Tuesday, 14-04-2026

I see you…

Alright, Angela, tell me what happened. The female doctor said, sitting confidently across from the anxious woman who was eager to tell her story.

And then you can help me, right? You said you can help, right… the woman asked repeatedly, seeking confirmation.

Yes, I will, the doctor replied, just as confidently as she sat.

Alright… it started about 10 weeks ago.

“The front door unlocked with a little more stress than I would have loved to battle. The Tuesday Lagos traffic was at its finest, and even after leaving the office an hour earlier, I got caught in the Third Mainland Bridge halt. It was almost as though everyone had the same idea to leave early.

It was a regular night, nothing extraordinary. I greeted the usual set of people from the beginning of the street to the gate of my apartment. They were always so nice and caring.

I live in one of the three old buildings on the street, and as much as I dreamt of living in one of the newer apartments, my salary was a little more realistic. I could have moved to a different street, but this one was a very friendly community, and I felt like I was a part of it.

The front door finally budged after much pushing, and I walked right into total darkness. Looking outside, it was clear the light had just gone out. I could have turned back to start my generator, but then I remembered that my generator functioned more as a class statement than as an actual power supply. I had a generator and no one could say otherwise.

Defeated, I turned on my phone light and felt my way into my two-bedroom apartment.

I slumped into the only couch I had and lay there, staring at the circular reflection my phone light made on the ceiling. It was 8pm, and I was supposed to be having a social life after work, but I could barely gather myself to move.

I could have stayed there till morning, but hunger got the best of me. I got up and tidied as best as I could. Mornings were always busy, and I could barely do anything if I wanted to leave the house by 5:30.

Then I took a bath and went to the kitchen to eat the rice left over from yesterday’s meal.

But it was gone.

I swore I had left some, but maybe I didn’t.

So I went to make spaghetti and sardines quickly. I relied on my phone light until I turned it off after eating to conserve battery. And then, I remained in the dark, scrolling through social media, watching people who clearly knew the secret to balancing work and a social life.

I am at that stage in life where engagements, weddings, new families, and children are everywhere, and my feed made sure I saw and envied all of it.

I went to bed at midnight.

Around 3am, I snuggled into something that felt warm.

At first, I thought it was my blanket. But then I felt arms… and wondered how a blanket could do that.

It took a moment before my sleepy brain remembered — I didn’t have a blanket on my bed.

I woke up quickly and reached for my phone. I turned on the torchlight and looked around, but found nothing.

Nothing was there.

I saw the lights were back and switched them on. I even did a full sweep of the house but nothing.

The only rational conclusion was that it had been a dream.

I was spooked, but realising I had already lost 20 minutes of precious sleep was enough to push me back to bed.

But that was the beginning.

The following Saturday, it happened again.

This time it was around 5am. I knew because my “out-the-door” alarm had just rung  and I was delighted when I turned it off. I scrolled briefly, then drifted back to sleep.

That was when I felt it again.

The warmth. The arms. Clear this time.

I got up quickly and turned on the lights.

No one.

Yes, I had a cover this time but it was not that.

I was too spooked to go back to sleep.

It happened twice again the next week.

Always in bed. Always at night.

It felt like someone was holding me firm, warm, almost loving.

Each time I checked.

Each time, nothing.

Then the gifts started.

First, it was a pre-ordered meal on a Saturday evening when I was too lazy to cook.

Then groceries on a weekday when I was too tired to shop.

Then bags and shoes I had admired quietly through my phone but could never afford.

All addressed to me. With my full name and number.

A secret admirer.

That was the only explanation.

But… How did I feel him at night?

And how did he know what I wanted every single time?

By the fourth week, I was in too deep.

I let the warmth hold me.

I accepted every gift.

I was cuddling with an invisible force that also sent me presents.

I even ignored things going missing… or moving around randomly.

Of course, I knew it was crazy.

But now I had a mysterious love life to post and flaunt,  maybe make someone else as envious as I once was.

Then it got worse.

I started seeing random items I never bought around the house.

First it was baby clothes I had never seen.

Next it was toys I had never bought. 

Then it degenerated to hearing sound, sometimes it was the front door opening only for me to see it fully locked from the inside

Other times it was water running from a tap. 

I ignored it all of course.

What was I going to say, “I’m being haunted by a ghost who cuddles me and buys me things?”. 

Who’d believe that?

But when the whispers started I became too spooked.

At first, they were soft. Sweet.

“Sleep well.”
“Eat before you leave.”
“Don’t forget your umbrella.”

Like someone watching out for me.

Then they changed.

“I keep an eye on you.”
“Stop crossing the road without using the pedestrian bridge.”
“Stop buying from those people.”

That was when fear set in.

I was fine when I thought he was simply confined to the house.

It even felt reassuring that he was only at home.

But now he was monitoring me outside.

He knew my routes and habits. 

I became paranoid, how far was this force prying into my life and what was the final goal. 

It became too much.

I suspected everything and everyone and tried to isolate myself.

But even then, he knew.

He would ask why I was withdrawing.

Tell me to be more social.

He was in my head.

So I confronted him one evening. I yelled at him;

“Who are you? What do you want from me?”

Silence.

Nothing.

Then I begged. I apologised.

Still nothing.

Had I gone mad? I wondered as I slept off.

 That night, I whispered into the darkness:

“Can you see me?”

“Yes… I see you. I always see you. Don’t you see me?”

A soft masculine voice replied.

I shut my eyes and wept quietly.

I knew I had to leave.

I had messed with the spiritual and now I needed to sever ties with it. 

I did everything secretly for fear of him catching on. 

I used my workplace laptop rather than my phone and kept up a cheerful appearance and for the time it felt like I had succeeded. 

I found a small shared apartment 2 hours away and simply never returned back to the apartment. 

I left with what little clothes I could smuggle out in the name of charity giving and even found another job to transfer into.

It felt like I had succeeded for 2 months but then as I walked back home one evening, I heard the same voice calling my name clearly.

I froze but refused to look back.

Had it found me. 

The voice rang out again this time closer. 

I wasn't going to stand and wait so I ran, quickly, back to my apartment and back to my room.

But the voice rang out again, this time questioning me.

‘Why are you running?’

‘Where have you been?’ 

‘I've been looking for you.’ 

‘I’ll never leave you.’

Why, why was a ghost out looking for me. 

What had I gotten myself into? 

I kept quiet, as quiet as a mouse. 

Maybe if he didn't hear me he'd go away.

But he didn't.

I heard his voice every evening, I never saw him though. 

It was eerie, everyone and everything became a suspect. 

How did he find me, where is he now, am I safe? 

It was all I thought about and evenings became dreadful. 

I was wasting away in fear so I decided to confront him.

I went outside one evening, I knew he'd be there, so I waited. 

And when I heard him I walked quickly to the busiest street I could find, hoping to use the crowd as a security from any possible harm.

And then I screamed, and warned, and threatened, and exposed it all. 

I left nothing to be hidden. 

This way he'd have no control over me again. 

But then he … a man.. He came forward. 

He looked worried as others came towards me. 

They held me and calmed me down. 

But didn't they understand? 

I explained it all clearly. 

I was being haunted, and who was that man who was close to tears? 

My mind was full as I drifted to sleep. 

But why did I sleep out on the street?

Then I woke up here.

I haven’t heard the voice since.

But that man…

He comes every day.

With that same sad look.

“And do you recognise him?” the doctor asked.

“No… not at all.” 

“Mrs Angela… that is your husband.” She began.

… And the house you ran away from was where you lived with your husband.” 

“You’ve been married for 8 years. You had a 6-year-old son… and a newborn. 18 months ago, you lost both in a boating accident while on holiday.”

“Since then, you’ve been in therapy. Your husband moved into the children’s room to give you space. He was the one hugging you at night. He was the one moving things, making noises, and who you were speaking to.”

“But… the gifts, my routines… How did he know? I never spoke to him about it”

“You ordered the gifts yourself.”

“We checked with the companies and you placed those orders yourself.”

“As for the routines, everyone kept tabs on you out of concern.”

“This isn't the first time you've had a nervous breakdown.”

“The caring neighbours kept tabs on you. Your colleagues informed him when you were acting strange, those who knew you and saw you taking risky routes called him.”

“Everyone was making an effort to help you get better”

“And why didn’t I see him?” I’d wake up quickly every time, but never saw him

“You didn’t wake up immediately. You woke up hours later… and remembered it differently.”

But I’d always go round the entire house, both rooms and the surrounding and I never ever saw him, not once.

“Your house has three bedrooms not two, Mrs. Angela. Your husband was always in the third room.”

The room fell silent. One person was patiently waiting and the other was battling with an influx of information.

“Do you remember the accident?” The doctor asked after a while.

“Yes…”

Tears fell.

“The boat…all four of us… the storm… I tried… I tried to save them when it capsized”

“My babies… I couldn’t save anyone”

“The water was cold and no one was coming.”

“They all died one by one.” 

“The life jacket could not save them from the cold.” 

“Oh, God my babies.”

“Mrs. Angela, let's take you back to your room now. You need to rest.”

“I don’t deserve to live…”

“I’m here for you. We’ll get through this together,” her husband said, holding her as he sat across from her in her private ward.

“But… but I was the only one who lived.”

“I saw you die.” She said, her eyes wet with tears as reason overtook emotion.

“I lived… for you.”

“How…how… I saw you…” 

“No, you took off your jacket first and then you drowned.”

“I remember.”

“You sank beneath my feet. I wept and begged you not to but you did.” 

“How? How…” She asked 

Her voice trembled.

He smiled.

And slowly…

He faded.

The warmth of his embrace remained.

“What?… Who are you?… Where are you?” She asked, trembling from what her eyes had just seen.

“I see you… I always see you. Can’t you see me, my love?” He whispered softly.

Tuesday, 21-04-2026

There were three and then there was one.

Hello Chiamaka, I’m Dr. Augustina. Can we talk?
Yes. Will you listen to me?
Of course. That’s all I want to do. Listen to you.
Okay… finally someone will listen. Everyone thinks I’m crazy, but I’m not. It really happened… I saw it happen.
What happened? What did you see?

I’m one of triplets. Chiamaka, Chiamara, Chiamanda. We were inseparable. We always did everything together. It was us against everyone else, mostly because we were almost always by ourselves.

Our mother died during childbirth and our father raised us alone until he remarried when we were 5. Shortly after, he got a job as a bus driver travelling long distances. It meant he was hardly ever home, and his new wife wasn’t very happy to raise three girls by herself, so he sent us off to boarding school.

From primary one through to secondary school, we lived as boarders and only had each other. Even during holidays, we would either stay back in school or return home only if daddy was around. No matter what, we did so together.

We used to joke that if one of us got lost, the other two would know… like we were tied together somehow.

It was the holiday before our final year in secondary school, and we were already aware of all the events, after-parties, prom, graduation, beach hangouts, that were lined up by the graduating committee.

Daddy was never wealthy. If anything, he barely ever had enough between paying our fees and supporting his new wife and children. His job didn’t earn that much anyway, so we barely ever had enough. His younger sister was the only one who would sometimes support us with allowance while in school.

For us, money wasn’t tight, it simply wasn’t available from our father. And the only option was to not attend anything at all.

Daddy had asked us to come home for the holiday, much to our surprise. He never called for us first, and even when we asked in the past, he would hesitate before saying yes. But this time, he called for us and even sent us transport fare without being asked.

Amara was overjoyed. I was mostly neutral. But Amanda was sceptical.

She kept saying, “Daddy doesn’t do anything for free.”

Amara had hoped that she could get daddy to give us money, but right from the moment we arrived at the two-bedroom flat he rented in Ijeshatedo, his wife made it clear there wasn’t money for us, especially with the fifth baby on the way.

That was why daddy called us back. His wife was heavily pregnant again, and she needed three teenage girls to do the house chores and take care of her four children under ten. So she asked daddy to bring us back for the two-month holiday.

Amara was beyond disappointed. I, again, was neutral. Amanda was even more angry at daddy.

Amanda: “At least if they had left us at school, we could have taken summer jobs. But no… we are here washing baby napkins and cooking food for spoiled poor brats.”

She spat the words out as we began doing chores the moment we dropped our bags.

It felt like we had only been brought back because we were useful. 

Naturally, all hope of getting money dropped to the floor.

But then one day, Amara found a flyer announcing a competition with a grand prize of 1 million naira and said we should join.

I was sceptical, but my sisters were hopeful. We did our research and it seemed like a legitimate competition. All we had to do was complete tasks, and we could see the leaderboard and our ranking as we went.

Simple, right?

So we began.

At first, it was easy, go to X location and take a picture, buy a book and send a code, find a white puppy, find a grey cat, take a picture with a navy blue car, write a story in 20 words.

Just simple things we could do around our neighbourhood, and we watched ourselves climb the leaderboard.

For the first time, it felt like we had a way out.

We did our best to complete each task, even with the mountain of chores assigned to us daily.

But then the tasks started changing.

They began asking for things that were risky, like taking a picture standing at the top of an uncompleted building.

For three girls living with parents who didn’t care much about our opinions, it was difficult… but our need for money was greater than our fear.

We kept going.

But we became stagnant.

We were in the top 10 at number 6, but we couldn’t break into the top 5 no matter how quickly we worked or how many tasks we completed.

It was starting to feel like if we did 1 task, those in the top 5 did 2 more just to beat us out of any chance to get on ahead.

What was even weird was that the top five never changed position. The person in number 1 was always in number one like the other 4 slots.

Like it was fixed. 

Then the organisers made an announcement:

“Mega point. 100 points for the winner.”

With that many points, we could jump straight to the top.

Each task was worth just 5 points, this was 20 times that for a single task.

There was no way we were going to ignore it.

So we waited.

The thing with the organisers was this, tasks were announced ahead of time, but what the task actually was would only be revealed when it went live.

So we waited.

It was going live at 6am.

At 5:30am, we were already awake, sitting on the mats we laid in the sitting room that also served as our beds at night. 

Whatever it was, we were going to get to it immediately.

The sitting room clock hit 6am, and we pressed close together as we refreshed the website on the small, used smartphone our aunt had gifted us when we turned 16.

The event was live.

The task was open.

It was in two parts.

Part 1 – find an old, rundown, and abandoned house, get in, take a picture inside the house, send it in… and wait for part 2.

That was a problem for us because, as much as we lived on a street with old and rundown houses, none were abandoned.

As we thought about it, Chiamara remembered there was an old abandoned house around where our aunt lived with her husband.

But her house was a one-hour drive away.

And there was no way our stepmother would let us go when she was using us as her personal errand girls.

But we were desperate.

So we decided to try our luck.

We called our aunt first.

Aunty Ifeoma: Ah, this one you are calling me at past 6, I hope everyone is okay?
Amaka: Yes ma, we were just wondering if it would be okay to visit you today. We just want to see the twins.
Aunty Ifeoma: Hmm… are you really coming to see the boys, or is there some motive?
Amaka: Anything to leave this place, Aunty Ify.
Amanda: That… and we also want to see the boys.
Amaka: If you can just call daddy and say you want to see us, I’m sure he’ll accept.
Aunty Ifeoma: Oya now… I’ll be your partner in crime just this one time.

We managed to cross the river. Now only the ocean remained.

We were already deep into our pile of chores when the call came in. We knew they wouldn’t let us go if our chores weren’t done, so we rushed through everything.

We were hanging the last set of clothes when they both came to the back of the house.

Good morning ma, good morning sir. We greeted in unison
How are you all? Dad said flatly

Fine sir. We replied

Your aunty called. She said she wants you people to visit her today. Dad explained.

Ah… okay sir. I answered feigning ignorance

I don’t know why she is insisting so much. Demanding for you people to come and go whenever she likes. She said, irritated 

Anyway, you’ll be staying there for a few days, so pack your things. Daddy said plainly

Whatever Aunty Ifeoma had said must have worked because usually our step mum would disagree and daddy would support her putting up a fight before agreeing with conditions lined up. 

But this time they agreed easily.

When I pointed out later to my sisters that it was strange how easily they had allowed us to go to Aunty Ifeoma’s house, Amanda had opined that they only agreed because they hoped Aunty Ifeoma’s husband would foot our bills if we spent some time in their house.

Make sure you don’t take anything that’s not your own o. Our step mother said accusingly

Will we go ourselves? Amara asked

Before nko? Who is going to take you? Is it me in this condition or your dad that’s resting? If you can’t find your way, that’s your business. She spat irritatedly. 

She was always very irritated.

We can go ourselves. I said firmly

I don’t have much on me. But here is your transport fare. Dad said passing 3,000 Naira to me.

But daddy, this won’t be enough. Amara said, quickly calculating the fair in her mind.

Frankly we all knew it wouldn't be enough even without calculating.

Manage it! Trek some of the distance. Our stepmom scolded.

It will cover the bus fare to the island, then you can trek the rest. I don’t have money, that’s all I could borrow. One of you will have to lap so you’ll pay for only two seats. He explained it calmly.

Alright sir. We replied knowing that nothing would change by arguing

Alright then. You all can go. Dad said turning to go inside.

Make sure you finish all the work I gave you before you go. Don’t leave anything for anybody. She said sternly following our dad inside.

It was 1pm by the time we were ready.

We left quickly, before our stepmother could remember anything else we needed to do.

One big hurdle down.

Everything was working in our favour, maybe too easily but still in our favour.

The bus dropped us off at the park, and we trekked the rest of the journey to where Aunty Ifeoma lived.

Her estate was big and classy, a sharp contrast to where daddy lived.

Our stepmother always said Aunty Ifeoma “married up,” and she disliked her for it because apparently money wasn’t the only important thing.

Says the woman who complained about money every chance she got.

There was a big church just across from the estate, and there seemed to be an event going on because it took us over 10 minutes to cross with all the cars moving in and out.

The abandoned house wasn’t on her street, and although we knew we should have gone to her house first, we didn’t want to risk her keeping us busy with work.

So we took a detour.

The main gate was locked from the outside, but there was a fallen wall at the back.

It was late afternoon, but the street was quiet.

Too quiet.

The house sat at the very end of the close.

We climbed over the fallen side wall that was now in a heap and entered the house.

It was old, run down, and heavily infested with insects.

For girls who hated anything that crawled, it felt like a test of courage.

We took the picture in the large sitting room, recorded a short video, and left quickly.

For a moment, it felt like the house was watching us leave.

Aunty Ifeoma welcomed us warmly and comforted us.

She loved us, but she also loved her brother.

And even though she knew he wasn’t the best father to us, she couldn’t bring herself to judge him.

After all, he was a good brother to her… a good husband to his new wife… a good father to his other children.

We were just the ones that didn’t quite fit anywhere.

We uploaded the image and video and waited.

The phone rang.

A message came in.

It was just after 4pm.

It read—

2nd Task

Old and abandoned indeed… spend the night there.

Spend the night !!! I exclaimed

Haba…

I don’t think we can do that, I said, certain this was the end for us.

We can’t just quit after everything, Amara replied, just as unsettled.

There just might be a way… Amanda said, already thinking ahead.

We can’t sneak out if that’s what you’re planning, it would be the end of us all, I replied.

We won’t have to. Remember the banner we saw in front of the church? Youth vigil. We can use that as an excuse.

What if Aunty Ifeoma follows us? Amara asked.

Are you seriously suggesting we use God to lie our way out? I asked.

Well, heaven helps those who help themselves, and right now we need to help ourselves, or we’ll be the girls who couldn’t even afford to show up, Amanda said.

It’s already bad enough that we went into that house. I don’t like this, I said.

Think about it this way, if we get the money, we won’t spend it now. We can save it and finally survive in school, Amanda added.

We aren’t even doing anything bad, Amara supported.

If you want, we can attend the vigil first, then leave after midnight, Amanda said.

What if Aunty follows us? Amara asked again.

She won’t. Not with her husband and children there, and it’s for youths. She doesn’t qualify anymore, Amanda replied.

Alright then… this settles it, Amara said.

But first, we should set it up properly. Let’s go for today’s evening service at 6pm, that will be our preamble, Amanda added.

So we did.

Aunty Ifeoma allowed us to go for the evening service.

She was very religious and liked it when young people showed that same zeal. Amanda knew this, and used it.

By the time we got back and told her we wanted to attend the vigil, she didn’t question it.

She just said yes.

The vigil started at 7pm, and we were in church by 6:40.

We had a handbag full of accessories, which we justified as things we would need for the night.

The night was cold. It had rained earlier, and it felt like it would rain again.

Aunty Ifeoma came to check on us at 9pm and left after giving us one wrapper.

One wrapper for three people felt poorly calculated, but it was big enough, so we managed by cuddling together.

For a moment, it almost felt normal… like we were just three sisters at a vigil.

We waited one more hour and left the church a few minutes past 10pm.

We arrived at the abandoned house by 10:30 and set up in the same sitting room downstairs where we had taken the picture and video earlier.

For safety, I insisted we sit close to the door or a window, just in case.

And then we waited.

Part of the requirement was to stream our entire stay for authenticity.

So we did.

We set up the camera before we even entered the compound and left it running in a corner.

For the next two hours, we talked about how we would use the money, about all the things we had missed out on, about how people at school saw us as “those poor triplets.”

Slowly, our plans for the money began to outweigh our fear of the house.

Nothing happened for two hours.

Just us.

Talking.

Existing.

It was a few minutes to 1am when Amanda said she needed to use the toilet.

We checked the guest toilet downstairs, but there was no water, so we decided to go outside to the back where there were overgrown grasses.

We took the camera with us.

And then we heard a noise.

Amanda and I froze.

It sounded like it came from inside the house.

We stayed still, listening… waiting…

But after about 15 minutes, nothing else happened.

Amanda said it was probably animals.

The house was old and run down, it made sense.

Still… it didn’t sound like animals.

We went back inside anyway.

All we had to do was wait till 6am.

Just wait.

We sat close together again.

Then a new message rang...

‘Explore the house.’

We hated that idea immediately.

But Amanda pushed.

And slowly, we gave in.

The house was much bigger than we had thought.

We explored downstairs first, nothing unusual.

Then we went upstairs.

Each step creaked under our weight.

Insects scattered along the walls and floors as we moved.

Then we entered the first room.

It was a child’s room.

Old toys were still there.

Left behind.

Forgotten.

In the center of the room was a large wooden trunk.

Just sitting there.

Like it had been specifically placed not forgotten like the rest of the room felt.

Another message came in...

‘Open the trunk.’

I didn’t understand.

Why that? I wondered.

I knew the organisers were watching us through the live feed… but why did we need to do this?

Was it just for fun? Or was there more… I kept wondering

It’s just a box. There’s nothing to it, Amanda said, as if she could hear my thoughts.

So we opened it.

Inside...

Money.

Stacks of it.

Neatly arranged.

Like it had been placed there… waiting.

Let’s take it, Amanda said immediately.

Absolutely not. Why would we? I replied.

Because we need it, she said.

But that’s stealing. That’s not what we came here for.

We can’t just leave it here, Amara added.

Yes, we can. And we will. Don’t you find it strange how neatly it’s arranged?

Amanda didn’t respond. She just stared at the money.

Another message came in...

‘Take it. It’s yours.’

Did we win already? Is that why it’s here? Amara asked, her voice rising with hope.

That must be it. There’s no other explanation, Amanda said, already convinced.

But how? I asked.

How what? Amanda retorted.

How did they know we would come here? We didn’t tell them. No one knows we are here except us. And the prize was points… not money. When did they even put the money here? Was it them that made that sound earlier? Are they in the mansion?

Amara hesitated as I poured out concerning questions one by one.

Maybe they tracked the location from our first submission, Amanda said.

And it’s possible that they are around to surprise us as winners once we take the money. Amara rationalised.

I wasn’t convinced.

Something about it felt… arranged.

Another message…

‘Congratulations. You are the winner of the competition. You take the lead by completing this task. Now take your win.’

See? I was right. We won, Amara said.

But something wasn’t sitting right with me. If we really won, shouldn’t there be a camera and a whole team coming out right about now?

How exactly did you hear about this competition? I asked, turning to her.

I found the flyer at home, she said.

Where at home?

Just in a pile of books.

I paused.

Could daddy have brought it?

Why didn’t he say anything?

Why are you thinking so much? We clearly won, Amanda said, already emptying our bag to make space.

It just doesn’t make sense… I said quietly.

But they weren’t listening anymore.

They both reached into the trunk at the same time.

The moment their hands touched the money…

They disappeared.

Both of them.

Just like that.

I looked around.

Called their names.

Nothing.

I called out the team, said the practical joke was enough. I was laughing waiting for the lights to come on and everyone to say ‘Got You’..

But nothing.

Silence.

No one came, nothing moved, no lights came on. The night just continued on.

I laughed at first… waiting for it to be a joke.

But nothing happened.

And that’s when I understood… they were gone.

And in their place...

Two tubers of yam.

I know how it sounds.

But I saw it.

I recorded it.

But no one believes me.

I took the yams, carried them in my bags, and went home.

I told my story.

No one believed me.

I showed them the video..

But it didn’t play.

I know it recorded everything.

I saw it recording.

But nothing played.

Nothing.

I tried to show them the site but it didn’t load up.

I even went back to the mansion but there was no box.

They said I made it all up.

But how?

Amaka, the story your parents and relatives tell is different, Dr. Augustina began.

You are an only child. You had a fight with your parents about money for your final year, and called your aunt to have you come over to her place.

Your aunt comforted you and allowed you to go to church since you asked for it. She brought the shawl for you because she remembered you hadn’t packed it.

But the competition, the site, the images, the video… Amaka stuttered

There was no competition, only messages you sent back and forth to yourself. You never really recorded anything. And there is no record of the site.

That can’t be… the yams, what of the yams?

We aren’t sure where the yams came from, but you could have easily picked it up anywhere.

You simply hallucinated everything. This is common with cases of schizophrenia and psychosis… especially after the emotional disconnect you’ve had with your family. For which you are being treated in this facility.

But I went to school with them, everyone saw us three.

We checked with your school and relatives. You never had any sisters, but you’ve always had two imaginary friends everyone knew about.

This can’t be… it makes no sense… I have pictures, exams… how…

Your treatment has begun, and you should be able to get a clearer image of reality soon. She said in the calmest and most reassuring tone I’d ever heard.

For now, your parents are here to visit you. 

The orderly will escort you to the visitation room.

Amaka, how are you… my step mother asked warmly as she hugged me. 

She was no longer pregnant.

I don’t know… I replied, confused by what the doctor had said and even more by the softness in my step mother’s voice.

You just need to get better, okay. I asked the doctors to take very good care of you, no matter the cost, my father said, equally as caring.

We thank God we have enough money to handle all of this, my step mother added, her face a little more happy than it should have been.

I bought a lot of items for you, things that I thought you’d need, she said, bringing out different things from the bags lined on the floor. 

She placed a pack of cute hair clips and a hair band on the table and I froze…

Amara was the only one who used clips and bands. I said, looking at my step mother.

She froze and quickly took them back.

Only Amara uses hair bands and clips. I emphasised…

We had our hair in low cut to save money for regular hair making in school but even then Chiamara would always have a clip on her hair. She’d also wear a band across her hair even though these were against school policy.

Everyone knew that. Amanda and I never liked these things, but everyone knew that Amara lived for it. It was even in her favourite colour, baby pink.

You were the one who used them. You always had so many personalities. My dad said, attempting to calm me down.

It didn’t make sense but I couldn’t explain it.

I’m sorry about bringing these things. My step mother started sobbing… the doctor warned that I shouldn't bring anything that could trigger you but I simply made a mistake. 

There is no Amara or Amanda. There is only you my dear. She said,

As confused as I was with the new information I was processing, it felt unsettling to see a woman who never liked me care so much. 

Even the doctor mentioned it was due to feeling like I had no place to make sisters, so why was she so nice to me. Or had she suddenly repented now that I wasn’t mentally stable? 

This is a lot… this place is a lot. Everything going on is a lot. I said looking around properly for the first time. Then I noticed for the first time how luxurious this facility was.

Is Aunty Ifeoma’s husband paying for this… I asked, concluding that was the only logical explanation and if so why hadn’t she come to visit me.

That one? No. Even after they could not take care of you while you were with them, my step mother scoffed, the tears quickly leaving her eyes.

It’s your dad that’s paying for everything. His new business has been doing so well, so we were able to cover all your bills. She said joyfully.

New business. I tried to remember when it started… before or after that night. Since that night days had been in a blur. I was only just gaining some resemblance of calm.

Look at the time… My step mother said, looking at her clock on the wall. Let us go and speak to the doctor and then pay money into your hospital wallet for you to use. The account office will soon close.

Just wait here, we will be back. She said getting up.

I watched my parents leave the small room that served as the visitation room.

What day was it? We came home… I mean I came home in July for holiday.

I looked around but there was no calendar.

Then a phone rang, like a message came in.

On the seat where my dad sat was a phone that looked brand new. Expensive.

I picked it up, wondering who it was for.

Then I saw the date.

February.

It had been 7 months.

It rang again.

I touched the screen. It read…

‘We’ve got a new one… ready.’

It had a link. 

I was hesitant but curiosity got the better of me.

I clicked the link 

It was the site of the competition.

It was a different theme and colour

But everything was identical to what my sisters and I had used.

But it was different.

It wasn’t the mass user section… no…

It was the admin section.

Then I saw the image of the flyer for the competition, it had the exact same words.

Just then my dad came rushing back, and like an eager child I pointed the phone to him.

It was real, daddy look. I said, anxious for someone to believe me.

This phone has the app and the flyer. There was a competition. I knew it.

He took the phone. Looked at it. Smiled.

Of course it was real… to you. He said slowly putting the phone in his pocket.

But everything is there, daddy… the app is real, so is the competition and leaderboard.

The app is real. Of course it is, because that’s your daddy’s new business. The one that became profitable, my step mother said, walking in.

So you both must have the video. The video shows everything that happened. This is proof that there were three of us and that they disappeared as soon as they put the money in the bag…

It was as soon as they touched it, my step mother corrected calmly.

You saw it too… I asked, my voice shaking.

No, that’s what you said, my dad replied a little too quickly.

I don’t understand…

That’s okay. You don’t have to. Just know that we will keep you safe, my step mom said.

I won’t let the same thing happen to you, my dad added his voice low and serious.

But… it already happened… I whispered back.

No, Amaka.

Because it’s a game.

It’s always been a game. My step mother said, a smirk creeping through her face …and then my dads.