The night gives a surreal feeling, the eerie whispers, the scare. The compound is dull, quiet, housing a lonely soul. I live alone with no lover, friend, or family. Although one or two neighbors are living around when night falls. The house stays like a graveyard, and when the noise chimes, I switch on the television. I stay alone in the house, consumed by anxiety.
I hate it because, in the morning, my neighbors walk around the house as if nothing had happened. It never bothers to question them because I fear they will label me possessed or mentally deranged. The compound is wide, no one hears each other’s voice when they scream in their rooms. So, I did not scream.
As usual, night falls, I cover myself under the duvet and close my eyes. I can tell it will be a while before I fall asleep. Most times, I watch movies on my phone before sleeping, lying sideways only to doze halfway but-awoken by a loud thud when my phone falls to the ground.
The whisperings begin, starting from greetings, fluttering around the compound. I hesitate, stagger out to the living room, stopping at the side bar. The noises are coming from the room; for a moment, my heart skips and my breathing slows. The living room is dark but there are tiny streams of illumination. I switch on the light to see clearly. There is nobody in the living room. I rub my eyes to check if I can still see. It is quiet and I take out the long chair to sit.
My tongue begs for the alcoholic liquor, my hand grips a bottle of champagne from the cubicle. It pops open. For a moment, it drowns the creepy noises outside. There is a moment of silence in the living room offering relief, then my worst nightmare continues.
I pour the drink into a glass cup, and watch as it fills up the glass. The noise does not stop fluttering. Soon, it begins to sound different; sometimes like a cat meowing, then a dog barking, coalescing with other sounds in an unending torrent. I gulp down the first glass cup.
The sour taste smacks my cheeks. I squint, letting out tears. The noises are getting worse. I pour the drink again, half-filling the glass cup,shivering cold slithering through my spine as the curtain dances to the side. I stare at the closed window, the fan hangs overhead,my mind spirals on why the curtain is moving. The alarm strikes when it is half-past an hour. There are a series of goosebumps spurting across my skin.
I grab a bottle of whiskey and half-filled the glass. The liquid goes down my throat in a rush, my face conceals a series of emotions. My sight blurs. I sway, feeling dizziness wash over me, and numb to the ground. The room blanks…