Hey everyone! It’s been a while since I last posted on this platform, but I’m excited to be back!
I’ve been working on something special,a story filled with mystery, adventure, and a twist you won’t see coming.

Thanks for sticking around,I can’t wait to share this new journey with you!
You feedback is highly appreciated 🙏




WADATA

Episode 1: The Shadow

(The scene opens in a dimly lit room. Moonlight seeps through a half-open window, casting long shadows across the walls. The eerie silence is thick, almost suffocating. Chika, a young man in his early twenties, lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His breaths are shallow, his eyes flickering nervously around the room.)

Chika (narrating):

"From the moment I walked into this room, I felt it—eyes on me. Yet, I was alone. The silence tonight... it’s different. Colder. This isn’t the first time, but tonight—tonight feels different."

(He sits up slowly, his body tense, scanning the shadows as if sensing something unseen.)

Chika (narrating):

"When I was a boy, my twin brother, Chima, and I were told we had supernatural abilities. I used to dream of power—controlling animals, bending fate to my will. Revenge, dominance... it consumed my thoughts. But now, something from my past has come back. And it's watching me."

(A sudden rustle in the corner of the room. Chika flinches, his breath catching in his throat. He turns sharply, eyes wide. The shadows shift, almost as if something—someone—is standing there.)

Chika (narrating):

"I could feel it. A presence. Something was there, watching, waiting... but not physically. It was deeper than sight, deeper than sound. It was inside me."

(His body stiffens. Fear roots him to the bed. He wants to move, to run, but his limbs refuse to obey. His breathing grows heavier, his thoughts racing, praying for the feeling to stop.)

(His body stiffens. Fear roots him to the bed. He wants to move, to run, but his limbs refuse to obey. His breathing grows heavier, his thoughts racing, praying for the feeling to stop.)

Chika (narrating):

"It all started when I was a teenager. Strange things began happening after I met him. The man with the matches. I was drawn to his tricks, his secrets—I was desperate to learn. He spoke in riddles, gave me tasks. I obeyed every command, bringing him what he asked for. But there was one thing I could never find—a one-naira coin."

(A cold breeze sweeps through the room. The temperature drops. Chika shivers, his breath now visible in the icy air. In the dim moonlight, shadows begin to stir. They move, stretching and twisting—silent figures shifting around him.)

Chika (whispering):

"Something’s here."

(His voice is barely audible, but the moment the words leave his lips, the shadows stop moving. The silence deepens, pressing against his ears. Then—one shadow detaches from the rest. It lingers. Watching. Waiting.)

The Night That Wouldn’t End

The night stretched on unnaturally, an eerie silence settling over the house. Chika sat upright on his bed, heart pounding, convinced that time itself had slowed. The encounter had begun hours ago—at least, it felt that way—but the darkness outside remained unchanged. The weight of something unseen pressed against the air, making it thick, suffocating.

Then, without warning, the figure appeared...

The Night That Wouldn’t End

The night stretched on unnaturally, an eerie silence settling over the house. Chika sat upright on his bed, heart pounding, convinced that time itself had slowed. The encounter had begun hours ago—at least, it felt that way—but the darkness outside remained unchanged. The weight of something unseen pressed against the air, making it thick, suffocating.

Then, without warning, the figure appeared.

It stood near the doorway, an outline barely distinguishable in the dim glow from the streetlight outside. Chika’s breath hitched. The shape was human, yet not entirely. His skin prickled with a cold sweat as he clenched his hands together in prayer, whispering under his breath, pleading for it to vanish, for the night to resume its normal course.

The figure did not move for what felt like eternity. Then, slowly, it turned and drifted out of the room.

Chika hesitated before following. His feet felt heavy, his mind screamed at him to stay put, but some force pulled him forward. He stepped cautiously into the sitting room, the darkness thick like a curtain drawn over reality.

There, standing in the middle of the room, was a man.

Chika froze. The man’s face was shadowed, features barely visible, but the presence was undeniable. An unnatural stillness surrounded him, as though he was separate from time itself. Then, suddenly, the man smiled.

It was not a comforting smile. It was knowing, deliberate—something ancient woven into the curve of his lips. And then, just as quickly as he had appeared, the man vanished.

The room was empty. The air was still.

Chika’s voice trembled as he called out, “Mom!” His legs carried him toward her room before his mind could even process it. He needed to leave—they needed to leave.

By morning, he was gone, moving in with his mother, leaving behind the house that had swallowed a night longer than any he had ever known.

But even as he left, one thought clawed at the edges of his mind—was it truly over?....



STAY TUNED FOR MORE UPDATE
AUTHOR-@Mezico

WADATA

Episode 2 – Echoes of the Past

(The scene opens in Chika’s mother’s house, a small but warm home, a stark contrast to the cold, empty house he fled from. Morning light filters through the curtains, yet his heart remains heavy. He sits in his mother’s bedroom, staring at his untouched cup of tea, lost in thought.)

Chika (narrating):

"Fear isn’t supposed to last this long. It should fade with the morning light, dissolve like mist. But mine clings to me. The night I left that house, I thought I was escaping. But something followed me. Something I can’t shake."

(His mother, a strong but weary woman, watches him carefully. She knows this look—she has seen it before, back in Wadata, the place they fought so hard to escape.)

Mother:

"You haven’t touched your tea. Still thinking about it?"

Chika (after a long pause):

"I don’t know how to stop thinking about it."

(She exhales, setting her cup down. Her voice softens, but there is a weight behind her words.)

Mother:

"You were always like this. Even as a boy, you thought too much. Your brother was fearless, but you… you always knew when something was wrong."

Chika (narrating):

"She’s right. But she’s also wrong. I wasn’t always cautious. I was stubborn. Reckless. I challenged them at every turn, ignoring their warnings. I didn’t just grow up in Wadata—I embraced it."



Flashback – Wadata, Ikeja Street

(Years ago, Wadata bustles with life, but not the kind found in normal neighborhoods. The streets are alive with danger—cultists marking territories, drug dealers making exchanges, prostitutes calling out to potential customers. Gunshots echo in the distance, but no one reacts—it’s just another night.)

(In the middle of it all, Chika, a teenage boy with a defiant smirk, moves through the streets like he owns them. He is the third of six children, raised in the chaos of his parents' beer joint—a small, overcrowded shop that smells of stale alcohol and sweat. His mother works tirelessly, serving drinks to drunks and criminals, while his father, a hard-faced man and an electrician with a shop next door, stands by to assist and resolve conflicts.)

(Inside the joint, loud music blasts from a dusty speaker. Men sit around wooden tables, slamming down bottles, arguing over politics and unpaid debts. In the corner, a man rolls a joint, his eyes bloodshot. Chika’s mother moves quickly, her face unreadable. His father keeps count of the money, pretending not to notice when illegal deals happen right under his nose.)

(Among his siblings, Chika is the most difficult. He never listens. While his older siblings help in the shop, he sneaks out to a game center. While his younger ones cower at the sight of cultists, he watches them with fascination. His parents warn him over and over: Wadata is no place for a careless boy. But he doesn’t care.)

Father (gruffly):

"You need to start listening, boy. Wadata will eat you alive."

Chika (defiantly):

"Then let it try."

(And it does. He runs with the wrong crowd, skips school, and gets into fights. His peers dare not get him angry, unlike his twin brother, Chima, who is reserved and prefers peace over conflict. People take advantage of Chima’s gentle nature, much to Chika’s dismay. But Chika never lets it slide—anyone who dares hurt his twin faces his wrath. “It can never be me,” Chika often says.)

(He steals, not out of necessity, but for the thrill. His mother begs him to change. His father threatens him. Nothing works. The streets call to him, and he answers.)

(Then, one night, everything changes.)


A Fateful Encounter

(Near his mother's shop, there is a dark corner behind a building. For weeks, Chika has been observing a particular man who often sits there alone. The man always has a box of matches, flicking flames to life, watching them dance before blowing them out. Tonight, Chika approaches.)

(The man flicks a match to life, the glow briefly illuminating his unsettling grin.)

The Man:

"You have potential, boy. But potential means nothing without action."

(Chika stares at the flame. He wants more than Wadata. More than the streets. More than his parents' struggling beer joint. Power is tempting. Control is intoxicating. And for a moment, he is ready to say yes. Ready to take the next step into something bigger. But something—instinct, fear, or fate—holds him back.)


---

Back to the Present

(In his mother’s bedroom, Chika grips his cup tightly, as if grounding himself. He doesn’t tell her everything. He can’t. She wouldn’t understand. He barely understands it himself.)

Chika (narrating):

"I used to want power. I used to crave control. But now, I just want peace. The problem is… I don’t think peace is an option anymore."

(A faint rustling sound comes from the hallway. Chika stiffens. His mother doesn’t seem to hear it. He turns slowly, his breath catching.)

(At the end of the hallway, a shadow lingers—watching.)

Chika (whispering):

"It followed me."

Episode 3

The Weight of Shadows

The day drags on, each second stretching longer than it should. Chika helps his mother with her business, but his hands move on their own, his mind elsewhere. Customers come and go, conversations swirl around him, but nothing feels real. His body is here, in the small shop, but his thoughts are trapped in the past—trapped in Wadata. And worse, trapped in the fear of nightfall.

Chika (narrating):
"I used to love the night. Back in Wadata, it was when the city came alive, when people like me thrived. Now, I count the hours, wishing the sun would stay. Because when the dark comes… so does it."

(But the night comes anyway. It always does.)


---

Nightfall

At exactly 10 p.m., they close the shop as usual. Chika helps stack the empty crates while his mother wipes down the counter. Outside, the streetlights flicker, casting long, stretching shadows across the compound. The air is thick with the scent of dust and lingering heat from the day. It should feel normal. It doesn’t.

Chima, his twin, decides to stay the night. It’s been a long time since they all stayed under the same roof. There’s a spare room, just like before, and for a moment, Chika feels a small sense of comfort. Maybe, just maybe, the night won’t be so bad.

Before bed, they pray together, their mother’s voice steady as she calls for protection. Chika tries to focus, but his skin prickles with unease. He tells himself it’s nothing.


After prayers, Chika gets up to ease himself outside. His mother leads the way, stepping ahead into the dimly lit compound. The night is quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that presses against the ears. As he steps out of the room, a chill runs down his spine—something feels… wrong.

(Then he sees it.)

Across the compound, standing just beyond the weak glow of the security light, is a figure. Watching him. Unmoving.
The night air feels heavier now, thick and unmoving. Chika stands frozen at the doorway, his breath shallow. The dim security light barely reaches the far end of the compound, where the figure stands. But even in the darkness, he can see it clearly—too clearly.


It is tall—unnaturally tall. Its body is thin, stretched as if something had pulled it beyond human proportions. The head tilts slightly to the side, like a predator observing its prey. The face… the face is wrong. It is smooth, featureless, except for two hollow, black sockets where eyes should be. Yet, Chika knows—he feels—the thing is looking at him. Staring into him.

(Then it moves)
Not like a person. There is no shift in weight, no sound of footsteps. It simply sways, its body twitching unnaturally, as though the bones inside are broken and rearranging themselves. The shadows around it seem to stretch, creeping closer, despite the absence of wind.

Chika’s throat tightens. His legs refuse to move. A cold sweat beads on his forehead. He wants to speak, to shout, to run—but all he can do is watch.



Mother (turning to him):
"What is it?"

Chika (staring ahead, voice tight):
"There’s someone there." (He points, but his hands feel cold, weak.)

His mother follows his gaze, eyes squinting against the darkness. She sees nothing. She sighs, shaking her head.

Mother:
"There’s no one there, Chika. It’s just your imagination."

But Chika knows what he saw. The figure was real. And worse—it was looking directly at him.

The night stretches, the weight of unseen eyes pressing against his back. And for the first time in a long time, Chika wishes he had left Wadata. Because maybe… maybe it was Wadata he had to run from.

Mother (gently, but firm):
"There’s no one there, Chika."

Her voice is calm, too calm. She places a hand on his arm, and the warmth of her touch jolts him. He blinks. And in that fraction of a second… the figure is gone.

Vanished. As if it had never been there. But the feeling remains. The weight of unseen eyes. The silent, crawling terror that lingers beneath his skin.

His mother sighs and shakes her head.

Mother:
"You’ve been carrying too much in your mind. Go inside, my son. Rest."

Chika doesn’t argue. He nods stiffly, forcing his feet to move, but his hands are still shaking. He doesn’t tell her that the air is still wrong. That his stomach still churns with unease. That even though the figure is gone… he knows it’s not really gone.

(It’s waiting.)...