chapter four

Adaora's pov

Morning came.

But I felt like I was still stuck in the night.

I sat at the edge of the bed, knees drawn up to my chest, my arms wrapped tightly around them. Osy was still snoring beside me, completely unbothered.

The room was quiet.

The whole house was quiet.

And that was the part that scared me the most.

I had spent the night waiting for something—a whisper, a shadow, a sign.

But nothing came.

No cold drops of water on my skin.

No rattling windows.

No voice calling me Nkem.

Everything was… normal.

Or at least, it seemed that way.

Days passed.

And still, nothing happened.

No strange dreams.

No eerie sensations.

No sudden, suffocating presence in my room.

At first, I couldn't believe it. I walked around the house like a shadow, waiting but nothing came.

Even at the stream, where I expected to feel something, I felt nothing.

It was as if that night had never happened.

Like I had imagined the whole thing.

A sick, creeping thought entered my mind:

Had I dreamed it all?

But no—

The mark was still there.

A faint, thin line across my palm.

A reminder.

Even though the river was silent… it had not forgotten me.

The day of our departure came quickly.

My mother had packed all our things. My father had already loaded most of the bags into the car.

Grandma was outside, speaking to my parents, laughing, giving them small bags of dried herbs and food for the journey.

Osy and my other sibling were excited to leave.

I should have been too.

But something felt… off.

Like I was leaving something behind.

Or worse—

Like something was coming with me.

I stood by the door, gripping my backpack, staring at the village as if it would call me back.

The trees swayed gently.

The air smelled of earth and old stories.

The stream was far beyond the trees, watching me.

Waiting.

I swallowed hard and turned away.

We were going home.

But something told me…

The river was not done with me yet.

The car rumbled over the uneven village road, sending tiny jolts through my seat. I kept my gaze fixed outside the window, watching the trees blur past, their leaves swaying lazily in the breeze.

It was quiet. Peaceful.

I pressed my forehead against the glass, exhaling slowly.

It was over.

I had spent days waiting for something—anything to happen. For a whisper in the dark. For another drop of water on my skin. For the scent of the river to creep back into my room.

But nothing ever came.

The silence stretched on, long enough for my fear to start fading.

Long enough for me to wonder if I had made it all up.

Maybe I had been too tired, too on edge, my mind turning little things into something bigger. Maybe that night the shadow, the voice, the feeling of being watched had all been a trick of my imagination.

I forced myself to believe it.

Because what was the alternative?

That something had really happened?

That something had followed me home from the river?

No.

I shook the thought away.

"It's over."

Beside me, my younger brother stretched, yawning loudly. "I can't wait to get back home," he muttered. "I miss my bed."

My sister, who was playing a game on her phone, hummed in agreement. "And fast Wi-Fi," she added.

I let out a small laugh, the tension in my chest loosening. They were normal. Everything was normal.

As we drove deeper into the city, the village disappeared behind us.

And for the first time in a long time…

I felt safe.

"Mum, tell Chuka to stop playing music!" Ifunanya shouted over the loud Afrobeat blasting from the car speakers.

"Osy, stop the music na!" I added, rubbing my temples. The sound was making my head ache.

My mum sighed, turning to look at us. "Why can't you children act like you love each other for once? Even if na pretend, make una pretend small."

Ifunanya kept trying to turn off the music, reaching over to shove Chuka, who was grinning in satisfaction.

I sank deeper into my seat, not in the mood for their usual fights.

My dad didn't say a word. He just kept his eyes on the road, ignoring the chaos like he always did.

I barely paid attention to them anyway. My mind was elsewhere.

Waiting. Listening.

But there was nothing.

No whispers. No strange chills creeping over my skin. No scent of water filling my lungs.

It had been like this since we left the village.

The silence stretched on, and with each passing day, the fear that had gripped me so tightly started to loosen.

By the time we reached home, it almost felt like everything that had happened was just a bad dream.

The days slipped by fast, one after the other, until the memory of that night became something small, something distant.

Something I could almost forget.

Days melted into each other, the rhythm of city life pulling me away from the unease that had clung to me since the village.

The honking of impatient drivers, the distant chatter of neighbors, and the hum of electricity humming through the house these sounds felt normal.

I clung to them.

Nothing happened.

No whispers in the dark.

No scent of river water invading my room.

No shadows shifting at the corners of my vision.

At first, I couldn't sleep, my body stiff with expectation, waiting for the drums to start again.

But they didn't.

Each night, the silence stretched.

Each morning, I woke up whole. Untouched.

Soon, my body began to relax.

I went about my day without checking my palm, without expecting to see something lurking in the reflection of a glass window.

I even laughed at one of Chuka's dumb jokes at dinner. Ifunanya stared at me like I had grown another head.

It felt safe.

It felt over.

And for the first time since that night I believed it.