When The Walls Watch: Chapter 3 (The Hidden Journal)

The echoing scream sliced through the suffocating darkness, a raw sound of terror that clung to the shadows. Yewande fumbled for her phone, the screen’s sudden brightness a blinding contrast to the oppressive gloom. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the chaos that erupted around her.

“Imani!” Chike’s voice, usually so smooth and controlled, cracked with a tremor of panic.

"The bloody generator’s tripped again," Ayodele cursed, his voice steadier than the others but strained with worry. "Stay together! Don't wander off."

"Oh my God, oh my God," Imani’s frantic whimpers rose above the confusion, "I can't see anything! Someone help me!"

Yewande's flashlight beam danced across the room, catching glimpses of faces contorted with fear. Chike's jaw was clenched, his brow furrowed in concentration. He moved with a predatory grace, his flashlight beam sweeping across the room like a searchlight.

"Imani, where are you?" Yewande called out, her voice echoing through the darkness.

No response. Only a suffocating silence that pressed against her eardrums.

"We have to find her," Yewande said, her voice laced with a newfound determination.

"The fuse box is in the basement," Ayodele offered, a tremor in his voice betraying his own unease. "I'll go check it."

As he disappeared into the darkness, Yewande's mind raced. Imani's panicked whispers about the house being cursed, the strange tension simmering beneath the surface all evening... a chilling premonition settled over her.

Driven by a sudden instinct, she turned and raced up the grand staircase, her flashlight beam cutting a swath through the darkness. Memories of their teenage escapades flooded her mind, guiding her steps.

She reached the landing and made her way down the dimly lit hallway, her breath coming in ragged gasps. At the end of the hall, a single door stood ajar, a sliver of moonlight illuminating the room beyond. It was their old hangout, a secret sanctuary where they had spent countless hours as teenagers, their laughter and dreams echoing through the rafters.

Yewande pushed open the door, her flashlight beam cutting through the dust-filled air. The room was a time capsule of their youth: faded posters of Wizkid, D'banj and Tiwa Savage adorned the walls, graffiti scrawled in youthful handwriting proclaimed their undying friendship, and a worn-out beanbag chair slumped in the corner, a silent witness to countless secrets and shared dreams.

A wave of bittersweet nostalgia washed over her as she took in the familiar sight. This room had once been their refuge, a place where they could escape the pressures of the world and simply be themselves. Now, it felt cold and empty, a hollow echo of a past that was forever lost.

As she moved further into the room, a glint of silver caught her eye. It was Imani's favorite hairpin, its delicate butterfly design barely visible in the dim light. It was wedged beneath a loose floorboard near the window.

A jolt of adrenaline surged through her. A memory flashed - Imani, during one of their secret visits, excitedly showing off a hidden compartment she'd discovered beneath the floorboards.

With trembling hands, Yewande pried the floorboard open, revealing a hollow space. Inside, a leather-bound journal rested, its cover worn and faded. Imani's name was embossed in gold lettering, the once-bright letters now dulled by time.

Yewande opened the journal, her fingers tracing the frantic handwriting that filled the pages. The entries chronicled Imani's descent into paranoia and terror. She wrote of a shadowy figure lurking in the mansion, a debt that haunted her dreams, and a cryptic prophecy about a gathering that would seal their fate.

As Yewande read, a chill crept down her spine. The words on the page painted a picture of a woman consumed by fear, a woman who believed she was being watched, hunted.

A sudden noise behind her startled her. She whirled around, her flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, a tall, slender man with a gold watch glinting on his wrist. It was Chike.

"What are you doing here?" Yewande demanded, her voice shaking.

Chike's lips curled into a sneer. "Looking for you," he said. "We've been worried sick."

But Yewande wasn't fooled. There was a darkness in his eyes, a flicker of something sinister that sent chills down her spine. What was Chike hiding? And what had he done with Imani?

Fear propelled Yewande into action. She bolted past Chike, the journal clutched tightly in her hand. She had to find Imani, before it was too late.