Whispers from block d

📖 Chapter Two: The Mark

🕘 7:26 AM – Block D

The bell from the campus chapel rang out across Eluwon like a stubborn reminder that life must go on - even when something felt... off.

Amara sat up, her eyes bloodshot. She hadn't slept - again. But this time, it wasn't just her usual restlessness. Something had moved through Block D last night. She knew it. She felt it. Like the air itself had shifted, like something had been... watching.

Zainab was already up, brushing her edges with precision in the shared bathroom mirror. No music this morning. Just silence, thick like syrup.

Chuka, on the other hand, woke up loud.

"Good morning, my beautiful Block D people!" he said, stretching dramatically. "Day One of uni life, let's gooo! Who's ready for orientation?"

Victor grunted from beneath his blanket. "Bro, it's too early for your optimism."

Tola was reading from her Bible again, lips moving, eyes distant.

Amara slipped her book - now The Secret Histories of Yoruba Witchcraft - into her tote and stood. "I'll see you guys at orientation."

Zainab caught her gaze in the mirror. "You hear it too, don't you?" she said, barely audible.

Amara froze. "Hear what?"

Zainab didn't smile. "The footsteps."

The orientation hall was packed with freshers - nervous, noisy, and over-perfumed. Faculty deans took turns droning on about values, legacy, discipline, and dreams. No one really listened.

Except Amara.

She wasn't listening to the speeches - she was listening to the echoes.

Something about this place vibrated. The walls hummed too long after the mic was off. The shadows didn't fall right beneath the fluorescent lights. And every now and then, her hand would tingle - the same hand that once lit a candle without touching it.

She clenched her fist.

A whisper tickled her ear. She turned. No one was there.

From across the hall, Zainab caught her eye again.

They were not alone here.

That night, it happened again.

Tola was the first to scream.

Her voice tore through the walls like a fire alarm. Everyone jumped out of bed. Amara stumbled into the hallway, heart pounding.

Zainab was already there, flashlight in hand.

Victor slammed open Tola's door. Chuka came running with his phone camera on.

"What's going on?!" he shouted.

Tola was curled up in bed, blanket pulled over her head, trembling. She pointed to the wall beside her bed.

A long, jagged scratch - fresh, deep, and dark - had carved its way from the corner to her pillow.

No one moved for a moment.

Zainab stepped forward slowly. She placed her hand near it. "It's not paint," she murmured. "It's... scorched."

Tola couldn't stop whispering, "I prayed. I prayed. I prayed..."

Chuka lowered his phone, for once speechless.

Victor looked at Amara. "What is this?"

Amara didn't answer.

But in her chest, she felt it.

This wasn't random. This wasn't a prank. It had chosen them.