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Nikky oms, Lagos (2026)

02/03/2026

Hmmmm

01/03/2026

Sis, this is my own story .
I don’t think i will m@rry again..

I met Daniel on a rainy evening in Port Harcourt.

He was calm. Soft-spoken. Generous. The kind of man who didn’t shout, didn’t cheat, didn’t stress you. After everything I had been through, he felt like answered prayer.

Six months later, we got married quietly.

No big wedding.
No crowd.
Just “privacy,” he said.

I didn’t see it as a red flag. I saw it as peace.

The first three weeks of marriage were perfect.

Until the dreams started.

Every night, I would see myself lying inside a wooden box.
Not just any box — a c0f f!n.

And someone would be whispering:

“Don’t worry… she doesn’t know yet.”

I would wake up by 3:15am every single night.

Sweating.
Heart racing.

And Daniel would always be awake beside me… staring at the ceiling.

“Bad dream again?” he would ask calmly.

How did he know?.
Then i let it slid..

One Thursday afternoon, he traveled to Lagos for “business.”

That was when everything changed.

I was cleaning our room when I noticed something strange.

His wardrobe had a small locked compartment at the bottom. I had never seen him open it before.

I don’t know what pushed me… but I forced it open.

Inside, I saw:
• A black cloth wrapþed in red thread
• A small bottle filled with dark liquid
• My wedding picture… but my ēýēš were scratcħeďout
• And underneath everything…

A folded paper with my full name written in bold red ink.

My maiden name.

My married name.

And my date of birth.

My hands were shaking.

Then I saw it.

A miniature wooden č0f f!n.

My name carved on it.

Exactly like this:

“FOR ————
FINAL SACR! FICE.”

I froze.

Then my phone rang.

Daniel.

I couldn’t breathe.

I picked the call.

And the first thing he said was:

“Did you open it?”

The line went ďē’aď.

That night, by 3:15am…

I heard knocking.

From inside the wardrobe.

To be continued….