes widened in shock, her mouth frozen in a silent scream as she felt her life slipping away. She tried to speak, to beg for mercy, but her voice was lost in the gurgle of blood choking her throat. As her vision faded, she saw Cora's lifeless body, and her heart broke all over again.
*. *. *.
Nina crept out from the door, slamming it silently behind her as if trying to contain the horrors she had just witnessed. She had seen it all - Trish, Cora, Michael's mom - everything was just one big lie. These people had died three decades ago, and yet still lurked around the house, their restless spirits trapped in a never-ending cycle of pain and sorrow. Nina's mind reeled as she struggled to comprehend the sinister forces that surrounded her. She was left with a question she couldn't shake off, a question that echoed through her mind like a haunting refrain. Who was her fiancée? Or what was her fiancée?
Lost in the dozens of questions that occupied her mind, Nina locks eyes with the petite lady from the stairs, standing and glaring at her with an unnerving intensity. The lady's ghostly form seemed to radiate an aura of sorrow and longing, her eyes black as coal, and her skin pale as the moon. Nina got scared, her heart racing with fear, and tried to run, but her feet seemed rooted to the spot. She couldn't move, couldn't escape, as the ghostly lady calls her by her name.
"Nina," she called, her translucent body floating above the ground, her voice a mere whisper, a soft breeze that sent shivers down Nina's spine. "You have to hide now," she warned, her tiny voice sounding urgent, fearful.
Nina's curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, "Who are you?"
The ghostly lady replied, her voice a soulful sigh, a mournful whisper that seemed to carry the weight of her untimely death. "I am Grace," she said, her eyes welling up with tears. "Ten years ago, I died in this house," she continued, her voice shaky and unearthly, as if the memories still haunted her.
Nina listened, entranced, as Grace's story unfolded like a dark, gothic tale. "You have something that belongs to the house," Grace said, her voice laced with a fearful tone. "You have to...," she paused, her eyes darting around the room as if she feared being overheard. "They are coming...hide," she commanded, her voice urgent, before fading into a blur, leaving Nina alone with her thoughts.
Nina, terrified by what she had witnessed, turned and ran, her feet pounding the floor as she desperately sought an unknown destination. Her heart raced with fear, her mind clouded with thoughts of the ghostly apparitions and their ominous warnings. She didn't dare look back, fearing what she might see. Her breath came in short gasps, her lungs burning with exertion, as she fled from the horrors that lurked in the shadows.
As she ran, her eyes frantically scanned the surroundings, searching for a place to hide. And then, she saw it - a dark, insignificant space under the staircase, a narrow crevice that seemed to yawn open like a mouth in the wall. It dawned on her, with a surge of desperation, that she had to hide. This was her only chance of escape, her only hope of survival.
With a burst of adrenaline, Nina darted towards the space, her body squeezing into the narrow opening with a soft cry of fear. She huddled in the darkness, her heart pounding against her chest, her eyes straining to see through the gloom. The air was thick with dust, the smell of decay and rot filling her nostrils, but she didn't care. She was safe, hidden from the prying eyes of the ghostly entities that haunted the house.
As she caught her breath, Nina's mind began to race with thoughts of what she had seen. The ghostly apparitions, the warnings, the eerie atmosphere - it all seemed so surreal, so unbelievable. But she knew what she had seen, and she knew that she had to get out of there, to escape the clutches of the malevolent forces that lurked in the shadows. She waited, frozen in fear, wondering what would happen next, wondering if she would ever be able to escape the horror that surrounded her.
* . *. *.
Chisom walked silently into the fourth room in the hallway, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The lights bulbs flickered to life, casting a warm glow over the space, making it seem safe and secure compared to the rest of the house. But as she gazed around, she realized that this room was just as eerie as the others. The curtains were a deep, rich brown, torn and tattered, hanging limply from the rods like worn flags. The window, unlike the others in the house, was a gaping hole, its glass panes shattered, the iron bars removed, leaving a gaping void that seemed to scream "escape route".
In the center of the room, old, rumpled beddings lay scattered on the floor, like a tangled nest, alongside a shattered lamp stand, its ceramic base cracked, its metal stem twisted and broken. The walls were crackled and worn, the paint peeling off in great, curling strips, revealing the damp, grey concrete beneath. The ceiling was stained, dark liquid dripping steadily from the cracks, like a slow-moving river of despair.
Chisom sighed, her heart heavy with the weight of the utterly scattered room. She proceeded to check out the windows, her footsteps quiet on the dusty floor. Walking silently over to the window, she stretched the brown, dirty curtains open with a tearing sound, the fabric ripping like a scream. She looked out into the yard, her eyes scanning the darkness. The yard was empty, dark, and misty, the trees looming like skeletal sentinels, their branches reaching up towards the sky like bony fingers. Everything in and outside the house was horrifying and eerie, instilling fear in Chisom's already scared heart.
She stepped backwards, her eyes finding themselves staring at the photos hung on the peeling walls. The pictures on the wall struck a resemblance with the dead teenage girl she had seen earlier. She shook her head, everything was making sense now. These people were dead, and they were haunting them. But she couldn't explain the relationship these people have or had with Michael. The questions swirled in her mind like a vortex, drawing her deeper into the mystery.
She walked over to the reading table at the bedside, her eyes scanning the stacks of books that seemed to lean in, as if sharing a dark secret. Her gaze landed on a blood-stained novel, its cover torn and worn, nestled between the other books like a macabre gem. She touched the reading lamp, and felt a warm sensation, a gentle hum that seemed to whisper, "Someone was here, recently." The beddings, the books, the windows, which were ajar, all seemed to point to the same conclusion: someone or something was previously or presently in the room with her.
A shiver ran down her spine as she realized she was not alone. The locks rattled, the door hinges creaked, and the door slammed shut, plunging her into darkness. The light buzzed, flickering on and off, like a dying breath. The curtains opened with a loud tear, causing cold air to blow into the room, carrying with it the scent of decay and rot.
Chisom shrieked, her heart racing, as she walked over to the windows, thinking of a possible escape from the house. But as she approached, she stepped away, scared to the marrows, as she saw the scariest view of her life. A family of five dead-looking people stared at her from the yard, their empty, dark sockets boring holes into her body. Their clothes were old and torn, exposing a large chunk of their already rotting flesh, their bones visible through the rib cages, their intestines hanging like macabre streamers.
The sight was so horrific that Chisom's mind recoiled, refusing to accept what she was seeing. She stumbled backward, her eyes fixed on the ghastly spectacle, her breath coming in short gasps. The family's eyes seemed to follow her, their gaze crawling under her skin, making her feel like she was being flayed alive. She knew she had to get out of there, but her legs seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to escape the horror that surrounded her.
She cupped her mouth with trembling hands, her body shaking with uncontrollable sobs, as her brain was flooded with horrid images she desperately wished to erase. The faces of the dead family, their empty sockets, their rotting flesh, all seemed to sear themselves into her mind, haunting her with every breath. But as she gazed out into the yard, her fear turned to surprise and shock as she sighted a very familiar face among the family of five. It was a face she knew, a face that should have been full of life and warmth, not cold and dead.
But her surprise was short-lived, as she felt strong, cold hands grasp her from behind, yanking her out of the window and into the yard. She fell uprightly, her belly hitting the ground with a sickening thud, her head plunging into a free-standing rod that seemed to be waiting just for her. The impact was blinding, the pain excruciating, and for a moment, she saw nothing but darkness.
As she lay there, dazed and helpless, she felt the cold hands of death wrap around her, pulling her down into a dark abyss. And in that moment, she chose to surrender, to let the peaceful embrace of death take her away from the troubles that came from the house. She shut her eyes, welcoming the darkness, willing herself to let go of the horrors that had haunted her for so long. The last thing she remembered was the feeling of cold earth beneath her, and the sound of her own heartbeat, slowing, slowing, until it was nothing but silence.