16/04/2026
Her blood ran cold. Nobody in Lagos knew that name. Her aunt had told her to drop it when she came to the city. “Answer only Adanna here,” she had said. “Don’t confuse them.”
But the voice called again, gentle but firm.
“Chiamaka… open.”
Her torch shook in her hand. She staggered back, her breath caught in her throat.
Behind her, the corridor stretched like a throat swallowing her. The photos on the wall—Madam in lace, Dara with her birthday cake, the man in a navy suit—looked sharper, almost alive.
And then another voice rang out, sharp and real.
“Adanna?”
She spun around, her heart leaping.
Dara stood there barefoot, the blue light of her phone glowing on her face, making her look pale and strange.
“What are you doing here?” Dara asked, her voice low but sharp.
Adanna swallowed hard. “I… I heard something,” she whispered, pointing weakly toward the red door.
For one quick second, fear flashed in Dara’s eyes. Her face changed, but almost at once she covered it, hissing. “Go back to your room. Now. And don’t ever come near this corridor again.”
She turned and walked away, the glow of her phone bouncing as she disappeared into her room.
Adanna stood frozen, her torch slipping in her sweaty palm.
The red door loomed behind her, silent but alive.
And then the whisper came again, soft and pleading.
“Chiamaka… don’t leave me.”
The morning came too quickly, and Adanna dragged herself out of bed with swollen eyes. The house looked normal again under the sunlight, but her heart still carried the weight of the night. She tried to convince herself it had only been a dream, yet the sound of that laugh, the counting, and the whisper calling her real name would not leave her mind.
She picked up her broom and began to sweep the compound slowly, her arms moving but her thoughts far away. The wet sand stuck to the broom, and the early air was heavy with the smell of rain. As she worked, the gate creaked open and Baba Kazeem, the old gateman, walked in with his limp step and tired eyes. He stopped near her and watched her sweep.
“You are new here,” he said in a low, steady voice that made Adanna’s hand tighten on the broom. “Keep your head down and do only what you are told. This house has rules that are not written on paper.”
Adanna looked up quickly. “What do you mean?” she asked in a whisper.
But Baba Kazeem only shook his head, adjusted his cap, and walked away to the small gatehouse. He did not answer, and that silence frightened her more than words could.
She tried to push his warning from her mind, but it stayed, heavy and strange.
Inside, Madam was seated in the living room, her gele tall, her wrapper neat, a small cup of tea steaming on the glass table. Her eyes followed Adanna like a hawk as she walked in. “Adanna,” Madam said smoothly, “bring me honey from the cupboard.”
Adanna hurried to the kitchen and returned with the jar, placing it carefully on the table. Madam stirred her tea slowly, her gaze never leaving Adanna’s face. “You look tired,” she said softly. “Did you sleep well?”
Adanna nodded quickly. “Yes, ma.”
Madam gave a slow smile, but her tone turned cold. “Good. A maid must sleep well if she wants to work well. But remember—don’t go where you are not sent.”
The words made Adanna’s chest tighten. It was as if Madam had seen her near the red door the night before. She lowered her eyes and whispered, “Yes, ma.”
Later that afternoon, Dara’s voice echoed from upstairs. “Adanna! Come here quickly!”
Adanna climbed the stairs, her hands sweating as she carried a polish box. Dara’s room was painted bright pink, with posters on the walls and clothes thrown everywhere. On the table, her phone lay open. Adanna bent to polish the sneakers on the floor, but her eyes accidentally caught the screen.
Her heart almost stopped.
The gallery was open, filled with short clips. Each clip showed her—Adanna sweeping, Adanna ironing, Adanna washing her face when she thought no one was looking. Dara had been recording her secretly, laughing at her behind her back.
Adanna’s chest burned with shame. She forced her eyes away, polished the shoes quickly, and left before Dara noticed.
Evening came. Madam stood in the hallway mirror adjusting her earrings, her perfume filling the house with a heavy, sweet smell. “I will be back late,” she said, her eyes fixed on her reflection. “Cook ogbono soup for Dara.” She turned slightly and looked at Adanna, her gaze sharp and cutting. “And remember my rules. Especially number six.”
Adanna’s breath caught. She bowed her head. “Yes, ma.”
The hours dragged slowly. Adanna cooked, cleaned, and served Dara, who complained about the soup being “too thick.” When she finally lay on her mattress that night, her whole body was aching. She closed her eyes, praying for sleep to take her quickly.
But then it came again.
The laugh.
She sat up sharply, her heart pounding. The same laugh as the night before. Soft, playful, too young to belong to Dara.
Then came the counting, the small voice rising through the silence of the house.
“One… two… three…”
To be continued....
written by STORY TIME BY NWA
The Forbidden Room Episode 2 🔥
