The Note
9th June, 2015 Writers
It was about a year since my Uncle died, he had bought this house just after he left the Nigerian Army, renovated it and since he had no wife or children, he stayed alone. We used to be quite close during his days in the Nigerian Army, he was a funny person while at the same time not putting his self respect and authority into question. Quite suddenly he had turn a saddest of creatures, hardly ever leaving his house and when he does, always spoke to himself like he had someone right next to him, sometimes arguing vigorously and quite vehemently, he died a short while later and although people had carried rumour that the house he bought was haunted, the story about being deprived of some certain pill which the Army supplied stuck more and was widely accepted. I was on his will to inherit his house, he loved me, this further went to prove the facts. 

Just completing my NYSC scheme, I thought it best to move into the new house, a whole house just for me while I settled myself for life ahead. While cleaning the rest of the house and admiring some of my uncle's collections, I found his diary, lying lazily some inches away from his bed stand under his bed, must have fell and while people went in and out, someone must have kicked it, I opened it and read some of his musings right before and up until the day he died...

Thursday 15th;
"There are... things following me, disturbing me. 
They seem to be everywhere; they whisper in my ears almost every time, they move my personal things in and around, they're aimed to sabotage everything."

Friday 16th;
"I know that I can never tell anyone, who will believe me? but I hope that the person reading this note can save himself. This apartment, this's haunted."

Saturday 17th;
"Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I hear them whispering near me, and the next moment, I hear either a loud bang or the shattering of glass as another glass cup falls to the ground. I tried so many times to explain to my young nephew whom I'm fond of, but I fear I might scare his little mind, would he ever believe me?."

Sunday 17th;
"I have no actual names for the voice I hear, I think they're human, ghosts maybe but there's no chilled or feverish feeling, I can't be sure what they are as I have never seen them, I choose to call them Things. They're like an invisible force."

Monday 18th;
"Why do I know that there's many of them? I hear their voices. Each and every one of them. A female's whine, A man's hoarse whisper. I tried to leave this house and never come back but for this one voice, a special female voice I stayed. She had always been the kindest of them all. Although I have not seen her, even the sound of her voice made me feel relaxed."

Sunday 24th;
"I had thought that she was the kindest. I had thought that she was here to save me. But I was wrong. I am writing this for you, whoever is occupying this house, just so that you would know - the kindest voice is the worst-. Even now, I hear her, whispering in the sweet, kind voice, -"It's no use, Nelson, you cannot run away from us... we're a part of you now... we control you..."- 
They're forcing me to stop giving a warning to you, but I know that I can hold it long enough... 
but I can't help it anymore...
they've moved the rope and even the chair..."

I had to appreciate my uncle's literary skills, I never knew he was this good, I was slightly scared, but then I laughed. I thought he should have published this in one of the dailies, "The kindest voice is the worst?" I said aloud in a sneering voice. And suddenly, I heard the shattering of glass...and then the voices started whispering.

The End...
  • A deserted house of a dead uncle, what does it hold therein?

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