POPABAWA

The Whispering Shadow (A Popobawa Horror Story – Zanzibar, Tanzania)

Tanzania – 2001

They called it Popobawa—"bat-wing" in Swahili.

A demon. A nightmare. A curse passed from victim to victim like an infection. It didn't need an invitation. It didn't wait in the dark corners of your room, hoping you'd notice it.

No.

It announced itself.

And once you heard it, it was already too late.

Ayaan had heard it.

The First Whisper

It started the night his uncle died.

Ayaan lay in bed, listening to the wind rattle the shutters. The house smelled of sweat and sickness—his uncle, Juma, had been ill for days, muttering fevered nonsense about shadows in the room.

About something sitting on his chest.

"It whispers," Juma had rasped earlier that day, eyes darting wildly around the room. "It knows my name."

No one listened.

Then, in the deep silence of the night, Juma screamed.

Ayaan bolted upright. The cry was long, ragged, like something was being ripped out of him. His father rushed into Juma's room first, and Ayaan followed, his heart pounding.

Then—silence.

Juma lay on his bed, eyes wide open, mouth stretched into a frozen scream. His body was twisted as if he had been thrashing violently before the end. His fingers were bent at unnatural angles, nails cracked from clawing at the wooden bedframe.

The smell of sulfur filled the air.

The villagers knew.

"Popobawa," an old woman whispered at the funeral the next morning.

Ayaan shivered.

That night, just as he drifted off to sleep, he heard it.

A voice.

A whisper.

"I see you."

The Night Terror

Ayaan woke to pressure crushing his chest.

His body was frozen, stiff like he had been buried alive. He tried to scream, to move—to do anything—but his limbs wouldn't obey. His breath came in shallow gasps.

Then, something shifted in the room.

The shadows moved.

A presence loomed over him, unseen but there, bending the darkness around it. The air turned thick, humid, wrong. The stench of sulfur and rotting flesh burned his nose.

Then came the whisper.

"You will believe."

The voice was right by his ear.

Then—sharp claws brushed against his throat.

Ayaan's vision blurred as his lungs screamed for air. A guttural snarl rumbled from the corner of the room, something hungry, something angry.

Then—SLAM.

The door burst open.

The thing vanished.

Ayaan's father stood in the doorway, holding a Quran. His hands shook, his face pale with terror. "Ayaan," he whispered, voice hollow. "It's real."

The Curse Spreads

The next day, Ayaan begged the village elders for help.

They only gave him one warning.

"You must tell others," the priest said gravely. "That is how you pass it on. If you do not… it will return."

Ayaan didn't want to believe it.

But then, two nights later, he woke to the sound of his younger brother screaming.

He rushed to his room—only to find him paralyzed, gasping for breath, tears streaming down his face.

The smell of sulfur was everywhere.

The whispering filled the dark.

"You should have listened."

Ayaan turned and ran.

He ran far from the village, from his family, from the cursed thing that had claimed them.

But he never told anyone.

And three nights later… his father died.

His body was found twisted, his face frozen in pure terror.

Because Ayaan had refused to pass on the curse.

The Last Whisper

It's been twenty years since Ayaan ran.

He no longer sleeps well. He moves constantly. Never stays in one place too long.

But sometimes… in the quiet of the night…

He still hears the whisper.

"I see you."

And he knows.

It never left.

It's waiting.

The last time he heard it, he was in a small, run-down apartment in Dar es Salaam. He locked the doors. He sealed the windows. He prayed harder than he ever had before.

But the shadows in the room began to twist.

A low chuckle echoed from the ceiling.

"You cannot run forever."

The stench of sulfur choked him. The darkness thickened until it felt like hands were pressing against his skin.

Ayaan clawed at his throat.

His vision blurred.

The whispers grew louder.

Then, the lightbulb shattered, plunging the room into blackness.

And in that final moment, something cold wrapped around his ankle.

He barely had time to scream before he was yanked beneath the bed.

His body was never found.

But the next tenant of the apartment…

Woke up the next night to a whisper in his ear.

"I see you."