It is said that no one could ever tell a ghost story better than he that experiences it firsthand.
It was a few hours after midnight. “The Witching Hour” as they call it when the poltergeist comes out to play like a ‘cryptophile’ getting high on a new blockchain technology. I had dozed off on the queen sized bed in my master bedroom of my two room apartment. But I wasn’t high on crypto. I was high on something more relatable. I stirred to the opening of the door and awoke to see Jenny who was about walking out.
I asked: “Hey. Where are you off to, Jenny?”
Jenny was an astounding pretty streetwalker I had fallen for. And all the clubbing… drinking… and you can imagine what comes after it all got both of us zonked out that night.
“I’m thirsty. I’d just grab a glass of water and be back.” Jenny replied. And off she went, shutting the door behind her.
I had upset Jenny a week before. I ignored her and decided to dance crazy with another streetwalker at our favorite night club. Hey, don’t judge me. I love those little pretty things as much as any man with blood flowing in his veins would.
Jenny swore to get back at me. Only I didn’t know when she was planning to do this. She had prepared my favorite dish at midnight after we returned from the night club while I took a shower. We wolfed down the meal together. We were both that hungry. But we were also hungry for something else. Something we got much satisfaction of before dozing off at about midnight.
So as Jenny shut the door behind her and I stretched in bed — I jumped on the spooky realization that there was another figure in my queen sized bed.
The lighting in the room was bright enough for me to see that it was Jenny. And Jenny was fast asleep.
Utterly frightened, I managed to take a closer look at Jenny.
It was Jenny alright. Only that Jenny wasn’t sleeping. Jenny wasn’t breathing.
Jenny was dead.
We’d leave the cause of death to the autopsy that will surely come.
But I didn’t know what to be more afraid of: having a dead Jenny in my queen sized bed or getting to know who it was that had just left the room.
Then I heard footfalls getting closer to the door from the hallway outside.
Scared out of my wit I made a beeline for the door. Too scared to remember where the lock was so I threw my weight on the door to keep it shut while Jenny tried to open it. The door didn’t budge. Jenny didn’t struggle.
It was Jenny alright. Her voice was calmly unmistakable. She said: “I’ll be waiting in the living room when you’re ready.”
Then from the corner of my eye I sighted two bodies on the bed: the dead Jenny and I.
© Chidi Ezeibieli