₦airaland Forum

The house stood proudly on the hill, its modern architecture clashing with the ancient energy that pulsed beneath its foundations. The agent, Mr. Okoye who was acting on behalf of the buyer, had been warned—the land had once been home to a sacred shrine, a dwelling place of the village deity. The land owners had disclosed it plainly, but Okoye had scoffed. "Old superstitions," he had muttered before demolishing what remained of the shrine and erecting a house.

The owner was not in Nigeria so Okoye was in charge of everything.

At first, nothing seemed amiss. He rented out parts of the house to tenants. But then, the children began to die.

It started with little Nnenna, the daughter of a young couple living in the west wing. She had been perfectly healthy, laughing and playing in the compound one evening—until she wasn’t. They found her the next morning, her small body cold, her eyes wide open as if she had seen something unspeakable. The doctors called it sudden infant death syndrome, but the villagers whispered otherwise.

Then came Emeka, a bright eight-year-old who loved to draw. His sketches took a dark turn in the weeks before his death—crude, frantic drawings of a shadowy figure with glowing eyes standing at the foot of his bed. His parents dismissed them as nightmares, until the night he screamed so loudly the entire house woke up. By the time they reached his room, he was gone, his tiny hands clutching his throat.

The adults, too, began to suffer. Businesses crumbled overnight. A tailor who had stitched clothes for decades suddenly found his hands trembling, his seams unraveling. A shopkeeper’s store burned down mysteriously, despite no fire being lit. And every night, the tenants reported the same thing—the sound of faint chanting, the smell of incense where none was burned, and the unbearable feeling of being watched.

Okoye refused to believe, even as his own fortune dwindled. But then, he saw her—a woman in white, her feet not quite touching the ground, her eyes dark voids. She stood at the edge of his bedroom, her lips moving in silent fury. The next morning, he woke to find his walls covered in strange symbols, symbols no one had painted.

The village elders had warned him. The god of the land did not take kindly to disrespect. Now, the house was no longer his—it belonged to something far older, far angrier. And it would not rest until every last trespasser was gone—one way or another.

Hinoo:
No such thing as a haunted house

Hinoo:
No such thing as a haunted house

Hinoo:
No such thing as a haunted house

creepsyme:
Any house wen haunt me I will haunt you back.

dynicks:
A friend of mine narrated an ordeal he experienced living somewhere some years back .....said he almost got drained off life due to constant sex he was always getting in the building by unseen entities.....Said he initially enjoyed it but had a rethink make son of man no go loose en life for wetin en no know of......