NEPA did not just take light that night.
It claimed something.
At exactly 11:47 p.m., the bulb in Sadiq's room flickered like it was struggling to breathe. Once. Twice. Then it went off completely, leaving behind that familiar Lagos darkness—the kind that feels thick, like it has weight.
"NEPA don do us strong thing again o!" somebody shouted from the next compound.
Sadiq hissed and sat up on his bed. Sweat clung to his skin even though the harmattan breeze was blowing. He reached for his phone. 11:47 p.m.
Outside, generators came alive one after the other. Grrr-grrr-grrr. The sound was comforting. Noise meant life. Noise meant safety.
Except at No. 6 Asa Street.
The generator there coughed once… then went silent.
"No no no," Sadiq muttered as he stood up. He slipped on his slippers and stepped into the compound. The moon hung low, yellow and swollen, like an eye that refused to blink.
He bent beside the generator and pulled the rope.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Nothing.
That was when the air changed.
It became cold. Too cold for Lagos.
Sadiq felt goosebumps rise on his arms. His chest tightened for no reason he could explain. He had that strange feeling—like when someone is standing behind you, but when you turn, nobody is there.
Then he heard it.
A scream.
Not the normal shouting people do during quarrel. This one was raw. Sharp. It cut through the night like broken glass. A female voice.
"Ahhh—!"
It stopped abruptly.
Like someone covered the person's mouth.
Sadiq froze.
"Who dey there?" he shouted, his voice sounding smaller than he expected. "Who be that?"
Silence answered him.
The generators around them continued humming, unaware. Dogs barked in the distance. Somewhere, a baby cried. Life moved on.
But something else had woken up.
Sadiq felt it.
The generator beside him suddenly gave a loud CLICK.
He jumped back.
"Which kain thing be this?" he whispered.
The smell of petrol grew stronger, mixed with something else—something old. Rotten. Like stagnant water and rust.
From the corner of his eye, he saw movement near the old water tank.
He turned sharply.
Nothing.
Still, his heart would not slow down.
"Na imagination," he told himself. "Ajegunle stress don reach my brain."
He bent again and reached for the switch.
That was when his fingers touched something wet.
He pulled back immediately.
In the faint moonlight, he saw it.
Blood.
Fresh.
It smeared the switch, sticky and dark.
Sadiq staggered backward.
"Jesus Christ," he breathed.
The scream came back.
This time, it was closer.
Right behind the compound wall.