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_Flashback starts_


Outside Model Secondary School, Abuja, Jerry was waiting beside his jeep.

It was a hot afternoon. The sun was sharp. He parked his black Prado at one corner of the school gate, folded his arms, and kept glancing at his wristwatch. School had dismissed since 3 o'clock, but Ada had not come out.

Jerry didn't like Ada entering keke or following other students. He called her his sunshine. He must pick her himself every day.

He waited patiently for almost thirty minutes. Students were trooping out in groups, but Ada was not among them.

Worried, he locked his jeep and entered the school compound himself. He walked straight to the SS3 block where her class was.

From one of the empty classrooms, he heard drums and clapping.

He peeped through the window.

Inside, Ada and five other students were rehearsing. Their school bags were thrown in one corner. They were barefoot, tying their skirts around their waists, sweating heavily as they practiced a cultural dance for the upcoming inter-school competition.

Jerry stepped into the doorway.

"Ada! Are you not yet done with this rehearsal? It's getting late o!"

Ada jumped when she saw him and ran to him, panting.

"Please dad, just 15 minutes more. We will soon round up. You know we have cultural dance competition by next week, so we are really preparing."

One of the boys, Charles, quickly begged too.

"Please sir, hold on sir. We really need Ada in this dance. She is our best dancer."

Another girl, Priscilla, added with a chuckle, "Yes sir, Ada is a terrific dancer. Without her we cannot win."

Jerry smiled. He could never stay angry with Ada.

"Okay, please hurry up and round up fast. I am outside by the car waiting."

He went back to his jeep and leaned against it.

About twenty minutes later, Ada came out with her friend Maryann, both carrying their school bags and water bottles.

"I'm so sorry daddy, I kept you waiting," Ada pleaded as she got to the car.

"It's okay Ada, I understand. Enter, let's go," Jerry said, opening the door for her.

Ada and Maryann climbed into the back seat. Jerry started the car and drove off.

Inside the car, the two girls gist as usual.

"Today's maths wasn't easy at all. I couldn't even understand what she was teaching," Ada complained.

"I swear. And she said she will set a test on that topic tomorrow sef," Maryann added.

"Oh my God, I hate mathematics."

"Me too," Maryann laughed.

Jerry laughed from the driver's seat.

"You children never seem to amuse me. Maths seems to be the nightmare of every kid. In my own time, Ada, maths was my own nightmare too. I preferred music more. But your mother was a genius when it came to mathematics. She would help me with all the assignments. I mean, that's how we fell in love back in college."

"Ah daddy, you have always told me this story," Ada chuckled.

Maryann then turned to Ada.

"Ada, I think we can meet your mum to help us with this maths topic we learnt today, else we are going to fail it."

"Yes, I will talk to her about it when we get home."

Jerry first drove to Maryann's house at Gwarimpa. Maryann came down, waved.

"Bye Ada! Bye sir!"

"Take care," Ada and Jerry waved.

Then Jerry drove Ada home to their house in another area in Gwarimpa.

As they entered their street, a sweet aroma hit them from the house.

"Wow, what is that I'm perceiving?" Ada said, sniffing the air.

"Seems your mum prepared your favorite today," Jerry smiled.

Ada quickly jumped down from the car the moment he parked and hurried inside to the kitchen. There she met her mother, Mrs. Jerry, dishing hot jollof rice with salad and fried chicken into a big cooler.

"Wow mum! You are preparing my favorite today! You didn't tell me o. I thought you said it was yam and stew you were going to make today."

"Ah yes, but I changed my mind. The yam seller didn't come out today, so I decided to prepare jollof rice for you," Mrs. Jerry said, smiling.

"Yummy, I love it!" Ada was so happy, clapping her hands.

"So how was school today?"

"School was okay, just that the maths we learnt, I couldn't understand one single thing."

Her mother laughed.

"Yes, I understand. Don't worry, I will help you with that later."

Just then Jerry entered the kitchen and gave his wife a soft peck on the cheek.

"Honey, how was work today?"

"Work was good. I'm actually releasing my single album before the end of this month."

"Wow, that is really great news to hear," Mrs. Jerry said excitedly.

"I pray this one turns out to be another hit."

"Of course it will. Or you don't trust your husband again? Is there any album I release that doesn't become a hit?" Jerry chuckled proudly.

"I trust you honey."

Then Jerry looked around the kitchen.

"What about Angela? Is she back home yet?"

Mrs. Jerry dropped her turning spoon and turned to Jerry, her face suddenly sad.

"No Jerry, she hasn't returned till now."

"Oh my God. See the time. That girl is still disobeying my orders. This is not the first or second or third time I'm warning her about sleeping out. Since yesterday she has not returned home. Don't worry, I know what to do this time around."

"Please honey, take it easy with her," Mrs. Jerry pleaded.

Jerry left the kitchen angrily.

"Mother, I don't know why Sister Angela is like this," Ada said softly.

"My dear, I have talked and talked and I'm even tired of talking. I don't even know where your sister learnt all these bad habits from. Me and your father are good and decent people. You are also decent. I don't understand," Mrs. Jerry said, bowing her head. Ada moved closer and comforted her mother, placing her hand gently on her shoulder.

"It will be okay, mother."


The house was already silent by 11pm.

Everyone was asleep — Jerry and his wife in their bedroom, Ada in her room, the house help in the boys' quarters. Only the old gateman was dozing on a bench by the gate, half-asleep.

Then a loud, impatient knock on the iron gate.

_Gbang! Gbang! Gbang!_

The gateman woke up with a start, cleaning his eyes.

"Who be that for this time of night?"

He opened the small gate. It was Angela.

She was standing there in a skimpy, very short red gown that barely covered her thighs. Her hair was rough, her lipstick smudged. She was holding her high heels in one hand, using the other hand to pull down her gown.

"What took you so long to open the gate, you stupid man? Are you deaf?" she insulted him immediately.

"But madam, time don go na, I been dey sleep," the gateman said humbly.

"Shut up! Useless man," Angela snapped and pushed past him.

She entered the compound, trying to be clever. She removed her shoes completely so her steps wouldn't make noise. She tip-toed across the compound, then gently opened the main door with her own key.

The living room was dark.

She breathed a sigh of relief. She removed her shoes again and began to tip-toe on her bare feet towards the corridor that led to her room. She held her gown up with both hands so it wouldn't rustle.

She thought she had succeeded.

Just as she got to the entrance of her corridor, the light switched on — _click!_

Angela froze.

Jerry was standing there in the middle of the corridor. He was wearing his pajamas, his arms folded, clapping slowly with a cold smile on his face.

"Ah, madam, welcome o. You came back early today o. Good evening."

Angela started shaking. She quickly pulled her short gown down, trying to cover her legs.

"Ehm... daddy, good evening."

"Good evening madam. I hope your outing was fun? You told us you were going to read with your friend for your test, abi? You must have been reading inside nightclub?"

Angela's mouth was dry.

"Sorry daddy, it's not like that. I had a lot of tests to prepare for, so I passed the night at my friend's house. We were both preparing for the test."

"Always a story to tell. You should be a professional storyteller, you know," Jerry said sarcastically, but he was smiling.

He looked at her from head to toe.

"No worry, you can go to your room and sleep. Good night."

Angela was surprised. She expected shouting, beating. She quickly said, "Thank you dad," and almost ran to her room and locked the door.

She was inside her room thinking, "He didn't even scold me. Maybe he has changed his mind."

She didn't know Jerry had a different plan.

The Next Morning, Mrs. Jerry was in the dining area early in the morning, preparing tea and bread. Ada was already seated, sipping her tea, getting ready for school.

Jerry came out from his room, but he was holding something behind his back — a thick black leather belt, folded in two.

He walked straight to Angela's room and knocked hard.

Angela was still sleeping, her room scattered. She woke up, opened the door, still yawning and rubbing her eyes.

"Daddy, good morning," she said, sleepy.

Jerry entered the room and locked the door behind him, still hiding the belt.

"Good morning madam, I hope you slept well?" he said, smiling strangely.

"Daddy, good morning," Angela repeated.

"So Angela, you still had the guts to sleep outside and still come back home late at night after all my warnings? After I told you countless times not to sleep out?"

Angela kept quiet.

"You can't talk, right?"

Angela found small voice.

"But daddy, I'm a big girl now, I should be allowed to..."

Before she could finish the sentence, Jerry brought out the belt from behind him and lashed her.

_POW!_

"Big girl indeed!"

He flogged her again and again. The belt landed on her back, her legs, her arms.

"Big girl sleeping around! Big girl disobeying me in my own house, you animal!"

Angela screamed loudly.

"Ah! Daddy, sorry! Sorry! I'm sorry!"

Mrs. Jerry and Ada heard the screams and ran to the room.

"Please honey, stop! It's okay! You will kill her!" Mrs. Jerry begged, holding Jerry's arm.

Ada was crying.

"Please daddy, leave her!"

Jerry was still beating her fiercely, breathing hard.

"Very shameless girl! See how responsible your younger sister is and how irresponsible you are! You want to bring shame to me!"

Mrs. Jerry and Ada begged until he stopped. His eyes were red with anger.

Then he said, "Everybody out."

They begged him more.

"I said out!" Jerry shouted.

Mrs. Jerry and Ada stepped out of the room.

Jerry then locked Angela inside her room from outside.

"Let her remain there since her legs cannot stay in one place. Always jumping around. Stupid girl!" he said and went to his room to dress up.

Jerry picked his car keys and left with Ada for school.

He drove in silence. Ada was begging him inside the car.

"Please daddy, take it easy with Angela. Locking her up as a prisoner is not fair."

"Why can't she just be responsible like you? Why did she choose this kind of shameless life? Always bringing shame to me. Your elder sister for that matter!"

"Please daddy, she will change."

"Let her remain there."

CHAPTER 5: THE BODY THIEVES

Three days after the native doctor tied the white thread on his wrist, Daniel slept without drugs for the first time in weeks.

The water Baba gave him worked. His body felt lighter. The constant whispers had reduced to a low hum, like a radio far away

On friday night, Daniel was supposed to be off that evening and Barry closed early and left the mortuary before 8pm. Oga had also left. The place was almost empty.

But Daniel remembered he left his charger in the locker room, so he returned around 9pm to pick it.

Suddenly he heard a sound. He thought it was from the dead bodies again— the squeak of a stretcher wheel from Room 12, the storage room where fresh bodies were kept.

He walked quietly toward the sound.

Inside there was Madam Roselyn.

Roselyn was the female attendant, always loud, always with her lipstick, who had worked there for years. With her were three strange men in black shirts, carrying a corpse wrapped in a white sheet.

Daniel stepped out.

"Madam Roselyn, good evening. Where una dey carry this body go for this night?"

Roselyn jumped. She clearly did not expect to see him.

"Ah! Daniel! You? I thought you and Barry don go house?" She quickly forced a laugh. "Na the family o. They come carry their brother. They say burial must be tonight. Family matter."

Daniel looked at the car outside. Not an ambulance. A faded Toyota Sienna, boot wide open. No family crying. Just three hard-faced men.

"Family come by this time? And Oga know?"

"Yes na, Oga know everything. You worry too much. Go house."

Daniel didn't argue. He stepped back, pretended to leave, but hid behind the small generator house and watched.

He saw the men throw the body into the boot like firewood. One of them brought out cash and counted it into Roselyn's palm. She counted it quickly and shoved it into her bra.

Then they drove off into the darkness.

Daniel's spirit told him: this is not family business. This is business.

That night, sleep refused to come.

In his dream, he saw a man lying alone in a thick forest. The forest was dark, full of mosquitoes. The body was naked, cold, and it was crying.

"They want to cut me. They want to destroy me. Help me," the body wept.

Daniel woke up shouting, his singlet soaked in sweat.

First thing in the morning, he pulled Barry to the back of the mortuary.

"Barry, something dey happen for here. I see Roselyn last night dey sell body. Men come carry body for night, give her money. I dream see body dey cry for bush."

Barry hissed.

"You sure? Roselyn? That woman don tey for this job o. You sure say no be family truly?"

"Barry, which family dey pay mortuary attendant for night inside bush car? And why her hand dey shake? My mind no rest. I think say na ritual."

Barry held his shoulder. "If na true, those people no be small people o. You get to shine your eye well. Make you no go talk am anyhow."

"I go watch her," Daniel said. "I go catch am again."

Two nights later, Daniel set the trap.

He told Barry to leave at 7pm and he also left, but he didn't go far. He sat at the suya spot opposite the mortuary, where he could see the gate.

Just as he thought — 11:40pm, the same Sienna entered.

Roselyn opened the gate herself, looked left and right, then opened Room 12.

This time, they were carrying a girl corpse.

Daniel stood up and entered.

"Madam Roselyn! Enough! Who are these men really? If you no talk true, I go call Oga and DPO now!"

The room became silent.

Roselyn's face changed completely. From smiling to wicked.

She looked at the men and said, "I told this small boy to mind his business. He no hear."

One of the men pulled a pistol from his trousers and pointed it at Daniel's head.

Before Daniel could run, two others grabbed him, covered his mouth with a dirty rag, tied his hands with rope.

Roselyn came close and slapped him hard.

"You like to put mouth for wetin no concern you. Oya, you go follow the body go where e dey go."

They carried the girl's corpse, pushed Daniel into the back seat, tied his legs, and zoomed off. Roselyn stayed behind, cleaning the blood trail with hypo and water, as if nothing happened.

They took him deep into a forest — a place where there was no network, no houses, only a shrine with red cloth tied everywhere, skulls, calabashes, and dead bodies already half-cut.

That was their ritual camp.

They kept Daniel tied near the shrine, planning to use him for "another work" the next day.

By 8am the next morning, Barry was looking for Daniel. Not in the mortuary. Phone off.

He went to Roselyn.

"Roselyn, you see Daniel yesterday?"

"No. I no see am," she answered, chewing gum.

"You sure? Because Daniel told me he was watching you."

Roselyn shouted, "Barry, you dey accuse me of something? I say I no see am! Comot for my front!"

Barry knew something was wrong. He went straight to the manager.

"Oga, Daniel missing."

The manager was dialing Daniel's number when Daniel limped into the office.

Everyone shouted.

His clothes were torn. His eyes swollen. His knees bleeding.

Barry held him. "Guy! Na where you from come?"

Daniel pointed at Roselyn, breathing hard.

"Sir, she is a thief. She is selling our dead bodies to ritualists. For money. They kidnapped me yesterday. I manged to escape. Four bodies don miss from Room 12. Go count am. I know where their shrine is."

The manager ran to Room 12 with the record book.

18 bodies were supposed to be there. Only 14 were left.

He came back sweating.

"Roselyn! Where are our four corpses?!"

Roselyn started crying fake tears.

"It's a lie! He is lying against me! He wants my job!"

The manager didn't waste time. He called the police.

The police detained Roselyn that day and took Daniel's statement at the station.

The next morning, with a full team of armed policemen, Daniel led them to the forest.

The moment the ritualist Baba saw police uniforms, he tried to jump over the fence and run. Police shot him in the leg.

They arrested all four men.

Inside, it was horror — three mutilated corpses on the ground, heads cut off, chests opened, organs removed. Pots of blood. Charms.

They confessed on the spot.

Yes, Roselyn supplies them. 150k per fresh corpse. They use them for money rituals and they also sell organs.

Roselyn was formally arrested and handcuffed that same morning.

The manager held Daniel's hand with tears.

"You saved the name of this mortuary. Thank you."

Daniel was taken to the clinic and treated for his injuries.

That night in the clinic, Barry came with food.

"You are too brave, my brother," Barry said, sitting beside him. "From today, you no go stay for that your one-room again. Come live with me and my kids for our two rooms. You are my blood now."

Daniel looked at him, his face bruised but his heart warm.

This time, he didn't say no.

CHAPTER 4: THE DOCTOR AND THE GIFT

After his dream last night seeing those dead people in his sleep and how they narrated how they died. Daniel didn't sleep for two days.

He would close his eyes and see their faces. He would hear all of them — all talking at once inside his head, like a market.

He started losing weight. His eyes sank in. He couldn't eat. At work, he would be washing a body and his hands would freeze mid-air because he thought he heard the corpse whisper, "Help me."

Barry noticed.

"Daniel, you dey okay? You don lean. You no dey chop?"

Daniel broke down right there in the washing bay. He sat on the cold tiles, holding his head.

"Barry, I no fit again. I dey hear them even for day. I dey hear them for my head. For night, dem full my house. Dem dey tell me how dem die. I wan mad. I swear, I wan mad."

Barry got scared. He had seen this before — a guy before Daniel who worked for only one month and started shouting that dead bodies were calling his name. He resigned and never came back.

Barry said, "Make we go hospital first. No be spiritual matter be all things. Maybe na trauma. Mortuary work no easy."

The next day, they went to a small private hospital. The doctor was a young Yoruba man in a white coat.

Daniel told him everything. He knew the doctor would think he was crazy.

"I dey dream of dead bodies every night. I dey hear whispers for day. I no dey sleep."

The doctor nodded like he had heard it before.

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Anxiety. Hallucination from occupational exposure to death. Very common with mortuary workers, soldiers, policemen. Your brain is overworking."

He wrote drugs — diazepam for sleep, some antidepressants, some multivitamins.

"Take these for two weeks, stop night shift, stop thinking too much, and you will be fine."

Daniel took the drugs religiously. He swallowed them every night with water.

They did nothing.

In fact, it got worse.

The first night after starting the drugs, he slept heavily, but the dream was clearer than ever. This time, the whole yard was full. More than 20 ghosts. Some he didn't even wash — old bodies that had been in the mortuary for months. They were all looking at him. One man with a swollen stomach pointed at him and said, "You can hear us. Don't leave us."

He woke up and vomited. He threw the drugs away.

The next afternoon at work, while mopping the hallway, he heard a clear voice behind him, right by his ear, not a whisper:

"My name is Steve. Please help me."

He turned. Nobody.

He dropped the mop and screamed, "WHO IS STEVE?! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The manager came out. "Daniel! What is wrong with you?!"

Barry pulled him outside.

"Barry, I no fit do this work again. I wan resign today today. If I stay here, I go die."

Barry held his shoulders tight.

"Daniel, listen to me. I no tell you before, but my uncle get power. He no be fake native doctor wey dey do Yahoo. He dey see things. If na medical problem, hospital for solve am. Hospital no solve am. Make we go see am. If he say na madness, I go allow you resign. But make we try one last place."

Daniel had nothing to lose.

They went the next evening, after work. The shrine was deep inside, past a cassava farm, inside a compound surrounded by palm trees. No signboard. Just red cloths hanging, and the smell of incense, dried leaves, and palm oil.

The native doctor was an old man, maybe 70, with white hair, tribal marks, and eyes that were cloudy but sharp. His name was Baba Ijoma.

He didn't ask Daniel what brought him. He just pointed at a stool.

"Sit."

Daniel sat. Baba stared at him for a very long time. He stared at his forehead, his chest, his palms. Then he brought out cowries, kola nuts, and a small calabash with water. He chanted in Igbo, a low, humming chant that made the small hut vibrate.

After some minutes, he smiled and showed his brown teeth.

"You are afraid of your own shadow."

Daniel was confused.

Baba continued, "You think you are mad. You are not mad. You have been carrying a gift since you were born. Your mother had it too. She used to see spirits, but she was scared and she locked it. She never told you. It slept inside you for 28 years. When you entered the house of the dead to work, the gift woke up. The mortuary opened your eyes."

Barry whispered, "I tell you."

Daniel's mouth was open. "Gift? My mother?"

"Yes," Baba said. "You are an _Onye Nti Mmuo_ — one who hears the dead. The dead don't come to everybody. They come to people who can hear them. Especially those who die with pain, with unfinished justice. They are stuck. They need a mouth in the world of the living. You are that mouth."

"But why me? I don't want it!" Daniel almost cried.

"Because you have a soft heart," Baba said. "If you were wicked, they would never show themselves to you. They know you will pity them. That is why they sit in your house. They feel safe there."

He poured some black powder into Daniel's palms.

"Listen, my son. If you chase them away, they will go, but you will lose something big that God kept for you. If you help them, they will help you. The dead don't forget who helps them. They will bless you. They will push good things to you. But you must be brave."

"What should I do?" Daniel asked, his voice small.

"Don't be afraid when they come again. Ask them, 'How can I help you?' Help one. Just one. And your fear will turn to power."

He gave Daniel a small white thread to tie on his wrist, and a small bottle of water that had been prayed over.

"Pour this water in your bathing water for three days. And don't eat meat for three days. Your body is too heavy. The thread will protect you so you don't carry their sadness inside you."

On their way home in the keke, Barry was excited.

"Guy, you hear am? You get gift! No be everybody get this kind thing o! My uncle no dey lie! You lucky!"

But Daniel was quiet, looking out of the keke at the dark Port Harcourt road.

He wasn't sure if he was blessed or cursed. But for the first time in weeks, he felt a small relief — maybe he wasn't going mad after all.

CHAPTER 3: THE WHISPERS AND THEIR STORIES

On a Wednesday night. Daniel was alone on night shift. Barry had gone home early with a headache. The mortuary was too quiet. The small radio Barry always carried had lost signal, just static.

Then Daniel heard something strange.

Behind him, inside the cold room where 12 bodies were lying on steel slabs, there were voices. Not loud. Low, like people gisting after midnight, trying not to wake someone.

Daniel froze. He switched off the radio completely. The whispers continued. He walked to the cold room door, his heart hammering, and pushed it open. Bright white light. Silent bodies covered with white sheets. Nothing moving. No one talking.

He closed the door.

The moment he turned his back, the whispers started again.

He ran outside and sat by the gate till morning. He didn't tell the manager. He told Barry the next day, "Guy, I swear yesterday night I hear people dey talk for inside that cold room."

Barry laughed. "Na rat."

Daniel believed him and felt it was nothing serious.

Three days later, Daniel had just finished washing a 45-year-old driver who died in his sleep. He went home, ate garri, and slept on his mat.

He was fast asleep when he started having a dream.

In his dream, his small yard was full. Under the mango tree in front of his one-room apartment, there were plastic chairs arranged in a circle. And sitting there were the dead people he had washed that week — all of them, with their eyes open, looking normal, but pale.

They were talking to each other like old friends at a wake.

He hid behind his door and listened.

A young man with a deep cut on his head was talking to an old woman.

The old woman asked, "My pikin, how you take die? You young na."

The young man sighed. "I was a chronic womanizer. I too like woman. E get no woman for my street i no sleep with. My mama kept warning me but i didn't listen. Na so i carry one babe that night, i no gree pay her. We got into a fight. She used a knife and stabbed me to death. I wished i listened to my mum. I would have been alive today.''

He was crying, but no tears were coming out.

Then an old woman, maybe 60, with swollen legs, spoke. She had died of high blood pressure, brought in that Monday.

"My own na my children," she said. "I born five. I suffer train them. When my husband die, I sell akara for 15 years. But when I get stroke and I no fit waka again, none of them gree carry me go hospital. They say I be witch, say I dey pretend. I dey inside my room dey call them, 'Water, water,' for three days. No food, no water. Na for that room I die. For three days, my corpse dey there before neighbor perceive smell come break door. My children come for burial dey wear fine aso-ebi, dey share food. I just want make them know say I hear everything."

The other ghosts nodded slowly. They understood.

There was a young girl, maybe 19 years old, sitting quietly.

"My own na hookup o. I loved material things a lot. I wanted to be like all these lekki big girls that wears expensive wigs so i started selling off my body to rich men. I made a lot of money i swear but one day i went for my hustle. Na so i didn't know the boys were yahoo boys. After sex, my body began to scratch me. Na so i fell into convulsion then i passed out and died."

Another guy who looked young like in his 20s shared his story.

''My own was by suicide. Life wasn't going well for me. Everyone around me was doing well. Buying houses and cars and I had nothing. I couldn't even afford to buy Okada. My father insulted me everyday. Calling me a useless son. I swear i tried all my best to succeed but nothing ever worked out well for me. So i decided one day to put an end to my life. I hanged myself. But i regret doing this now. I should have waited more. Now I know there was a bright future ahead of me if i never gave up. But its too late now," He bows down his head in sadness.

Daniel was shaking inside the dream. He wanted to wake up, but he couldn't.

Then the newest ghost spoke. She was the beautiful 24-year-old who died in a car accident on Friday. Her head was still bandaged in the dream.

The old woman asked her, "My daughter, na accident?"

She started crying hard.

"No, mama. No be accident. Na my sister, Ada. Papa love me pass her because I go school pass her. Papa say he go give me him house for GRA and his shop. Ada hear am. She vex. She go meet her boyfriend wey be mechanic. Them loose my brake pad for night. Next morning, I dey go work for 6am, brake fail for NTA road. Car somersault. I die. Ada dey cry pass everybody. She dey shout 'My sister! My sister!' Na she kill me."

She turned and looked directly at Daniel — straight at where he was hiding behind his door in the dream — and Daniel knew she could see him.

"Please," she said. "Tell my father."

Daniel woke up with a loud shout, soaked in sweat. His wrapper was on the floor. It was 3:14am.

He ran to Barry the next morning, his voice still shaking.

"Barry, I saw them o last night in my dream! I see all of them for my yard! Dem dey talk how dem die! That new lady, na her sister kill am!"

Barry looked at his eyes — red, no sleep.

"Daniel," Barry said quietly, "This work don enter your head too much. You don dey see things. Make you go hospital. No be ordinary dream be that."

But Daniel knew. This was not stress. The stories were too detailed, too emotional.

That night, he heard them again. Not in a dream. While he was mopping the floor of the mortuary at 7pm, alone. Behind him, faint whispers:

"Help us..."
"Tell them..."
"I didn't do it..."

He dropped the mop and ran outside, his heart almost bursting.

The dead were no longer quiet. And they had chosen him to be their voice.

CHAPTER 2: THE FIRST DAY

Daniel resumed by 7:30am. He had ironed his shirt three times.

The mortuary was not what he expected. No scary signboard, no wailing. Just a low, white bungalow behind a rusted gate. The air conditioner hummed loudly from inside. The smell hit him first — a sharp, chemical smell of formalin, Izal, and cold flesh. It entered his nose and stayed there.

The manager, handed him a blue overall, a pair of long rubber gloves, and black rubber boots.

"Your work na to wash. We embalm, you wash. Make the body clean before we dress am."

Daniel nodded, his mouth dry.

He was taken to the washing bay — a tiled room with two long steel tables with gutters at the side, buckets, sponges, and a hose. A light flickered.

Then they brought the first body.

An old man, maybe 80. Very thin. Eyes half-open. His mouth was open a little. He had died in his sleep at home.

Barry pulled the trolley in. Barry was the senior attendant who had been there for 7 years.

"Come," Barry said.

Daniel didn't move. His legs had locked. His hands inside the big gloves were shaking so much that the bucket he was holding was spilling water on the floor. His chest was tight, he couldn't breathe.

Barry saw it and didn't shout. He had seen it many times. New boys always shake.

Barry tapped him.

"Guy, relax. Na so e dey for first day. Me sef, my first day, I run go outside vomit. I no even wash that first body. Na my oga wash am."

He pulled Daniel gently closer.

"Look, dead body no dey bite. E no dey do anything. Na we dey fear am because we never see am before. But na just meat. Meat wey go soon rot if we no preserve am. Na you dey alive. Na you get power pass am. You dey help am go well."

Daniel swallowed.

Barry showed him — how to close the eyelids gently with cotton, how to pour lukewarm water from the head downwards, how to scrub gently with the sponge, how not to be rough, how to turn the body, how to wash the private parts with respect, how to cover the body after.

"You go dey talk small to them," Barry whispered. "E dey help. You go say, 'Baba, make I wash you now.' No be mad man, na respect."

Daniel tried. His voice was cracking.

"Baba... make I... make I wash you..."

He poured the water. The water ran down the pale skin into the gutter, brownish. He scrubbed. The old man's skin was cold. So cold it shocked him. But after five minutes, his hands stopped shaking.

When they finished, Barry dressed the old man in a white singlet they provided for unclaimed bodies, and they rolled him back into the cold room.

"See? You don do one," Barry smiled, tapping Daniel's back. "First one don go."

By lunchtime, Daniel had washed three bodies. By the second day, five. By the end of that first week, he could eat bread and groundnuts inside the mortuary while a body was lying on the table.

He got used to everything — the formalin that made his eyes sting, the way the cold room made his boots stick to the floor, the heavy silence, the way families cried outside.

He and Barry became inseparable. Barry was 35, had two kids, and had been in the job since his own wife chased him out of the house.

During night shift, when NEPA took light and the generator was humming outside, they would sit on low stools at the entrance, with Barry's small rechargeable radio playing old Highlife, drinking cold Coke, gisting about women, money, and how to leave the mortuary work one day.

"You know," Barry told him one night, "I dey do this work not because I like am. But 200k no easy for outside. I dey save make I go open barbing salon."

Daniel laughed for the first time in months. "Me too. I go save, go buy keke."

They thought the hardest part was over.

They didn't know the real work had not even started.

CHAPTER 1: THE BROKEN MAN

Daniel was 28, but he looked 35.

Life had not been fair to him from the start. He was the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Okeke. His father was a primary school teacher in portharcourt, his mother sold wrappers in Mile one market. They were not rich, but they managed — they paid his school fees, they gave him food, they loved him.

Then in 2017, when Daniel was just 19 and in SS3, his parents entered a motorcycle on their way back from a burial. A trailer coming from Bayelsa lost brake and hit them. Both of them died on the spot. Blood on the road. No insurance. No compensation. Just two coffins.

Daniel didn't finish secondary school. He dropped out. No one to pay WAEC fees. His uncle took their small family house in Portharcourt and chased him out, saying "Na my brother house, you be small pikin."

He came to Lagos city with one bag. He slept under Oshodi bridge for two weeks. Then a man from his village who owned a mechanic workshop under bridge took him as an apprentice.

For 9 years, Daniel was a mechanic boy.

Every morning, 6am, he would wake up in his one-room face-me-I-face-you apartment at Oshodi — a small room with no ceiling, a single mattress on the floor, one pot, one bucket, a small table. The roof leaked when it rained. Rats ran around at night.

He would trek to the workshop. From morning till 7pm, bending under old Toyota Camry cars, his hands black with grease, his back aching, his clothes soaked in engine oil. He knew how to fix brake, change oil, loose engine.

At the end of the day, his oga would look at him and say, "Today work no too come. Take 1,500." On good days, 2,000 or 3,000. Sometimes, "Oga, nothing today o. Just manage go house."

It was not enough to eat, pay house rent of 6,000 a month, and buy clothes. He was always borrowing.

Mirabel was the only good thing in his life for three years. She was a hairdresser at Ajao Estate. She was beautiful, fair, always laughing. She used to come to his room and cook rice for him. She used to say, "Daniel, you go make am, I know."

But last December, after they went for her friend's wedding and her friend's husband sprayed money, Mirabel changed.

She sat him down in his room, on his mattress, and said it calmly, without shouting.

"Daniel, I love you. But I can't suffer with you. I am 26. My mates are marrying. My mother is asking me when I go bring man. You don't have anything. You can't even buy me ordinary Christmas hair. I want to live, Daniel. I want to live."

She stood up, picked her bag, and left. She blocked him on WhatsApp that night.

Daniel cried that night like a child. He sat on his mattress till 3am, staring at the leaking ceiling, his chest tight. That was the first night he thought of ending it.

He started thinking, "What is the point? My parents are dead. The girl I love left because I am poor. My work is suffering. I have no house, no car, nothing. Why am I still here?"

He had even written a small note in his head: "Nobody should cry for me. I am tired."

He was in that dark place for weeks. Not eating well, not talking to anyone.

Then, one hot Thursday evening, he went to a small beer parlor near his workshop to drink one bottle of small stout — the only enjoyment he allowed himself once a week.

Two men were sitting behind him, drinking big Star and arguing loudly.

One said, "My cousin work for that new mortuary for Iyana Ipaja, private one, Grace Mortuary. Omo, the place dey pay well o! 200k per month!"

The other said, "200k for mortuary? Abeg, who go work for dead body house? Na fear go kill person!"

"Na 200k be fear? If dem pay me 200k I go sleep inside coffin!"

Daniel froze. His hand holding the bottle stopped mid-air.

200,000 naira.

He had never held 50,000 at once in his life. The highest money he ever saw at once was 22,000 when he saved for three months to buy a second-hand phone. 200k was like 20 million to him.

His heart started beating fast. Fear and hunger were fighting inside him.

Mortuary? Washing dead bodies? He had never even entered a mortuary before. He was scared of dead bodies since childhood — he never even attended his parents' burial properly, he fainted when he saw their bodies.

But hunger is more wicked than fear.

That night he walked home, talking to himself.

"Daniel, you wan die of hunger and shame, or you wan face dead body collect money? Dead body no dey kill living person. Hunger dey kill. Poverty dey kill. Shame dey kill pass ghost."

He made up his mind.

The next morning, Friday, he woke up by 5am. He washed his only clean shirt — a white shirt with a small tear at the armpit — and his only trouser that was not stained with oil. He used his last 500 naira to enter bus to Iyana Ipaja.

He asked around. "Where Grace Private Mortuary dey?"

People pointed. He walked down a small bushy road. And there it was — a low white bungalow, quiet, with a small blue sign: GRACE PRIVATE MORTUARY — WE PRESERVE WITH DIGNITY. No noise. Just a generator humming.

A fat man in glasses, the manager, was outside smoking.

Daniel greeted him, his voice shaking.

"Good morning, sir. I hear say una dey find worker. I come apply."

The manager looked at him from head to toe — thin boy, hungry eyes, but determined.

"You fit do am? You know say na dead body you go dey wash? You go see blood, wound, old people, young people. Some dey fear, dem run."

Daniel swallowed his fear and said the words that would change his life forever:

"Sir, I fit do am. Hunger more scary than dead body."

The manager stared for a second, then laughed and threw his cigarette away.

"Okay. You don get the job. Resume tomorrow. Salary 200k. But if you steal from dead body or you run, I go sack you immediately."

Daniel trekked back to Oshodi that day, not because he had no transport fare, but because he was too happy to sit inside a bus. He was laughing and crying at the same time.

He had a job. He had hope.

He didn't know he was walking into a job that would open his eyes to another world.

Broke and suicidal, Daniel takes a 200k mortuary job washing corpses. At first it's just cold flesh, then whispers start, dreams bleed reality. To save his own sanity, Daniel must expose a killer who still walks free before he becomes the next corpse.

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