20/11/2025
The noise started on a Thursday night—one of those nights when the heat was too stubborn for sleep and even the ceiling fan sounded tired.
I was lying on my bed, scrolling aimlessly through my phone, when I heard it.
Tok… tok… tok.
Not knocking.
Not tapping.
Just… something.
It came from the spare bedroom—the one beside mine. The door I rarely opened. The room I only used to store old boxes, spare mattresses, and one broken standing fan I kept promising myself I would fix.
At first, I ignored it. Maybe it was the wood expanding, or a rat exploring its destiny. Lagos houses and rats—two inseparable friends.
But then it came again.
Tok… tok… tok.
Rhythmic. Slow. As if someone—or something—was trying to get my attention.
I sat up immediately.
The sound stopped.
I waited.
Nothing.
I forced myself to lie down again, telling my heart to calm down. But just as my breathing settled, the noise returned—this time louder.
Tok.
Tok.
Tok.
This wasn’t normal.
“Is someone inside that room?” I whispered to myself, absurdly.
But the question hung in the air, heavy.
I stood up and opened my bedroom door slightly, peeping into the dark hallway. My eyes went to the door of the spare room. It was closed. Still.
Yet the noise came from behind it.
Tok… tok… tok.
Slow. Measured. Almost deliberate.
I swallowed hard. “Should I go there?”
My body said no.
My curiosity said maybe.
My fear said don’t even try it.
But the noise didn’t care about my confusion.
It grew louder.
TOK. TOK. TOK.
I felt the hair on my arms rise. Something about the sound didn’t feel mechanical or random. It felt… aware. Like whatever was making it knew I was listening. It almost felt like it had patience—the kind that waits in the dark.
Suddenly, the house went completely silent.
No fan.
No traffic outside.
No generator rumbling from a neighbor’s compound.
Just silence.
Then—
The doork**b of the spare room moved.
I saw it.
It twisted.
Slowly.
As if someone on the other side was testing it… turning it… trying to open the door without making a sound.
But the sound was loud in the quiet house.
Click.
Click.
Click.
My chest tightened. I backed away slowly, praying under my breath, eyes still fixed on the k**b. I reached for the switch to turn on the hallway light—
And the k**b stopped moving.
Then the door… tapped itself from inside.
One single, sharp, clear sound.
TOK.
A sound that did not belong to wood expanding.
A sound that did not belong to a rat.
A sound that came from a hand. Or something very much like a hand.
I froze.
Because the tap was followed by one more sound—a whisper that felt like a breath sliding under the crack of the door.
A whisper that said my name.
Very softly.
“Come.”
My legs failed me.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t run.
I didn’t breathe.
Because how do you react when your name is called from a room you thought was empty?
A room you have not entered in weeks?
A room no one alive should be inside?
I stood there shaking, staring at the door, terrified… because whatever was behind it was not trying to come out.
It was waiting for me to come in.
THE VOICE FROM THE OTHER ROOM PART 1
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