For days, Ada couldn't shake the memory of that strange reddish glow slipping out from under Mr. Dike's door. Everyone else in the compound went about their lives as if nothing had changed, but Ada could feel it—something in the air was different. Even the birds seemed quieter in the mornings, their chirps cautious, hesitant.
Chidi had stopped going near Flat Seven altogether. Whenever he passed the corridor, he clutched his mother's wrapper tightly and whispered, "I don't want the lights to follow me."
His mother told him it was only a bad dream. But Ada wasn't so sure.
One evening, as the sun sank behind the rooftops and painted the walls orange, Ada stepped outside to fetch water. The corridor stretched ahead, empty and silent. Too silent. Her steps slowed instinctively as she neared Flat Seven.
The door was shut tight. Still, a faint sound drifted from inside—soft, almost delicate. A whisper.
It wasn't in any language she knew.
It wasn't shouting.
It was a slow, steady murmur, almost like someone calling for her… or calling someone closer.
Ada froze.
Her heart hammered in her chest.
One small, cautious step brought her nearer.
Then, as if sensing her presence, the whisper stopped.
A single tap came from the door.
Not a knock… just a tap.
As if something—or someone—inside had noticed her.
Fear shot through Ada's body. She stumbled back, then turned and ran straight to her house, slamming the door shut behind her.
That night, sleep refused to come.
Her mind replayed the glowing light, the whisper, the tap.
And one chilling thought kept returning:
What exactly is in Flat Seven?
And… why does it feel like it's watching me too?