Chapter 7: The Stairwell Secret

I clear throat loud, the motion light for stairwell on. I brace myself, waka go there. The woman still dey inside, dey peep me through the small door gap.

My shoe dey tap tile soft soft as I waka go. The corridor smell like dust and bleach, nobody dey.

As I dey waka, I look back at her. Through the door, I just see half her face, her long hair cover one eye. The thing make me feel somehow.

The way she dey look me, na like person wey dey hide something, or fear dey show for her bone. My body dey warn me, but I dey force myself move.

As I reach stairwell, the light off again, everywhere dark. I shiver, stamp ground, light on again. I look inside. Na just stairwell, empty, e lead up and down. Nobody dey.

I breathe in and out, my chest heavy. My shadow long for wall like masquerade. I peep up, peep down, even tap wall small, but nothing dey.

Suddenly, I hear the door close behind me. I turn, see say the woman don lock door. I breathe out—na false alarm. I calm down, begin pack my things.

I rub my hand for chest, tell myself say na only work matter dey my head. For this Lagos, man no fit dey carry ghost story for mind.

But I come remember: I never give the new key for the lock cylinder to the woman for Room 14B. Fear don make me forget.

I nearly slap my own forehead. How person go forget new key? Work wey I dey pride for, fear don make my brain blank.

I knock her door. No answer. I confuse—the woman just enter, she no fit go far. Maybe fear catch her, she no wan answer. I even imagine say she dey stand for back of door, dey look me through peephole.

As I dey knock, I dey pray make neighbor no open their own door come ask question. Night for estate, everybody dey suspect noise.

I knock more, explain say I wan give her new key, still no answer.

I dey beg, "Madam, abeg, your key dey here o! Na me, Bello!"

As knocking no work, I call her number from my phone. As the call connect, I hear her phone ring—but the sound no come from inside the house.

Na that kind high-pitched tone, Nokia ringtone. The sound dey sharp, echo for corridor. My mind begin race.

E dey come from my back.

I freeze. My hand stiff for air. Even breeze stop for that moment. The corridor cold reach my bone, like say spirit pass.

I turn sharp. The ringtone dey come from stairwell.

Goosebumps cover my body from head to toe. I grip my tool bag like person wey dey ready fight juju.

How that one take happen? The woman don enter house—why her phone go dey ring for stair?

For my mind, I dey count all the prayers wey my mama teach me. Psalm 23, I dey mutter am inside mouth.

The ringtone loud for the quiet corridor, the thing dey fear me. The stairwell light on again. I waka go look.

My leg heavy, but I dey move. If na village, I for don run. But Lagos man dey form strong head.

Wetin I see make my leg weak—I fall for ground. For the stair, where nothing dey before, now dead body of woman wey wear long white wrapper dey there. I remember all the ghost story wey my mama tell me—this one pass all of them.

My voice stick for throat. Blood dey everywhere, the wrapper white before, now red. For Lagos, na only film I dey see this kind.

Wetin fear me pass be say the body no get head—dem cut am comot. Blood soak her wrapper, stain the stair red, more still dey flow.

I wan shout, but my voice no gree come out. I dey tremble like leaf for breeze.

Wetin make me shake more na say the phone still dey ring for the hand of the headless body.

That one break me. The hand stiff, but phone dey vibrate for palm. My name dey show for the screen.