Ifunanya Okonkwo had no reason to return to Saint Raphael's Academy.
At least, that's what she told herself as she stood at the rusting iron gates, staring up at the old Catholic boarding school.
The fading sun bathed the school's walls in a dull gold glow, making the cracked bricks and peeling paint look almost beautiful—almost.
But Ify knew better.
Time had not been kind to Saint Raphael's. Neither had the past.
She adjusted the strap of her handbag and exhaled slowly before stepping forward. The iron gates groaned open like a sigh from the dead, and the moment she crossed the threshold, the air around her shifted.
Heavier. Colder.
A memory stirred—a ghost of a feeling.
The last time she walked these grounds, she had been sixteen. A teenager with her whole future ahead of her.
But Miss Titi had not been so lucky.
The crunch of gravel beneath her shoes was the only sound in the silent compound. The schoolyard—once filled with the laughter and chatter of students—felt strangely deserted.
She could still remember the way the girls used to huddle in groups, gossiping in hushed voices, their blue pinafores swaying as they hurried between classes. But now?
It was too quiet.
Though she knew there were students in the dorms, the air felt… empty.
Ify shivered, brushing the thought aside.
"Oya, Ifunanya, focus. You're here to teach, not to dig up the past."
She shifted her bag and took another step forward, willing herself not to look back at the gates.
A voice called out.
"Ah, Miss Okonkwo!"
Ify turned to see a short, plump woman walking toward her, her ankara gown swaying with each step. She looked exactly the same as she did when Ify was a student here.
Madam Uche, the headmistress.
"You have no idea how happy we are to have an old girl return to Saint Raphael's as a teacher," Madam Uche said, beaming.
Ify forced a polite smile.
"It's… good to be back."
A lie.
Madam Uche took her arm gently, guiding her toward the main building.
"You were in the Class of 1978, correct?"
"Yes," Ify answered.
"Ah, so you left just before the incident."
Ify's steps faltered.
"The… incident?" she asked carefully.
Madam Uche waved a dismissive hand.
"Oh, don't mind me. It's just the stories students like to tell. You know how they are."
Ify knew exactly what she meant.
The rumors had begun right after they found Miss Titi's body.
---
The air inside the school building was thick with the scent of old paper, floor polish, and something stale—something wrong.
The corridors stretched long and empty, the walls lined with classroom doors that bore scratches and faded numbers.
Ify trailed her fingers over the wooden frames, feeling the texture of time beneath her touch.
Room 5A.
Her old classroom.
The door was slightly ajar.
Something shifted in the darkness beyond it.
She took a step forward—
"Miss Okonkwo?"
Ify jerked back as Madam Uche's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
"Ah, sorry," Ify murmured, forcing a smile.
Madam Uche chuckled.
"So much has changed," she said.
"Except, of course, the ghost stories. Students will always be students."
Ify's stomach tightened.
"Ghost stories?" she asked lightly.
Madam Uche sighed.
"Ah, you know how children like to talk. They still whisper about Miss Titi—how she still walks the halls at night, how she—"
A loud BANG echoed down the hallway.
Ify froze.
Madam Uche did not react. She kept walking.
Ify turned sharply toward Room 5A—the sound had come from inside.
Madam Uche glanced over her shoulder.
"Ah, these old buildings," she sighed. "Doors swell when the weather changes. You'll get used to it."
But Ify wasn't sure she would.
Because the sound hadn't come from a door.
It had come from inside the classroom.
---
That night, Ify sat alone in her new quarters—a small, plain room within the teachers' building.
She had been given the same room Miss Titi used to stay in.
She tried to convince herself that it was a coincidence.
That Madam Uche didn't remember.
That this was just another teaching job.
But as she sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her old staff ID card, she couldn't shake the unease curling in her stomach.
She had spent decades pushing down the past.
Locking away the things she had seen.
But now, standing on the same grounds where Miss Titi took her last breath, it was all coming back.
The whispers. The rumors. The unanswered questions.
A sharp knock on her door made her jump.
She hesitated before standing up and pulling it open.
No one was there.
A cold wind slipped past her, brushing against her skin like unseen fingers.
Ify stepped forward, looking left and right down the dimly lit corridor.
Nothing.
Just the empty hallway, lined with doors.
She quickly turned back to her room and shut the door behind her.
"Ifyyy, get a hold of yourself!"
She muttered, shaking her head as if to push away the thoughts creeping in.
She wasn't here for ghost stories.
She was here to teach.
To earn a living.
That was all.
She went to her knees by the edge of the bed and made the sign of the cross.
She still remembered the prayer pattern Saint Raphael's used then.
Somewhere in her head, while she prayed, she wondered if the students were still groomed that way.
When she was done, she put out the candlelight and closed her eyes to sleep.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then—
SCRATCH. SCRATCH. SCRATCH.
The sound of chalk against a blackboard.
Ify's eyes snapped open.
The room was dark, the candle long extinguished.
But she knew the layout of the room.
She knew exactly where the small blackboard was mounted—right by her desk.
Ify swallowed, her throat dry.
She sat up slowly, straining her ears.
SCRATCH. SCRATCH.
It was faint, but it was there.
A sound she hadn't heard in years.
A sound she knew too well.
She reached for her bedside lamp and switched it on.
The room flooded with a dim glow, casting shadows on the walls.
Her gaze snapped to the blackboard.
Something had been written.
Three simple words.
Words that made the blood in her veins turn to ice.
"Do you remember?"