Òyì nke e mepụtara

The knocking started at 2:17 a.m. Mara knew the time without looking. She always woke at 2:17 lately—heart racing, throat dry, the air in her bedroom thick as if something had been breathing there before she stirred. Tonight, the sound was unmistakable. Knock. Knock. Knock. Not loud. Not urgent. Just… patient. She lay still, staring at the ceiling. The house was old—pipes groaned, wood creaked—but this was different. This was deliberate. Three evenly spaced knocks, like someone who knew exa