Chapter 2: The Skin Stealer Reveals

I cover my mouth, sweat just soak my back—

My wrapper even dey stick for skin, heart dey beat kpom-kpom-kpom. I nearly shout, but I bite my tongue.

As "Uncle Musa" turn, na so one crack open for back of e neck, skin wrinkle like old wrapper.

The crack long, like when mama dey slice yam after new harvest. My eye dey wide, I dey pray make village people dey safe.

Inside the crack, I see flesh wey get black and yellow fur.

E resemble monkey body, but the fur rough, like say e dey carry wahala for bush.

No be human spine be that o.

The way e be, na so fear grip me—e resemble wetin old people dey call ogbanje.

One tail, red hair full am, dey come out from under "Uncle Musa" belt, dey twist like snake.

Tail long, dey shake like agama lizard for hot zinc roof.

Under e jacket, I fit see two monkey hands dey press inside human skin, with some strands of human hair hook for the fingers.

Monkey finger long, black, nail dirty like mechanic. Human hair dey hook for am, like say e just finish fight for inside gutter.

Na real monkey dey there—big one, reach almost 1.8 meters.

E no be those small bush monkey—this one get body like bouncer, and e eye still dey shine red, e dey look everywhere.

E wear Uncle Musa skin like cloth.

The skin fit am like native for harmattan—loose for some place, tight for some, but e manage hook everything together.

The worst part be say, as e raise hand knock 502 door, the hair for back of e head just stand one kain—

As if breeze just blow, hair stand, e reveal wetin dey hide under.

Monkey head, sticky, dey inside Uncle Musa scalp.

Face dey twist, saliva dey drop for mouth. Na so one ear wey no dey well hide almost fall out.

The monkey face twist, face my door, blood-red eyes dey shine, mouth wey dey rot nearly tear reach ear.

Mouth dey stretch, teeth dey scatter, like say e dey smile at me from afar. I just dey tremble.

E quick twist back, hide the monkey head under the skin.

The speed shock me, no human fit move that fast—na only monkey or witch fit try am.

E raise hand, knock 502 door.

*Dong, dong, dong*

Knuckle hit door like stone, sound heavy pass generator noise. Na that kain knock wey landlord dey use when rent never complete.

The knock just dey echo for quiet corridor.

Corridor echo dey add to my fear. E resemble church bell for burial.

*Dong, dong, dong*

I dey count the knock—one, two, three, as if something dey count down to bad thing.

My hand dey shake as I pull phone, wan message 502.

I type fast, but finger dey slip, screen dey wet with sweat. My battery dey low, but my mind no fit rest until I talk something.

But before I fit type anything, 502 lock just make small *click*.

That sound sharp, like when you dey open suya wrap for night—quick and wicked.

Door open.

Through the peephole, I see "Uncle Musa" waka enter 502 house.

E walk inside like say na e own house. Shadow from corridor lamp dey stretch, monkey tail dey sweep ground, quick vanish as door close.

502 just wake up, dey rub e eye, dey complain:

"Which kind wahala be this, midnight you dey check door and window? People no dey sleep again?"

E dey scratch chest, boxers hang for hip, face puff from sleep. E voice dey rough.

"Old man, abeg do quick, I get work tomorrow."

E yawn, dey grumble. E fit no even notice say something dey off.

"Uncle Musa" just nod, no talk.

The nod slow, almost robotic, like say e dey try remember how human dey behave.

*Bang*, 502 door close.

Sound strong, echo for corridor, shake bulb for my side. My heart jump.

My finger still dey on top chat box with 502.

I dey hesitate, finger freeze for keyboard, mind dey race.

502 short, dey do car repair—dey waka early, come back late.

Person wey no dey get time, always dey smell of petrol and engine oil. I remember e always dey wear cap, even for inside house.

Me, I dey do livestream, so I dey house steady, no too dey go out.

I dey always stay indoor, ring light dey on, camera dey my face, small money dey drop if audience dey happy.

We no dey see each other much.

E dey rare to jam. E get own life, I get mine. Na only for meter box wey we dey sometimes greet.

The few times we jam, e always dey look me one kind, talk rubbish.

E dey call me "snapchat girl," dey laugh, dey drag voice. E never greet normal before.

I think am finish, delete the message wey I type.

I delete am quick, no wan make wahala go escalate.

No be say I wan do revenge.

I no get that kain mind, just no wan involve myself for person matter this night.

But this monkey with red eye, e own dey somehow.

E different from all those things wey I hear before—this one dey act as if e get sense pass human.

Now wey e don enter 502 house, 502 no safe again.

If e fit peel skin as dem talk, na only God fit help.

If I message am now, na myself I dey expose.

If monkey dey sense phone, na so I go collect. Lagos na place wey person suppose use sense pass prayer.

For my own safety, unless e reach last last, I no go let anybody know say I dey house.

My mama talk say, "Person wey get long life dey mind e business for wahala." I just lock up, pray for myself.

After 502 door close, everywhere just quiet for corridor.

Na only distant hum from generator dey. My chest dey rise and fall, eye no dey blink.

I dey look peephole, ear press for door, dey try hear anything.

Ear dey sharp, like say I dey wait for NEPA to bring light.

At first, nothing dey happen.

My mind dey count seconds, hope say everything go just settle.

Then—

*Dong.*

Sound like heavy something fall for ground.

E sound like when okada man fall for gutter—quick, sharp, heavy. My heart jump.

Next, I hear wet, sticky sound, like say person dey tear meat, then bone crack join.

My ear begin buzz. E dey resemble when goat dey chop cassava, sound dey mix with grinding stone.

Na there I hear scream—

"Ahhh—!"

The scream just stop half-way, like say dem cut am short.

Voice just disappear—no echo, no struggle. Na so blood run cold.

After that, na chewing sound, as if animal dey chop meat.

E dey chop like say e dey hungry since two days. Na thick, heavy swallow, bone dey crack, e dey sound like grinder for abattoir.

Even with two doors, I still dey hear the eating sound.

Sound dey seep through wall, e resemble spirit dey talk from another world.

My belle turn, sweat dey pour me.

E dey chop am.

No doubt, no mistake—na human being dey turn to meat this night. My mind dey run prayer on top prayer.

I dey shake, just dey step back, hold my mouth, no wan make any sound.

Hand dey press lips, leg dey weak. I just dey beg God, "Abeg, not today."

Then 502 begin send me message:

[501, you sabi say something dey wrong with am before? Why you no warn me? Why?]

[I dey pain, e dey peel my skin, e dey pain die...]

The message appear, phone shake. I no fit look the screen well, eye dey blur from tears and fear.

I just commot from the chat, no plan reply.

I close the chat, finger dey tremble, I nearly break phone for wall.

That time, group chat don burst—

601: [Who dey shout for downstairs this night?]

602: [Abeg, even if you wan quarrel, no do am midnight. This house no get soundproof, people need sleep.]

As the complaints roll in, I dey wonder if dem fit even hear the real wahala wey dey happen.

After the complaints, people begin tag me.

601: [501, na you dey make all this noise? I hate all these livestream girls, una no dey sleep, just dey shout for camera.]

602: [Na 501 dey do all this. Which of your big men dey pay you this night? Na why you dey shout?]

I wan vex reply, but I remember wetin mama talk—“No dey drag matter with person wey get coconut head.” Their messages dey pepper my body, but fear still dey on top. I dey see how quick dem dey judge person.

As I see the messages, anger wan make me laugh.

I almost type, "Shey na me dey turn to goat for corridor?" but my hand just dey shake.

Our building na new apartment, people no plenty, just six floors.

Na mini-estate—compound small, but landlord dey boast say e be 'modern living'.

People wey move in, na young couples or single people wey dey hustle for city.

Most na returnees, people wey want upgrade from face-me-I-face-you. E get as e be.

601 and 602 na two middle-aged men, dey do labour work. When I move in, after we jam for stairs, dem worry me, wan add me for WhatsApp.

The day I first climb stair with load, dem block me, dey ask, "Sister, you dey alone for house?" Na so I dodge dem hand.

When I no gree, dem begin target me everywhere.

After I refuse their invite, their face change. Gossip begin fly, fake smile full corridor.

I pick phone, still reply for group:

[Sorry o, no be my apartment dey make noise. I don travel go village since—I no dey house.]

I add "Lol" for end, just to lighten the matter. If dem believe, dem believe.

As I talk am, 601 and 602 begin send plenty message.

601: [You say you travel, but you dey spend night with big men.]

602: [Livestream girls na so, dem no dey sleep house. Wetin you dey do for night...]

I dey shake head—Lagos people no dey mind their business. I dey vex but fear no allow me talk true.

This kind harassment no new. If I reply, dem go just get more ginger.

E dey sweet dem to drag me. I just lock up, block mind from their matter.

So I just ignore dem.

I turn off notification, drop phone for bed, dey try control breath.

As I wan exit chat, 401—the first person wey warn us—come talk again.

401: [No be 501 apartment make noise. Na 502. E don almost die.]

401: [E dey peel e skin now.]

401: [That monkey dey peel am.]

My heart nearly stop.

My skin prick, eye dey roll. I just dey wonder—how she take know?

How 401 take know?

E get as e be—she dey always sharp, but this one pass normal.

She dey stay for fourth floor. How she take sabi wetin dey happen for fifth?

She never climb come up, I never see her for corridor this night. I dey suspect juju or spiritual something.

I dey look screen. Group chat don scatter—

People dey drop angry emoji, some dey drop "tufiakwa!" gif. Person even say, "Thunder fire your midnight joke."

601: [You dey craze? Who you wan scare for midnight?]

402: [401, this your joke don pass boundary. Stop to lie.]

401 tag me:

[I no dey joke. 501, you dey opposite 502. You see am just now, abi?]

My hand dey shake, phone nearly fall, but I force myself reply for group:

I try compose, but voice dey crack. I type:

[See wetin? I no dey house. 401, abeg stop.]

401 no talk for group again, but add me as friend.

My phone buzz—friend request. E rare for 401 to disturb me.

I reason am, accept her.

I dey fear, but I press accept. Wetin I fit lose?

401: [You sure say you no dey house? If you no wan talk for group, talk for here.]

401: [If you dey house, abeg believe me. I fit help you survive.]

401: [You never notice? Na only people from fifth floor and up dey talk for group now. Everybody below fifth floor, except me, don die.]

401: [501, you no suppose fear me. Even if you hide, e go still find you.]

I shock.

Phone nearly drop from my hand. My mind dey run, I dey check group chat with new eye.

As I scroll group chat, I see say na true. Since midnight, nobody from below fifth floor talk anything.

My finger dey stiff for chat. I dey scroll up, count name—only fifth floor and above dey yan.

401 na village woman wey dey do maternity nanny work for city, always dey nice to people.

She dey bring ogi and puff-puff come give security for gate. She dey greet everybody, dey call young girls "pikin".

When I first move in, she help me carry load.

Na she help me arrange curtain, even show me where to buy cheap palm oil for market.

But even with that, I still no trust her fully.

Na Lagos we dey—good face dey hide bad spirit. I dey suspect everybody.

I reply her:

[Aunty, wetin dey really happen for this building? Why you dey talk all these things? I no dey house.]

My thumb dey press send, but mind dey scatter. I dey look around, praying make nobody hear me.

After I send am, I no even check her reply, just dey look peephole.

Something for my mind dey scream, "Check wetin dey happen, abeg!"

Because I see blood—dark red liquid—dey leak come out from under 502 door.

The blood dey crawl for tiles, slow, but sure. Smell begin enter corridor, thick and iron-like.

Same time, 502 door handle make *click*, begin turn slowly.

Na so goosebumps grip me—door dey open, but no hand dey show yet. I dey pray make e just jam.