I planned a surprise proposal.
She planned to leave me.
We walked into the same restaurant that night… for two completely different reasons. 🧵🪡 We had been together for 6 years.
Met in LASU.
Survived NYSC.
Built from pure vibes and borrowed data.
She was there when I had nothing but ₦380 and a cracked screen.
So when I finally got on my feet I knew I had to wife her.
Or so I thought.

For weeks, I planned the proposal.
I got her best friend to help.
Booked a small private lounge in Lekki.
Reserved her favorite meal.
Hired a violinist.
Wrote a speech.
Even flew in her brother from Port Harcourt.
She had no clue.
But I should’ve known something was off.

I gave a stranger a ride at night. 15 minutes in, he said: “Oga, you shouldn’t have picked me. Not tonight. 🧵🪡 I don’t usually drive at night.
But that day, I worked overtime and didn’t want to sleep at the office. It was past 11PM. The roads were mostly empty. Right after the long bridge at Ikorodu, I saw a man waving me down. White shirt. Barefoot. I should’ve kept driving.
But I stopped.

He looked tired. Maybe in his late 30s. No bag. No wallet. I asked, “Where you dey go?” He said, “Agbowa.” I told him to hop in. I was going that way. For the first 5 minutes, he was quiet. Calm. Just staring out the window.

Then he spoke.

Every night at exactly 3:15 AM, someone knocks on my door.
Three knocks. Always the same rhythm. But when I check, no one is ever there. At first, I thought it was a prank. Until last night when I left my security camera running. 🧵 And this time… I saw who was knocking. Or rather, what. It started a month ago. Same time. Same number of knocks. No footprints, no shadow under the door. I asked my landlord if anyone had lived here before me. He went pale and mumbled something about 'moving on quickly.' Wouldn’t say anything else. So I decided to catch the prankster myself.

Last night, I set up my phone to record. Pointed it right at the door. At 3:15 AM, the knocking started. Three slow, deliberate knocks. I checked the footage this morning. No one was there. But something worse was. My door moved like someone was pressing their face against it from the other side. And then, clear as day, a voice whispered: 'Let me in.'

I was 12 when I first realized I could see ghosts. At first, it was cool like a secret superpower. But then one spirit started visiting me every night. At first, it seemed friendly. Now I’m not so sure. 🧵 It started with whispers barely audible voices in empty rooms. Then, shadows moved where they shouldn’t. One day, I saw her: a girl about my age, standing at the foot of my bed. She didn’t say anything. She just stared at me with hollow eyes.

Her name was Emily. She told me she’d been dead for decades, but she didn’t know how or why. She seemed lonely, and honestly, I liked having someone to talk to who understood how weird I felt in the world. We became… friends.

FINAL PART

The abandoned house stood at the edge of a forgotten road, shrouded in overgrown trees and silence.
Every instinct screamed for me to turn back, but I couldn’t. Jessie’s story brought me here, and I wasn’t leaving without answers.

https://twitter.com/_chavey/status/1879479458673082447

The door was unlocked, creaking loudly as I stepped inside. Dust coated every surface, and the air smelled of decay. In the corner of the living room, I found a box labeled with Jessie’s name. Inside were photos of her and other missing children. This wasn’t just about Jessie.

In the hallway, I saw a trapdoor leading to the basement. The hinges groaned as I opened it, revealing a staircase descending into darkness. I hesitated, but I had to know what was down there. With my flashlight in hand, I took the first step.

When I was 9, my best friend vanished without a trace. Her case went cold, and the town moved on. But I didn’t. Now, as a detective, I’ve spent years trying to uncover the truth. And last night, I found something that changes everything. 🧵 I still remember the last time I saw her Jessie. We were playing hide-and-seek in the woods behind our houses. She never came out from her hiding spot. The search went on for weeks. But they never found her. Just a single red ribbon she wore in her hair.

Growing up, I couldn’t let it go. Every case I solved as a detective brought me back to her. I poured over old files, interviewed neighbors who’d long moved away, and even revisited those woods. But the deeper I dug, the stranger things got.

I bought an old house last month. Everyone in the town warned me not to, calling it 'cursed.' I didn’t believe in ghosts. But last night, I found a letter hidden in the walls. It said, 'If you’re reading this, it’s already too late.' 🧵 The letter was yellowed with age, written in shaky handwriting:
'This house isn’t empty. It watches. It waits. If you’re reading this, you’ve already heard it. Don’t ignore the whispers. Whatever you do, don’t stay after midnight.'

I shrugged it off as some cruel prank by a previous owner.
But last night, just after midnight, I heard it a faint tapping sound coming from inside the walls.
It was rhythmic, deliberate, like someone or something trying to get my attention.

I was called to a small town to investigate a missing person case.
The strange part? Everyone in town insisted the person never existed. But I found their picture in the town’s archives. And I’ve never seen a case like this. 🧵 The missing person’s name was Ella Harper, age 28. Her family claimed she vanished a week ago, but when I interviewed the locals, they looked at me like I was crazy. 'We’ve never had an Ella Harper in this town,' they said. But then I found the first clue.

At the town library, I dug through old records. In a photo dated 1996, I saw a little girl in a school group photo labeled: 'Ella Harper, Age 2.' So why was her existence erased from everyone’s memory? Something about this town felt... wrong.

Last night, I found a letter in my mom’s handwriting. She passed away 8 years ago. The strange part? It was dated yesterday. And what it said turned my entire world upside down. 🧵 The letter was folded neatly in an old recipe book she used to love. It started innocently enough:
'My dear chavey, If you’re reading this, then something I feared has already happened. Please know I love you. But there’s something you need to know.' Then it got... unsettling.

She continued: 'You’ve always felt like someone was watching, haven’t you? You weren’t imagining it. There’s a reason I kept certain things from you. Now that you’ve found this, they might come after you too.' They? Who was she talking about?

PART 3

In Part 2, I discovered my dad was part of a secret program called Project Echelon. Gray, one of his old allies, revealed that my dad had been hunted for years and now, they’re after me. I ran with a briefcase that might hold the truth. 🧵 Part 3 starts now.

I ran into the woods, clutching the briefcase. Behind me, I heard shouting and the sharp crack of gunfire. Gray’s voice echoed in my head: 'Run. Don’t stop.' I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. I had no idea if he made it out alive. The forest was dense, the terrain uneven. I tripped and fell, scraping my hands and knees, but I kept going. Then I saw it a small river cutting through the woods. I waded in, letting the freezing water cover my tracks. The shouting faded, but I knew they were still out there.

Once I felt safe, I stopped to examine the briefcase. It was heavy, locked with a code, and covered in dust. Gray never gave me the combination. But there was a faint engraving on the side: '12-05-93.' A date? A clue? I had to figure it out.