Aisha Ibrahim
The house was silent except for Nkechi’s muffled sobs. She sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, rocking gently. Pastor Dike and Tochi stood by the door, watching her like men afraid of what they might hear next.
“Tochi,” Dike said quietly, “She’s holding back. There’s more.”
“I’ve told you everything,” Nkechi whispered through tears. “It was an accident. Please believe me.”
Tochi rubbed his forehead, pacing. “Accident? Nkechi, a spirit doesn’t speak through you just because of an accident.”
She looked up, eyes red and swollen. “You think I wanted this? You think I wanted her dead?”
He turned sharply. “Then tell me what really happened.”
Nkechi buried her face in her palms. “Please… I can’t.”
Tochi’s voice cracked. “Listen, Nkechi, I can’t continue with this, with this fear, with lies between us.”
That broke her. The words came tumbling out between sobs. “Fine! You want to know? I’ll tell you everything.”
After the surgery, nothing was the same. Nkechi thought freedom would bring peace, but instead, the sisters found themselves strangers—two halves that no longer fit together. Every little thing became a fight. They argued about food, about clothes, about the life they were supposed to live together but could no longer share.
Nnenna grew bitter, constantly accusing Nkechi of abandoning her. Nkechi, weighed down by guilt and exhaustion, began to snap back. One night, the argument escalated more than ever. Harsh words turned to screams, then tears. Nnenna, in her fury, grabbed a pair of scissors from the bedside drawer. Nkechi remembered only the fear—the gleam of metal under the bulb, her sister’s trembling hands, the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.
They struggled. She shouted for her to stop. Then, in a blur of panic, Nkechi’s hand reached for the bedside lamp. She swung once. The sound of impact echoed through the room, followed by silence. Nnenna collapsed.
Blood pooled under her head where it struck the floor. Nkechi froze, staring at her motionless twin, unable to scream, unable to breathe. When their mother burst into the room moments later, her face went pale.
Tochi stared at her, his face frozen. “You… you killed her?”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “It was an accident! I swear! I was only trying to defend myself. When Mama saw what happened, she said no one would believe me. She said I’d go to prison. So… we buried the truth. We said it was a complication from the surgery.”
Tochi stood frozen, his face drained of color. Pastor Dike looked at her with something between pity and dread.
Finally, Tochi moved toward her, slowly, as though afraid she might vanish. He knelt beside her and pulled her into his arms.
“It’s okay dear. You’ve been punishing yourself for years,” he said softly. “But you can’t keep living in the past. We’ll make it right. Somehow.”
She nodded against his chest, sobbing harder.
He looked at Dike. “What do we do now?”
Dike exhaled deeply. “We pray. We confess the sin before God. And we make peace with the dead.”
Nkechi’s tears soaked his shirt. For the first time in years, she felt lighter—as if releasing the secret had loosened the weight on her chest.
Three days later, they drove to the graveyard for the final ritual. Standing by the grave where Nnenna was buried, they watched as Pastor Dike read from his Bible and sprinkled holy water over the ground.
Nkechi knelt beside him, trembling. “Nnenna,” she whispered, “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Please rest.”
For a moment, the air seemed to still. The rustling leaves stopped, and an eerie calm swept across the graveyard. Dike looked up at Tochi and smiled faintly. “It is finished. Her spirit is at peace.”
Tochi exhaled in relief, pulling Nkechi up. “It’s over, love,” he said. “You’re free.”
That night, she slept deeply for the first time in months. No voices. No dreams. Just quiet.
Weeks passed peacefully. Nkechi smiled again. She cooked, laughed, even hummed while she cleaned. Tochi, though still shaken, began to believe the worst was over.
But then, Nkechi started humming strange tunes—old songs Nnenna used to sing. When Tochi mentioned it, she shrugged and said she didn’t even realize she was doing it. Sometimes, he’d catch her staring too long at old photos, her fingers tracing Nnenna’s face instead of her own.
And late at night, she sometimes spoke in her sleep—mumbling things he couldn’t understand. Once, he leaned close and could’ve sworn he heard her whisper, “You’ll never leave me again.”
One night, Tochi woke up to find her sitting upright in bed, facing the window. The moonlight cut across her face, making her look eerily still.
“Babe?” he said softly.
She didn’t move.
He touched her shoulder, and she turned slowly, her eyes dark and unreadable.
“Do you ever think,” she asked quietly, “that you married the wrong twin?”
Tochi’s breath caught. She smiled faintly, turned away, and began humming that same lullaby.
A secret buried for years.
A sin finally spoken aloud.
Peace returns—or so they think.
But the dead aren’t done yet.
Aisha Ibrahim’s creative writing skills and storytelling with lessons come to bear in this series. Follow on Tuesdays and Saturdays.