Chapter 8: The Woman He Didn't Expect
Monsters don't always hide in the dark. Sometimes, they knock politely.
The apartment was silent.
Too silent.
Ezinne had gotten used to the hum of city life, the distant sound of car horns, the whisper of neighbors through thin walls. But lately... silence had wrapped itself around her like a wet cloth. Heavy. Breathless.
Something had shifted.
Even Ogechi could feel it. Her steps had gotten lighter, her conversations shorter.
Something was watching them.
Three days after the dead bird incident, Ezinne woke up to find the lock on the back door loose.
Not broken.
Not picked.
Just… undone.
She was sure she had locked it the night before. Triple-checked. It had become routine.
Her hands went cold. She didn't scream. She didn't wake Ogechi.
Instead, she stood there for five full minutes, staring at that door, heartbeat thudding in her ears.
There were no signs of break-in. Nothing stolen.
But something was different.
She could feel it in the air.
Someone had been inside.
Later that day, she went to the station. Filed the report.
The officer looked up lazily. "You get evidence?"
"I have threats. Messages. A dead animal."
"Hmm..... But him no touch you yet."
Her stomach turned.
"No," she said, "but he's trying to."
The officer yawned.
"Make e try first. Then we go arrest am."
That night, her dreams were twisted.
She saw herself walking through a field, holding Chibuikem's hand. Then suddenly, the sky turned black. She looked down and her son's hand was gone.
She turned.
He was standing in front of Chike.
Smiling.
Calling him "Daddy."
And when she screamed her voice didn't come out.
She woke up gasping.
Sweating.
And on the floor beside her bed was her son's drawing book.
Open.
To a page she hadn't seen before.
A drawing scrawled in red crayon.
A tall man. Standing outside a house. Holding something sharp.
She ran to Chibuikem's mattress.
He was fast asleep.
She shook him gently.
"Did you draw this?"
He rubbed his eyes.
"Yes, mummy."
"Who is it?"
"I don't know," he mumbled. "He was standing outside the window yesterday."
Ezinne's chest nearly stopped.
"What window?"
He pointed toward the back of the house.
"Don't worry mummy," he said sleepily. "He said not to tell you."
Her blood ran cold.
The next day, she told Ogechi everything.
They changed the locks. Bought a padlock for the inside. Slept in shifts.
Still, it didn't help.
The feeling remained.
Like breathing under water.
The notes returned. This time, they weren't sent to her.
They were left on Ogechi's car windshield.
"You're getting too involved. This isn't your fight."
Another one appeared in her staff locker.
"You're teaching other people's kids while yours is in danger."
Ezinne nearly collapsed.
Ogechi stopped driving for days.
They started traveling in pairs. Calling each other every hour.
But Chike never showed his face.
And that was the worst part.
He was near. He was planning. He was watching.
But never close enough to grab.
Just close enough to haunt.
And then one night it escalated.
It was a Friday.
Rain poured like it had a purpose.
Ogechi was out at a church vigil. Ezinne was alone with Chibuikem.
Power was out. Her phone was dead.
She lit a candle. Kept Chibuikem close, reading him a bedtime story in a soft, shaking voice.
That's when she heard it.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Soft. Against the glass.
She turned slowly.
Her breath caught in her throat.
A shadow.
At the window.
Still. Unmoving. Tall.
She couldn't see the face.
Just a hand. Pressed flat against the glass.
She didn't scream.
She picked up her son with shaking arms, backed into the hallway, and locked the bedroom door.
She whispered into his ear, "Stay quiet. No matter what. Mummy loves you."
She picked up the small iron rod they used to block the kitchen window.
And waited.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Nothing.
She tiptoed back to the window.
No one.
She didn't sleep that night.
The next morning, on the window ledge, written in the dust, were three words:
"You. Can't. Hide."
She broke down at church that Sunday.
Right at the altar. With no shame. No pride.
She begged God like her life depended on it because it did.
And as she knelt there, weeping, surrounded by strangers, a woman came and knelt beside her. She wore no makeup. Just a plain white dress.
She leaned in and whispered,
"I know what it's like to escape a devil. You're not alone. He'll slip. And when he does, you must be ready."
Then she stood. Walked away.
Ezinne turned to follow her.
But she was gone.
Vanished into the crowd.
And for the first time in weeks, Ezinne felt something strange.
Not peace.
Not fear.
But power.
Like someone was watching over her now.