SANNA

18/06/2026

The Basement Door

Nobody spoke.

David stood at the end of the hallway, rainwater dripping from his dark coat.

Inspector Kareem's gun remained raised.

But his hand was shaking.

For the first time since we had met him, the inspector looked afraid.

Truly afraid.

"You should have stayed dead," Kareem said quietly.

David smiled.

The same unsettling smile I had seen outside my window.

"The problem with lies," David replied, "is that they never stay buried."

The men behind him stepped into view.

Three of them.

All dressed in black.

All carrying flashlights.

Aisha moved closer to me.

"What is happening?" she whispered.

"I don't know."

But I was beginning to realize one thing.

Nobody in this room was telling the whole truth.

Not David.

Not Kareem.

Not even Mama Rose.

David's eyes settled on the photograph in my hand.

"You found it."

I nodded cautiously.

"What does it mean?"

His expression darkened.

"It means we're running out of time."

Before anyone could ask another question, a deafening bang echoed through the apartment.

Kareem fired.

The bullet struck the wall inches from David's head.

Chaos erupted.

David's men rushed forward.

Kareem ran.

Not toward the exit.

Toward the back of the apartment.

"Stop him!" David shouted.

We chased after the inspector.

Down a narrow hallway.

Past the kitchen.

Past a locked pantry.

Then Kareem reached a section of wall and slammed his shoulder into it.

To my shock, the wall swung inward.

A hidden door.

Behind it was a staircase descending into darkness.

The inspector disappeared below.

David cursed.

"No."

He sprinted after him.

The rest of us followed.

The stairs seemed endless.

Dust covered every step.

The air smelled old.

Forgotten.

As though nobody had entered this place for years.

At the bottom was a massive underground chamber.

My flashlight beam swept across the room.

And I froze.

The walls were covered with photographs.

Hundreds of them.

Everywhere.

Photos of Mr. Solomon.

Photos of David.

Photos of Mama Rose.

Photos of Kareem.

Even photos of me.

Some were taken years ago.

Others only days earlier.

Aisha stared in horror.

"Someone's been watching us."

Then I noticed something worse.

At the center of the room stood four chairs.

Three were empty.

One wasn't.

A man was tied to the fourth chair.

His head hung forward.

Motionless.

David rushed toward him.

"Kola!"

The man's eyes slowly opened.

His face was bruised beyond recognition.

But he was alive.

Barely.

"Kola?" I asked.

David nodded grimly.

"The fourth person."

The room fell silent.

The mysterious figure from the photograph.

The one whose face had been scratched out.

The one everyone believed was dead.

He was alive.

Just as the message had warned.

Suddenly Kola lifted his head.

His swollen eyes locked onto mine.

And he whispered four words.

"He's not Kareem anymore."

A chill raced down my spine.

Before I could ask what he meant—

Every light in the basement went out.

Complete darkness swallowed us.

Then footsteps echoed from somewhere nearby.

Slow.

Heavy.

Approaching.

And a voice emerged from the darkness.

A voice that sounded exactly like Inspector Kareem.

But deeper.

Older.

And far more terrifying.

"You should have left this buried."

To be continued in Part 7...

17/06/2026

The Inspector's Secret
Nobody moved.

Inspector Kareem stood in the doorway, the gun steady in his hand.
For several seconds, the only sound in the room was Mama Rose's trembling breath.
Aisha stared at him in disbelief.
"Inspector... what are you doing?" she whispered.
Kareem's smile widened.
"I asked for the photograph."
My fingers tightened around the picture.
The man standing before us looked exactly like the officer who had spent weeks investigating David's disappearance.
Yet something about him felt different.
Colder.
Dangerous.
Mama Rose suddenly squeezed my arm.
"Don't trust him," she whispered.
Kareem heard her.
His eyes narrowed.
"I warned you six months ago to stay quiet, Rose."
Fear flooded the old woman's face.
Aisha stepped forward.
"You were involved?"
Kareem laughed softly.
"Involved? No."
He took a slow step into the room.
"I was there from the beginning."
My heart pounded.
"What beginning?"
For a moment, Kareem remained silent.
Then he looked directly at me.
"The night Mr. Solomon died."
The storage room seemed to grow colder.
Mr. Solomon's death had been ruled an accident.
Everyone in the city knew that.
Or at least that's what we had been told.
"You lied," I said.
"No," Kareem replied.
"The report lied."
A loud thunderclap echoed outside.
The lights flickered.
Then Kareem pointed the gun at the photograph.
"Last chance."
"Give it to me."
I glanced at the back again.
THE FOURTH PERSON IS ALIVE.
Suddenly, something caught my attention.
A small number was written beneath the message.

Nothing else.
Just the number.
Before I could think about what it meant, a crash came from the living room.
Kareem spun around.
For the first time, I saw genuine fear in his eyes.
Someone else had entered the apartment.
Heavy footsteps approached.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Not one person.
Several.
The hallway fell silent.
Then a voice spoke.
A voice none of us expected to hear.
"Lower the gun, Kareem."
The color drained from Mama Rose's face.
Aisha gasped.
My blood froze.
Because the voice belonged to David.
The same David who was supposed to be missing.
The same David who had stood outside my window three floors above the ground.
And according to every official report...
David was dead.
To be continued in Part 5.

17/06/2026

The Missing Tenant

The rain had stopped by dawn.
Dark clouds still hung over the city, but the streets were beginning to come alive.
Aisha and I barely slept.
Neither of us could stop thinking about David.
Or the warning.
Or the strange symbol.
By six in the morning, we were already standing outside Mama Rose's apartment building.
The old woman was known for two things.
She knew everybody's business.
And she never forgot anything.
If anyone knew about a missing tenant, it would be her.
We climbed the stairs and knocked.
No answer.
We knocked again.
Still nothing.
Aisha frowned.
"That's strange."
"Mama Rose is usually awake before sunrise."
A knot formed in my stomach.
Something felt wrong.
The apartment door was slightly open.
Just enough to reveal darkness inside.
I pushed it gently.
The hinges creaked.
"Mama Rose?" I called.
No reply.
The living room was empty.
A cup of tea sat on the table.
Still warm.
As though someone had been there only moments ago.
Aisha pointed toward the hallway.
The bedroom door stood open.
We walked carefully toward it.
Then we froze.
The room was completely destroyed.
Furniture overturned.
Drawers ripped open.
Clothes scattered everywhere.
It looked as though someone had searched for something.
And searched in a hurry.
Aisha gasped.
On the bedroom wall was the same symbol from the note.
Drawn in fresh black paint.
My heart sank.
We were too late.
Mama Rose was gone.
Suddenly, a weak voice echoed from somewhere nearby.
"Help..."
Aisha grabbed my arm.
"Did you hear that?"
The voice came again.
Fainter this time.
We followed the sound into a storage room at the back of the apartment.
The door was locked from the outside.
I kicked it open.
Inside, tied to a chair, sat Mama Rose.
Bruised.
Terrified.
But alive.
"Mama Rose!" Aisha cried.
We rushed to untie her.
The old woman burst into tears.
"They came back," she whispered.
"Who came back?"
Her eyes filled with fear.
"The people from six months ago."
My pulse quickened.
"The same people connected to David?"
She nodded.
Then she pointed toward a dusty photograph lying on the floor.
"There were four of them."
I picked it up.
The picture showed four people standing beside Mr. Solomon.
David.
A young woman I didn't recognize.
A tall man wearing dark glasses.
And another figure whose face had been scratched out completely.
The fourth person.
The one everyone seemed desperate to hide.
"Mama Rose," I said carefully, "who is the person whose face was removed?"
The old woman started trembling.
Before she could answer—
A loud crash exploded from the living room.
Someone had entered the apartment.
Footsteps.
Heavy.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Aisha's face turned pale.
The footsteps stopped.
Then a deep voice echoed through the hallway.
"I know you're in here."
Silence.
Nobody moved.
The voice came again.
"Give me the photograph."
Mama Rose suddenly grabbed my wrist.
Her eyes were filled with terror.
"Don't let him see the back."
"The back?"
I flipped the photograph over.
Written in faded ink were five words.
THE FOURTH PERSON IS ALIVE.
At that exact moment, the storage room door began to open.
And the man standing outside was someone we all recognized.
Inspector Kareem.
The police officer we trusted most.
The same man who had been helping investigate David's disappearance.
And he was holding a gun.
Pointed directly at us.
"Hand me the photograph," he said.
Then he smiled.
The exact same smile David had worn outside my window.
To be continued in Part 4...

12/06/2026

THE FACE IN THE DARKNESS

I couldn't breathe.
The figure outside my window remained perfectly still.
Three floors above the ground.
No balcony.
No ladder.
Nothing.
Just a man standing in the darkness as though gravity meant nothing to him.
Lightning flashed across the sky.
For a brief second, I saw his face.
Then my blood turned cold.
I knew him.
It was David.
The church worker.
The same David who had helped organize charity events for Mr. Solomon.
The same David who had disappeared six months earlier without a trace.
I stumbled backward.
That couldn't be possible.
The entire city had searched for him.
His family had mourned him.
Many believed he was dead.
Yet there he was.
Staring directly at me.
Smiling.
Another flash of lightning.
The window was empty.
He was gone.
I rushed toward the glass and looked down.
The street below was deserted.
No footsteps.
No movement.
Nothing.
A knock suddenly echoed from my apartment door.
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Three knocks.
Slow.
Deliberate.
My heart hammered against my chest.
It was almost three in the morning.
Nobody should have been visiting.
Especially after what I had just seen.
The knocking came again.
I forced myself toward the door.
Every instinct screamed at me not to open it.
But curiosity won.
It always did.
Slowly, I unlocked the door.
Standing outside was Aisha.
The university student who lived two floors below me.
She looked terrified.
Her clothes were soaked from the rain.
And she kept glancing nervously over her shoulder.
"Aisha?" I asked. "What's wrong?"
Without answering, she pushed past me and slammed the door shut.
Then she handed me a folded piece of paper.
Her hands were trembling.
"Someone told me to give you this," she whispered.
"Who?"
She shook her head.
"I never saw their face."
I unfolded the paper.
Inside was a single sentence.
Stop looking for the fourth person.
Below the message was a symbol.
A strange symbol I had never seen before.
But Aisha reacted the moment she saw it.
Her eyes widened.
"You know this symbol?" I asked.
She nodded slowly.
"I saw it before."
"Where?"
She hesitated.
Then she spoke the name that made my stomach tighten.
"Inside Mr. Solomon's private office."
The room became silent.
Rain battered the windows.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally, I asked the question that had been bothering me all night.
"Why are you helping me?"
Aisha looked away.
For the first time, I noticed tears in her eyes.
Then she said something that changed everything.
"Because David came to see me tonight too."
A chill ran through my body.
"What?"
"He stood outside my window and told me to warn you."
The room felt smaller.
Colder.
More dangerous.
Before I could respond, my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
Again.
I answered immediately.
This time the voice sounded different.
Older.
Calmer.
More confident.
And it spoke only one sentence.
"Ask Mama Rose what happened to the missing tenant."
The line went dead.
I turned toward Aisha.
She looked just as confused as I was.
There was only one thing left to do.
At dawn, we would visit Mama Rose.
Neither of us knew that by sunset, one of the nine people connected to this mystery would disappear forever

To continue part 3

12/06/2026

THE MAN I SWORE TO EXPOSE

If someone had told me that people would one day fear my name more than the names of the ritualists I hunted, I would have laughed in their face.

Back then, I hated them with every part of me.

I didn't just dislike them.

I despised them.

Whenever news broke about mysterious disappearances, strange deaths, or people suddenly becoming rich under suspicious circumstances, I became obsessed with finding answers.

Some people spent their evenings watching football.

I spent mine investigating rumors.

My friend often warned me.

"One day, your curiosity will put you in trouble."

I always laughed.

"I'd rather be in trouble than be silent."

At twenty-three, I believed I was untouchable.

That belief would become the biggest mistake of my life.

It started with a man everyone admired.

A man whose generosity had made him famous.

He donated to schools.

Paid hospital bills.

Built boreholes.

Sponsored scholarships.

People spoke about him as if he were a saint.

But something about him never felt right to me.

I couldn't explain it.

Every time I saw him smiling on television, I felt uneasy.

The feeling became stronger when I noticed a strange pattern.

People connected to his projects kept disappearing.

Not many.

Just enough to make me suspicious.

Whenever I mentioned it, people called me jealous.

Some laughed.

Others got angry.

One even told me:

"Be careful accusing good people."

Maybe they were right.

Maybe I was imagining things.

But then something happened.

One rainy evening, I received an envelope under my door.

No sender.

No stamp.

No name.

Inside was a photograph.

Just one photograph.

It showed the philanthropist standing beside three people.

At first, nothing seemed unusual.

Then I turned the photo over.

Written on the back were six words:

> Find the fourth person in this picture.

I frowned.

There were only three people beside him.

I counted again.

Still three.

Yet beneath the message was another sentence.

> The fourth person was removed.

A chill crawled down my spine.

I examined the photograph more carefully.

That's when I noticed it.

A shadow.

A strange shadow between two people.

As if someone had once stood there and had been erased.

My heart started racing.

Who was the missing person?

Why had they been removed?

And who sent the photograph to me?

That night I couldn't sleep.

At exactly 2:17 a.m., my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I answered.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then a voice whispered:

> "You finally noticed."

The call ended.

Immediately.

I sat upright in bed.

Sweating.

Listening to the silence.

Then I heard a sound outside my window.

A single knock.

Three floors above the ground.

A knock that should have been impossible.

And when I looked outside...

Someone was standing there.

Smiling at me from the darkness.

To continue.

22/05/2026

22/05/2026

28/02/2026

27/02/2026