Àwọn Àmì-ìwé Tí A Fẹ̀

“I made it out of the Whitaker house that night. Got the selfie. Got the three hundred bucks. But something came back with me. First it was the scratches on my neck—three perfect lines that vanished by morning like they were never there. Then the tapping started. 3:17 a.m. every single night. Insid…

“I made it out of the Whitaker house that night. Got the selfie. Got the three hundred bucks. But something came back with me. First it was the scratches on my neck—three perfect lines that vanished by morning like they were never there. Then the tapping started. 3:17 a.m. every single night. Inside the door. Inside the closet. Then… outside the window. Second floor. Nothing should be able to reach it. This morning I found fresh gouges on the glass. Deep. Like fingernails testing how thin the ba