Òyì nke e mepụtara

Alright… here’s a horror story that builds slow and hits at the end: ⸻ I live alone. At least… that’s what I thought. Every night, before I sleep, I check my apartment. Closet—empty. Bathroom—nothing. Front door—locked. It’s a habit I picked up after moving in. Something about this place always felt… off. ⸻ It started small. I’d wake up and things would be slightly moved. A chair not exactly where I left it. My keys on the other side of the table. At first, I blamed myself. “May