Episode 4: The Secret Behind the Locked Room
She knocked again.
This time, not gently.
It was firm. Almost urgent.
It was two days after that strange night — the one where she held my hand and whispered, “I’m here.”
Since then, I had been avoiding her—rushing off to school early, staying out late, pretending to nap anytime I heard her door open. I didn’t know what to feel. Pity? Guilt? Confusion?
But now, here she was again, standing in front of my door—without a plate of food.
“Come,” she said simply.
I stood, hesitated, then followed.
She led me toward the back of the compound, to the part of the house I had never really paid attention to. A section with one locked door, always dusty, always quiet.
“No one goes here,” she said, her voice hollow.
Then she pulled a small key from her wrapper… and unlocked it.
What I Saw Inside
The door creaked open like it hadn’t moved in years. Dust floated in the air, dancing in the slant of sunlight that pierced through the torn curtain.
It was a bedroom.
Small, clean, but untouched.
On the wall hung a NYSC crested vest — the same white and green I wore every week. Folded neatly on the shelf were khaki trousers, still crisp. A framed picture of a young man in full NYSC gear stood on the table.
It was Chinedu.
The resemblance between us was scary — same height, same slim build, same forehead.
“This was his room,” she said, almost whispering. “I couldn’t let it go.”
She stepped in slowly, like entering a shrine. “I come here sometimes. Just to clean… or cry.”
I felt something twist in my chest.
Then she turned to me.
“I brought you here for a reason,” she said, eyes suddenly intense. “The way you walk, the way you eat fast… even how you talk in your sleep…”
I blinked. “Ma…?”
“You sound just like him.”
Silence.
Then she walked up to me. Too close.
“I want you to stay here… in his room.”
A Dangerous Offer
I stepped back. “No, mummy. I can’t. That’s not right.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I feel alive when you’re around. Like Chinedu came back… in another form.”
My stomach tightened. Was this grief? Madness? Or something deeper?
She placed her hand on my chest. “Please.”
I stared at her — this woman who had once been my angel — and for the first time, I saw something fragile… maybe even broken.
“I’m not him,” I said.
She nodded slowly. “I know.”
But then, her voice dropped:
“But can you pretend to be… just for me?”
What Do You Do When Kindness Becomes a Trap?
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
Her words haunted me. Her eyes. That locked room. The offer.
Had I misunderstood everything?
Or had she misunderstood me?
I thought NYSC was going to be about lesson plans, CDS meetings, and maybe a village girlfriend.
But here I was — living in a compound where love, grief, and loneliness had become a dangerous cocktail.
And I had just taken my first sip.
