By evening, the sky above the compound turned the color of bruised clouds.
Thunder grumbled from far away, the kind that makes the power blink before finally giving up.
Kids who had been playing downstairs suddenly scattered inside, sensing what was coming.
Ada sat by the window, knees pulled to her chest, her hands refusing to stop shaking.
Chidi's confession kept replaying in her mind like a broken record.
A mysterious child.
A glowing figure.
A voice that calls at night.
Nothing made sense anymore.
Yet, somehow… everything felt connected.
When lightning tore across the sky, the compound lights went off instantly.
Darkness swallowed the rooms in one breath.
Ada's mum lit a candle, its flame dancing against the walls, stretching the shadows into strange shapes.
"Go and rest, Ada," she said softly.
But Ada couldn't.
Something in her spirit felt wrong — like the night itself was waiting for her.
Around 10 p.m., the heavy rain calmed into a soft drizzle.
Ada stood and peeked through the window.
And that was when her heart almost stopped.
The corridor was quiet.
All the doors were shut.
Except one.
Flat Seven.
Wide open.
And from inside… a thin river of red light spilled across the corridor floor.
Ada's breath hitched in her throat.
No… not tonight.
Before she could turn away, something moved past the doorway — small, slow, dragging its feet like a child who had forgotten how to walk.
Ada's fingers tightened around the window frame.
Then her eyes caught something even worse.
Two children from the upstairs flat — Peace and Emeka — stood in the corridor, rubbing their sleepy eyes.
Their heads were tilted toward Flat Seven.
"Ada?" her mum called from the room.
Ada didn't answer.
Her entire body focused on the children.
Peace took a step forward.
And another.
Her hands stretched out, as though reaching for something only she could see.
Emeka followed, his expression blank, eyes half-closed.
Ada's chest tightened painfully.
She couldn't let them go in.
Not that room.
Not that light.
Without thinking, she ran from the window, unlocked the front door, and charged into the corridor.
The cement was icy under her feet.
Her heartbeat pounded like a drum in her ears.
"Peace!" Ada cried.
"Emeka! Stop!"
The children didn't hear her… or didn't care.
They walked straight toward the red glow.
Ada sprinted and grabbed Peace's arm just seconds before the little girl crossed the line of light.
Peace blinked slowly.
"Ada… someone was calling me."
Ada swallowed.
"It's not real. Come back."
But Emeka was already at the doorway.
A soft humming drifted from Flat Seven — gentle, sweet… almost like a lullaby.
"Emeka!" Ada screamed. "Don't go!"
She lunged forward and pulled him back just in time.
Then—
The red glow inside the room flickered sharply, like something angry.
The humming grew louder for one single heartbeat…
and then died.
Silence swallowed everything.
Ada held both children close, her own legs shaking.
The door of Flat Seven…
slowly…
closed by itself.
Ada's breath caught.
This wasn't imagination.
This wasn't coincidence.
Whatever lived in that room was no longer hiding.
It wa
s reaching out.
And Ada now knew something she wished she didn't:
Tonight wasn't the end.
Tonight was only the warning.