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Amina collapsed onto her bed, the springs groaning beneath her. The night air hung thick with unspoken tension, pressing against her skin like the humidity before a storm.
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Emeka crawled out from under the bed, brushing dust from his threadbare shirt. His fingers lingered near the iPhone box peeking from beneath her pillow.
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"*Folder*," he muttered, rolling the unfamiliar word in his mouth. "What's—"
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"A school thing," Amina cut in too quickly, her fingers digging into the mattress. The lie tasted bitter.
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Ifeanyi's gift burned beneath the pillow, its presence as unsettling as the man himself. She hated how her pulse quickened remembering those photos—the arrogant tilt of his chin, the way sunlight had danced across his collarbone. He was everything she despised: privileged, manipulative, too aware of his own charm. Yet her traitorous mind kept replaying his smirk at her window, the daring glint in his eyes when he'd mentioned the river.
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Emeka's knee bumped hers, dragging her back to reality. "You're doing that thing again."
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"What thing?"
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"Your nose scrunches when you're thinking about something... or someone." His grin turned sly. "Let me guess—Ifeanyi and his *folder*?"
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Amina's cheeks flamed. Emeka had always seen too much. Where Ifeanyi's gaze felt like being dissected, Emeka's was a mirror—honest to a fault.
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She studied him now: his perpetually untucked shirt, the two ridiculous chest hairs she'd once threatened to pluck, the scar above his eyebrow from when he'd fallen out of a mango tree at twelve. He was familiar as the village paths they'd raced down as children, yet suddenly foreign in this moonlit room.
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"Why do you keep coming here?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
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Emeka stilled. For a heartbeat, the usual mischief drained from his face. "You know why."
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The air between them crackled. Amina's breath caught. This was the boy who'd once given her his last piece of candy, who'd taken the blame when she'd broken her mother's vase, who still flinched at loud noises because his father's temper echoed in them.
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She opened her mouth—
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"Do you believe in ghosts?" The question tumbled out, abrupt and clumsy.
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Emeka recoiled as if struck. His hands, usually so animated, fell limp at his sides. The color drained from his face.
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"Emeka?"
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He stood abruptly, knocking over the stool. "I have to go."
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"Wait—"
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But he was already at the window, moving with unnatural stiffness. No teasing grin, no dramatic exit line. Just a hollow-eyed stare that didn't seem to see her at all before he vanished into the night.
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Amina clutched the windowsill, watching until his shadow dissolved into the darkness. The talisman on her nightstand pulsed faintly, its golden eye glinting in accusation.
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She had her answer.
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Some ghosts walked in daylight.
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***
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Grandma crouched by her window, her gnarled fingers gripping the sill as she watched Emeka slink away into the shadows. Her lips curled into a smirk.
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“*Mami Wata*,” she hissed into the dark, her voice like dry leaves. “*Bịa ebe a. Come to me. We made a pact.*”
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The air thickened, water pooling on the dirt floor as Mami Wata materialized, her serpentine form coiled in the corner. “*What do you want, old woman?*” The spirit’s voice dripped with venom. “*I have a soul waiting at the river. Do not waste my time.*”
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Grandma leaned closer, her milky eyes gleaming. “*Amina’s breath catches when she speaks Ifeanyi’s name. There’s desire there. Use it.*”
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Mami Wata’s laughter echoed, cold and melodic. “*Ah, love. The sweetest poison.*” She dissolved into mist, her final words lingering: “*Let the river decide.*”
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***
Amina stared at the ceiling, her mind replaying Emeka’s hollow stare. The talisman hummed faintly on her nightstand.
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*Tap-tap-tap.*
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“*Not again,*” she muttered, yanking the curtain open. Ifeanyi stood there, his smile too wide, his eyes too bright.
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“*Open the window, my sweet,*” he purred.
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“*Ọ dịghị mma!* This isn’t right!” Amina hissed. “*Go to sleep, you… you *agbụrụ*!”*
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Ifeanyi’s grin turned feral. “*You don’t mean that.*”
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*Thud.*
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Another figure stumbled into the moonlight—*Ifeanyi*, phone flashlight blazing, his face pale as he stared at his own doppelgänger.
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“*Mmụọ!*” he screamed. *Ghost!*
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The fake Ifeanyi hissed, its skin rippling like water. It bolted, but Papa Chukwuma was already charging into the night, machete raised.
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“*Nna anyị!*” Amina cried as her father gave chase.
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The creature sprinted toward the river, its form melting into something inhuman—long limbs, glistening scales, eyes like black pearls. Ifeanyi tripped over roots, yelling, “*It’s leading us to the water!*”
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Amina froze at the tree line. The river’s song thrummed in her veins, louder now.
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“*Amina!*” her father roared. “*Go back!*”
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But the creature vanished into the reeds, leaving only a trail of wet footprints and the echo of Mami Wata’s laughter.
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Amina crouched behind a palm tree, her bare feet sinking into the damp earth. The river churned ahead, moonlight fracturing on its surface like broken glass. Her father and Ifeanyi stood at the bank, breathing hard, their faces slick with sweat.
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The creature—Ifeanyi’s warped double—had vanished into the water with a hiss. Papa Chukwuma’s machete sailed after it, plunging into the black depths. For a heartbeat, silence. Then—
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***Thunk!***
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The machete shot back like a spear, embedding itself in a nearby tree trunk, the blade quivering inches from Ifeanyi’s face.
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Amina clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. Her father whirled toward the trees. “Who’s there?!”
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Emeka chose that moment to stagger into the clearing, his eyes glazed, shirt half-unbuttoned. He walked like a man sleepwalking to his grave, muttering, “*Ha na-ekwu… ha na-ekwu…*” *They’re talking…*
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Papa Chukwuma grabbed his arm. “*Nwa*! Wake up!”
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Emeka blinked, shuddering as if doused in ice water. His gaze locked on Amina, now frozen in the moonlight. “Yes,” he said, voice hollow. “I believe in ghosts.”
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Amina’s foot brushed something cold and slithering. She screamed, bolting from the trees—straight into her father’s chest.
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“*Nne*!” Papa Chukwuma gripped her shoulders, fury and fear warring in his eyes. “I told you to *go back*!”
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Ifeanyi stepped forward, his usual swagger replaced by unease. “Amina, what are you—”
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“Shut up!” She rounded on Emeka instead. “And *you*! What’s wrong with you?!”
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Emeka stared at the river, trembling. “I… I heard her. The woman in the water. She was singing.”
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Papa Chukwuma stiffened. “*Mami Wata*.”
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The name hung in the air, heavier than the humidity. Ifeanyi scoffed, but his bravado rang hollow. “Ghost stories. This is just some jealous neighbor’s *juju*.”
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“We’ll see,” Papa Chukwuma said grimly. “At dawn, I’m bringing the *dibia*. If this is dark magic, he’ll sniff it out.”
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Amina’s stomach dropped. The village medicine man, with his cowrie shells and bitter herbs, would sense the talisman. Would sense *her*.
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As her father dragged Emeka toward the compound, Amina lingered, her eyes drawn to the river. The water rippled, though there was no wind.
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In the shadows of her hut, Grandma watched, her lips moving in a silent chant.
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*Almost time.*
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