Thread by @Tales4rmdHearth

Secondary school wasn't a great period for me. It was hell. Being far away from home sucked and being bullied by everyone - including my classmates, sucked even more.

Therefore, it was with trepidation that I accepted to be part of the alumni that would be inspecting the school facilities. Our old girls association - one which I joined for the networking- had the intention of renovating the female hostels. It was important we know what's on

ground before fundraising for the project.
The second I walked past that gate, I felt like a child again. It was my first visit after 25 years of graduation. I was cast back to the first time I arrived with my Echolacc box and a teddy bear, which was seized by a senior the next

day. Now, this isn't a story about how I was bullied and oppressed. No, that was normal. I wasn't special. Everyone went through it.
This is a story of a terror that haunted me for years.

It all started in my JS2 when I was posted to Ivory House. Ivory House was the last house on the hostel lane. The house closest to the thick bushes, only separated by a pathetic fence with loose and cracked bricks. The bushes were part of the school property but it was off

limits to the students. It was so hard for us because we could see juicy mango fruits begging to be plucked and devoured by ever-hungry teen girls. I digress. Pardon me.
Because of the proximity of the bushes to our hostel, we heard every kind of sound every night.

At first we were so scared and even though it was against the rules, most of us refused to sleep alone. Our hall mummy understood and let us be, for even she stopped sleeping in Ivory house after her first two nights.

Our beds were a double bunk and I slept in the lower one. My bunk faced the door which was our only entrance and exit. We had two doors but the other one served as an emergency exit and was only opened on Saturdays. As for our toilet, it was outside our sleeping hall.

It was good and fine to use in the daytime but at night, no one dared to venture out...not even for number 2. A lot of us went to bed dehydrated because we were so scared to step out of the hall for fear of the unknown. The ones who chose to drink water before lights out,

ended up bedwetting, most of the time. The sound of nature was so eerie that we made up stories of ghosts and demons to justify them. Then one night in 2nd term, a JS3 student screamed in her sleep and awakened 34 of us in that hall. She screamed, thrashed and clawed the air

like someone possessed. It was terrible to behold. Our hall mummy was not yet back for the term and we had no senior to calm the situation. Mercifully, the JS3 girls rallied and rescued the girl. Yes, I call it a rescue for whatever held her wasn't willing to let go

without hurting her. She had scratched herself terribly and was bleeding from different parts of her body.
In the morning, we tried to glean information from her mates but they kept mute. She was given exeat to go home and heal.
That night, her top bunk mate woke us all

with her scream. This time around, she fell from her bunk and thrashed around on the floor. She was sent home to heal.
The following night and the next and the next and the next, we all woke up at the same time to rescue some poor girl. We became fearful.

School dispensary nurses who decided we were faking it to get an exeat card, banned Ivory House girls from the dispensary. No one believed us. Seniors made fun of us. Left to our own devices, we decided to start a prayer chain every night before lights out. That week we started

the prayer chain, no one screamed in their sleep. It was a relief. God loved us. The bibles under our pillows were working. The chaplets hanging on bunks were emitting holy ghost fire. We were covered from whatever plagued us.

A week later, I fell ill with malaria and had the worst night fever. As I trembled on my bed that night, I saw it.
I didn't exactly see the face because of my position. I could only see the lower torso of a bloodied Ivory House day wear. At first, I feverishly wondered if the

malaria was about to kill me till it passed my bunk and stopped. I knew my chattering teeth and trembling body gave me away. Hot tears fell from my eyes as I watched it turn its head.
It took me awhile to realize that I was looking at the face of our hall mummy - Senior Olanna

Her face was also bloodied but I was so sure it was her. In my shock, malaria fled and I laid down, frozen, staring at her just as she stared at me...till she opened her mouth and black slime dripped and her tongue slipped out and snaked left and right. It was at this point

that I realised I was having no ordinary malaria induced fever and tried to snatch my Bible which was under my pillow. In a blink of an eye, she...it vanished. I shrieked and took a quick glance around my bed to be sure it was crouched close to me. My lungs hurt from the

breaths I took. When I was sure it wasn't there, I laid back down on my bed with my Bible held tight on my chest. I contemplated waking the rest of my roommates to tell them what I saw. Decision made, I turned to tap my neighbour's shoulder and beheld SENIOR OLANNA.

Her face was almost an inch away from my face. I could smell... death and rot and death. Her eyes bore into mine till I could feel my eyes roll back in my head.

I woke up the next day in the dispensary. I was told that an alarm had to be raised in the morning when I was found

unconscious. No one knew
how long i had been out. I knew. When I tentatively asked about our hall mummy, I was told that she had not reported back for the term but she had sent a letter through her parents informing the school that she would be transferring to another school.

We later found out that she had died on her way back to school with her parents. Car crash. No one knew who had sent that letter to the principal and I didn't share that night terror with anyone. It was assumed that malaria was the culprit.
I was given an exeat to go home...

and I never returned as a boarding student.

Now, 25 years later, I am about to step into Ivory House again.The sad part is, I still have nightmares of that night. Of that face. Of that stench. Of the dead.

*Sighs* That reminds me, I need to refill my sleeping pill.

#FictionAt12am

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