Chapter 4: Forgotten Archives

Ify sat alone in the teachers' lounge, staring at the lesson plan in front of her.

But she wasn't seeing the words.

Her mind kept replaying Madam Uche's warning.

"Do not go looking for answers you are not ready to find."

Ify exhaled sharply, shutting her book.

She was tired of unanswered questions.

It was time to dig into the past.

---

The school archives were kept in a small, dusty room behind the administrative block.

It wasn't a place people visited often.

When Ify pushed open the wooden door, a wave of stale air and forgotten years greeted her. The room was packed with old records, student files, and yearbooks, stacked haphazardly on metal shelves.

She ran a finger over a thick layer of dust.

"No one has been here in a while."

Taking a deep breath, she started searching.

1978.

She needed records from that year.

Her fingers trailed over old ledgers, pausing when she found a faded, leather-bound book labeled "STAFF RECORDS: 1975–1980."

She flipped through the pages until she saw the name.

"Miss Titilayo Bassey – English Teacher. 1977–1978."

Ify swallowed.

She turned the page, expecting to see more about Miss Titi—her qualifications, her employment details.

But the page was blank.

Frowning, she flipped to the next one.

More empty spaces.

It was as if someone had deliberately erased her existence.

Ify's heart pounded.

This wasn't normal.

Who had tampered with the records? And why?

As she reached for another file, a sudden thud echoed from the far end of the room.

Ify froze.

She wasn't alone.

Slowly, she turned toward the back of the archive room. The dusty shelves stood still and unmoving.

But then—

A book fell off a shelf by itself, landing with a soft thump at her feet.

Ify's breath caught.

She bent down to pick it up.

It was an old yearbook.

The cover was worn, but the title was clear:

"Saint Raphael's Academy – Class of 1978."

She hesitated before opening it.

Page after page of smiling students, frozen in time.

She flipped to the teachers' section.

Miss Titi was there.

A young woman, dressed in a crisp blouse and skirt, her smile gentle, her eyes bright.

But something was off.

Ify frowned, staring at the background of the photo.

Unlike the other teachers, Miss Titi's background was darker.

Shadowed.

As if something was behind her.

A chill ran down Ify's spine.

Then she saw it—barely visible, in the blurred darkness behind Miss Titi's shoulder.

A hand.

Thin. Pale.

Not hers.

Ify slammed the book shut.

She had seen enough.

---

The next morning, a sharp cry shattered the early morning silence.

Ify rushed toward the noise, following the sound to Classroom 4B.

A junior student stood frozen in front of the blackboard, her hands trembling.

"Chioma, what is it?" Ify asked.

The girl pointed, her lips quivering.

Ify turned to the blackboard—

And felt her stomach drop.

Written in large, chalky white letters, in a messy, frantic scrawl:

"WHO KILLED ME?"

The air felt wrong.

As if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Other students started arriving, peering into the classroom.

More gasps. More fearful whispers.

Madam Uche arrived moments later, her expression hardening when she saw the board.

"Who did this?" she demanded.

Silence.

The students looked at one another, but no one spoke.

"Who wrote this nonsense?" she repeated, her voice sharper.

Still, no answer.

Ify studied the writing carefully.

It looked rushed. Uneven. Almost desperate.

She turned to Chioma. "Were you the first to see it?"

The girl nodded, still shaken. "Yes, Miss. I came early to sweep the class, and… and it was just there."

Madam Uche grabbed the duster and wiped the board clean.

"We do not entertain foolishness in this school," she snapped. "Whoever did this, let it be the last time."

But Ify could see it in her eyes.

Fear.

She knew this was no prank.

And Ify knew it too.

Because when Madam Uche wiped the board, the chalk dust didn't fall to the ground.

It disappeared into the air.

Like it had never been there.

---

Later that afternoon, Ify found herself sitting across from Sister Margret, one of the oldest nuns at Saint Raphael's.

If anyone knew about the past, it was her.

"I need to ask you about Miss Titi," Ify said.

Sister Margret's lips pressed together. "Why are you asking?"

"Because something isn't right," Ify said firmly. "I checked the school records. Her files are missing details. And now, students are seeing things. Writing is appearing on blackboards on its own."

The nun made the sign of the cross.

"This school has seen many years, Ifunanya. Some stories should stay buried."

"But Miss Titi was murdered, wasn't she?"

Sister Margret flinched.

For a moment, she said nothing.

Then, in a low whisper, she spoke.

"Miss Titilayo Bassey was found dead in her own classroom," she said, her voice barely above a breath.

Ify leaned in.

"How did she die?"

Sister Margret shook her head. "No one knows for certain."

"What do you mean?"

The nun's eyes darkened.

"She was found lying across the teacher's desk," she said. "Her fingers were still clutching a piece of chalk. But there was no sign of struggle. No wounds. No blood."

Ify's heartbeat quickened.

"Then how did they know it was murder?"

Sister Margret swallowed.

"Because on the blackboard behind her, written in her own handwriting…"

She hesitated.

Ify's pulse raced.

"What did it say?" she pressed.

Sister Margret's voice was barely a whisper.

"I know who you are."

---

That night, Ify couldn't sleep.

Miss Titi's image haunted her mind.

She had died holding a piece of chalk.

Her final message had been wiped away—just like today.

Someone had erased the truth.

And now, Miss Titi was writing again.

Ify turned onto her side, exhaling slowly.

"What are you trying to tell me?" she thought.

The candle by her bedside flickered violently.

Then—

SCRATCH.

Ify's breath caught.

No.

Not again.

The familiar sound of chalk scraping against a board filled the room.

Slow. Methodical.

Ify turned her head toward the blackboard near her desk.

Words were forming in real time.

Her heart pounded as she watched, helpless.

The final message appeared.

"ASK MADAM UCHE."

The candle went out.

Darkness swallowed the room.

And Ify was no longer sure she wanted the answers.