Aisha Ibrahim
The house had gone silent. Even the air felt heavy, like it was holding its breath.
That afternoon, Nkechi sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes vacant, her lips moving without sound. She no longer flinched at the flicker of lights or the sudden creak of the floorboards. She barely spoke, barely ate. When Tochi touched her shoulder, she turned to him slowly, her gaze cold and unfamiliar. For a moment, he saw something—someone—else looking back. That was when he called Pastor Dike.
The pastor arrived at dusk, Bible in hand, face grim. They moved into the living room, the curtains drawn, candles lit. Nkechi sat in the middle of the room, arms tied loosely to the chair, her head bowed.
Tochi’s chest tightened as Dike began to pray, his voice rising and echoing off the walls. The air shifted. The candles flickered. Nkechi’s breathing turned ragged.
“I told you the truth!” she screamed suddenly. “There’s nothing more to say!”
Dike pressed on, his voice firm but shaken. Nkechi writhed in the chair, her voice deepening, twisting. Then she began to sob—loud, raw, childlike cries that broke through the chanting.
And then, something changed. Her body stilled. When she lifted her head again, the woman who looked at them wasn’t Nkechi. Her face was the same, but her eyes—those eyes were cold, furious, alive with something else entirely.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You want the truth?”
Tochi’s throat went dry.
“It wasn’t Nkechi who killed me,” she said. “It was me. I killed her.”
Dike froze mid-prayer.
Her voice trembled but didn’t break. “That night… we fought. Like always. She kept saying I’d changed, that I was pushing her away. She tried to calm me, said we could fix things. But I saw it in her eyes—pity. And hate.”
Her gaze went distant, lost in memory.
That night had been quiet at first. Rain on the roof. A faint hum from the streetlights outside. They’d argued again—about Tochi, about freedom, about everything that had gone wrong since the surgery. Nnenna had felt it building for weeks, the fury and fear tightening inside her chest like a fist. Nkechi had always been the one people noticed. The one Tochi loved. The one who fit better into this new life.
When Nkechi reached out to hold her, Nnenna snapped. She grabbed the scissors from the dresser and lunged. Nkechi screamed, blocking her arm. They struggled, breathless, desperate. The scissors fell to the floor. Nnenna’s hand closed around the lamp. The blow landed before she even realized she’d swung. Nkechi fell. Her head hit the edge of the table. There was a sound—a soft, final thud. Then silence.
For a long time, Nnenna just stared. She waited for her to move, to breathe, to blink. But her sister lay still. The side of her head glistened dark with blood. When their mother found them, she screamed. Nnenna couldn’t speak. She only said, “It was an accident.”
The mother held her, trembling. So they buried Nkechi quietly and told the world she’d died from surgery complications. And in the days that followed, Nnenna became her. She took her name, her smile, her voice. When Tochi returned from abroad, he never suspected. How could he? It’s been years and they had the same face, the same memories. Only Nnenna knew which parts of her weren’t real anymore.
The woman in the chair looked up now, tears streaking down her cheeks.
“I wanted to stop pretending,” she whispered. “But I loved you too much. You were the only part of her I could still have.”
Tochi stood frozen, every piece of him breaking. His voice cracked.
“You lied to me. All these years., so you aren’t my Nkechi?”
She reached for him, desperate.
“Yes, I know, and I am truly sorry. I’ve been repenting all these years — the philanthropy, everything! I’ve always wanted to make it right, but I couldn’t lose you!”
He stepped back, his eyes hard.
“Repented? You’re a monster.”
Dike tried to calm him, but Tochi turned toward the door, his voice shaking with rage.
“You’ll rot for this. Nnenna, you will rot for this, I promise you!”
The ropes strained as she thrashed, and with a violent jerk, they snapped loose. She stumbled to her feet, wild-eyed, and lunged after him, clutching his arm.
“Don’t leave me! Please, Tochi, I can’t live without you!” she cried.
He spun around, shoving her off, his face twisted in horror and disgust.
“Look at you,” he said, his voice breaking. “You’re not the woman I loved — you’re something wicked. Twisted. I don’t even know what or who you are.”
Something in her snapped. Her eyes darkened, her face contorting with fury. She grabbed a broken stick from the floor, her voice trembling between rage and despair.
“Tochi, shouldn’t you understand by now?” she hissed. “If I can’t have you, no one will! I’d rather kill you and then myself — nobody will be happy then!”
She swung wildly. Dike stepped in, trying to restrain her, but she shoved him hard. He crashed into the wall, gasping for breath.
Then the air changed. A sudden, violent wind tore through the room. Curtains whipped. Candles toppled. Tochi shielded his face as objects flew past him.
Nnenna screamed, clutching her head. “Get out! Get out of me!”
The wind grew louder, rising to a shriek. The stick fell from her hand. Her body convulsed, lifted off the ground, slammed into the wall. Blood spread beneath her head as her body went still.
The wind stopped. Silence returned.
For a long moment, Tochi just stood there, trembling. Then he walked forward slowly to Nnenna’s body. Pastor Dike followed, still shaken by the fall. They both knelt beside her — Tochi taking her hand, pressing it lightly, staring at her with a mix of hope and disbelief.
“She’s not moving,” he whispered. Then, looking up at Dike, tears filled his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Tochi,” Dike stammered, his gaze fixed on Nnenna’s cold, wide-open eyes.
“My wife is dead! She’s actually dead!” Tochi screamed, his voice breaking as his knees buckled. Dike caught him quickly, holding him upright. Tochi was breathing heavily now, the tears streaming in torrents. Dike drew him close, patting his back consolingly.
Slowly, a pale smoke rose from Nnenna’s body, twisting upward. It lingered by the window, forming the faint image of a woman’s face — gentle, peaceful. Nkechi. Tochi lifted his head, staring through his tears. The apparition smiled faintly, gave a small nod, and drifted away into the night.
He took a step forward, reaching out, whispering her name, “‘Nkechi,’’
Dike’s hand gripped his arm firmly. His voice was soft, steady, filled with finality.
“You are free now, Tochi,” he said quietly. “Nkechi is free too.”
The End.
Aisha Ibrahim’s creative writing skills and storytelling with lessons come to bear in this series. Follow on Tuesdays and Saturdays.