The compound at Mgbuka Street was always alive with laughter. Children ran between houses, their voices bouncing off the walls. Neighbors greeted one another warmly, exchanging smiles and nods as if the streets themselves were familiar friends.
But everything changed the day Mr. Dike moved into Flat Seven.
He was quiet, polite, and never drew attention to himself. Yet, there was something about him that made people uneasy. His smile never fully reached his eyes, and he moved with a precision that seemed almost unnatural—slow, deliberate, calculated.
The children whispered about him as they played. "Have you seen Flat Seven's new neighbor?" one asked.
"Yeah… he's strange," another replied.
Even the adults felt it. The usual greetings became curt nods, and conversations would fall silent whenever he walked by.
It was a simple compound, but the atmosphere had shifted. The once lively air now carried a tension that made everyone pause and glance toward Flat Seven.
That night, a scream shattered the calm. Doors swung open as neighbors rushed outside, but the street was empty. Only the faint sound of footsteps echoed from the direction of Flat Seven, soft and deliberate, leaving everyone questioning what—or who—was really there.
And from that moment, no one on Mgbuka Street would ever look at Flat Seven t
he same way again.