When The Walls Watch: Chapter 2 (The Ghosts of Dinner)

The heavy oak doors creaked open, revealing a grand foyer trapped in a time capsule of faded grandeur. Yewande stepped inside, the cool marble floor a stark contrast to the February heat clinging to her skin. The scent of pepper soup and egusi stew wafted from the kitchen, a familiar warmth that did little to dispel the icy dread coiling in her stomach.

Oil lamps flickered, casting long, dancing shadows on the high ceilings and ornate moldings. Years of neglect had taken their toll on the mansion. Cobwebs clung to the corners, dust motes danced in the air, and the portraits of stern-faced ancestors seemed to stare down with a judgmental air.

"Yewande!" A voice cut through the silence, startling her. It was Imani, her once vibrant energy now a manic flutter of movements. She rushed forward, engulfing Yewande in a hug that was too tight, too desperate. "Oh my God, you actually came!"

Yewande returned the embrace, her eyes scanning Imani's face. Her friend had always been a whirlwind of energy, but now her eyes darted nervously, her smile a brittle mask barely concealing the fear that lurked beneath.

"Of course I came," Yewande replied, her voice a touch softer than she intended. "We all did, didn't we?"

Chike emerged from the shadows, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor. "Well, well, well," he drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look who decided to grace us with her presence." He raised a glass of whiskey in a mock toast. "To old friends and second chances."

Yewande met his gaze, noting the subtle lines etched around his eyes, the hint of arrogance in the set of his jaw. The easygoing charm of their youth had been replaced by a calculating coldness. She accepted the glass he offered, her hand brushing against his. His touch was icy, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Cheers to that," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

A heavy silence descended as they made their way to the dining room. The once-lavish space now felt oppressive, the flickering oil lamps casting grotesque shadows on the walls. The mahogany table was laden with an extravagant feast: steaming bowls of jollof rice, fragrant egusi stew, platters of suya sizzling with spices, and an assortment of colorful fruits. Yet, the sight of the food did little to appease Yewande's growing unease.

The meal began with strained pleasantries and awkward silences. Chike dominated the conversation, his booming voice filling the room as he recounted his business triumphs, his thinly veiled boasts a stark reminder of his wealth and power. Imani fluttered around the table, refilling glasses and offering food with a manic energy that grated on Yewande's nerves.

Only Ayodele seemed truly pleased to see her. He sat beside her, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of tension swirling around them. He spoke little, but his eyes, filled with a mix of sadness and gratitude, never left her face.

As the night wore on, the veneer of civility began to crack. A seemingly innocuous comment about the weather spiraled into a heated debate about the events of that fateful night. Accusations were hurled, old wounds reopened. Yewande listened in stunned silence as her friends tore into each other, their words dripping with venom.

"Someone needs to pay for what happened," Chike snarled, his eyes narrowed. "The price is still due."

Yewande's blood ran cold. Who was he talking about? What price? And what exactly had happened that night?

Just as the tension reached its peak, the lights flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness. A moment of stunned silence was shattered by Imani's blood-curdling scream, echoing through the mansion's labyrinthine halls.