Chapter 5: Serial Wahala

"Ding"—WhatsApp notification land for my phone, I nearly jump die.

I nearly fling my phone, na so I dey paranoid. For this my business, small thing dey make man fear.

Na our small guest house owners group chat.

The group dey always active midnight—people dey drop gist, update, and sometimes, warning about police wahala.

Somebody just drop news link, as if dem sabi wetin dey happen here.

[Urgent Notice: Suspected Serial Killer Don Enter Town. Everybody abeg shine eye. If you get any information, call police sharp sharp.]

Quick banter land inside the group:

"Abeg, make una shine eye o! Dem say na one tall guy with mask dey do am. Lagos wahala!"

"Omo, na time to dey check ID well o. No let trouble land for your domot."

My mind freeze. For Lagos, once you see "serial killer", e mean wahala big pass normal.

Fear catch me, hand dey shake as I click the link.

My palm dey sweat, my phone dey slip. The kain fear wey dey catch me na only exam hall fit near am.

The article talk say serial killer dey loose, him dey target young women wey dey waka alone.

The headline shout: "Young Women No Safe—See How Serial Killer Dey Operate!" I begin dey reason my own matter.

The worst part be say, after he kill dem, he dey carry the body go small guest house to cut dem up.

E be like say the person dey target places like my own. If police enter, na all of us dey go station.

Many guest houses don see this kind thing and police don lock dem up for investigation.

I dey imagine my face for TV—"Owner of the infamous guest house." My mama for village go faint.

Police dey warn everybody, especially guest house owners, make we shine eye. Any clue—report am quick.

If you see anything, no dull. Na their warning be that.

No picture of the killer. Dem say he dey always disguise, only rough description of height and build.

Omo, Lagos don spoil. Anybody fit be the person. As I dey read am, na so my body dey vibrate.

As I read finish, my mind freeze again.

I begin dey pray inside me, ask God for sense. Wahala dey like say e wan burst.

Everything wey I see for camera and the news match. Ninety-nine percent, na the same guy.

I dey shake, my stomach don twist. E be like say na only me dey know the real story.

My heart dey beat, I wan call police.

I nearly dial sharp sharp, but my hand dey shake. I dey fear say if I no act fast, the guy go finish him job.

My phone don dey dial 112, but just before I press call, I pause.

I just dey whisper Psalm 23 for my mind, dey beg God make wahala pass me.

E be like say my brain wan burst. How I wan take explain this kain matter?

How I wan take explain this one to police?

Na there wahala start. Police no dey joke with evidence, and my own dey everywhere for this house.

I no fit talk say na my hidden camera I take see everything, abi?

If I open mouth talk, dem go ask me wetin I dey use am do. If dem search my phone, my life don spoil.

If I say na news alert me, even if police no vex say I delay, even if dem no mind say I allow check-in without ID, e go still take dem at least five to ten minutes to reach here.

For this area, police dey waka like snail. Before dem arrive, the person fit don disappear or the matter fit don spoil finish.

By that time, the guy fit don start to cut her up.

I dey imagine blood everywhere. E fit spoil my business forever.

And police go search everywhere for evidence.

Dem go scatter mattress, check ceiling, even carry my laptop.

My cameras—I fit deceive guests, but police? Forget am.

Police na another level. Dem go see everything—no way to hide.

Wetin go happen then?

I dey see myself dey answer question for SARS office. My body begin dey itch.

This one no be small crime. Police go dig all the video wey I don record for two years.

If them open all my files, na serious jail straight. All my runs don cast.

But if I form say I no know anything, wait make the guy finish and comot, if dem catch am later nko?

I dey reason, but my conscience dey bite me. Which kind wahala be this?

Or if police investigate, trace am reach my guest house, dem go still find my cameras.

No matter how I try hide, e go still show. Even if I move, e go still follow me reach new place.

Even if I remove everything now, cameras dey inside wall since renovation—e go show. No way to hide am from police.

E mean say na full confession I go do if dem catch am.

If dem say I help cover up crime or I no report, I don finish be that.

I dey imagine myself for Kirikiri. My body dey tremble.

I rush go Google: How many years for secretly filming guest house guests?

I dey type fast, my fingers dey sweat. This kain question na only criminal dey ask.

The answer shock me.

I see ten years for jail—just like that. My spirit almost comot for body.

Ten years!

I dey see myself for prison uniform. I nearly cry.

Kai! Wahala full ground!

This one pass yahoo boy wahala. Even ritualist dey fear police for this kind matter.

I dey shake sotey I no fit even light cigarette well.

My Benson break for hand. I dey sweat, leg dey vibrate. For my mind, I dey beg God.

I puff am, try calm myself.

I close my eyes, dey pray inside me, dey ask for small sense to escape.

For like half minute, my brain run fast.

My head dey calculate all the possible ways to take escape wahala.

I no fit let police catch my hidden camera. If not, my money and my life don spoil.

I dey imagine police dey search wall, dey pull out camera wire. My eye nearly tear.

So, I no fit call police, but I no fit pretend say I no see anything too.

If dem catch me, na conspiracy join the charges.

The main thing be say, I no go allow the man cut up body for my guest house.

If dem see blood, na serious matter. I go just dey chop case upon case.

If he no do am here, police no go search deep.

If the thing happen outside, my guest house fit survive.

So, only one way remain: I must make am comot now, now, now!

Na that time I know say my street sense go save me or finish me tonight.