Aisha Ibrahim
Nkechi shot upright, a scream tearing through the dark. Sweat ran down her face as her chest heaved. The room was silent except for the faint ticking of the alarm clock beside her bed.
Tochi turned quickly, pulling her into his arms.
“Hey, hey… it’s okay, my love. Just a dream.”
She shook her head hard, eyes wide with terror.
“No, Tochi. She was here again.”
His voice softened. “Who?”
Her lips trembled. “Nnenna. She was standing right there.” She pointed toward the corner of the room. “She was whispering—‘Why did you leave me?’”
Tochi’s gaze flicked to the empty corner. Nothing. Just shadows.
“Nkechi, sweetheart, we’ve talked about this—”
“Don’t say it’s guilt!” she snapped. “I saw her. I heard her.”
He reached for her hand gently. You’ve carried this for too long, love. You have to forgive yourself.
Her eyes darted toward the corner again, then back to him.
“You don’t understand. She won’t let me.”
He sighed. “You promised you’d see the therapist again.”
“I don’t need a therapist,” Nkechi muttered, voice low and strange. “She needs me to listen.”
“To who?”
“Nnenna.”
Tochi rubbed his forehead. He didn’t argue. He knew it wouldn’t help.
Memories flooded back—sharp, heavy, and unwelcome.
They had been born joined at the hip, their lower torsos fused. Inseparable. School was cruel; children whispered, pointed, laughed. Only Tochi, the boy two streets away, treated them like they were normal. He walked them home, shared sweets, told jokes. Slowly, he became their world. Both sisters adored him, though they never said it. But it was clear which twin he loved back—Nkechi, the brighter one, the one who laughed easily. Nnenna saw it too. Her silence deepened, her glances sharpened. What was once affection began to twist into something darker—fear, jealousy, loss. Then came the surgery.
They had promised never to separate. But after Tochi left for university, Nkechi insisted. “We can still be together—just not joined.”
Nnenna’s eyes had filled with tears. “If you do this, you’ll destroy us.”
Now, years later, Nkechi was married to Tochi. On the surface, her life was calm and beautiful: a loving husband, a safe home, stability. But inside her, guilt gnawed like rot. Every creak in the house felt like a footstep. Every reflection seemed to breathe. Some nights she woke gasping, sure someone was lying beside her—breathing in sync.
That night, sleep wouldn’t come. The darkness felt thicker than usual, heavy with something unseen. Tochi had drifted off, his soft snore breaking the stillness. Nkechi lay awake, eyes tracing the ceiling, counting the seconds. Then she heard it—a faint humming.
At first, she thought it was the wind. But the tune was too familiar. A slow, gentle lullaby. Their mother’s song—the one she used to sing when they were frightened. Her throat tightened as the words floated through the dark, barely above a whisper:
“Sleep, my star, the night is near,
The moon will guard, the dark will clear.
Dream of light, dream of me,
Till morning comes and sets you free…”
The humming continued, slow and deliberate. Nkechi froze, her breath shallow. Her gaze slid toward the mirror across the room. The glass was fogging over, though the air was warm. She sat up slowly, staring. And there—in the misty reflection—was Nnenna. Same eyes. Same lips. The same face. But the expression was wrong; too calm, too knowing.
Nkechi’s voice broke. “Nnenna?”
The reflection tilted its head. The lullaby stopped. For a heartbeat, silence. Then a whisper, soft but sharp, curling through the room like smoke:
“Why did you leave me?”
The mirror cracked. Nkechi screamed. Tochi jolted awake, fumbling for the light. But when it flickered on, the mirror was whole again, and Nkechi sat trembling, whispering over and over;
“She’s back. Tochi, she’s back!”
Is it just another nightmare?
Is Nnenna trying to return—or refusing to leave?
What does she want from her sister?
How far would she go?
Aisha Ibrahim loves to tell stories with her creative writing skills.