By Nnaoke Ufere, PhD
My childhood past is a story that continues to haunt me, refusing to stay buried. The horrors of that time lurk in the darkest corners of my mind, gripping me even more tightly as I put pen to paper to recount the chilling events that unfolded during my early years.
It was the year 1962, and our family lived in the esteemed Clerks’ Quarters, nestled along Independence Road in Uyo, Akwa Ibom state, Nigeria. I was in elementary school, and the fourth of six children, with the first and sixth siblings having passed away. Our family had grown over time, but little did we know that our dream home would soon turn into a nightmare that would grip us with paranoia, especially after the loss of my younger brother just a year before.
The Clerks’ Quarters was so named because it housed public servants who worked for the District Officer (DO). It was considered a premium accommodation, and my father would often regale us with stories of how competitive it was to secure a home in the quarters. We considered ourselves fortunate to have one, or so we initially thought.
Our unwelcome guests made their presence known soon enough. We couldn’t quite figure out who or what they were, or what they were looking for. But we knew, in bone-chilling certainty, that we had uninvited visitors.
Our home was a single-story house with two entrances – the front door and the back door. Stepping in from the front door, you would find yourself in the living room or family room, also known as the parlor. On opposite sides of the living room were two bedrooms. My parents’ bedroom was on the right, while a guest bedroom was on the left. Little did we know that this guest bedroom would soon become a site of inexplicable occurrences.
Walking past the living room led to a step-down area with the dining table on one side, and two more bedrooms and a utility room on the other. The kitchen, storage room, bathroom, and toilet were housed in a separate row building at the back of the main house, separated by an open courtyard. Each house in the Clerks’ Quarters had a fenced yard with a single side entry gate.
Our fenced yard opened up to a vast expanse of land where we cultivated vegetables, corn and yam. Beyond the farm lay a dense forest, secluded and mysterious, with towering trees and shallow shrubs. Despite its proximity, the forest remained unexplored and uneventful, or so it seemed.
We were a deeply religious family, with my mother being one of the first women to be ordained as an Elder of the Presbyterian Church, and my father serving as a church leader and Sunday school teacher. We all sang in the church choirs, both in the adult and children’s choirs. We were a tight-knit family, working together in our garden, reading the Bible, and conducting nightly prayers. At that moment, life seemed idyllic, without a worry or anxiety in the world.
Unlike many households, we did not keep any pets such as cats or dogs.
We settled into our new home with a sense of contentment and gratitude. The first few weeks passed without incident, and we slept through the nights in blissful ignorance. But then it started. Someone or something was creeping invisibly into our home.
We would hear the back door creak open, despite it being closed and bolted. Strange noises would pierce the silence in the dead of night, and at times, we would hear faint voices engaged in conversation, but their words were unintelligible. Household objects would mysteriously shift or disappear altogether, as if someone was actively moving them around.
On multiple occasions, we discovered plates, cooking utensils, and glasses moved from storage to the dining table. In the morning, we would find a lamp in the guest bedroom turned on, despite having no memory of leaving it that way. This inexplicable phenomenon occurred repeatedly. Other items, such as keys, combs, shoes, and dresses, would also mysteriously relocate within the house.
One incident that particularly unsettled me was hearing the radio playing music on its own, with no one having touched or turned it on. Similarly, our gramophone would start spinning without any visible operation. Even the taps in the bathroom and kitchen would turn on automatically, without anyone having touched them.
During breakfast, we would discuss these strange occurrences and share our experiences with each other. The fear on our faces was palpable, and I remember asking my older brother to accompany me to the storage room whenever I needed to retrieve something.
Yet, we could never see anyone physically present. Whoever, or whatever, it was did not seem threatening. Rather, it appeared to be trying to make its presence more accepted and comfortable. My parents even started referring to it as the names of my two deceased siblings, telling us that they were with us as family, in spirit, and meant us no harm.
As a child, I struggled to make sense of it all. Were they ghosts? Could ghosts be harmless? These questions plagued my mind. The situation became even more perplexing when my mom started leaving food on the dining table each night for “them.” But every morning, the food remained untouched, raising even more questions. Why didn’t they eat?
When I asked my mom about it, she explained that “they” fed spiritually, and what mattered was that we shared a meal with them and remembered them as family members. In a way, my mother’s explanation provided some comfort, ascribing a paranormal identity to whoever or whatever was present in our home, and helping me ease my fears and accept the situation.
But now I wonder if it was really my deceased siblings or something else that had always been in the house, even before we moved in. Perhaps we are never truly alone. My thoughts often drift to the silent forest behind our home. Why was it left untouched? What mysteries lay within? My parents dismissed it as a natural habitat for birds, but I couldn’t find a satisfactory answer.
None of it made sense to me then, and even now I question if the world is stranger than we are willing to admit. Science doesn’t always have all the answers to our questions.
However, if my childhood experience with ghosts is what it seems, then I would willingly move into another haunted house. This time, the ghosts would include my parents, more siblings, aunties, and uncles, and it would be a family reunion. And that, to me, is a comforting thought.
