#HauntedHotel Entry Nine - Claustrophobia

“We have only one room available.” The desk clerk said off-handedly. Everything about him was offhanded; his indifferent gaze, his slack lips, his tone, his slightly rumpled suit. He didn’t even have a name tag. I disliked him intensely.

Next to me Dele asked, “What type of room is it?” He was still wearing his everything’s-fine- nothing-to- see-here smile. I wanted to laugh. Did he think the hotel staff hadn’t coded by now that we weren’t “Dr. and Mrs. Bamgboye”?

In answer the desk clerk ambled back to the desktop and made some clickety-click sounds. We waited another five minutes. Really he was too young to be this slow. It seemed to be a trait here in Enugu. “Double Deluxe Suite, Room 101c,” he said.

“N15,000 per night.” He stared at us from under his eyelids, frowning slightly.

While they negotiated payment I gave the lobby a once-over. With the exception of its weird name, Hotel Callista was perfectly ordinary. Imitation gold leaf decor met white marble floors, while worn-out red velvet clung to the panelling behind the front desk. A glass case stood nearby with items for sale ranging from simple biscuits to racy lingerie.

The clerk watched us as we headed upstairs with our bags. He looked like he had wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

“You know, someone once told me about a hotel room that never stayed in the same hotel twice,” Dele stated as he stripped off his T-shirt. “That anyone who lodged in it would disappear for good.”

“Let me guess, one of darling Anita’s stories.”

He stiffened at my mocking tone. “We’re not talking about her again.”

“Why not?” I shot back as I deftly pulled down the zipper of my tight fuchsia minidress. “Is your girlfriend suddenly a taboo subject? An educated woman is above such silly superstitions.” Deliberately I turned and bent down to remove my sandals, showing off the supple thighs that had trapped Dele at our office party two months ago.

He was pissed off, but one look at my legs and he decided to hell with arguments.

He hauled me off my feet and onto the queen-sized bed. Playful wrestling turned into a rather exhilarating round of non-verbal communication.

The thin man was standing in the dark when I woke up around midnight.

He was completely unremarkable, just a slim figure wearing a short-sleeved shirt and trousers, hands at his sides. I could see nothing of his face, except for one crucial detail.

He had no eyes.

The night was quiet, apart from my increasingly laboured breathing. I felt empty of all rationality, like the most important thing right then was for my heart to keep beating.

Somehow my fingers managed to work. I slid them very slowly under the blankets, never looking away from that horrible sightless gaze, and poked Dele sharply.

I closed my eyes. Stayed very still. Once I felt Dele lean upwards I opened my eyes again.

The man was gone.

Grumbling, Dele reached over his side and switched on the bedside lamp. “I was having a great dream and you-” He saw my face and became instantly alert. “Niyola, what is it?”

I stared straight ahead until he turned to see the message our visitor had left on the dresser mirror facing the bed. Slashed across it was a single word written in some unidentifiable black sludge:

Shrrrrrrr! Something unseen was scraping on the floor. A similar sound came from the bathroom. We gripped each other’s hands, terror making my mind a smooth blank.

More scraping noises. The chair near the dresser fell over, as if pushed forward. The closet was tilting forward so badly that its doors fell open and our bags tumbled out.

“I think the room is-” Dele began in a quavery voice I had never heard, and the bedside lamp fell on his lap. By now I could complete his thoughts. The room was literally closing in us.

The grating and scraping noises were now deafening. We scrambled to the door, screaming for help. The door wouldn’t budge. We could now see the walls moving forward from all corners with that awful sound...shrrrrrrrrrr!

“The window!” I shrieked, grabbing Dele’s hand and pulling him towards the room’s only window. I turned, tripped over the bedpost-ohmygod the bed has moved this is not a dream-and went sprawling unto the floor. Dele jumped over me and pulled the sliders open, only to fall back down beside me with a strangled moan. “He doesn’t have eyes,” he whispered, staring into the darkness. Together we climbed back in the bed, sobbing.

The walls were now crushing the dresser and the closet, splintering the wood with loud cracks as they glided toward us. “Somebody help!” I shouted over and over...shrrrrrrrrr...now the mirror was right in front of the bed posts...I lost my voice...I could now touch the ceiling if I simply stretched my hand...shrrrrrrrr... “Help...” Dele’s voice went soft, tinged with madness...Now the right side of the bed was cracking into pieces under the weight of the walls...ohmygodohgodpleasesaveuspleasepleasei’lldoanythingohJESUSMYHANDMYHANDISBEINGBROKENOHGODPLEASEPLEEEEEAAAASE-

Chief Ahamefuna Unije, Agu Na-Eche Mba I of Umuebiri, was usually described by the people who knew him with that uniquely Nigerian phrase - ‘bastardly rich.’ He owned several properties in the South East and in Lagos, seemingly without effort.

That morning he had just secured a particularly juicy contract, and decided to celebrate by escaping from his enormous wife and sullen children and having the VIP section of Utopia Lounge opened for him to have breakfast.

He had just settled down to start munching the delicious plantain and egg sauce when he noticed the invoice beside his fork. It hadn’t been there before.

He looked around furtively, then peered at the invoice. ‘Otokoto’ was the only name in the letterhead. Further down was written “Received - two heads from Hotel Callista.” There was no signature.

Glancing around one more time, Chief Unije spoke his words to the piece of paper.

“Otu i siri bia, bu otu i ga-esi jee.” Be gone from whence you came. He then continued with his breakfast.

The paper dissolved into ashes. They drifted away, telling their secret to none but the wind.

• Written By Ijeoma Ossi