Chapter 1 | THE NIGHT OF THE DREAM
Tunde Badmus was running.
The sky above him was a deep, sickly red, like harmattan dust mixed with blood. A strange silence covered the land, broken only by the distant echo of groaning voices. He didn’t know how he got there. One moment he was in his room in Mushin… the next, he found himself standing in a deserted town with a broken signpost that read:
“Welcome to Omu-Ibikun State.”
A state that didn’t exist on any map.
The buildings around him looked burnt and abandoned. Windows shattered. Doors broken. Trees stood without leaves, their branches bent like they were mourning.
“Tunde…”
The voice floated toward him from behind.
He turned sharply.
A figure stumbled out of the darkness—its skin grey and patchy, its eyes white, its mouth half open like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to scream or breathe. Then more figures emerged behind it. Ten… twenty… maybe more. Their footsteps dragged on the dusty ground, slow and heavy.
Tunde’s heart slammed against his ribs.
“Nigeria… infection…” he muttered, stepping back as the creatures closed in.
The first one lifted its head, and in a cracked, dead voice, it whispered:
“Tuuunde …”
Then they rushed at him.
Everything went black.
He jerked awake with a loud gasp.
His room was dark except for the glow of his laptop screen on his table. A zombie movie an American one was still playing where he had left it.
Tunde pressed a hand to his chest.
“Jesus! Na movie I dey watch?” he breathed, irritated and relieved at the same time.
He shut the laptop, rubbed his face, and checked his phone.
3:17 a.m.
Normally, his mother’s prayer alarm would be ringing about this time, followed by her soft Yoruba worship songs. But tonight, the house was quiet. Too quiet.
He stood from his bed and stepped into the corridor. The air felt heavier than usual, and the dim light bulb flickered weakly. Something didn’t feel right.
He started walking toward the living room when
TUK. TUK. TUK.
A knock at the front door.
Tunde froze on the spot.
Who dey knock by 3 a.m. in Mushin?
He swallowed and moved a little closer, careful not to make noise.
“Tunde…”
The voice from the other side of the door was faint, almost like a whisper carried by wind.
His blood ran cold.
The dream came rushing back , those rotting faces calling his name.
His mind told him it was impossible… maybe a neighbor, or someone drunk… but the voice called again, even clearer:
“Tunde… open the door.”
Tunde stepped back instantly.
Before he could speak, a strong, commanding voice echoed from the staircase:
“TUNDE! Move away from that door.”
It was his father.
Pastor Jide Badmus stood halfway down the stairs wearing his white prayer robe, his eyes sharp and alert, like someone who had seen something in the spirit realm.
“Daddy… who is it?” Tunde asked with a shaky whisper.
“I said move away!” his father repeated, this time louder.
Then
SSSCCRRRRTTT.
Something scraped against the door.
A long, slow dragging sound.
Like nails.
Or claws.
“Tunde…”
The whisper turned into a deep, broken rasp.
Tunde’s heart pumped so hard it hurt.
“Go and wake your mother,” Pastor Jide ordered suddenly. “Now. Do not look back.”
“But—”
“NOW!”
Tunde ran.
He sprinted down the corridor toward his parents’ room, but before he reached it—
BOOM!
Something slammed into the door with such force that the entire house shook.
A picture frame fell from the wall and shattered on the floor.
“Daddy!” Tunde shouted.
Pastor Jide began to pray loudly, shouting in tongues, his voice vibrating through the hallway.
Then everything stopped.
The knocking.
The scraping.
The voice.
Silence.
A silence so deep, it felt like the whole house was holding its breath.
Tunde stood frozen, waiting… listening…
But the night gave no answers.
