the curse of olumide

In the heart of Lagos, a sprawling city where ambition meets chaos, there lies an abandoned estate Olumide Estate. Once home to a thriving family, it has stood empty for over two decades, its gates rusted, windows shattered, and its walls whispering tales of sorrow and despair. The house, a grand colonial-era building, towers over the land as though it has a mind of its own, guarding secrets buried deep within its walls.

It was in this place that a young woman named Amara found herself, alone and desperate. A budding architect, Amara had always been drawn to the mysterious and the eerie. She had heard rumors of Olumide Estate for years, stories passed down from neighbors who dared not venture too close to the estate’s crumbling gates. But Amara, with her curiosity outweighing her fear, saw it as a challenge. The house, to her, was a blank canvas—something to be restored, to be made whole again. Little did she know, the house was not abandoned out of neglect, it was cursed, and its dark history was about to awaken.

Amara had recently inherited the property from a distant relative, a woman she had never met but whose name echoed through the halls of family lore. Her relative, Uzochi, had been a well-respected woman in the community, known for her beauty and intelligence. But as the years passed, Uzochi’s life had taken a dark turn. She was rumored to have been involved in rituals, searching for immortality through spiritual means. It was said that she had struck a deal with a powerful spirit, one that demanded a sacrifice in exchange for eternal life.

On the night of the estate’s opening, Amara stood before the iron gates, the estate looming like a creature of the night. The air was thick with a sense of foreboding, as though the estate itself was alive, watching, waiting. As she walked through the overgrown garden, her mind swirled with questions: What had happened to Uzochi? What had become of the family who once lived here? Was it true that the house was cursed?

Inside, the air was stale, thick with the scent of mildew and old wood. But as Amara explored, she could feel the weight of the place—something was not right. Every step she took seemed to echo in the empty halls, each creak of the floorboards louder than the last. She stumbled upon old portraits of the Olumide family, their eyes seeming to follow her every move. The grand staircase, once regal, was now broken and decaying. It was a far cry from the magnificent home it had once been.

That night, as she sat in the dimly lit living room, the first strange occurrence happened. The temperature dropped sharply, and the walls began to hum. Amara could hear whispers, faint at first, like the wind carrying voices from the past. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. The whispers grew louder, and then, a loud thud echoed from upstairs.

She rushed to investigate, her pulse racing with fear. As she reached the top of the stairs, the door to one of the bedrooms creaked open on its own. Inside, a shadow moved, and Amara’s breath caught in her throat. It was a figure—a woman, dressed in white, her face obscured by a veil. The air around her crackled with an unnatural energy.

The figure turned slowly, revealing a face that was hauntingly familiar. It was Uzochi. But she was no longer the beautiful woman of legend. Her eyes were hollow, her skin pale and decayed. Her lips curled into a sinister smile, and she spoke in a voice that sent chills down Amara’s spine.

The figure turned slowly, revealing a face that was hauntingly familiar. It was Uzochi. But she was no longer the beautiful woman of legend. Her eyes were hollow, her skin pale and decayed. Her lips curled into a sinister smile, and she spoke in a voice that sent chills down Amara’s spine.

Amara stumbled back, but the door slammed shut behind her. The house seemed to come alive, the walls shifting and groaning. The whispers became voices, speaking in a language Amara could not understand. She tried to escape, but the door would not open. Panic set in as she realized she was trapped.

As the night wore on, the figure of Uzochi seemed to grow more powerful. Her presence consumed the house, and Amara realized the truth: Uzochi had never truly left. She had bound herself to the estate, using dark magic to live forever. But with each passing year, her soul had become more twisted, more vengeful.

Amara knew that she had to escape—she had to break the curse. But how? As the clock struck midnight, a voice whispered in her ear, telling her that only one could leave the estate alive. She must choose her life, or the life of the one who had cursed the house.

With trembling hands, Amara stepped forward. She had no choice but to confront Uzochi. But as she did, she felt a strange power building within her, an energy she could not explain. The house seemed to react, its walls trembling, as though the very foundation of the curse was being broken.

In a final act of desperation, Amara shouted, I release you, The house shook violently, and for a moment, everything went still.

When Amara awoke, the estate was silent. The figure of Uzochi was gone, and the whispers had ceased. The house, though still old and worn, no longer felt haunted. But as Amara left the estate behind, she knew that the curse had not been fully broken. It would always be there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the next soul to fall victim to its dark allure.