d ghost themed movies, and you’ve even played a couple of death themed games to the delight of your adrenaline rush. You

only child born to Nigerian professors Jonathan Dum and Loveth Dum. I guess that should answer why I am so smar

t this very room for the past twenty four hours, unable to leave, and a little unsure if I’m indeed dead, or if this was some long allergy-induced hallucination. If i

er so I end up giving up and returning to this bed. I float above this bed, trying to shut out the strange whisperings I keep hearing every now and

ever I sleep – slept, whatever - close to the wall in my room, but she said I was watching too much

the house would smell funny, not the putrid stench of decaying matter or the unpleasant odor of unwashed cl

orst case scenario, you’re before a panel consisting of your parents, an exorcist-pastor and some prayer warrior answering the question “Who gave you th

as as simple as any child’s room could be. One bed, fancy lights and chairs I never really used. I almost chuckl

ng in a sink. That’s how it always starts. I floated forward still, as silent as only a ghost could

g. I paused and tried in vain to swallow, my eyes never for once leaving the door. Whatever lay behind that door is

g my nerves not to bolt. Whatever it was that shook the door, it seemed to kn

lay behind it. The voice was getting clearer now, it was a feminine voice, and it wasn’t just a whisper. She - it, was humming, barely above a whisper, a

enveloped me. I heard

” I turned ar

aw nobody. Are there ghosts even to ghosts? I was petrified. I darted towards my position atop the bed.

h my hands, but my hands fell right through my head. The tapping had not abated even for a bit. The door shook as though it would shatter any moment now. I reeked of fear, my eyes shut, praying

cking of the clock in the darkness. Even with my eyes closed, I co

t of my

ed and

than hers, with large unblinking black eyes that accented her witchy-wide lips. Her hair was unmade and pa

?" Her shrill voice thun

was still watching her, openmouthed. Her skin was so pale, like it was about to rot. I was so drenched in fear that I started shrinking. Th

r I heard something explode in a distant. The smell of burn

next word on my lips was ‘mine’, but one of the few surviving cells in

ust

osts fainted, I would have found out

ated to ‘my friend’. But then, to the Southerners, it was a way on calling someone a simpleton. Immediately the second

herself in delight. Immediately, about a dozen other

spoke so I assumed she was talking to me. My response wa

female ghost that was bent double with laughs. Obviously, her joke had grown stale to them, as they all paid no attention to her, every o

rdo eyes you get from doing lots of bad things over and over again. From his outfit, an upandan - a Nigerian native long-sleeved top, with the trou

ese were indeed nine-year-olds, then they must have been thoroughly underfed. They were all identical, dressed in the same blue shirt and black

now floating at the far end of the room, way from the rest of us. He st

ing about me as regular gossips in school would. They were all dressed casually, in very simple ‘house’ gowns, except the lig

arily at her hand and then back at her face, appraising the smile that she wore. What did sh

still not return

and lost her smile,

ll trying to sound

huckled, “that'

ed not to s

terms with it” she motioned at a rather funny looking fat boy just beside that gossiping gang of four.

ching out to shake her still outs

ilarious and uncorked a fresh jar of laughter, alone again. The last time I felt this embarrassed was when I had peed on myself while

g, seeing that their eyes had never left my face even for a second since they had shown up. As suddenly as she had begun laughin

what has been killing thirteen-year-old