17/04/2025
My Grandfather's Diary
Chapter One: The Box Under the Bed
They say if you dig too deep into the past, you might not like what you find.
Last Christmas, Amaka went home to her father's village in Anambra. She was a 23-year-old medical student, smart, skeptical, and definitely not someone who believed in village superstitions. All that "evil spirit" talk didn't move her.
Her dad asked her to help clear out her late grandfather's old room. The house was a small bungalow at the back of the compound, dusty and quiet like time had paused inside. Nobody had touched it since the old man passed years ago.
She swept, dusted, and started arranging old books on the shelf. That was when she found it. A small wooden box, locked, hiding under the bed like it didn't want to be found.
Curiosity got the better of her. She found an old nail and forced it open. Inside was a brown leather diary. She opened the first page. Her grandfather's handwriting filled the top line: "If you're reading this, then Odogwu has not rested. He is still watching. And he is still angry."
Amaka scoffed. "Here we go." But the more she flipped, the less amused she became. The diary wasn't random thoughts, it was a list. Names. People in the family. People who had died mysteriously.
Her uncle who slumped in the bathroom. Her cousin who died in her sleep at just twenty. Even her elder brother, the one who drowned during NYSC. Then she saw it. Amaka. Her own name. Clearly written, underlined.
She slammed the book shut. Her skin felt cold. That night, she couldn't sleep. She kept hearing whispers she couldn't explain. And when she finally drifted off, she had a dream.
A tall man stood at the edge of her bed, dressed in white, barefoot, and his eyes glowed red like fire. He didn't speak. He just stared, then pointed at her chest.
When she woke up, the diary was lying open on her. A new page was showing. It read: "You can run to the city, but blood will always find blood."
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