Chapter 2 - The Voice Behind the Forbidden Door
"Grandmother, please open the door."
The voice was unmistakable.
It sounded exactly like Olanike.
The same gentle tone.
The same innocent way of speaking.
The same small pauses between words.
But Olanma knew her granddaughter could not possibly be inside that room.
She had personally locked it almost forty years earlier.
And nothing human had entered since.
The old woman pressed one trembling hand against the cold stone wall.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
Silence.
Then the voice answered.
"You know who I am."
A cold sensation traveled through Olanma's body.
She remembered a night of thunder, hunger, and desperate pleading.
She remembered standing before that very doorway while rain poured over her shoulders.
And she remembered a promise spoken in darkness.
"No," she murmured. "I have kept the door closed. I have obeyed."
A low knocking sound interrupted her.
This time, it came directly against the wooden panels.
Olanma took another step backward.
Then she heard footsteps approaching from the courtyard.
"Mother!"
Madam Ireti appeared carrying an oil lamp.
Her worried expression deepened when she saw Olanma standing outside the forbidden room.
"What are you doing here?"
Olanma quickly hid the iron key.
"Nothing, my daughter. I only needed some air."
Ireti glanced toward the locked door.
"You've been coming here more often lately."
The old woman's eyes shifted.
"Have I?"
"Yes. Almost every evening."
Ireti paused.
"Mother, is there something about this room we should know?"
Before Olanma could answer, three faint knocks sounded from within.
Ireti turned sharply.
"Did you hear that?"
Olanma closed her eyes.
So the sound was no longer meant for her alone.
"Come away from here," she whispered.
"But someone's inside!"
"No one is inside."
"Then what made that noise?"
Olanma grasped her daughter-in-law's wrist.
"For the sake of your daughter, please don't ask me that tonight."
Ireti stared at her.
"For Olanike?"
Olanma immediately regretted her words.
She had revealed too much.
The younger woman gently freed her wrist.
"Mother, if my child's safety is involved, you cannot expect me to remain silent."
Olanma turned away.
"I know."
"Then tell me what's happening."
The elderly woman looked toward the main house.
Through the open windows, she could see the warm light of the dining hall.
Her son was still speaking with his servants.
Olanike was probably playing with her doll.
Everything appeared peaceful.
That was what frightened Olanma most.
For decades, she had convinced herself that if the family lived generously and avoided the forbidden room, the terrible bargain might somehow be forgotten.
But the knocking had returned.
And the bargain had not been forgotten.
"Ireti," she whispered, "take Olanike into your bedroom tonight. Keep her beside you."
"Why?"
"Please."
Something in the elderly woman's voice persuaded Ireti not to argue.
She turned and hurried toward the house.
Olanma remained beside the storehouse.
As soon as Ireti disappeared, the old woman approached the locked room.
Her hands shook as she removed the key from her clothing.
She had avoided opening that door for nearly four decades.
But she could no longer pretend the danger was imaginary.
The old iron key entered the lock with a heavy metallic click.
She turned it.
The door opened only a few inches.
A cold draft escaped through the narrow gap, carrying the smell of wet earth and old wood.
Olanma lifted her lamp.
Inside stood a low wooden table, seven clay bowls, and a faded cloth-covered object.
Dust coated the floor.
No footsteps disturbed it.
Yet the air felt strangely alive.
She pushed the door wider.
On the table lay a large book bound in dark leather.
Olanma recognized it immediately.
The Book of Witnesses.
She had seen it only once before.
On the night everything changed.
Her breathing quickened.
The book had been closed when she left it.
Now it lay open.
Across its yellowed pages, dark writing appeared beneath the flickering lamplight.
At the top stood the names of the seven villages of Agone.
Below them were records of harvests, cattle, land, and wealth.
And on the final page, where nothing had once been written, appeared a single name.
OLANIKE.
Olanma's knees nearly gave way.
Underneath the name were three words.
THREE NIGHTS REMAIN.
She reached toward the page, but the oil-lamp flame suddenly bent sideways.
A deep voice spoke from the darkness.
"What was promised must be answered for."
Olanma recoiled.
"I will not let you take her."
The voice replied without anger.
"Then return what was taken."
Before she could ask another question, the door behind her creaked.
Olanma turned.
A man stood in the entrance.
He was Bamidele, Chief Akinwale's longtime chief steward.
For years, he had supervised the family's storehouses, trading records, and agricultural workers.
His expression was unusually cold.
"I wondered when you would finally open it," he said.
Olanma stared at him.
"What are you doing here?"
Bamidele looked at the open book.
May you like
Then he spoke words that made her blood run cold.
"My father was there when you made that promise, Mama Olanma. And unlike you, he made certain I knew exactly what would happen when the child turned eight."
