Òyì nke e mepụtara

I moved into the old house at the edge of the village because it was cheap. People avoided it, but no one told me why. The first night was quiet… too quiet. Around 3:17 AM, I woke up to a soft knocking. Not on the door. From inside the walls. Knock. Knock. Knock. I froze in bed, staring into the dark. It stopped. I told myself it was pipes. Old houses make sounds. I went back to sleep. The next night, it came again—louder. This time, it sounded closer. Like it was behind my head. Knock. Knoc