Detective Kareem hadn't slept.
The words "she came back, but not like before" echoed in his mind as he stared at the river from his office window. Rain tapped against the glass like fingers warning him to stay away.
He turned to the old case files again—this time not just looking for the girl Ola mentioned, but for patterns.
Unexplained drownings. Unclaimed bodies. River-related deaths no one bothered to solve.
There were three.
All in the last two months.
All victims young. Two female. One male. All found near the same stretch of river. No families came forward. No names.
Ghosts with no graves.
Kareem's fingers tightened around the pages. He had missed something. Or worse, someone had made sure everyone missed something.
He reached for his phone and dialed the station's forensic analyst, Amaka.
"I need toxicology on the fisherman's body, fast-tracked."
"You think he was poisoned?"
"I don't know yet. But something's not right. And see if you can get water samples from the site."
She hesitated. "You think the river's involved?"
"I think the river's the only witness left."
The next day, Kareem returned to the riverbank alone.
It was eerily quiet.
The fisherman's boat was still tied where it had always been. Undisturbed. Untouched. Kareem stepped into it, cautiously scanning for anything the police might've missed.
And then he saw it.
Carved into the inside of the wooden hull, barely visible beneath grime and age, were faint letters:
"Ọrun n pe wa…"
His heart skipped. It was Yoruba.
Translation: "The other world is calling us."
Suddenly, a rustling in the bushes made him jump.
Kareem turned, hand instinctively on his holster.
It was Ola.
Alone.
"You shouldn't be here," Kareem said, rushing toward him. "It's not safe."
The boy looked pale, eyes glassy with fear. "They were here last night."
"Who?"
"I heard them. Whispering. Walking through the water like it was calling them. They wore masks... old ones. Like ancestors."
Kareem froze. "What were they doing?"
"They were chanting. Carrying something... heavy. Like a body."
"And you saw all of this?"
Ola nodded. "I couldn't sleep. I came to check if the fisherman's boat was still here. That's when I saw them."
Kareem's pulse quickened. "How many were there?"
"Three... maybe four. But one of them—he was humming. The same tune the girl used to sing."
The detective's blood ran cold.
That night, Kareem sat alone in his car by the river, watching.
Waiting.
At exactly 2:13 AM, movement stirred across the water.
Shadows.
Figures.
Cloaked.
One of them stepped into the water, dragging something behind them.
A body?
Kareem grabbed his camera and took the shot—just as the figure turned.
And stared directly at him.
Not just in his direction.
At him.
Through the lens, Kareem saw the face clearly for one chilling second.
It wasn't a stranger.
It was someone from the town.
Someone he knew.